Killing Gifts (13 page)

As for Johnny, Gennie had described him with cold clarity. Johnny seemed uninterested in women, even disdainful of them, but Rose knew better than to believe she knew his heart. He could be playing a part, or he might be trying to keep his distance from the temptation of women. Others had agreed that Johnny wanted to be important. This horrible Depression severely limited the opportunities available to men who wanted power and wealth. The Shakers might seem like the answer to a prayer for a man like Johnny—so few men to fill leadership positions, and still comparatively large land holdings. If he had fallen into the flesh, particularly if he had done so after becoming a novitiate, he might want to eliminate the evidence.

Rose rubbed her tired eyes. Morning would come all too soon. It would still be dark and cold when the wake-up bell rang, and she would have had far too little sleep. She thought longingly of North Homage, and of dear Sisters Josie and Agatha. Josie always seemed to appear with a revivifying tea when Rose had spent half the night puzzling out a problem. Agatha, Rose's dear friend and mentor, would listen with wisdom until the problem seemed to solve itself. She wanted to go home. She shoved the paper and pen back in the desk drawer and slid into her bed. This time she fell into instant and dreamless sleep, her mind blissfully emptied of all the information that had kept her awake.

THIRTEEN

W
HEN THE MORNING WAKE-UP BELL RANG
, R
OSE LAY FOR
several minutes in groggy confusion. She had slept as if drugged by a pot of valerian tea. In the early morning darkness, her room looked familiar, yet wrong somehow. Slowly, she dredged up the memory of her train ride, her arrival in Hancock Village, and, finally, Honora Stearn's startling disruption of the previous evening's worship service.

She switched on her bedside lamp, tossed off her covers, and swung her legs over the side of her bed. As soon as her bare feet touched the cold floor, she whimpered and yanked them back up and under her nightdress. Kentucky could be damp and cold in the wintertime, but Massachusetts was unlike anything she had experienced—or ever wanted to again.

Time was passing. Holding her breath, Rose slid her feet to the floor and ran across the room to where her clothes hung from wall pegs. Her dress and shoes from the previous evening were still damp. Though normally she would wear her work clothes until they were ready to be sent to the laundry, she couldn't bear the thought of clammy fabric touching her skin. Ignoring her guilt, she selected her second work dress, a dark blue wool, of the same loose design as the other. She pulled it over her shivering body, then quickly swung a large white kerchief across her back and shoulders, like a shawl, and crossed it over her chest. She tied an apron loosely around her waist and tucked the ends of the kerchief inside the apron's waistband. With each additional layer, her shivering eased. She pictured the dead girl, Julia Masters, wearing a sleeveless summer gown on a freezing evening. How could the girl have stood it? Were Easterners made of sterner stuff, or was the girl driven by something powerful enough to make the cold endurable?

Rose rushed through the rest of her morning preparations, purposely slowing down when it came to her prayers. With no chores to perform, she arrived outside the dining room well before the rest of the village. She sat in a rocking chair and pulled from her apron pocket the sheet of notes she had written the night before, intending to use her free minutes to formulate a plan for her day.

Someone shouted in the distance. The sound was unexpected at such an early hour—or at any hour in a quiet Shaker village. Rose stuffed her notes back into her apron pocket and ventured into the hallway to investigate. No one was about.

A second shout sounded as if it had come from outside. Rose opened the women's front door. A blast of wind and snow hit her in the face and dampened the wood floor. It was snowing thickly, and Rose could see only partway down the path. A man appeared through the white curtain, running toward the Brick Dwelling House. He slipped on the snow and fell on one knee. Without any sign of pain, he struggled back up and continued toward the building. As he drew closer, Rose recognized Theodore Geist, Dulcie's fiancé. He was carrying a bucket, which he held out in front of him as if it contained something important.

“Where's the eldress?” he panted, as he reached the door. “Gotta talk to her right away.”

“I'm the only one who has arrived for breakfast so far,” Rose said, “but I'll find her. What's wrong?”

“No time. Get Fannie.”

“You can afford a few seconds to tell me what's wrong,” Rose said.

Theodore scowled, but she stood her ground. “Look at this bucket,” he said, finally. “Look at it.” He held it close to her face. A few inches of liquid splashed around as the bucket swung under her nose. She saw nothing alarming.

“What am I supposed to see?” she asked.

