Killing Gifts (3 page)

Wilhelm shrugged his massive shoulders. “We both know full well what has been happening to our Society. We grow weaker as we lose strong, young brethren. At North Homage, we at least have a community that is still productive, but in the East, the Society is mostly women these days. Women leading women. What place is there for brothers anymore? Why live as a Believer if thy life is to be governed by women?” For once, Wilhelm's wind-roughened face showed sadness, rather than anger and scorn. “Moreover,” he added, “the theology left us by Mother Ann gave men and women equal footing; it did not place women above men.”

For a moment, Rose was silenced. For her, the fading number of brethren in the Society had meant more difficulties for everyday life, but she had not thought about how it must feel to be one of those brethren. She found herself feeling a touch of sympathy for Wilhelm, and it surprised her. Then he gave her a faint smile, an expression Rose had come to dread.

“It doesn't surprise me that Hancock is scurrying for help; they have no elder to take control and deal effectively with the world. I suppose the best poor Fannie could think of was to send for thee.” He pushed past Rose, and she decided to let him have the last word.

“By the way,” Wilhelm said, behind her. “I sent thy portion of the evening meal back with Lydia for distribution to the poor, since thy schedule does not permit thee to appear at serving time.”

With a heavy heart and an empty stomach, Rose walked through the Ministry dining room, past her untouched white place setting, and opened the door to the small kitchen. Lydia had gone already and taken the remains of the meal with her. Wilhelm's few dishes and utensils had been washed and left to drain dry. Rose opened the door of the small refrigerator and found it empty. In the pantry she found a small crust of brown bread, wrapped in a cloth, and an opened jar of raspberry jam. It would have to do. She carried her meager meal into the dining room and sat at her place. She was glad at least to be alone with her thoughts.

The winter sun had nearly set, and the darkening dining room windows seemed to chill the cozy room. Rose savored the chewy bread with its sweet topping, but it wasn't enough to lighten her sense of dread. Wilhelm had been right about the serious decline of men in the few remaining Shaker villages. She thought about Hancock. She had visited briefly, and she remembered that it had dwindled to mostly sisters. According to Fannie, in the past few months, the village had been blessed with the arrival of a goodly number of novitiates, potential Believers. Several of these hopefuls were men, and one of them was now suspected of murder. Rose knew that Believers would never, ever condone killing, even if it was sanctified by war. They would never knowingly hide a killer. Still, would it not be deeply important to Hancock that these men remain free to sign the Covenant?

Rose had the full support, the fervent pleas, of the eldress of the Hancock Society. What if Rose was unable to prove the suspected novitiate innocent of the crime? What if she had to be the one to turn him over to the police? Yet Rose could not quell her most chilling fear—that if she did not lend her aid, a murderer might be free to destroy life once again.

THREE

T
HE LOW-HANGING SUN BRIEFLY ESCAPED THE CLOUDS AND
bronzed the winter countryside as Grady O'Neal's brown Buick followed a rutted back road that led out of North Homage and north to Cincinnati. A weary Rose sat in the backseat, throwing her arms across the luggage each time the car bounced over a hole or veered to avoid a rock. Gennie sat in the front seat, gazing with simmering excitement at the countryside as if she'd never seen it before. She was too thrilled even to chatter, for which Rose was grateful.

Grady simmered with something darker—worry, perhaps. “I made a call last night to Pittsfield,” he said, raising his voice so Rose could hear him over the noise of the motor. Rose noticed the tight cords in the back of his young neck and his quick sideways glance at Gennie.

“Why?” asked Gennie.

“You said you didn't know anyone in Pittsfield,” Rose said at the same time. Both their voices snapped with suspicion.

“Well, I couldn't let you two go out there and walk into who-knows-what without trying to make sure you'd be safe. I figured you'd both be angry, but that's—well, that's just the way I am.”

“Interfering?” Gennie asked.

Grady's shoulders twitched and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

Rose held her breath, waiting for an argument to begin. She hoped Grady would keep his attention on the road. Gennie and Grady were young, in love, and had grown up only miles from each other, yet they came from such different backgrounds. Orphaned at ten years old, Gennie had been raised and educated by the Shakers. She had been taught and shown that men and women were equal in God's eyes and, therefore, she would expect Grady to treat her as a partner. Grady had grown up in the world. The only son in a wealthy, tobacco-farming family, he'd attended college, served as deputy and now as sheriff, and he was used to having influence.

When Rose saw them together, it reminded her of trying to blend cold butter into milk; no matter how much she chased and mashed those little bits of butter, they remained separate unless she heated the mixture. Grady and Gennie's love for each other, when it prevailed, smoothed their differences. The rest of the time, they couldn't agree on much of anything.

Rose was tempted to indulge once again in her “Sister Gennie” reverie, but Grady surprised her. After a few moments of tense silence, he flexed his shoulders and spoke in a low voice. Without a thought that his words might not be meant for her hearing, Rose leaned forward.

