Sins of a Shaker Summer (10 page)

“If it fits in thy busy schedule, by all means. Are thy preparations for the sweeping gift completed?” he asked, before Rose could react to his barb. Wilhelm scanned a page in the book instead of her face.

“Yea,” Rose said, “I'll speak with all the sisters this evening about the ritual. But I still don't understand why, now of all times, we should—”

“Call it an inspiration,” Wilhelm said, smiling into his book.

Rose thought it wise to withdraw and wait for Gennie upstairs. She chose a book to take to her retiring room for evening study.

“By the way,” Wilhelm said, just as she reached the door, “I've spoken briefly with Elsa and Patience about following behind thee in the sweeping. Then, if thy energy flags—or perhaps a desire to stop and chat comes upon thee—they can take over leading the ceremony. They were agreeable.”

“No doubt,” Rose said.

Hearing the ice in her voice, Wilhelm glanced up at her. “These ceremonies are deeply important to our strength, our common understanding as a Society. I want the sweeping to be conducted with the utmost devotion, by Believers
who do not waver in their commitment to—”

“My devotion is passionate, which God can see, even if you cannot. Furthermore, I will not have you interfering with the sisters anymore. They are
my
responsibility. I know your motives in this, and they are far from pure.”

Wilhelm slammed his book shut.

“I will arrange the sisters' parts in the sweeping,” Rose said quickly, as Wilhelm sucked in air to blast her. “In case you have forgotten, we are all equals in the eyes of our Mother and Father, and I will not allow two sisters to be pitted against one another just so you can feel that Mother Ann's Work is with us again.”

Wilhelm's fingers kneaded his book, and his half-closed eyes skewered the wall above Rose's head. He said nothing. But it was his faint smile that nipped Rose's fury. She knew that smile.

“We will not discuss this any further,” she said. “I will do as I think best.” She spun out the door and slammed into Gennie Malone. Gennie leaped back and questioned her with wide brown eyes. In silent agreement, they hurried upstairs to Rose's retiring room and closed the door behind them.

Rose sank into her desk chair, while Gennie threw herself onto a nearby rocker and giggled. “It's so comforting to know,” Gennie said, “that mountains may wear down, but Wilhelm will never change.”

“Comforting from a distance, perhaps,” Rose said. She reached over for Gennie's hand and squeezed it. Gennie had a way of calming Rose's temper as no one else could—except Agatha, of course.

“Any changes in Nora and Betsy?” Gennie asked.

“Yea, Josie says they have both come around, thank God, but neither seems to remember what happened.” Rose did not mention Hugo's apparent collapse. She never knew if Wilhelm's announcements were to be taken at face value, and she preferred to assess Hugo's condition for herself before alarming others.

“I'm sorry to drag you into the middle of this mess,” Rose said.

“I'm not. Life was getting just a bit dull in the flower shop. Not enough herbs, I guess.”

“Well, you will have your fill of herbs here.” Rose worked her shoulders to loosen them. “You may find your time here more irritating than exciting, I'm afraid. My fears might be completely without foundation. We might find that all we have here is a group of secretive Believers who value their personal success more than their vows.”

“Something tells me Elsa is involved,” Gennie said.

“Yea, but Elsa is the least of my worries. I know Elsa; by now, I can almost predict how she will behave. But the others . . .”

“The Believers from Mount Lebanon, you mean?”

Rose nodded. “Most of them work together in the Medicinal Herb Shop, where I am placing you as a ‘hired hand.' I've told them that you lost your job and will be staying with us, sleeping in the Center Family Dwelling House. The room next to Patience's has been prepared for you. She is a puzzle to me, almost alarming and . . . well, I'll be intrigued to hear how you respond to her. On the surface, she seems much like Elsa, but I sense there is more, much more. She seems to know a great deal about all of us; she hints at her knowledge but keeps most of it to herself. She displays the gifts of the spirit, and I am inclined to believe they are real.”

“Rose, you know I have my doubts about the gifts,” Gennie said.

“I know, and that's one reason I want you to observe her for yourself. And the others in the Medicinal Herb Shop, as far as that is possible.” Rose leaned back and smiled at Gennie. “And now I want to hear more about you,” she said.