“Well,
look
at it. Look at the inside and around the rim. Can't you see?”

Rose peered inside the bucket. In a wavy line, which followed the edge of the sloshing water, was a coating of some powdery substance. It also covered the rim of the bucket, though the falling snow had washed it off in spots. She leaned closer to sniff the powder, but Theodore yanked the bucket away from her.

“Don't do that,” he said. “It's poison.”

“How do you know?”

“It's all over the water buckets in the barn, the feed buckets, too. I didn't notice it at first, so I used one of them to get some feed for the cows. I fed the first one, and she sniffed it and backed away. Cows are smarter than humans sometimes. She knew.”

“What is it?”

Theodore shrugged. “Rat poison would be my guess. We've had problems in the barn, and the cats weren't doing the job, so we got something from town to take care of it.”

Rose stifled her first impulse, which was to ask whether they'd thought about how many innocent cats they might have poisoned, along with the rats.

“Where are the other tainted buckets?”

“I put them all in an empty stall, with a note warning the other men not to use them to feed the animals.”

They turned at the sound of footsteps in the hall.

“Goodness, you two are early for breakfast.” Fannie's smile turned to puzzlement as she saw the bucket in Theodore's hand.

“Oh dear, it's just like the old days,” she said, when he had explained the situation to her. “We've gotten along so well with the world for so many years. Why should this be happening again?”

“This has happened before?” Rose asked, horrified. North Homage's neighbors had been unfriendly almost to the point of violence on occasion, but they had never resorted to mass poisoning.

“Well, it has been quite a long time,” Fannie said. “At least a century, as I recall. I remember reading about it in Elder Amaziah's journal—someone had put arsenic in the buckets and on the water pump. He couldn't say who'd done such a thing, just that he assumed it was a few of the village's neighbors, angry over something or other.” Fannie's small frame began to shiver, and Rose led her to a chair. “I thought those days were far behind us,” Fannie said. “And now this, so close to Mother Ann's Birthday.”

“We'll get to the bottom of this,” Rose promised. “Are you all right? I feel I must act quickly, but I don't want to leave you alone, if you are unwell.”

“Run along, Rose. This is far more important than my shakes.” She shooed Rose with her hand.

A group of sisters was descending the stairs, and Rose wanted to avoid hysteria. She turned to Theodore.

“We'll delay breakfast,” she said, “until we are certain it is safe. I want you to make sure everyone understands that the pails mustn't be used. Then check all water sources and the food stores for any sign of this powder, although I fear the snow would have washed off anything outdoors. We must warn the children not to eat any snow,” she murmured to herself. “Also, try to locate the rat poison. Leave it where it is until I get there, and don't let anyone touch it. I'll call the police, and then I will join you in the Barn Complex.”

Leaving Fannie, who had regained her composure, to explain why breakfast would be late, Rose made her call to the police. The officer named Stan said he'd be along as soon as possible, but the roads were getting difficult because of the snow. Rose didn't argue; she still couldn't imagine how the East managed to carry on with anything approaching normal life in such a climate. She grabbed her cloak and heavy palm bonnet, and headed for the Barn Complex. By the time she reached it, her bonnet and the bottom edges of her cloak and work dress were caked with fresh, wet snow.

Inside the barn, Theodore had gathered the hired men, including Otis, and the male novitiates. Aldon, Johnny, and Sewell stood apart from the others, separating themselves from the world as much as possible.

“Did you find the box of rat poison?” Rose asked Theodore. He shook his head.

“Where was it kept?”

“Over there.” He jerked his head toward an untidy stash of farm implements piled against one of the long concrete walls of the rectangular building.

“Do you mean to tell me that an opened container of rat poison was simply tossed on the floor, along with all that equipment?” She clamped her teeth shut to quell a tirade about the importance of tidiness. Now was not the time, though she couldn't believe the novitiates hadn't ordered the area straightened up long ago. “Was it at least kept out of sight?”

Theodore shrugged. “We were using it a lot lately—the rats come inside for the winter, and they were getting to be a real problem.”

“Who was in charge of spreading the poison?” Rose was struggling to keep the disapproval out of her voice, and she was losing the battle.

“No one, really,” Theodore said. “We all knew where it was. Anyone could have taken it.” He glanced over at the novitiates, who scowled back at him.