“Gen,” he said, “I know you think I'm bossy, and maybe I am, a bit, but it's because I'm worried. I just want to protect you.”

“I'll be with Rose.”

“I know, and I know you've both handled danger before. Maybe that's what worries me. You encourage each other.”

“We both want the truth, Grady. It's what Rose taught me. Agatha, too. Your people brought you up to protect folks who are weaker or poorer than you, so you became a sheriff. The Shakers taught me to be honest and to abhor the killing of one human being by another.” Gennie's voice brightened. “So you see, we want the same thing, both of us. I worry about you, too, but I don't ask you to stop being a sheriff because it's dangerous, do I?”

“No, but—”

“So I deserve the same consideration from you.” Gennie gave a quick nod of satisfaction, as if she'd just deciphered an obscure coded message. She turned back to the car window. The road had smoothed as they neared Cincinnati, though signs of desperate poverty dotted the landscape. Tattered shacks clustered at the base of rolling hills, stark brown with winter. Come spring, not far off, a near-tropical lushness would blanket the hills and disguise some of the destitution.

Grady's silence gave Rose a chance to break in with the questions she'd been burning to ask. “Who did you call in Pittsfield, Grady? The police, I assume?”

“Yeah, I got the chief's name and just called him at home. At first he was pretty sore that you all were butting—”

Gennie's head whipped toward him.

“Sorry, I mean that you'd be investigating, too. But I think I convinced him you could be useful. I told him a bit about how you'd helped the Languor Sheriff's Office in the past, and especially how much understanding you can add about the Shakers and how they think.”

“So you indicated we would be his eyes and ears in Hancock?” Rose asked.

“Well, more or less.”

Rose sat back to think through the implications of the role in which Grady had placed them. It would be best not to advertise any connection with the police if she hoped to gain the trust of the folks she'd be questioning, most of whom were strangers to her.

“His name's O'Malley, and he seemed like a reasonable guy,” Grady said with a nervous jerk of his head toward the backseat. “I don't think he'll deliberately make things difficult for you. He even shared some information with me.”

“What?” Rose wasn't hopeful that she'd learn anything Eldress Fannie hadn't told her already.

“They have a suspect,” Grady said.

“The young novitiate?”

“Yeah, Sewell Yates was his name. I've got some notes I'll give you at the terminal. Seems he was pretty friendly with the victim before he decided to become a Shaker, and some folks in Pittsfield suspect they never really broke it off.”

Old information
, Rose thought. “They have no real evidence, though, do they?”

“Not much. Everybody they've interviewed at Hancock says the suspect was still overfriendly with the girls, despite wanting to become a Shaker and all. More than one witness saw him flirting with a couple of the hired girls, including the victim.”

“That's hardly evidence,” Gennie said. She'd learned a lot about such things since meeting Grady. “Flirting with someone doesn't mean you're getting ready to kill her. Maybe this Sewell is just a Winter Shaker and only
says
he wants to sign the Covenant. I'm surprised the eldress hasn't tossed him out by now.”

Grady didn't answer as he swerved to avoid a skinny jackrabbit that leaped out of a culvert, right in front of the Buick.

“Grady,” Rose said when she'd straightened up again, “did Chief O'Malley have anything to say about the murder itself? About the place where the body was found or the girl's clothing? Fannie said she was dressed for a summer dance.”

Grady swerved again to avoid something Rose couldn't see, and it was several moments before he spoke. “Yeah, he did mention something about that,” he said slowly. “He's got a theory. He thinks the strangling was done somewhere else, maybe in the suspect's bedroom, which was in the Shaker dwelling house next door. Then O'Malley thinks the killer carried the body out to the Summerhouse and left her there like that's where it happened.”

“But why?” Rose asked.

“Well, his idea is that the killer wanted to confuse folks about the actual time of death by chilling the body. Maybe he wanted to establish an alibi or just make it tough for anyone else to establish one.”

Could there possibly be a Shaker, or even a novitiate, so calculating as that?
Rose sat back against the leather seats and pulled her long, wool cloak tightly around her.

 

The Cincinnati Union Terminal did not seem to awe Rose, but then she'd seen it before. Gennie, on the other hand, had been only once to Cincinnati, as a young girl, before her parents had died. It had been Christmastime, a few years before the stock market crash, and they'd gone to Cincinnati to see the glorious decorations and to shop. Gennie's years with the Shakers had certainly been happy and safe, but she yearned for some of that long-ago excitement. Union Terminal brought it back to her.

Gennie linked her arm through Grady's and flashed him a smile. “Do we have time to look around, even a little?”

Grady grinned and squeezed her arm. “I thought you might want to, so I brought us here half an hour ahead of schedule.”

“You two explore to your heart's content,” Rose said. “I'm going to splash some water on my face. I'll meet you at the ticket booth.”

