Shaker Town (Taryn's Camera Book 4) (12 page)

A little girl grew up here at Pleasant Hill, taken in by the Shakers because she was an abandoned orphan. She grew up following strict rules, like not talking during meal times, and never knowing the love of just one mother. But she had a good childhood, too; one that let her get an education in the summertime and run through the fields when nobody was looking. She had plenty to eat, a warm bed to sleep in at night, and an extended family larger than most children her age. Her life was regimented, but secure. She was always safe.

The schoolhouse was her favorite place. There, she learned not only scripture but how to write, how to put her thoughts on paper. She learned where different places on the map were, how the animals in nature differed from one another. The schoolhouse was her favorite place in the whole world and she looked forward to the days when she could sit at the uncomfortable desk and listen to her teacher talk about all the wonderful things she never knew existed. And sometimes there were children from the other world who came, too. The world's people. She was just as curious about them as she was the bullfrog or the oxen.

The little girl grew up and, as an adult, took the oath to become a Shaker herself. She had that choice, after all, and could've chosen to leave the village. But why? It was all she knew. Although she was schooled in herbs, in care, in meal making, in laundry and dyeing and spinning and was a little good in all those things, she was still drawn to the schoolhouse. So she became a teacher herself.

Each morning she would walk through the damp fog, excited about the day ahead. Maybe she would hum a little tune to herself as she crossed through the cold grass, the spider webs catching her ankles and the cattle calling in the distance. She'd make sure the desks were arranged properly, that her lessons were ready. She was happy and content that she had a calling she loved, and was allowed to do it.

The schoolhouse took on a cheerful appearance now, as Taryn painted. It was no longer the depressing ruins. Taryn could see the children filing in, some orderly and some not so much. She could hear cheerful chatter ringing out the windows, the sound of a soft but stern voice telling everyone to take their seats. As she tuned out the voices of the tourists around her, and the occasional ringing of the bell that signaled events and programs, she could sometimes hear the recitations, simple songs, and laughter.

This was a happy place.

The woman had been happy. She'd danced across the lawn, singing. She'd smiled. Surrounded by many, she was still alone in the world, but she was happy. Taryn could understand this.

It had all ended, though, and abruptly. Did another member attack her? Perhaps she'd been in the archive room, or whatever it was back then. A Shaker brother, or maybe even an outsider since the Shakers did do business with the people in the surrounding communities, came in on her. He'd been struck by her beauty, her innocence. Had come on to her. Maybe been angered by her refusal, her piousness. So he'd what, raped her? Killed her?

And then what? Her death was covered up? She'd been completely forgotten about over the years?

It wasn't a nice story but it was one that made a certain amount of sense. Her spirit was awfully happy, though, to have been brutally attacked and killed. That didn't make sense so much.

And Taryn couldn't forget the fact that when her fire had started, the shadowy figure had definitely been that of a man, not a petite woman.

The schoolhouse looked back at her expectantly. She could all but see it nod its nonexistent head in encouragement. She was on to
something
. She just wasn't sure
what
, yet.

T
he pond spread out before Taryn like a sheet of glass. The day was overcast, the sky slate gray. It was reflected on the water's surface, making it opaque. Taryn couldn't paint outside, since the threat of rain was so great and sprinkles kept escaping, so she was using the day to answer emails, research, and balance her checkbook. The business end to what she did was soul crushing. She wished she could hire a Virtual Assistant, or at least a bookkeeper, but so far her budget would allow her neither.

When she needed a break she found herself down at the pond, perched on a wrought-iron bench, staring at the water. She tried to imagine Shakers stealing down to the water in the darkness, throwing children in it, but the image was at once so horrifying and funny in an ironic way that she didn't dwell on it. They were a peaceful people; they weren't murderers.

Her solitude was soon threatened by an old woman wearing pink polyester pants and a George Strait T-shirt. She looked to be at least eighty but moved with the grace of a teenager, her tiny feet barely touching the ground.

“You mind if I sit with you?” she gestured to the space next to Taryn. Her voice was strong and crisp.

