Sins of a Shaker Summer (24 page)

“You're pretty,” he said.

Oops,
she thought.
I tried a little too hard.
She slid back on her heels and left the weeding to Willy. “I heard that you know a lot about medicinal herbs,” she said. “Why aren't you working in the shop? They could sure use you now that Patience is gone.”

“Who told you I know about herbs?”

“Well, I . . . I guess I heard it from someone in the shop. Isn't it true?”

“Yeah, it's true, all right. Reckon it'd be better if I didn't know so much. Never did me much good in the end.”

“I guess I heard something about that, too.”

“Somebody talked a lot.”

“Oh, you know how things get around in a small village like this.” Gennie settled herself cross-legged on the grass. She felt a little guilty getting dirt and grass stains all over her skirt, remembering what it was like to scrub laundry, especially in the summer months. “I'm sorry for what happened to you. I'm sure it wasn't really your fault.”

Willy's gentle weeding turned rougher, and bits of loam sprayed Gennie's skirt. “I never killed that man, and neither did my granny. Not on purpose, anyways.”

“I'm sorry. Do you have any idea what really happened?”

“Maybe we made a mistake in fixing up the cure, maybe not. Granny was gettin' on, but she still knew her healin', and she'd made that tonic a hundred times. I never could figure what went wrong. Now Sister Patience is gone, I'll probably never know.”

“You talked with Patience about what went wrong with your grandmother's recipe?”

“Yeah. She knew lots. She was experimenting to find out what the problem was. I remembered the recipe by heart, and I helped her get the ingredients. She said it was a good cure.”

“You mean she didn't have the right ingredients in the shop?”

Willy shook his head. “I had to hunt them down. It wasn't hard, though. I'm real good at recognizing herbs in the wild, and I found everything right here in the village.”

“Really? Like what?”

“Oh, you know, like deadly nightshade.”

“You found that here? Right in North Homage?” Gennie squirmed to her feet in excitement. “Can you show me where?”

“Well, I dunno, I've got to get this whole garden weeded, and—”

“I'll help you later.”

Willy shook his head, with obvious regret. “Andrew'd have my hide, and I really need this job.”

“Okay, then, tomorrow morning, early. Meet me right here a half hour before breakfast.”

Willy grinned his agreement.

With an effort, Rose put aside her unsettled feelings about her conversation with Andrew, and she headed for the woods behind the burned-out site of the old water house. A quick phone call had told her that Charlotte had taken the children to the secluded area for a cool outing. She was eager for the shade herself; today the air seemed to liquify as it touched her skin and clothing.

The children were easy to find. Despite the heat, they were giggling and running through the thick maple trees, pausing now and then to chase a rabbit or squeal at a garter snake. Charlotte sat on the grass, leaning against a tree trunk, watching with half-closed eyes. She had removed her
cap, and her dark blond hair lay limp and flat against her head. As she saw Rose approach, she grabbed at her cap, and Rose laughed.

“Don't bother on my account,” Rose said. “This heat is enough to try a saint. If my hair were short, I'd take off my cap, too.” She settled down on the grass beside Charlotte. “Besides, I'm not here to check up on you.”

“Is it the purging?” Charlotte asked. “Oh, please tell me it's been canceled.”

“I'm afraid not.”

“What will Wilhelm think of next? Self-flagellation? I'm sorry, Rose, that was mean, but you know how I feel about all this going back to the old ways. As far as I can see, living like the angels requires us to love one another, devote our lives to worship, and work hard. Must we torture ourselves, too?” Charlotte pushed her hair back into her cap and tied it at the nape of her neck. “As if this clothing weren't torture enough.”

“Believe me, I sympathize. But I'm here for a different reason. I have a couple of questions about the children.”

“Nora and Betsy have behaved themselves since their release from the Infirmary, I promise you. I make them nap in my retiring room so I can keep an eye on them.”

“I'm glad to hear it. But I was really wondering about the Dengler girls.”

“Janey and Marjorie? They've been getting into things they shouldn't, too, haven't they? I knew it.”

“Have they been a problem for you?”

