Sins of a Shaker Summer (22 page)

“I can't, Rose,” she said. “I just don't remember.”

“All right, then, make a drawing that comes close to what you remember, even if it isn't an exact replica.”

Gennie nodded and began sketching. Rose, seated beside her at the double desk, used the time to make a list of questions for the two of them to explore. They finished at about the same time and exchanged papers.

Gennie read the list aloud:

       
“1.
   
Are Hugo's and Patience's deaths connected in any way? (Check the herb jelly for poisonous herbs.)

         
2.
   
What secrets did Patience know about other Believers? (Call Mount Lebanon. Talk to Irene again—Gennie?)

         
3.
   
Where is Patience's cap, and why wasn't she wearing it when she was found?

         
4.
   
Where are the duplicate drawings from Benjamin's and Patience's journals, and what do they represent?

         
5.
   
What did Nora and Betsy eat that made them ill, and why won't they talk about it?”

“What do you want me to find out from Irene?” Gennie asked.

“Anything you can about the medicinal herb group, especially while they were together at Mount Lebanon. I'm still not sure what might be important, so use your best judgment.”

“Would Irene be likely to know anything?”

“I have a hunch she has kept an eye on her husband and children.” Rose folded Gennie's drawing and slipped it in the pocket of her apron.

“What are you going to do?” Gennie asked.

“Make a phone call. And then I'm going to frighten two little girls,” Rose said, smiling.

“I was wondering when you would phone us,” said Sister Lilian, one of Mount Lebanon's trustees. She had become a friend on one of Rose's visits to the remaining eastern Shaker villages, and Rose knew her to be bright, observant, and just a bit of a gossip. But first Rose had to break the news of Patience's death. Lilian accepted the information with surprise but not deep sorrow. Rose spoke in vague terms of the circumstances, giving the impression that the death was assumed accidental. When she had finished, Rose asked, “Why were you expecting a call from me?”

“I suspected the new Believers we sent you might cause you some headaches,” Lilian said. “I had my doubts at the
time about the move, but the Ministry insisted they knew what was best. They can be a bit too trusting, if you ask me, but nobody did. Not that I didn't have my say anyway, but nobody listened.”

“You had doubts about sending Andrew here?”

“Not so much Andrew on his own. He wouldn't have been such a risk, I don't think, though there's a good deal I don't understand about him, despite working with him for the past year. Nay, it was the whole group I wondered about. There's no Believers I know of who could match them when it comes to creating cures out of herbs, but they never seemed to mix well with each other.”

“Anything specific?”

“Hold on, let me shut the office door.” Sister Lilian returned in a few moments. “Everyone else is out at their tasks, but I prefer not to be surprised. Now, where were we?”

“Your concerns about Andrew and his—”

“Ah, Andrew. A kind man, truly, once you got to know him, though not everyone got along with him. Some here said he joined us only out of grief and not genuine faith. He was something of a rebel; however, I could never believe the rumors about him—you know, about how he lost his family.”

“I know very little about it,” Rose said.

“Well, let me tell you.” Rose could almost see Lilian pull her ladder-back chair near the phone and settle in. “I heard most of this in town and haven't told anyone here, of course, but somehow the rumors spread around anyway. Seems his wife and two young sons all died within a week of each other, in 1929, just after the crash. They'd all had the sniffles—you know how young children are—and Andrew was treating them with something or other, nobody knows what. He'd been working as a pharmacist, but the drugstore owner had all his money in the stock market, so Andrew had lost his job. Naturally, some of the townspeople
said he'd cracked up and poisoned his family. Nonsense, of course.”

“I assume the police agreed,” Rose said.

“Actually, I believe there was an investigation, but no charges were brought against Andrew. I don't know any of the details. He never talked about it, and I certainly wasn't going to ask him.”

Rose had no such qualms, and she made a mental note to bring up the subject with Andrew very soon. She could not afford to let her growing fondness for him stand in the way of the truth. “Tell me about Patience McCormick,” she said.

