The Innocent (28 page)

Sister Berdine chanced Sister Edna’s wrath by reaching over to touch Carlyn’s arm. Carlyn gave her hand a fleeting squeeze as she peeked across the table at Sister Edna, expecting a look of daggers. But instead, Sister Edna was moving around the chunks of potato she had dipped out on her plate as if she had not figured out how to capture them with
her fork. At last she did stick them in her mouth where she chewed with dogged determination but no sign of pleasure. She did not once look at Carlyn.

In the days to come, Carlyn would eat like that. She would satisfy her body’s need for food. She would do what had to be done. Was that not why she was sitting at the Shaker table? Following rules.

At last the meal was over. They filed out as silently as they had come into the eating room. Sister Berdine stepped up beside her as they made their way outside to the privy before returning to their afternoon duty. More laundry to gather and fold. More tubs to fill. More tubs to empty. Was that life? An endless round of filling and emptying?

“What is wrong, Sister Carlyn?” Sister Berdine looked at her with concern.

Carlyn pulled in a breath and released it as they waited in the back of the line for their turn. “My husband is dead.”

Sister Berdine wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement. “Didn’t you already tell me that was so?”

“I did think it was probably so, but I had no proof. Now I do. A letter from him and one from the person with him when he died.” Carlyn blinked to keep back new tears, but a few spilled from her eyes anyway. She squeezed Sister Berdine’s hand. “Don’t worry about me. The tears will stop. It’s just that reading Ambrose’s last words of love to me has put my feet on a path of sadness.”

When at last they had their turn in the privy and came back outside, all the other sisters were gone to their assigned duties. Sister Berdine started off down the path toward the washhouse, but Carlyn didn’t follow.

Sister Berdine looked back. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I will beg forgiveness for my dawdling later, but I need time alone. I already told Sister Edna that.”

“And she agreed?” Sister Berdine raised her eyebrows at Carlyn.

“Nay. She sees no excuse to shunt aside our duty.”

“Then she’ll be angry.”

“That may be. But she is not herself today. She may hardly notice.”

“That I would not depend on, but then what can she do other than browbeat us with her words?” A smile slid across Sister Berdine’s face. “I will go with you.”

Carlyn shook her head so quickly her cap slid sideways. She straightened it as she said, “You are a good friend, but this is a path I must walk alone.”

Sister Berdine’s smile faded. “I understand. I will do what I can to keep your absence hidden from Sister Edna. The washhouse has many corners and sundry duties.”

“It’s better not to lie. Sister Edna will know the truth anyway. There are probably watchers seeing us right now.” Carlyn raised her eyes to the third-floor windows of the Gathering Family House up ahead of them. “The truth will out.”

Those words echoed in her head once again as she left Sister Berdine on the path and moved away from the shadow of the buildings. When she crossed into the open field behind the Gathering Family House, she breathed easier. It was good to leave behind the Shaker rules and duties. She would have to go back, but at least for a few hours, she would shake free of the shackles of life’s necessary bonds and think of nothing but what had been and what might have been.

On the far side of the field, she found a stile to climb over the fence and then was glad to step into the woods. The day
was not hot, but even so, she needed the shadows. Some of the trees still held their leaves, while others had shaken them down to the ground to make a rustling carpet of red and gold. It felt right to walk through the leaves, stirring them as she went. They showed the cycle of life. Death now as the leaves dried and crumbled, but come spring, the trees would bring forth green again. Life would start afresh.

Ambrose had already begun his new eternal life. She was in a village that purported to be heaven on earth, but Ambrose had crossed the divide and was experiencing glory with no concern for rules and duties. His smile would be lighting up his corner of heaven just as it would always light up a special place in Carlyn’s heart.

She sat down on a tree stump and read through both letters again. The words wrapped around her and comforted her. She had no idea how much time passed. It seemed the perfect amount. Then in the distance she heard a dog barking that made her think of Asher. It was only a short jump from Asher to Sheriff Brodie.

No guilt rose in her heart when the sheriff’s face came into her thoughts. He was kind to take Asher, but in spite of what Sister Edna and Sister Berdine said, he had offered nothing more. She had not expected more.

The dog sounded so much like Asher that Carlyn looked toward the east, the direction of her house. No longer her house, but it didn’t matter. Even if she did stand up and walk the miles back to that place, she would not find the happiness she longed for.

She had nothing. Not even the peace she had expected to find in the Shaker village. Instead, troubles found the Shakers in Harmony Hill the same as at any place, whether the
rules were followed or not. Carlyn sighed at the thought of some of that trouble waiting for her when she returned to the village. Happiness seemed as fleeting as a butterfly on the wing. Something that might hover around a person and then without warning flutter away. But sadness seemed to soak into one like a cold rain that left shivers and the ague.

Pray anyway
. That was her mother’s answer to every part of life. Joy or sorrow. Peace or war. Plenty or want. And hadn’t the Lord answered her prayer when she’d given herself over to accepting the truth?

The truth will out.
Sister Edna had not been talking about Carlyn’s wish to know about Ambrose. She had been troubled by other things. Unnamed things that she must not be able to control by obedience to the rules. Life could not always be ordered.

Pray anyway.
Carlyn could almost feel her mother’s hand on her shoulder and so she bent her head and prayed as the Shakers did. Without spoken words as she let the desires and sorrows of her heart rise up.

She was startled from those prayers by the sound of a horse and rider crashing through the woods. She leaped to her feet. She had no idea she was near any kind of trace, but she caught a glimpse of the horse through the trees. Her heart bounded up in her throat as she remembered the last time a horse and rider came up on her unaware. That didn’t mean this rider was Curt Whitlow or anyone else who meant her harm, but it seemed wisest to slip out of sight behind a tree.

