Shaker Town (Taryn's Camera Book 4) (2 page)

Both Carol and Virgil nodded in unison–something they both apparently agreed upon. Taryn studied them now, standing in front of them with their backs to the sun. And she wondered if she was the only one who could all but smell the acrid scent of diabolical darkness that permeated the tranquil, well-maintained grounds and spring-fresh sky.

N
ow that she was alone and able to wander on her own accord, Taryn had more time to gather her thoughts and explore. She'd been there before, of course, as well as to some of the other Shaker villages, but she was looking at it through different eyes this time, an artist's eyes. She wasn't researching the religious aspect of the order like she did for her dissertation or simply there to enjoy a weekend away (like she and Andrew had done a month before his fatal accident) but was there to work. Her paintings would be faithful reproductions of the original structures and these would help the architects and builders. They'd also be works of art to be reproduced and sold on a smaller scale. It was a big job and Taryn was honored to have won the bid for it. She'd worked hard at getting them to take her seriously, something that was becoming increasingly difficult thanks to the attention she was getting for her...forays with the paranormal. She'd Googled her name last week on a whim and wouldn't be doing that again–there had been more than fifty websites of forums and blogs all commenting on her supernatural skills with her camera and speculating her findings. It had really freaked her to be talked about in that manner–something she had no control over.

Now she was almost giddy at the thought of being able to live there for a month, working around the old buildings and history.  Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, her belly fluttering–she was like a little kid at Christmas. This was her element. She'd babbled to Matt on the phone the night before, overcome with excitement at the thought of waking up every morning and being in a place she already loved. Matt had listened to her with patience, letting her ramble, but she knew the idea was lost on him. He wasn't a history person, had only indulged her all these years and been her chauffeur during their old-house expeditions because he adored her, and had no real understanding of what it was like to gaze upon a structure from the past and visualize the life it used to have. Although he could quote Star Wars, all six films, verbatim.

There were nearly forty buildings in all including a poultry house, laundry shop, tannery, dairy, barns, private dwellings and, of course, the meeting house. The dwellings and meeting house were perhaps the most important structures of all, at least as far as the tourists were concerned, and these were the first to be renovated. Before their renovations they'd served other purposes; for awhile the meeting house had been a mechanic's garage, something that made Taryn shudder. Those poor floors...

There were smaller dwellings, located on opposite sides of the village–one for the men and one for the women. They were tall, spacious structures with wide corridors and dormitory-style rooms. (Guests could also stay above the restaurant but she'd never been in those rooms.)

Around the “houses” were other buildings referred to as “shops.” These were places where different activities were performed, such as basket-making, preserving, carpentry, laundry, and broom-making. Other structures at the park included several barns, a wood house, sawmill, and machinery shop for the brethren.

The meeting house, though sparkling white and sweet-looking, was simple both inside and out. The only significant defining characteristic was the two separate entrances on the front so that the men and women did not have to pass through the same door at the same time. They took their segregation seriously. Once inside, members of the order sat on opposite sides of the room, although during the services they were up moving around and allowed to sing and dance together. If they accidentally touched, which would've happened (you couldn't get three hundred people in there at once without some accidents) it was tolerated just as long as nobody made a habit of it.

The Shakers' worship services as a group revolved around their singing and dancing, which ranged from frenetic movements that looked wild and frenzied to childlike motions that bordered on the goofy. Sometimes their dancing was little more than a quiet shuffle. Other times, they would march and hold their hands out in front of them, pretending to gather something to their bodies. It was called “gathering a blessing” and they used it to bring positive energy to them. 

They spent their time outside the meeting house serving the Creator through their hard work, cleanliness, and order.

The schoolhouse would be quaint and solid once renovations were complete. Although the Shakers didn’t originally go for formal schooling, by the middle of the 1800’s most settlements had added the schoolhouse and were intent on providing a quality education for their children. Some were even open to the public, although this one was not, at least as far as Taryn knew. It boasted two classrooms and was therefore not a traditional one-room school. She imagined that, due to the size, there were probably a couple of different teachers. Shakers were all pressed to find jobs at the settlement and work. In fact, hard work was what they were known for–after their erratic worshiping, of course. There weren't any idle hands or lazy days. Everything had a purpose, even the animals. No stray cats or dogs to keep as pets and love, just service animals that could work or provide food, wool, and leather. But the Shakers also tended to rotate jobs and move around, not staying in one position for long. They believed in equality and spreading their talents around, which was good if you hated a certain job but bad if you loved something and didn’t get the chance to stay in it for long; they generally switched every month. She wasn’t sure about the teachers, though. Perhaps they were full-timers. Men and women's jobs were considered equally important. The Shakers believed in gender equality before it was cool to do so.

