Dancing Dead (6 page)

Five

L
IKE ALL OTHER DAYS
, S
ATURDAY WAS A BUSY ONE FOR
the Shakers of North Homage. Normally they would give themselves an extra half hour of sleep on Saturday morning, but planting season had begun. The ground was warm enough to till, the air was sweet with apple blossoms, and the brethren were hard at work outdoors. Rose, however, was unlucky enough to be shut indoors with Elder Wilhelm Lundel. Gennie had reported all she'd seen and heard the previous night on her ghost-hunting adventure, and Rose had felt compelled to relate the information to Wilhelm. She and Wilhelm shared responsibility for the spiritual guidance and care of the North Homage Believers, but often Wilhelm had difficulty remembering he was not sole leader of the community. This was one of those mornings.

“Wilhelm,” Rose said, “it is not Andrew's fault that this odd specter has seen fit to inhabit our buildings.” She arranged another set of books on the shelves that their carpenter, Brother Archibald, had refinished for the library's new location in the Center Family Dwelling House's smallest meeting room.

“Then it is
thy
fault, for encouraging Andrew to open that . . . that place.” Wilhelm, for once, was helping Rose with the move. She suspected it was only because he wanted the room arranged his way, not hers. Why he should care, she didn't know. Wilhelm had established his beliefs long ago and saw no reason to deepen them with spiritual study. He preferred working outdoors.

“It's only a hostel, Wilhelm, not a den of evil.”

“It is something of the world, right within our village. It brings an evil influence, which has called up this creature from Hell.”

“You don't think it possible that this manifestation might be a long-dead Believer who has returned to tell us something?”

“Nay, I most certainly do not. She would have spoken by now. She would be watching over us, not performing for the world.”

Rose had to admit he was probably right. “Wilhelm, do you remember hearing any stories about a young Shaker sister who died here under strange circumstances a hundred years ago? Did Obadiah ever mention anything like that happening?”

Wilhelm snorted derisively. “Obadiah was far too busy as elder to worry about such foolishness.” He flicked a bit of dust from a copy of
Mother Ann's Testimonies
and placed it gently on a shelf. “As am I.” He scooped his broad-brimmed work hat from a wall peg and faced Rose. “Sister, I leave it in thy hands to rid us of this intruder. If she is not gone soon, we will be forced to close that hostel.”

“Wilhelm, that's—”

“I haven't time to argue, and we haven't time to waste. We have people of the world wandering around the village day and night, and who knows what fresh evil they will bring with them. All this nonsense only creates spiritual confusion for our Children, for whom we are responsible, are we not?”

Rose could think of nothing to say. Wilhelm had turned her own argument against her, the very words she had used to convince him to move with her to the dwelling house.

“Good,” Wilhelm said, as he strode toward the door, “then we understand one another.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “One other issue. That child, Mairin—I hear she has been roaming the village at night, disobeying her elders.”

“Mairin is my responsibility,” Rose said.

“Precisely,” Wilhelm said, turning to face her. “And she is a bad example to the other children. If she cannot be controlled, we will have to send her away. We will send her to an orphanage—one of those orphanages that operate farms. She obviously does not appreciate all that we provide for her, asking only light work and study in return. Working on a farm might teach her gratitude.”

“Nay, we will not send Mairin anywhere.” Rose drew in her breath and prayed for calm. Her prayer was answered in the form of a sudden inspiration. “You yourself know that Mairin has shown spiritual promise. Don't forget her gift drawings.”

Wilhelm's face tightened, and Rose knew she'd won a point. Though Mairin had drawn nothing lately, she had in the past used crayons to translate elaborate images from her dreams. They had impressed Wilhelm, at least for a while.

“It seems the spirits have abandoned her, however,” he said. “Perhaps they don't find her a worthy instrument.”

“Perhaps she is again serving as an instrument, and we just aren't listening. The child is drawn to this apparition. Maybe it will speak only through her.”