“Oh, not seriously. But they are just Nora and Betsy's ages, and the four girls often play together. When there's mischief being done, it's usually Nora and Betsy doing it, but now and then I've wondered about the Dengler sisters. Several times I've caught them munching on candied angelica root when I hadn't given any to the children. I thought they might have learned some tricks from Nora and Betsy, like sneaking into the kitchen during naps for snacks. And they do both still have a few problems with bedwetting,
I'm afraid. They are fearful children. Look, there they are now.” Charlotte pointed between two trees to a line of four girls, chasing each other. Nora and Betsy were in front, followed by two thin towheads.

“I'll just go speak to them, if you don't mind,” Rose said, pushing to her feet. “Would you distract Nora and Betsy while I do? I don't want them involved.”

“Certainly,” Charlotte said, curiosity brightening her eyes. “Just send them to me. Sounds serious.”

“We'll see.” A distant roll of thunder underscored the sternness in Rose's voice.

She sent Nora and Betsy off to Charlotte and smiled down at the Dengler sisters, who stared at her, pale blue eyes opened wide. The girls were almost identical. One was an inch taller with a longer face; that would be Janey, the elder. Little Marjorie clutched a corncob doll to her thin chest. Rose held out a hand for each, and they shyly inserted their own small hands.

“Let's walk, shall we?” Rose said. “I just have a few questions to ask you, and then you can come back and play with your friends.” As she led them out of earshot, both pale heads turned to look back.

Still holding their hands, Rose chose a shady spot and sank to the ground. The girls dropped down next to her. Marjorie began to suck her thumb, and Rose said nothing. The children were scared; that was clear. Perhaps she was more frightening than she realized. Well, that might be for the best. She had no wish to leave them terrified, but if fear made them open up more quickly, so much the better.

“You know who I am, don't you?” she asked.

Both heads nodded.

“And you know, too, that something bad happened to Nora and Betsy?”

Janey's lip began to tremble, and Marjorie stuck her whole thumb in her mouth.

“I need your help to find out why your friends got sick, so no other children will get sick. Do you understand?
Good, then I want each of you to tell me everything you know about what Nora and Betsy were doing the day they got sick. Janey, you start.”

Janey stared at her, mute. Perhaps she'd been too stern. “Janey, you aren't in any trouble, I promise you. I truly need your help. You'll be helping everyone, including Nora and Betsy.”

Rose heard a sucking noise and a few mumbled words. “Could you take your thumb out of your mouth, Marjorie, dear? That's a girl. Now, what did you say?”

“They went to a tea party,” Marjorie said.

“We weren't supposed to tell!” Janey wailed. “Now everybody will be mad at us.”

“Who is ‘everybody,' Janey?” Rose asked.

Janey clamped her mouth shut.

“Marjorie? Janey doesn't realize how important this is, but you do, don't you? It will help me so very much if you tell me who you think will be angry with you.” Two sets of pale eyes exchanged glances.

“Are you scared of someone?” Rose asked.

Marjorie's small chin bobbed in a tiny nod.

“Who? Who are you afraid of?”

“Don't tell, don't you dare tell,” Janey screamed, and threw herself on her sister. Startled, Rose jumped back.

“All right, you two, stop it right now.” She pried Janey off Marjorie. “Janey, we
never
hit one another in this village. I want you to go back to Charlotte at once and tell her that you hit your sister. She will know what to do.”

A sulky Janey jumped up, tossed a stinging glance at her sister, and ran toward Charlotte.

“Your dress is torn,” Rose said. “Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere?”

Marjorie shook her head.

“Okay, you don't have to tell me who you are afraid of, at least not right now. But what did you mean when you said that Nora and Betsy went to tea?”

“They do it a lot.”

“Where do they go?”

“You know, the woods and places.”

“These woods, do you mean?”

A sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves above them and lifted Marjorie's fine hair. “I guess,” she said. “All the woods, I think. They never took us along, even though we told them about the flowers. It wasn't fair.”

“What flowers?” Rose asked.

“The magical flowers.”

“Who told you the flowers were magical?”

Spots of color appeared on Marjorie's sallow cheeks, and she looked as if she were about to cry. “I'm not s'posed to tell,” she said.

“You can tell me,” Rose said gently. “It'll help keep Nora and Betsy safe and well.”

Confusion and misery took their toll, and Marjorie's thumb went back into her mouth. She shook her head. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her hand.

