The Innocent (38 page)

Carlyn’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the gun. “Dear God,” she whispered again. It seemed only right that her last words be a plea to the Lord.

He held the gun up so she could see it better. “Do you recognize it?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Yours, of course. The one you carried to Harmony Hill.”

He turned and took careful aim at Curt’s body. Carlyn squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears as the shot reverberated in the root cellar. When the sound died away, the silence seemed almost as deafening.

Carlyn pushed words out into the dead air. “Why did you do that?”

“It seemed wise. That way if they do find Mr. Whitlow’s grave and proceed to dig him up as I’m sure our good sheriff would demand be done, they will note the cause of death a gunshot to the chest. With your gun that you ineptly hid near his grave.” He sounded almost cheerful. “It will all add up then and everybody will know what happened. He accosted you again and you shot him. Very simple.”

“But no one will believe that.” She had to convince him that his plan was flawed. “Why would I bury him and not go for help?”

“Because you were afraid. It will all be plain, I assure you, especially when you are not there to point out such discrepancies in the evidence. People believe what they see.”

“Where will I be?” Carlyn could barely speak the words.

“That is up to Mother Ann, but a better place, I am certain.” He sounded as if he were talking about nothing more troubling than the traders not selling all their jars of applesauce.

“What if I won’t go?”

“But you will. Obedience to Mother Ann is necessary. Hands to work. Heart to God.”

“Yea, Sister Edna has often told me that. But she also told me a true Believer must make confession of all wrongs.”

“Yea, indeed. If there are wrongs, there is need for confession.”

“So you confess your sins.”

He inclined his head slightly. “I have always done so. It is required.”

“Then you will confess this.”

“This?” He sounded puzzled. “What is not wrong, what is done for the good of the Society, that must be done in secret and not for the praise of man. Mother Ann will reward me.”

Carlyn frantically tried to think of something, anything that might give the elder pause. “But she won’t reward you for being alone with a woman.”

“Your female attributes do not tempt me. I have long been comfortable carrying the cross of celibacy.” He waved the gun barrel toward her. “Now I must finish my duty. Turn around.”

“No.”

“You must do as I say.”

“No.” If she was going to die, she would not make it easy for him.

“I am not going to hurt you. Merely restrain you for a time while I remove Mr. Whitlow’s body from your presence. You do want me to do that, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Carlyn backed away from him. “You don’t have to restrain me. I won’t try to escape.”

He blew out a breath and set the gun down next to the door. “You do have a loose attachment to truth, Sister.” With single-minded purpose, he grabbed her arms.

She screamed and kicked, but he paid her blows no notice. He pushed her back against the wall and pinned her there while he efficiently wrapped a rope around her wrists and tied her to some kind of brace attached to the wall. She yanked on it when he backed away from her, but she couldn’t jerk free.

Elder Derron watched her for a moment. “That will only tighten the knots. If you stay calm, you may be able to loosen them with work.”

Carlyn stopped pulling on the rope.

“See, you can learn to listen to wisdom.” He smiled as though pleased. “Now, I must be about my work.”

He blew out the lantern before he opened the door. The moon pushed a ghostly light into the cellar. After he set the gun and shovel outside, he grabbed Curt’s arms. Carlyn closed her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out the sound of Curt’s body sliding across the dirt floor. The elder grunted with the effort of dragging the body.

“I could help you if you untie me.” She couldn’t just stand there and not try something.

The elder’s only answer was an odd sound that might have been a laugh. She opened her eyes then. The body was gone and the elder leaned against the doorframe to catch his breath. At last he straightened up and looked toward her. “Remember, Sister Carlyn. Engaged in thy duty, fear no danger. We both have our duties.”

“What is my duty?” Carlyn asked.

“To see what the darkness holds for you, of course. Perhaps Mother Ann will send you angels. I will pray such for you.” With that he turned away and closed the door.

The black clamped down on her like a suffocating blanket. She pulled in a shuddering breath. They would not look for her until sunrise. She wondered if she would be able to hear the rising bell here underground. Or if anyone would hear her if she screamed. It would be useless to scream now even though she felt a scream rising within her.

Pray instead.

“But I have been praying. Every day. And now I’m going to die here in this dark place.” Carlyn felt a surge of anger. “So my prayers have meant nothing.”

Pray anyway. Surrender your will
and pray with all your heart. Remember nothing can separate
you from the love of God.

She grabbed on to that thought. She was not alone. The Lord was there with her.
Yea though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death, thou art with me.
Life or death, he was there. Nothing, not angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature could keep her from the love of God. She let that promise Paul had recorded in Romans run through her mind.

“Dear Lord, help me,” she whispered. “I am afraid.”

Fear thou not, for
I am with thee.

Her heart began to slow its pounding. She was still afraid, but she could think past the panic grabbing her breath. She was not yet dead. Where there was breath, there was hope. She twisted her fingers and picked at the knots binding her wrists. At last, she loosened the rope enough to pull her hands free. She felt her way around the wall to the door where she beat and kicked against it to no avail. He had made sure she couldn’t open it.