Wilhelm thrust out a stubborn chin but said nothing, which told Rose that she had earned some time. The period in Shaker history to which Wilhelm most wished to return was the Era of Manifestations, or the years of Mother Ann's Work, beginning in the 1830s. Then, the gifts of the spirit—the dances and songs and drawings, the trances, the speaking in tongues—had first been sent through young girls. Rose was torn. She believed in the presence of spirits, but she couldn't help feeling that they were inclined to communicate more quietly nowadays.

But who knows, perhaps Mairin truly is an instrument
.

Maybe Holy Mother Wisdom, in her compassion, had chosen to speak through a troubled child. Anything was possible.

“Mairin may indeed show herself to be an instrument,” Wilhelm said, turning back to the door, “and perhaps she will not. We cannot afford to wait much longer to find out. See that she reveals herself soon.”

 

After Wilhelm's warning, Rose gathered up Mairin and the two of them made straight for Agatha's retiring room. When they heard the quiet command to enter, it was Mairin who pushed first through the door. Without waiting to be prompted, she dragged a small chair from the desk over to the rocker where Agatha sat. Mairin settled her small body against the wooden back slats and gazed at Agatha with intensity.

“Are you sick?” she asked.

“Nay, child, I am recovered from my chill. How kind of you to ask.”

Mairin said nothing, just continued to stare as if assessing Agatha's strength for herself. Rose quietly lifted a ladder-back chair from its pegs and sat some distance from the two.

“Are you mad at me, like everybody else?” Mairin asked. Her voice was matter-of-fact, without hint of a childlike whine.

Agatha leaned forward and touched Mairin's arm. Her thin hand was pallid against the girl's warm, fawn-brown skin.

“I was frightened,” Agatha said, “like everyone else.”

Mairin's gaze darted over to Rose, then dropped to her lap. “Gennie said I was scaring people.” She raised her impassive face to Agatha. “I'm sorry,” she said. She did not promise never again to put everyone in such a state, and neither Rose nor Agatha demanded she do so.

“My poor memory has grown old,” Agatha said. “Tell me again, Mairin, when is your birthday?”

For once, Mairin looked startled. “I don't know,” she said. “Nobody told me for sure, just that it was in the spring sometime.”

“Rose? Have you any information?” Agatha asked.

“Nay, I haven't. We tried to hunt down Mairin's birth certificate in Indianapolis, but we could find nothing.”

“Well, then,” Agatha said, “what is to stop us from creating a birthday? Today is April 23, isn't it? And it is Saturday. Tomorrow is the Sabbath. How about April 25 for your birthday, Mairin? We always celebrate each child's birthday, you know. The Kitchen sisters can bake you a cake—I'm sure Sister Gertrude would be delighted to do it herself—and right after school Sister Charlotte will gather all the children together for a party. Would you like that, Mairin?”

Mairin nodded with more vigor than usual. “Would you and Rose come, too?”

Rose opened her mouth to remind Mairin of Agatha's frailty, but the former eldress held up a shaky yet authoritative hand. “Rose will be there, of course, and I will come if I am able,” she said. “Now, you run along back to the Children's Dwelling House. I know Sister Charlotte has special Saturday lessons planned, and you don't want to fall behind. Besides, Rose and I have some things to discuss.”

Mairin slid off her chair and stood awkwardly before Agatha's rocker. “Thank you, Sister.” She reached out her hand and touched Agatha's with the tips of her fingers, then pulled back quickly. Another child would have jumped up and down with glee, but Mairin's body tightened, as if she wanted to keep her excitement from escaping. She closed her eyes and hugged herself. She stood that way for so long that Rose became alarmed.

“Mairin, are you all right?” she asked.

Mairin opened her eyes. “Yea. I was just telling Mother Ann that my birthday will be perfect if she'll let my angel come, too.” In the time it took Rose and Agatha to digest her words, Mairin had scampered from the room.

“Her angel?” Rose scooted her chair close to Agatha's. “Could she mean this apparition she's been following about?”

Agatha frowned, her cloudy eyes focused inward. “We must watch the child carefully,” she said.

“Do you believe she is in danger?”

“I believe she has gifts,” Agatha said. “Extraordinary gifts. But she is too young and inexperienced to know how to follow them properly, to listen to them. I'm afraid she might misunderstand and put herself in danger.”

“But if they are gifts of the spirit, how can they lead her astray?”