“Sure, I'll share,” Taryn replied, moving over to make more room. “Kind of a dreary day out today.”

The woman, whose name tag read “Della,” patted her blue-tinted hair. “Well, it's a little ugly but every day I actually wake up is a pretty good one to me. The first thing I do every morning before I even get out of bed is move all the body parts. If something hurts then I know I didn't go to heaven in the middle of the night so I know it's okay to get up and make a pot of coffee.”

Taryn, who had also started doing a little of the same, laughed. “I always move all my joints, to see which one is going to hurt the worst that day. I don't care which one it is, but I like knowing in advance.”

“That a girl,” Della patted her in approval. “Get a grasp of the situation before moving forward.”

That was some advice Taryn could apply to most areas of her life.

“Are you here with a tour group?” she asked politely.

Della snorted. “Yes. Something my daughter-in-law signed me up for. Said I needed to get out more. I wanted to do that damn bike ride up here. You know, the Bike to Shakertown event? But my son said I was too old, might fall over in the road. They signed me up with this group as a consolation prize.”

“Are you having fun at least?”

Della shrugged, George's face moving up and down with her arms. “The park's nice but everyone in my group is just so damn old. They move slower than Christmas and we have to keep stopping so someone can pee.”

This was positively the most fun Taryn had had in a long time.

“So what are you doing here? Are you hiding, too?” she asked Taryn, peering at her from the corner of her eye.

“I guess I am, in a way,” Taryn replied. “But mostly hiding from work, from bills, from having to do things I need to do.”

“Those are the best things to hide from,” Della concurred with approval. “But always the hardest. They find you, sooner or later.”

The two women sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, both watching the water. It was as still as a painting, as though it was waiting. For something.

“I come here sometimes, with my family, you know?” Della whispered softly. “I know it's just a pond and you can see those anywhere, but something about it always drags me back.”

“I like the water myself,” Taryn agreed. “I think it's from growing up in a city that was so far removed from the ocean. And maybe because I'm a Pisces.”

“So am I,” Della grinned. “Great minds and all. There's a sadness here, though. I've never been able to put my finger on it.”

“It's meant to be haunted,” Taryn explained. “I've just been sitting here thinking about that.”

“Oh, the baby story. Or babies, I imagine. Yes, I've heard that as well.”

“I don't think it's true,” Taryn vowed with passion. “I don't think they would've done that. Sometimes those stories float around and we forget how they started in the first place.”

“Maybe,” Della agreed. “But I stayed here one night. Oh, it was years and years ago. Couldn't sleep so I came down here for a little walk. Slipped and fell on my way back up and nearly broke my damned leg. But anyway. I saw something here. Not a baby but a man. It was most certainly a man. He stood watching the water for the longest time. I sat right here on the bench, so I wouldn't disturb him,” Della motioned to the seat. “Looked like he had more on his mind than I did, which was just indigestion.”

“What happened?”

“His troubles were a lot more than I'd originally thought,” Della laughed a little. “After a few minutes he turned around and faded right into the night. He wasn't real.”

“I know this is going to sound funny,” Taryn began, “but did you feel anything when he was here? I mean, were you afraid? Was it good energy, bad?”

“I know what you're asking and the answer is that I felt nothing but sadness for the poor fellow. He wasn't there to hurt me, or to hurt anyone. Just thinking, being alone. Kind of like we are now.”

“I think this park is full of ghosts,” Taryn blurted. She was thinking about the fire in her room and the male presence that had snuffed it out. Was it the same spirit? Or was the park just overrun with them, none of them connected?

“Yes, it is. Lots of heartache here, lots of sadness. Lots of happiness, too, but any time you get that much passion in a place, released or not, it's going to leave something behind,” Della smiled again, but she looked tired.

A shrill voice cut through the air behind them and Taryn turned to see a stocky woman in khaki shorts and a red, V-neck sleeveless top inching down the incline towards them. “Susan, Susan!” she called. “I thought I'd lost you!”