Gennie suspected Rose was giving them time to say good-bye and perhaps to settle their tiff before separating for who knew how long. She smiled her thanks to Rose, who picked up her small satchel and disappeared into the crowd. Gennie felt a brief pang of loneliness, then shrugged it off. She released Grady's arm and twirled slowly to take in the huge terminal. Tilting her head upward, she gazed at the high domed ceiling. The loneliness hit again as her own movements reminded her of the Shaker dancing worship, in slow motion.

This
will
never
do
, Gennie told herself sternly. With the Shakers, she had always felt loved, but an outsider all the same. She swept off her hat and shook out her curls, bringing herself back to the world, where she belonged. She turned to Grady, who watched her with warmth in his deep brown eyes. A lock of his hair, straight and brown and difficult, had fallen across his forehead, as it always did. Gennie reached up and smoothed it back in place. As soon as she removed her hand, it fell forward again, and they both laughed.

In an instant, Grady grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. He kissed her on the tip of her nose, triggering another giggle, which he silenced with a kiss full on her mouth, right there in the Cincinnati Union Terminal, while scads of people brushed past them in all directions. Finally he loosened his embrace and held her at arm's length, smiling into her eyes. She had never felt so happy, not even with Rose and Agatha and all the other sisters.

Gennie gazed back at him, wishing to extend the moment, but something distracted her—something behind Grady but still within her field of vision. Movement swirled around them, travelers with places to go and little time to get there. Besides herself and Grady, only one other figure stood still. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a double-breasted navy-blue suit lounged against a post, smoking a cigarette. His blue hat was tilted so that the black ribbon band appeared where his left eye would have been. The right eye, however, looked directly at her.

She shivered and rubbed her upper arms. The man must have realized she'd caught him staring, and he shifted his gaze to the surrounding crowd. He dropped his half-smoked cigarette on the floor, stubbed it out with his heel, and strolled away.

“Anything wrong, Gen? Are you cold?” Grady slipped out of his wool overcoat and put it over her shoulders. She didn't protest. It was easier to acquiesce to a sudden chill than to admit that a rude stranger had spooked her for a moment. If Grady knew, he'd try again to keep her from leaving with Rose, and that was the last thing Gennie wanted to risk. She just hadn't traveled much, that was all. She'd gone from the gentle Shaker life to Languor, which might be the county seat, but was little more than a small town. She worked in a florist's shop with Grady's sister, lived in a boardinghouse for young women, and spent her off hours with Grady and his people. Gennie straightened her shoulders and lifted her small chin. She needed this trip, and nothing would stop her from taking it.

“I'm fine now,” she said, handing Grady his overcoat. “Come on, let's look around. Isn't this the most beautiful place?”

“It's almost time to meet Rose,” Grady said, without enthusiasm. “Let me just pick up a
Cincinnati Enquirer
, since we're here.” They'd paused near a kiosk that sold newspapers, magazines, cigars, and cigarettes. “Pick a couple of magazines, Gen. It's a long train ride.”

Though she thought she'd be perfectly happy watching the countryside breeze by, Gennie picked up the latest editions of the
Ladies Home Journal
and
The American Home
. Might as well find out what she could look forward to as a married woman. Since the age of ten until just over a year ago, she had been living in a community where men and women slept, ate, and worked separately, joining one another only for worship—and for Union Meetings, where they could chat while sitting several feet across from each other. She'd missed the training most girls got growing up in a worldly home. Sometimes, when she was talking with her new girlfriends, she felt about twelve years old. Other times she felt much older than she was.

Gennie stowed her purchases in her satchel as Grady paid the wizened old man sitting on a stool inside the kiosk. While she waited, she opened another magazine at random to an ad showing a woman in a figure-hugging dress with slightly puffed sleeves. The model lounged in a chair, smoking a Camel. A few pages later, several brides in close-fitting satin wedding gowns admired an ornate set of sterling silver dinnerware. This was too much for Gennie. The Shakers had taught her the value of simplicity, and the picture seemed cruel in times like these, when so many had so little. She flipped the magazine shut. As she returned it to its display shelf, a man hurried up to the kiosk and bumped Grady's shoulder in his haste. Grady dropped his change, and both men bent down to retrieve it. Their backs were to Gennie.

The man leaned toward Grady and mumbled something that must have been an apology, because Grady smiled, and said, “No harm down. Don't give it a thought.” Gennie felt a rush of warmth. Grady was such a gentleman, so polite, even to clumsy strangers. The man nodded once and turned to go on his way. Gennie's chest tightened as she saw his face. He was the same man who'd had a leisurely smoke and watched Grady and her embrace.

Now was the time to tell Grady her fears, but still she resisted. All sorts of people lived in the world, and some of them were men with less than honorable intentions. This man might be one such. Perhaps he had listened to their conversation and knew that Grady would not accompany her on her journey. He might not know about Rose's existence. What if he had selected Gennie for some evil purpose of his own? Would she be worldly enough to handle him?
Well, I'll just have to be, that's all. I'm going on this trip, and that's that!
She decided not to mention the incidents to Rose, either. No point in causing her worry.