“I'm not worried about the gifts that are part of her,” Agatha said. “I'm worried about the part of her that is human.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against a thin blanket folded over the back of her rocker.

“You're exhausted,” Rose said. She worried constantly about Agatha's health and felt guilty each time she asked her elderly friend to help her solve a dilemma. Agatha, Rose knew, would be content to move on to the next stop on her spiritual journey, but Rose had no desire to hasten the process. “I'll keep a close watch over Mairin,” she said. “You needn't worry.”

Agatha's blue-veined eyelids shot open. “Mairin came to us starving and unloved,” she said with renewed force. “We fed her and we've loved her, yet in some way she hungers still.
That
is why I fear for her.” Agatha released a long sigh and seemed to shrink in her chair. Rose leaned over her and lightly kissed the smooth skin of her forehead.

“I think I understand,” Rose said. “Now you rest. I'll keep you informed.” She closed the retiring room door behind her. She wasn't certain she really did understand what Agatha had tried to tell her, but she knew enough to listen to the message. If she didn't keep a close eye on Mairin, something even worse than an orphanage might be in the child's future.

 

Rose made a quick telephone call to Sister Charlotte, who assured her that Mairin had returned to the Children's Dwelling House and that she and Nora would watch her carefully. She then visited Sister Gertrude in the kitchen to request a birthday cake for Monday and perhaps some homemade ice cream.

“I know just what I'll bake,” Gertrude said. “We have just enough of last fall's crop to make a lovely dried apple cake. The young'uns love that one.” Gertrude's large, bony hands splashed in a deep sink full of hot, soapy water as she washed up the dishes from the noon meal. Rose found a clean linen towel and began to dry. She'd been lax lately about helping the sisters with their work. Physical labor was important for her humility, and to be honest, she loved working alongside the sisters.

“Oh, no need to do that, Rose,” Gertrude said, waving a dripping hand toward the clean dishes. “Unless you want to, of course. I mean, you've got your hands full with that hostel, don't you?” Gertrude clearly hoped for a serving of gossip.

“Andrew handles most of that,” Rose said. She gave a final wipe to a shiny copper-bottomed pan and hung it on a peg next to its comrades.

“Oh, of course it's Brother Andrew's project, I know, but what with this latest excitement and all, I reckon you're up to your ears keeping everyone calm over there.”

“Calm?”

“Well, a ghost, after all. Even if those folks are from the world, they can't be used to sharing a house with a ghost.”

Rose reached for another pan. “I wasn't aware that this apparition had been seen in the hostel, let alone that it lived there,” she said.

“Yea, it most certainly has been seen there.” In her excitement, Gertrude scrubbed a little too vigorously, and the pan she was holding slipped out of her hands, sloshing foamy water on her apron as it hit the sink. Gertrude scooped up the pan and renewed her scrubbing. “Why, I had it straight from the housekeeper, Mrs. Berg. She's a bit of a gossip, you know.”

“Nay, I didn't know.” Rose tried mightily not to smile. Amusement would surely hurt Gertrude's feelings—and it might stem the flow of information.

“Oh goodness, she does go on. But this time she saw it herself—the ghost, I mean—wandering the halls of the hostel.”

“When was this?”

“Well, it was just this morning I spoke with her—she came to talk over my new recipes. I reckon she felt like having a chat. I thought that dill potato soup was right tasty, didn't you? Anyway, she said she'd been up and about the night before. Couldn't sleep, she said. Thought she'd warm up a cup of milk. Goodness, I better remember to drop her by some extra milk tomorrow.

“Anyway, she went down the back stairs to the kitchen, and she swore she saw a shade in a Dorothy cloak—she didn't know it was a Dorothy cloak, of course, just thought it was an old-fashioned cloak, but I knew what she was describing when she said it was real long and had a short cape over the shoulders. Where was I?” Gertrude stopped scrubbing and stared at the dirty bubbles in front of her.

“Mrs. Berg saw the ghost.”

“Yea,” Gertrude said, nodding vigorously. “It was in the kitchen, she said, or at least it was just leaving. She said it glided through the door without opening it and disappeared.”