“Wilhelm would judge you harshly if he knew you were chatting,” Gennie said, arching an auburn eyebrow.

“All the more reason to do so,” Rose said.

Gennie grinned. “I am well and happy—and, as I said, somewhat bored. I love the flower shop, and I love Grady, but I've seen so little of the world still. Or maybe that isn't fair; in some ways, I've seen more of the world in this village than I have being a part of the world. We were all so close and knew each other so well. Aside from Grady and Emily, I don't get a chance to talk much with other people—not enough to see inside them, the way I could here. I'm really excited about helping you.”

“I wish I could hear a call to come back to us in what you just said,” Rose said.

Gennie ran a hand through her short curls. “I think we both know that I belong in the world. I just wish it were as cozy as here.”

“Cozy?!”

Gennie's laughter rang like a joyous carillon. “Well, you know what I mean. With everybody knowing everybody and at least trying to be friends.”

“I know what you mean,” Rose said. “I miss you very much, my young friend, but if you belong in the world, that is where you should be. Perhaps it is your calling to bring some Shaker friendship to the world's people.” Rose pushed herself out of her chair and stuffed a few damp red curls back under her cap. “But for now you are here, and the sooner we get you settled in the Medicinal Herb Shop, the sooner we can determine what, if anything, is going on there.”

Gennie sprang from her chair, seemingly unaffected by the heat. “Lots of herbs and a chance for excitement—I couldn't ask for more.”

As they approached the open door of the Medicinal Herb Shop, Rose lowered her voice and finished telling Gennie what she had observed so far. She had already discussed Benjamin's ambitions and obvious feelings for Irene, Thomas's failings as a husband and father, Andrew's sometimes
odd and secretive ways, and Willy Robinson's background.

“Lately I've noticed,” Rose said, “that Patience doesn't show up for meals. And when she does, she eats little. I don't know what to make of that. I took her to task for it, but she insisted that she had important experiments to watch over and she required very little food. I find that hard to believe. She is nearly as tall as I am, and I require a great deal of food! Look to see, if you can, whether she eats at all.”

“I hope I don't have to follow her if she doesn't attend meals,” Gennie whispered. “I'd hate to miss too much of that lovely Shaker food.”

By the time Rose had introduced Gennie to the inhabitants of the Medicinal Herb Shop, only an hour remained before evening meal. Rose left her young friend under Andrew's direction, then cut through the kitchen garden to the Center Family Dwelling House. She resisted entering through the kitchen; the kitchen sisters were often shorthanded, and she always seemed to end up helping them. And right now she wanted to talk to Agatha.

She rounded the corner of the dwelling house and entered through the sisters' door. Since the inhabitants were still at their assigned tasks, Rose encountered no one as she scooted through the hallway to one of the few ground-floor retiring rooms, reserved for the ill and elderly, who had difficulty climbing stairs. She knocked softly, and a quavering voice bade her enter.

“Rose, my dear, how lovely.” Agatha Vandenberg held out her left hand. Her right was still weak but no longer useless, and her smile was less lopsided. She had come far since her third and near-fatal stroke. Rose took her hand in both her own.

Agatha sat in her tiny rocking chair, made for her diminutive body. A
Life
magazine lay open on her lap, and a small radio quietly announced the news of the world from her plain pine bedside table. To be caught reading a magazine
from the world and listening to a radio would be humiliating for anyone else, but Rose was delighted to see Agatha doing so. The former eldress could no longer read small print or do embroidery, after all. Furthermore, the few other Shaker villages still alive, all in the East, were known to have loosened their strict separation from worldly influences. Still, Rose thought she wouldn't mention the magazine and radio to Wilhelm.

“Pull a chair over here, close to me,” Agatha said. “I've just been listening for more news about that poor, brave girl flyer who disappeared over the Pacific. I am praying for her safe return—and for her soul, if she cannot return.”

Rose blinked in confusion. Her contact with daily happenings in the world had shrunk considerably since her shift to eldress, and she had heard nothing about a girl who flew airplanes across oceans. The idea pleased her, but it sounded as if this time it hadn't worked out so well. However, she curbed her curiosity. She had questions to ask before evening meal.