Still, he had claimed to bring Curt water and food. Might he not do the same for her? She would listen for him and be ready to slip past him when he opened the door.

A sliver of moonlight came through a crack in the wood. Carlyn touched it. Somehow that tiny bit of light gave her hope. Even if the elder didn’t return, someone would find her. Mitchell would not give up looking until he knew what had happened. He was that kind of sheriff. That kind of man.

34

Mitchell couldn’t sleep. He shifted to one side and then the other until his sheets were in a tangle. With his every move, the bedsprings creaked and groaned until he expected Mrs. Snowden to bang on his door and tell him to be still. She didn’t put up with boarders disturbing her sleep or that of her other boarders.

Elder Derron’s words ordering him out of the village kept sounding in his head. He should have ignored the man. He should have gone back by the washhouse and kept his promise to Carlyn.

The elder couldn’t have stopped him. The road through the village was a public road. Mitchell could have ridden in whatever direction he chose. Besides, he had the right to go wherever needed to uphold the law. But the man wasn’t breaking the law. He was merely telling Mitchell to leave and not bother the members of the Shaker society.

Carlyn hadn’t acted as though Mitchell was bothering her. She seemed eager to talk to him, even if it had only
been about Asher. Mitchell didn’t care. Not as long as she talked to him. The dog was keeping the door open. But then the Shakers had slammed it shut. It wasn’t going to be easy finding a way to see her again, but he would. Somehow, he would.

He gave up on sleeping and walked as quietly as possible to the window. Not the least sign of dawn was showing in the eastern sky. Instead, moonlight traced shadows on the street below. As far as he could tell, he was the only person awake in the whole town. Tail up, a cat slinked out of the shadows on the hunt for mice.

Mitchell had the crawly feeling inside him that he needed to be on the hunt too. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what, but something wasn’t right. He’d had the same kind of nervous feeling on nights before battles. A feeling that he needed to be ready. Even when there was no way to be ready for the kinds of things that awaited a soldier in combat. Except perhaps to die. Mitchell had prayed on those nights. The only way he knew to be ready.

But the war was over now. No battles awaited him at sunrise. But something was wrong.

A cloud slid over the moon and darkened the street. Down below him in the common room, Mrs. Snowden’s clock counted out two strikes. The darkest hour of the night. He leaned his forehead against the window glass. Perhaps he should pray the way he had while he was staring up at the sky and waiting for the cannons to start firing at dawn. He knew what to pray then. For courage. For another day of life. To see Hilda again.

Funny how a man could fool himself about love. He hadn’t seen Hilda again. And even though his pride was injured, his
heart survived with little more than a bruise. Was he fooling himself again with the way he felt about Carlyn? Falling in love with a woman faithful to the union of marriage even in the absence of a husband.

Was it that very faithfulness that pulled him to her? Yet he wanted to take the man’s place in her heart. No, that wasn’t true. He wanted his own place. And whether he was a deluded idiot or not, he wanted Carlyn Kearney in his life. She was already in his heart, and this time if he was a loser in love, his heart was going to be more than bruised.

He breathed out a long sigh. His father used to tell him he liked doing everything the hard way. Now here he was, letting hope build up in his heart for the love of a woman who was not only married to a memory, but living with the Shakers where marriage was considered a sin. Maybe he should simply take a vow of celibacy himself. But he couldn’t quite give up that dream of a little house with children running out to greet him at the end of the day. His children.

He had time. He could wait. For Carlyn. She didn’t appear to be embracing the Shaker thinking. She had gone there for a roof over her head and food to eat. He could give her that, even if she didn’t want to share his roof or put her feet under his table.

The moon came out from behind the cloud and spilled its silvery light on the street below again. The cat appeared out of the shadows, its prey in its mouth.

He turned away from the window and lay back down, but it was useless to close his eyes. Something was wrong, and until he figured out what that was, sleep wasn’t going to be possible.

Like counting sheep, he went through the possible problems.

Curt Whitlow missing. The man was probably living it up in a nearby town.

Bank robbers. Nobody had tried to rob the bank since he’d been sheriff.

Florence. He was going to have to tell Mrs. Snowden to look elsewhere for a match for her niece.

Asher. Who had shot him and why?

Sister Edna. What did she know about the fire?

Elder Derron. What had made him so ready to chase Mitchell out of the Shaker town?

Carlyn.

He paused on her name. That’s where the real worry was poking him. Something was wrong. He sensed it. Was she running away in the middle of the night the way the other sister had? And where was that other sister now? Would she have answers for him? Not answers about the fire and Brother Henry’s death, but answers about Carlyn.

He wanted to get up again and pace around the room, but he made himself lie still. If he was awake to hear the clock strike again, he’d get dressed and sneak out of the house. Better to walk the streets than to lie there worrying about what he didn’t know.

The silence pounded against her ears. Carlyn listened with her whole being, but there was nothing. Not even the scurry of a mouse. At least she thought it too late in the season for snakes. Better not to think about snakes. Better not to think at all. Just to be ready.