“Not a favorite among the sisters, I'm afraid. She kept to herself mostly. For a time I tried to supervise her medicinal herb work, but she ignored me. She knew so much more than I, you know. So Andrew took over, and that started more rumors.”

“Linking Andrew and Patience?”

Lilian laughed. “Yea, it kept the monitors fully occupied at worship service, watching for special looks between them. They never saw a flicker, as far as I know.”

“Do you know anything about Patience's background?”

“Very little. She joined us six or seven years ago. If she has revealed her past to anyone, it would be to the eldress in confession, but you'd have to ask her, and she's on a visit to Sabbathday Lake just now. All I know is that Patience, rest her soul, made me nervous. She'd watch everyone with those gray eyes, and I always felt she saw right into my mind.”

“Did she know about medicinal herbs when she came to you?”

“I believe so, but she certainly applied herself and learned more while she was here. Rose, I'm afraid it's close to noon here; I'll have to go soon.”

Rose was aware of the passing time, too, and her questions seemed to be multiplying. “What do you know about the others—Benjamin and Thomas?”

“Benjamin is ambitious, and I was quite astonished when he chose to leave with Andrew. He could have been trustee here, or at least in charge of the medicinal herb industry.”

Rose suspected his decision had something to do with Irene, but she kept the opinion to herself. “What was his relationship with Patience?” she asked.

“Very tense. They seemed to be rivals.” Lilian hesitated. “Rose, was there something, um, unusual about Patience's death? Is that why you need to know these things? Oh dear, there's the bell. I must run. Anything else I can help with?”

“Thomas?”

“Short-tempered, but a good salesman.” Static on the telephone line obliterated Lilian's next sentence, and Rose thought she was signing off until she heard: “Strange about the girls, though.”

“Sorry, interference,” Rose said. “What was strange?”

“About the girls, his daughters, Janey and Marjorie,” Lilian said. “He insisted they go with him to Kentucky.”

“I assumed it was Irene who brought the children here.”

“Nay, it was Thomas. Irene only went because the girls were going. An odd circumstance. Not the way we hope to see Believers behave, but the Ministry turned a blind eye. They probably figured it was the best way to keep both Thomas and Irene content. Anyway, they're your problem now. Good luck!”

TWENTY

F
AMILIAR SOUNDS GREETED
G
ENNIE AS SHE ENTERED THE
Herb House doorway, open to encourage some air movement. On the ground floor, three sisters sang a march and timed their movements to its tempo. The noise of the herb presses drowned out the song for a few seconds, but the sisters continued singing, their mouths and arms moving in sync. Gennie smiled a greeting.

As she climbed the staircase to the second-floor drying room, she felt as if she were entering heavy clouds of damp heat. She wondered, as she had every summer, how the hanging herbs ever managed to dry. Then she entered the drying room, and the air lightened. Since Gennie had last worked in the room, the brethren had designed a system of gentle fans that pushed the hot air down from the ceiling and out the door and window.

As the air drifted past her, Gennie recognized the rich citrus fragrance of bruised lemon balm leaves. Irene must be hanging bunches of it. Lemon balm grew thick and fast, so it was harvested frequently throughout the summer. The room was already filling with limp and nearly dry herb bunches hanging from hooks and pegs along the walls and ceiling. Gennie wove through the harvest, resisting the urge to squeeze leaves to release their fragrance. Irene worked alone at the table under the east window.

Irene smiled uncertainly at her approach, and Gennie realized
that she might not be sure who she was. “It's Gennie, isn't it? Rose's friend?”

Gennie hopped onto a stool and pulled a pile of lemon balm toward her. “Rose and I used to work up here together,” she said. “She thought I'd enjoy doing it again, now that Patience . . .”

Irene's smile faded as she tied a piece of twine around a clump of stems. “There really isn't that much to do. But of course you can help if you'd enjoy it.”

Moment after silent moment passed, and Gennie grew puzzled. She'd heard from several sisters how friendly and outgoing Irene always seemed. And why hadn't she responded to the mention of Patience's death?