“Agatha, have you had a chance to get to know our new group of brothers and sisters?”

“The ones from Mount Lebanon?” Agatha asked.

“Yea. I'm thinking especially of Patience McCormick.”

“Ah. You are wondering about her gifts, if they are true or false.” Agatha closed her magazine and placed it on the small table next to her. “It is natural that you would be highly suspicious, Rose. Your experiences with the gifts have been few and unfortunate. Elsa . . . well, there is no need to discuss that incident; it is over and done. But when I was a child, it was quite different.” Agatha's cloudy blue eyes looked back through eight decades with clarity. “Mother Ann's Work was just ending when I was brought to the Shakers as a tiny child. In reality, it still took hold of Believers from time to time, though I suspect the power of it had made the Ministry nervous, and they were tamping it down as best they could. But I remember it as glorious—about that, Wilhelm is quite right.”

Agatha grew silent, and Rose would have thought her asleep except that her eyes darted around as if watching a performance. “I remember one sister,” she said, “who went into a trance during dancing worship, and she didn't come out of it for eight hours! She spoke in tongues, took messages from Mother Ann and Mother Lucy, trembled and twirled and beat her breast, all without pause, without taking nourishment. After eight hours, she crumpled in a heap and the other sisters had to carry her to her retiring room. She had given us six lovely new songs and two new dances. It was true and real; one could not doubt.”

“And you think that Patience is like this sister you remember? You believe in her gifts?” Rose asked.

Agatha let out a long sigh. “I don't know. Yea, I sense that they are real, yet . . . Patience is mystifying. Now that I can no longer dance, I watch the worship service with great interest. When I watch Patience dance, I sense something powerful in her. Yet somehow the feeling it gives me is different from what I felt as a youngster, watching the manifestations of Mother Ann. Perhaps it is my age, making me brittle in spirit, but I cannot tell if Patience's gifts are truly born of goodness”—Agatha rested her head against the back of her rocker—“or of something darker.”

G
ENNIE
'
S EYES OPENED TO BLACKNESS, AN ANGUISHED CRY
still sounding in her ears. A faint rectangle of light traced the outline of what must be a closed door. It wasn't in the right place. Her mind wavered between waking and sleeping, but her heart knew to be afraid. As her eyes accustomed to the darkness, they picked out shapes that confused her: a stovepipe; two other beds, both apparently empty; a small dresser with no mirror glow above it.

Then, as she came fully awake, she remembered. She was not sleeping in her boardinghouse room. She was in a retiring room in the Center Family Dwelling House in North Homage. And someone had screamed. But was it someone else's scream or her own? She held her breath for several seconds, listening, but she could hear nothing.

While she waited for the silence to reason with her fear, she thought back over the afternoon and evening. She had spent an hour in the Medicinal Herb Shop, watching the tense inhabitants and trying to convince Sister Patience McCormick to tell her about some experiments. Then she had watched Patience pretend to eat her evening meal. Afterward, she had listened while Rose told the sisters all about that strange sweeping ritual, during which Believers would receive invisible brooms with which to mime the cleaning of the village and drive out evil. Finally, Gennie had settled in to sleep in the room next to Patience.

Gennie's heart slowed to normal, probably bored back to sleepiness by the recitation of her day. The cry must have been part of a dream. Or perhaps the clammy air, barely cooler with the night, had disturbed her sleep. She yawned and pushed away her light sheet so a slight breeze could skim over her body.

This time she bolted upright, instantly awake, as a low moan crescendoed, then resolved into a babbling sound. She couldn't remember where the lamp was, so she slid out of bed and fumbled in the dark toward the pale glow around the door. She stopped with her hand on the knob, suddenly fearful. What if the moan had come from just outside her door? What should she do? The only phone was outside in the hall, so she couldn't call for help unless she went out there.

She made her way back to her bed, where she could now make out the shape of a lamp on her bedside table. She switched it on. As she did so, she heard the moan again, spiraling up the scale and back down. She turned her head toward the sound; it seemed to come from Patience's room.