“Okay, you don't have to tell, then. But can you tell me what the flowers' names were?”

Marjorie shook her head again.

“Do you remember the name ‘foxglove'?”

Marjorie shrugged.

“Did you see any of the flowers yourself?” This drew a nod, so Rose asked, “What colors were they?”

This question seemed safer; Marjorie removed her wet thumb from her mouth and thought for a few seconds. “They were lots of pretty colors. Pink, and blue, and purple, and white.”

“Were any of them shaped like bells?”

“Sort of,” Marjorie said. “Those were the bad magic flowers.” When Rose looked puzzled, Marjorie explained, “Mama told us to be careful of the bad ones and to remember that they were shaped like bells. If we ate them, a bad angel would come and take us away forever. We told Nora and Betsy, but Nora didn't believe us. She said Mama
was just trying to scare us. She said flowers are good, so they have to be good magic.”

So Nora had served Betsy and herself a “bad magic” flower as a form of defiant experimentation. That certainly sounded like Nora, Rose thought. She was a bright child, who sometimes put too much faith in her own logical processes. By adulthood, she'd be cured of that—if she lived that long.

“So was it your mama who told you about the flowers, Marjorie?”

The thumb went back in the mouth, and the girl scooted backward. “You said I didn't have to tell,” she mumbled around her thumb.

“But you just said—”

“You said I didn't have to tell!” Marjorie jumped to her feet and ran back toward Charlotte, where her sister had joined Nora and Betsy. Rose knew there was no point in pursuing her.

Rose got to her feet and brushed the grass and dried leaves off her skirt. Another roll of thunder, this time closer, gave her a comforting hope of at least a temporary cool-down. With luck, it would arrive by the next evening, so the purging, if it must take place, could be accomplished in more comfortable temperatures.

Rather than walking back through the group of children, and perhaps upsetting Marjorie again, Rose took a circuitous route through the trees. She circled, just out of sight, around the clearing where the children played. She could hear them laughing.

As she rounded a large maple, she heard something else, underneath the laughter. Someone was crying, somewhere to Rose's left. Walking quietly, she followed the sound and found a man in Shaker work clothing, standing in the shadows with his back to her, watching the children play. He wore the flat-crowned, wide-brimmed hat of the brethren, so she couldn't see his hair or the shape of his head. He
raised his arm and wiped his sleeve across his cheeks as if clearing away tears.

Rose ducked behind a tree as he turned and headed east, toward the perimeter of the maple grove. As she saw his profile, she realized the man was Thomas Dengler. On his arm he carried a basket. Though she was too far away to tell for sure, the basket seemed to hold a pile of green stalks with flowers attached.

A
FTER A TENSE EVENING MEAL, THE
B
ELIEVERS WERE SENT
to their retiring rooms for an early bedtime. The next day would be demanding—a full day of work followed by the evening purging service. Gertrude had picked at her food, clearly anticipating the anguish of exposing her episode of physical violence. If Rose couldn't come up with a solution fast, Gertrude would probably confess to murder, as well. Rose might lose her position as eldress, but that was nothing compared with Gertrude's potential loss.

Rose decided it was time to check in with Grady O'Neal. She closed the door to the Ministry library, hoping to keep her conversation private from Wilhelm. The Languor County Sheriff's Office told her Grady was off duty, so she put through a call to his home number. His people were among the wealthiest in the state, so Grady could afford telephone service, even as a young bachelor on a deputy's salary.

Grady answered quickly. “Rose? I thought it might be Gennie calling. It's about time.”

“Sorry,” Rose said. “I won't keep you long.”

“Are you wondering if I've looked into Patience's death? Somehow I thought you wouldn't let go. Well, I have done some checking, and I'm beginning to think you were right. Besides, the doctor I sent over said there's a good chance Patience's wound came from being hit with a
sharp rock. So I talked to the folks who were gathered around when we found Patience. Most of them had followed Gertrude's scream, and they were in full view of each other, so they all have alibies way back to their arrival at your worship service. There's others, of course, but I think I got most of their names, and nobody could think of a single reason why any of the townsfolk would hurt Patience. They hardly knew her, and she wasn't one to come into town and be friendly.”