Death of a Winter Shaker (17 page)

Wilhelm smiled. “It is too late.”

R
ELEASED FROM KITCHEN DUTY
, G
ENNIE BROKE INTO
a skipping run which carried her toward the Meetinghouse, her cloak bouncing around her. The chill of early morning had brightened into a crisp, sunny afternoon.

Gennie felt the sun without seeing it. She was almost sure that Grady would be at the worship service. She raced past the Sisters' Shop and the Infirmary, smiling to herself. She was so distracted by her daydreams that she had nearly reached the Meetinghouse when it struck her that she was passing more and more strangers. She slowed to a walk. It looked and sounded like market day in Languor, with people jostling each other for walking space, horses tied up to any post or bit of fence available. A few cars had pulled onto the lawn near the Meetinghouse, gouging ruts into the lush Kentucky bluegrass. Groups of ten or fifteen, some holding children on their shoulders, clustered around each window, jockeying for the best view.

A sudden prick of fear pushed Gennie through the crowd toward the west doorway, where two sisters tried to convince a group of loud men and women that they would not fit inside. People were packed so tightly in front of the door that Gennie could only stand on her tiptoes and wave at the nearest sister to get her
attention. When the sister turned toward her, Gennie recognized Josie, the infirmary nurse, her normally genial face tight with tension. “Look, it's one of them,” a male voice close to her said. The voice didn't sound friendly.

“She's just a slip of a girl,” said another voice, a woman this time. “Someone oughta take her away from these Shaker people; this ain't no place for a young'un.”

Gennie waved frantically and called Josie's name.

“Eugenie! Oh, child, come through quickly,” Josie shouted, her eyes wide with alarm. “Move aside now, let the girl through.”

Gennie recognized the clipped, firm voice that Josie used with recalcitrant patients who did not respond to gentleness. She had heard that even Elder Wilhelm took his tonic when Josie told him to. It worked here, too. A small crack appeared, through which Gennie could see Josie, small and round and determined, hands on plump hips, facing down a husky man more than a head taller.

“Young man,” Josie said, “stand aside this instant. A strapping man like you should be protecting the young ones from this crowd, not making such a fuss all for yourself. Now let the girl through.” He shrugged and moved aside. Josie's hand shot out to grab Gennie's and pull her quickly through the door.

“Well, then, that's that!” Josie said with a hint of her normal joviality. “The children's seats have all been grabbed up by those selfish . . . well, just run along and sit with the sisters. Were any more Believers behind you?”

“None that I saw.”

“We'll bolt the door, then. That it's come to this . . .”

Gennie made her way to the sisters' benches, choosing a seat near the back. Rows of benches lined both
ends of the large meeting room. Visitors filled every inch that wasn't reserved for Believers. They stood around and behind the benches, and even crammed into the deep blueberry-trimmed windowsills. Only the center was empty, the polished pine floor waiting for softly shod dancing feet.

A clear, strong tenor rose above the din and began singing “Simple Gifts,” a sweet tune that never failed to please visitors from the world. Many had heard it so often that they knew the words, though they did not understand the meaning.

By the end of the short song, the room was quiet. The brother began the tune again, and other Believers—and even some outsiders—joined in, so captivated by the melody that they could put aside fear and anger for the few moments it took to sing it.

The murmuring began again as the singer fell silent. Three of the sisters, including the one sitting next to Gennie, rose from their seats and moved to stand near the tenor, who had been joined by two more of the brethren to form a chorus.

Gennie glanced at the visitors on the women's side. Most were dressed in their Sunday finery, probably worn earlier to their own church services before they came to North Homage for some free entertainment.

She saw no red dress, but wedged between two plump matrons she found her roommate. Molly craned her neck as though searching for someone on the men's side. She reached up to the strings of her bonnet, gave a tug, and pulled it off. Crushing it under her arm, she slipped off the thin, white cap underneath, then yanked out the pins holding back her hair. Piles of thick, black hair slid to her shoulders. Face powder muted the darkness around her eye.

She's done it this time,
Gennie thought, and glanced automatically at the Ministry's observation window, built into the wall near the two-story-high ceiling. Molly was on her own now; Gennie couldn't protect her after such a public display of defiance.

“Will you dance with us, Gennie?”

“What?” Gennie dragged her gaze from Molly and tried to focus on the speaker. Sister Theresa half stood, her arm curved outward toward the dancing area in the center of the room.

If she saw the mixture of emotions in Gennie's eyes, she was too polite to say so. She only repeated, “Will you dance with us? We will guide you in the steps, if you don't yet know them.”

“Um, no, I think not,” Gennie fumbled. She swiveled her knees to one side to allow Theresa to pass.

The sister nodded and made her way to the end of the bench. She took her place in a long, straight line of sisters which stood facing a shorter line of brethren across from the center of the room. All wore brand-new, pure white worsted Sabbathday outfits, fashioned over the past weeks by the tailors and seamstresses from patterns used in the 1830s. This was Wilhelm's idea, of course. He wanted to display the Believers' simplicity and purity. But to Gennie they looked as if they were all dressed up like ghosts for Halloween.

Gennie sat alone on her bench, too aware of the
hostile hiss of voices around her. She searched the room for someone friendly and saw two elderly sisters, too frail to dance, sitting together in the front row. To reach them, she would have to walk up five rows, all under the gaze of dozens of outsiders. Her feet refused to budge.