“Did you know Patience well?” she asked. “I mean, from your days in Mount Lebanon.”

Irene darted a glance at her. “Nay, not well at all. We . . . She worked so much on the medicinal herbs and didn't do the other rotations.” She scooped up a pile of prepared bunches and disappeared, choosing to hang them from wall pegs as far away from the table as possible. Gennie squirmed on her stool. Much as she loved working with herbs, she had an assignment and little patience. When Irene finally reappeared with a handful of twine, Gennie had to count her breaths to keep from firing questions at her.

“May I ask you something, for myself?” Gennie asked after what seemed like interminable silence. Irene raised her gaze from her work, which Gennie took as assent. “What's it like to be a mother?”

Irene's eyes filled and spilled over with tears so quickly that Gennie froze, unsure what was happening. The tears stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Irene wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her dress. “Why do you ask?” She cut a length of string and wrapped it around some stems.

“Well, I . . . As you know, I'm not a sister, and I'm thinking of getting married. My own mother is dead, and
Rose doesn't have children, of course, so I was just wondering.”

“You are very young,” Irene said. “Wait. That's my advice, wait as long as you can. Marriage is heartbreak; being a mother is heartbreak. I lost two babies after I had my two little girls. Maybe it would have been better for them if I had lost them, too.”

“What do you mean?” Too late, Gennie heard the shock in her own voice. Irene threw her untied stems on the table, and lemon balm rolled onto the floor.

“There isn't enough work here for two of us,” she said. “I'd appreciate it if you would just go now. And tell Rose I can do this work by myself.” Her normally warm eyes had hardened. Gennie felt her cheeks flush as she slid off her stool wordlessly and hurried away from what used to be her favorite place on earth.

“Rose! Could I speak with you a moment?” Andrew took the Trustees' Office steps two at a time and sprinted toward the central path, his long legs as gangly as a colt's. Rose had been about to veer off to the Children's Dwelling House, hoping to catch Charlotte while the children were napping, but she turned and waited for Andrew's approach. She tried to distract herself from the warmth she felt when he smiled at her, and from her worry when she saw his flushed face and the perspiration-dampened hair on his forehead. She tried, but she failed.

“Andrew, you could overheat so easily on a day like this. Please be careful,” Rose said, reminding herself that she would feel the same concern for any Believer, whether brother or sister. They were her family.

“I'm not quite decrepit; I can survive a little heat,” Andrew said, grinning. “But I thank you for your care. I wanted to be sure to catch you as soon as possible. About the jelly, I can help.”

Rose stared at him. “Do you mean the herbal jelly? How on earth did you . . . ?”

“Gertrude told me. I know, perhaps she shouldn't have done so, but she feels responsible for Hugo's death, and she wants to help. She thought, rather than having to wait for a pharmacist in town to try to sort out what's in the jelly, perhaps I could. I'd be glad to try.”

“What else did Gertrude tell you?”

Andrew laughed, then sobered quickly. “Probably too much. Yea, she does overtalk a bit, but her distress is genuine. I will assume she has confessed to you and so I am not betraying her. She also feels that somehow she is responsible for Patience's death, but I stopped her from saying more.”

“Thank you,” Rose said. “I believe she is not to blame, and I hope to prove it to her. And to anyone else she may confess to,” she mumbled.

“Then let me help.”

Rose hesitated.

Andrew's earnest look slid into a frown, and he paced in a complete circle. “You don't trust me, do you? That's why you didn't come to me. You think Patience's death wasn't an accident, and maybe Hugo's, too, and you think I might be involved somehow.”

“Andrew, I just—”

“Rose, what have I done to make you disbelieve in me?”

“I don't disbelieve—”

“Whatever it is, just tell me, and I know I can explain it.”

“Andrew, do please let me finish a sentence.” She paused for another interruption that didn't come. Andrew nodded and said nothing. “I can prove nothing at the moment, and the police are not convinced any crime has been committed. I am anxious, though, to show Gertrude that her guilt is less real than she fears. Otherwise, I'm afraid the rest of her life will be spent in self-recrimination.”