“Young man, if you think that any one of us could have engaged in such destructive behavior, you know nothing about our faith,” Aldon said, his booming voice filling the two-story structure. “It was most certainly someone from the world.”

“You've got no right to go accusing my men,” Theodore shouted. He grabbed a nearby pitchfork and started toward the novitiates.

“Stop it, instantly,” Rose commanded. “There will be no more violence, not if I can help it. The police could arrive at any moment, and if you don't control yourselves, you will
all
look guilty. Theodore, put that pitchfork away,
now
.”

Theodore hesitated just long enough to convey defiance for Rose's authority, then he stabbed the pitchfork into a nearby hay bale. He crossed his thick arms over his chest and glowered at Aldon.

It was Sewell who broke the tension. “The eldress is right, you know,” he said. “If we lose our tempers and go around accusing each other, we'll all end up looking like we have something to hide. I think we should answer her questions. After all, maybe it wasn't one of us. Maybe someone from a neighboring farm sneaked in and did this, to teach us a lesson. I know I've chatted with folks in the area about the rat problem this year, so probably lots of people would know we had poison about—and we didn't exactly hide it, did we? Maybe it was just a prank.”

“It's a prank that might have cost lives,” Rose said.

“I know,” Sewell said, “but it could have been just a couple of kids, who didn't really know how dangerous the stuff is.”

“Farm kids know about rat poison,” Theodore said.

“I think we can assume,” Rose said, “that whoever did this meant to cause harm. Who was the last person to leave the barn yesterday evening—besides the person who did this, I mean?”

“I guess I was,” Sewell said. “I'm in charge of repairing buildings, and I'd been so busy with the unused buildings, figuring out how to save them, that I hadn't gotten around to looking at what the Barn Complex needs.”

Johnny snickered with contempt.

“Was the poison in its place when you left?”

Sewell spread his hands in a gesture of confusion.

“Think. Did you put away any implements once you were through with them?”

“Well, no. I suppose I should have tidied up a bit, but—”

“Never mind that.”

“Wait, though,” Sewell said, brightening. “I was examining a crack in the cement along the wall just next to where we usually kept the poison.” The frown lines already imbedded along the corners of his mouth deepened as he tried to remember. “It wasn't there,” he said. “I'm sure of it; the poison wasn't in its usual place.”

“Why should we believe you?” Theodore stepped toward him, and Sewell backed away.

“It's true. I love architecture, and I'm very good at remembering what buildings look like, inside and out. Sometimes I dream about them.” Sewell looked startled and a little embarrassed by his own admission. “Anyway, I remember how that wall looked last night, and there was no box of rat poison on the floor.”

“Good, we'll accept that for now,” Rose said quickly, to cut off further argument. “When did the rest of you last visit the barn?”

The men looked at her, at each other, then back at her. “We all left together,” Theodore said. “It was after supper and before the service. We finished up with the animals and put everything away, and then we left Sewell here alone. I sent the men to their rooms to get some sleep, and I decided to go to the service.” He turned back to Sewell. “I noticed you were slow getting to the service,” he said. “Just what were you doing all that time?”

“I wasn't poisoning buckets, I just—well, I told you, I started taking some measurements, and the time got away from me.”

“All right,” Rose said quickly, to forestall another attack from Theodore. “Does anyone remember seeing the rat poison while you were putting your tools away before the worship service?”

Some of the men shook their heads, and others shrugged their shoulders.

“We were in a hurry,” Theodore said. “We didn't think about it.”

“When was the poison last used?”

“I guess it must have been night before last,” Theodore said. “We always used it at night, last thing, because that's when the rats were more likely to come out.”

“I remember seeing it when I got here yesterday morning, just before breakfast,” Sewell said. “I just stopped by to pick up a couple of tools to take around with me while I looked at the other buildings, and the can was sitting right where it was supposed to be.”

“All right, then we'll assume the poison could have been taken anytime from breakfast yesterday until sometime before the worship service.”

“If we believe Sewell, that is,” Theodore said. “He's the one the police think killed Julia, so it stands to reason he could be the one trying to poison everybody. He could have taken the poison before breakfast, and no one would have noticed.”

“That's enough,” Rose said. “We'll make no assumptions about guilt—or innocence, for that matter. We will keep to the facts, as best we can. Now, Theodore, have you found evidence of the poison anywhere except in these buckets?”