The six-voice chorus, three men and three women, began to sing a cappella and in unison. The first song sounded more like dance instructions than worship.

Gennie knew the song well. Wilhelm had often used this march to teach Believers the square-order shuffle, one of the structured dances the Shakers developed soon after the early years of wild dancing worship.

“Might as well go to a square dance,” a woman said.

“Just you wait, it'll git better. I seen the service last week,” another, more knowing, voice answered.

After four repetitions, the song stopped. The line straightened and immediately the chorus began another brisk tune. This time the words were clearly Shaker.

“Here it comes,” said the knowing woman. “This is a better dance, you wait and see.”

“Huh,” the woman's companion answered. “Don't look like much to me.”

Gennie bristled. She forced herself not to turn and frown at the women. She thought the dancing was pretty, if not very exciting. As the song spoke of “reeling, turning, twisting,” the dancers made stylized, coordinated movements, bending from the waist in a way that seemed to represent reeling and twisting without actually doing it.

Each time the dancers bent, Gennie could see across to the men's side of the room, and to Grady. Now and then, he caught her eye, and once he gave her a careful half smile. But mostly his eyes darted around the room. She saw him look up at the Ministry's observation window, nod faintly, and move to the far corner of the room. She lost sight of him as the gentle dance quickened.

Rose frowned as Grady, on her signal, moved toward the edge of the room to keep an eye on Seth Pike. Seth stood off to the side, observing the dancers, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He had never before attended a worship service, and Rose didn't like it.

“I do enjoy seeing the dancing again,” Agatha said. She sat beside Rose at the observation window, high above the heads of the dancers. She leaned back in her rocking chair and pulled the lap rug tighter around her. “I haven't seen it so much since I was young. It makes me want to shake these old bones till the sins rattle out of them.” She laughed softly. “Though I suppose I shouldn't tell that to Wilhelm. This is just what he wants, all the Believers singing and dancing again, like we used to.”

Wilhelm wants more than singing and dancing,
Rose thought. She noticed that Wilhelm and old Brother Hugo filled out the contingent of male dancers. But the
sisters still outnumbered the brethren by at least two to one. What would they do if no new brethren joined the Society?

A few Believers were not dancing, Albert Preston, the carpenter, among them. He occupied a back bench on the edge of the men's side, near the door. Despite his strongly professed desire to become a Believer, he seemed uninterested in the dancing. His head moved constantly, as though the crowds fascinated him.

The chorus sang about bowing and bending like a willow, and the heads below Rose bowed and bent and twirled in lovely symmetry, like weaving on a winter loom. She was spellbound and for a moment wished that she, too, could dance with them.

The dancers' pace quickened. A few sisters twirled more and faster, their white skirts creating whorls in the moving fabric. Elsa's movements were more exaggerated than the others'. When the chorus sang of twisting, Elsa swiveled quickly from side to side. With each repetition of the song, she flung her body with more energy, so finally the sisters around her spread away to give her more room. Rose felt her stomach tighten.

“Agatha, can you see what is happening?” Rose asked.

Agatha opened her eyes and leaned forward to view the scene below. Rose peered over her shoulder. The third dance began. Once again the sisters prepared themselves, and the chorus burst into a spirited song.

Come dance and sing around the ring, live in love and union,
and the dancers flowed into two circles, an outside ring of women around a smaller, inner ring of men, neither sex touching the other.

Sing with life, live with life, sing with life and power, sing with life, live with . . .
The chorus stumbled to a halt. Inside the circle of dancers, Elsa bobbed up and down from the waist while she twirled feverishly, her skirt billowing out around her. Continuing to twirl, she
leaned backwards with eyes closed and arms spread wide. Her clear voice broke the silence with an unfamiliar song in a minor key and then in no key at all. The lyrics weren't even words, but loud, guttural, meaningless sounds. Radiance gave to Elsa's plain features a contour and beauty that only Rose could see fully as she stared at the spinning face from her perch above the room. Other Believers writhed and shook around her.

Elsa stopped twirling and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. Then she crumpled from the waist, and her body shuddered as if she had thrown herself into a pool of ice water.

The dancers, recovered from their confusion, followed her lead. One by one, both men and women began to quiver and bend, forming a chaotic ring around Elsa. A sister, then several brethren, collapsed on the floor and writhed as if in agonizing pain.

In the midst of them, Elsa pulled herself upright again and stiffened her arms against her sides. She began to hop, her sturdy legs like coiled springs, thrusting her high off the floor.

“Wilhelm is responsible for this,” Rose said somberly. “He warned us, remember? He has taken control of Elsa. We haven't done this kind of dancing worship for at least a hundred years, have we, Agatha? I've never seen it.”

“Not since before I was born,” Agatha said, very softly. “Oh, how I do wish it were real.”

“This is part of Wilhelm's plan to take us backward in time, to make us strong again,
his
way,” Rose said, anger tightening her jaw. “He has twisted Elsa into his image of the perfect Believer. He is using her to show the world how special we are. He believes they will beat down our doors to join us, if they just understand.”

“They may indeed beat down our doors,” said Agatha.

Rose turned quickly at the shakiness in Agatha's
voice. The eldress had shrunk back under her rug. One hand rested on the chair arm, its tremor noticeable.

“I should have let you rest after that lunch,” Rose said. She reached over to touch Agatha's arm. “Don't be concerned, my friend,” she said with gentleness. “That young deputy, Grady O'Neal, is down there, I've seen him. He'll see that nothing happens.”