“Well, guess it's time to go back,” Della sighed with a mixture of regret and irritation. “It was nice talking to you.”

“But your name tag says...” Taryn gestured in confusion.

She snorted. “I like to mess with them sometimes. When you get to be my age and have lived with yourself long enough sometimes it's nice to try on someone else's skin.”

T
aryn had just slid into the driver's seat when her phone went off. It was Rob.

“Did I screw up the alphabetizing?” she asked, only half joking. “You know I still have to sing the song to remember what order the letters come in, especially around 'P.'”

“Ha! You did fine,” he assured her. “I'm calling because I found something for you and I thought you might be interested.”

Taryn was anxious to get on the road, she was hungry and craving something really bad for her. She waited. The last thing she needed to do was run the car off the road while she talked. “Yeah? What did you find?”

“Two things, actually. One is a book of ghost stories about the Shakers. I think you'll like it. The other is an old research piece, a bunch of letters and journal entries. I don't think these are the kinds of things you're going to find at the gift shop there,” he laughed.

“Where did you find them?” she asked.

“I have my ways. Anyhow, I can stick them in the mail if you'd like. Should get there the day after tomorrow.”

Taryn bit her lip nervously. If they were important to him she didn't want to be responsible for something happening. “You sure you don't mind parting with them?”

“Oh, hell no. You're fine. Just send 'em back when you're done!”

Of course, it was highly likely that she'd already read the letters and journal entries; she had been spending a lot of time in the archives. But the ghost stories would be fun and, who knew, something might jog her memory.

Harrordsburg had an array of restaurants to choose from and she needed a break from the dining room at the park. Matt would be appalled at her turning her nose up at garden-fresh vegetables for a McChicken but there was only so much healthy food a body could take. Her doctors had all encouraged her to eat an anti-inflammatory diet to help cut down on the inflammation and pain from her EDS, and she tried to stick to it as much as possible, but living didn't seem like it would be very fun if she didn't occasionally splurge and eat something that would survive a nuclear attack.

The scenic country drive to Harrodsburg took her past small farms, green misty fields, and beautiful old stone fences. She stopped and pulled over once to take a picture of an old house that looked as though it had been abandoned for many years. Nature had taken over and was slowly choking the walls to death with ivy and honeysuckle not yet bloomed. She could barely make out the windows, with just a tiny sliver of glass poking courageously through the greenery. The front door was standing wide open, an invitation for travelers, and a broken wooden chair sat on the front porch and stared at the main road, waiting for visitors who never came.

Taryn got back in her car and began driving again, feeling sad. As much as she adored the old houses and found her passion in envisioning the past, sometimes the sadness was just too much to take. When she saw an abandoned structure falling apart like that she didn't just see boards, a collapsed roof, and broken window panes. Instead, she saw a happy family standing in front of it, proud to call it home. She saw the mother standing in the hot kitchen clanging pans, the smells of chicken and apple cobbler drifting through the house. She saw small children lying on a rag rug in the living room foyer, bickering with one another or playing. She saw a man coming home from work, stopping on the steps and smiling as he listened to the sounds drifting out: This was his family and where he lived.

Every old, abandoned house had once been someone's home, had once held dreams and hopes. She believed these places had feelings, almost as much as people did.

Miss Dixie afforded her the opportunity to see the past like most people could never imagine. But sometimes that past was just too much, even the good parts. Taryn felt an almost unbearable responsibility towards the churches, the houses, the schools, the tobacco barns...Like she wasn't trying hard enough to save them all.

I
n the end, Taryn ended up not at a chain with burgers but at a small-town diner, eating the same kind of food she'd most likely have had at the park. Still, it was a change of scenery.

The restaurant, called “Evelyn'”, looked like the inside of an old woman's purse had exploded. The walls were ensconced with pictures of flowers, lighthouses, and horses. Shelves containing angel statues, more lighthouses, and collections of salt 'n pepper shakers were scattered throughout the room. Each table held a cheap Dollar General vase full of plastic flowers, squarely atop an intricate doily.