After the rider was gone, Carlyn leaned against the tree and waited until her breath came easy again. Then she turned back to the Shaker village. As she walked, she tried to come up with acceptable words to confess her dereliction of duty.

Once out of the trees, she could see the buildings of the Shaker village across the pasture. Sturdy. Strong against the winds of nature. But what of the winds of man?

She had to go back to the Shaker village at least for now, but each step was forced. Each step was taken with dread. She wasn’t sure why, but it was as if she were carrying a shadow of worry back to Harmony Hill with her.

Pray anyway. There will
be clouds and storms. But the Lord also gave us
rainbows.
Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. And in the distance, the dog still barked.

25

By the time Mitchell rode back into town, the sun was going down. He’d found Sam Duncan’s cows. Not stolen. But Sam was right about his fences too. No breaks or holes and the gates were fastened. After some investigating, Mitchell solved the mystery and the cows were back home. Mischief turned out to be the cause, and the culprits, two neighbor boys.

A few days ago, Sam had come in from the hayfield to catch the boys roughhousing around his pond. He lit in on them and chased them home.

“It’d been different if the rascals had been fishing, but they weren’t even trying to catch their supper. Just acting up,” Sam told Mitchell. “Besides, it was going on night and those boys needed to be home helping their ma with the chores. Poor woman lost her husband at Missionary Ridge. Fighting on the wrong side, but sorrowful anyway.”

Mitchell hadn’t asked which side because the war was over. Sides didn’t matter now. Keeping the peace in his county, that was what mattered.

He was glad when Sam didn’t want the boys arrested, though a night in jail might have thrown a scare into them. But they were just kids, and there was their mother to consider. Not that she asked Mitchell to go easy on the boys. The boys would pay for the trouble they’d caused by helping Sam get up his winter wood. They might live hard for a while, but they’d be better for it. And their mother too, because in spite of his gruff exterior, Sam had a generous heart. He’d no doubt haul the wood the boys sawed and chopped over to their woodshed.

Mitchell would ride back out that way next week to make sure the boys took their punishment seriously. That night in the county jail could still be arranged.

The afternoon had been well spent, but it was spent. He couldn’t ride out to the Shaker village now. They wouldn’t welcome his questions so late in the day. He wasn’t sure he had any new questions to ask anyway. He could ride out to Carlyn’s place to look for Asher, but by the time he got there it would be night. Mrs. Snowden was right about the dog being nearly impossible to see in the dark. If the dog decided not to come to him, it would be a wasted trip.

He’d go by there in the morning on the way to the Shaker village. By then, he might have some new questions. By then, Asher might have come back to the boardinghouse for something to eat. Mitchell wasn’t looking forward to telling Carlyn he’d lost her dog. Plus, he still needed to talk to Curt Whitlow. That was where he might find some answers. Or at least, those new questions.

This time when he knocked on Whitlow’s door, his wife opened it. A wide-eyed little girl peeked out from behind her mother’s skirts and promptly stuck her thumb in her mouth.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I need to talk to Mr. Whitlow.”

“He’s not here.” Dark smudges under her eyes made it look as though she’d been missing sleep. Could be lots of reasons for that. A sick child. A wayward husband. She met his eyes straight on. “Junior told you that last night.”

“I thought maybe you’d heard from your husband today.” Mitchell kept his voice calm. “It’s important I talk to him.”

“Is it about that girl?”

“What girl?” Mitchell asked.

The child switched her big-eyed stare from Mitchell to her mother. Mrs. Whitlow gave a bare shake of her head at Mitchell, then bent down to kiss the little girl on her forehead. “It’s your bedtime, Thelma. Run upstairs and get into your nightie. I’ll be up to tuck you in bed in a few minutes.”

The little girl reluctantly let go of her mother’s skirt and started toward the stairs rising up behind Mrs. Whitlow in the hall. The woman watched her all the way to the top before she stepped out on the porch and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Children don’t always understand what they hear. That one’s still young enough to miss her father coming home at night, though heaven knows why. He’s not been here half the time since she was born.”

Mitchell wasn’t sure what to say. “She’s a pretty child. Is she the youngest?”

“She is. A good one to end on. A sweet-natured child. She must have took back after my mother. Certainly not Curt or me.” She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I know you didn’t come here to talk about my children. So why have you come?” She tilted her head and stared up at Mitchell.

Night was coming on, but he could still see her face. She was an attractive woman, a bit on the plump side but pretty enough that most people wondered why she’d ended up married to Curt, who was some years older than her. Gossip claimed her father had pushed her into the marriage. That he owed Curt money.

“I told you, ma’am. I need to talk to your husband about his whereabouts day before yesterday. Was he here at the house with you that day?”

“Why do you want to know?” She frowned, and then as though fearing that might line her face, she smoothed away the creases between her eyes.

“There’s been some trouble out at the Shaker village.”

“You mean the fire?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “That has nothing to do with Curt. He can’t stand those Shakers. Says they’re out to steal the whole county.” She shook her head a little and touched her lips with her fingertips. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. Curt’s always telling me I talk too much. But you can’t think Curt had anything to do with that fire. He wouldn’t do anything like that. Even if he was angry over that widow woman’s house.”

“What widow woman’s house?” Mitchell asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know.” She slid her hands down her skirt and looked away from Mitchell out into the yard. “Curt owns houses all over. That’s his business. My business is taking care of the house and children.”