Taryn couldn't help but smile as she walked around. The place was just so darn
peaceful
. Between the sunny daffodils, pastel dogwood trees, gently buzzing bees, and sounds of farm animals in the distance the village was alive with colors and noises that all but wiped away the modern world. She tried to ignore the shroud of bitterness that lurked somewhere in a layer above the park, all around her but nowhere to be seen. She'd not felt it on her other visits and was disappointed to find it now. She really
was
getting more sensitive, proof this “talent” of hers was going to follow her around for life.

The staff were all busy getting ready for the day ahead and barely paid notice to Taryn as she strolled down the paths, snapping pictures as she went. All dressed in period costumes and some in full character, Taryn felt as though she could’ve stepped back in time and been a visitor to the village, something the Shakers wouldn’t have necessarily welcomed but wouldn’t have been overtly rude about unless she overstepped her boundaries. She’d heard that on some days, the local townspeople would pack up picnic lunches, load their families up in the wagons, and find spots on the nearby hillsides where they could watch and listen to the foreign-sounding services that went on inside the meeting house. Between the raucous singing (no instruments since they believed nothing could improve upon the voice God gave you), hearty stomping, twirling on the wooden floors, and vibrant bouts of glossolalia must have made it the best show in town.

Taryn did not let the fact that she wasn’t religious in the slightest bit dampen her interest in this spiritual group. She might not have understood what they were up to, or understood the beliefs that were odd even for their time period, but she found it all endlessly fascinating.

The Ministry Shop was one of her favorite places, if for no other reason than she found the idea behind it interesting. The Ministry might have been the upper levels of the Shaker community but it didn't exempt them from working. They were supposed to do hard labor just as much as the brothers and sisters they oversaw, since they were all considered equal. The Ministry Shop was a special work space for the Elders and Eldresses, as a result. Taryn loved the pristine-white building with its cheerful facade and impeccable Shaker nod to cleanliness inside.

Other buildings at the park included the dairy shop (for the women), brethren's shop, laundry house, Trustee's Office, corn crib, carriage house, and tanyard.

A tall, thin man sat under a tree ahead of her, an open book in one hand and a Granny Smith in the other. He was gazing at the sky, however, and ignoring the pages and apple. As she drew nearer she could tell he was a park worker, thanks to his costume, but it fit him well and he looked at ease in it. He appeared to be around her age, thirty, although his face boasted some deep crinkles in his forehead and around his mouth–smile lines.

“Hi,” he called with a smile when she was just a few feet away from him. “I was just taking a minute to enjoy the peace and quiet before the storm. You sneak in or something?”

She laughed and came to a stop. He was thin to the point of being bony and his face was pale, but there was a nice ruggedness to it that made her feel comfortable. He looked a little bit like a cowboy, like the Marlboro Man. “I just started working here,” she explained.

“And they let you out without a dress? Or are you one of those progressive Shakers?” he teased.

“No, I’m an artist. I’m just here to paint,” she laughed. “I’m Taryn.”

“Dustin,” he introduced himself as he rose to his feet and offered his hand. “I farm. My wife,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the meeting house, “is over there somewhere. She sings and works with the music. Does some herb lore on the side.”

“That must be nice, working together like this,” Taryn said appreciatively, quickly remembering all the jobs she and her deceased husband, Andrew, had worked on together. She’d enjoyed being in his presence throughout the day, even though they didn’t do the same thing. He was an architect, she an artist. But simply being on the same job site and knowing the other was near was comforting. They genuinely liked each other and liked being in each other's company.

And then he died, that damnable Camaro.

“It is nice,” he agreed. “Nice to not have to eat lunch by yourself. Lydia, she’s my wife, has been here almost ten years. This is my sixth.”

“So you’re old pros,” Taryn smiled. “I might have to hit you up when I need some intel.”

“Be happy to oblige,” he promised. A small beep emitted from a watch deep in a vest pocket and he patted it, quieting the noise. “And that’s my alarm. Means I have to get to the shop now. Come find me and Lydia later. We’ll show you the ropes, she’ll give you the female gossip. You know, the good stuff.”

Taryn was still smiling as he walked off, a casual saunter in the dappled shade of the trees. Off in the distance a young woman raised her arm and waved at him and he blew her a kiss. She pretended to catch it and put it in her pocket. Taryn felt a little pang then, but it was a blissful one. She had
good
feelings about this job. It was a gorgeous location, a different kind of work environment, and she might have even just made herself a friend. Lord knew that didn't happen often. And if there
were
ghosts around, well, they
had
to be friendly ones. After all, it wasn’t like Shaker Town had ever been a place of murder, crime, and corruption. 

“
S
o, how did the first day on the job go?” Matt asked.  She'd raced back to her room after her exploration, excited to get him on the phone. She was damn set on doing this job alone, to prove she could handle whatever came with it, but it didn't mean she didn't want to share her day and news. She also knew Matt was waiting patiently by the phone, waiting for her call. It was her habit of giving him a rundown on the first day of any new job, just as it was his job to patiently let her talk and use words like “buttresses” and “wainscoting” and pretend he knew what the hell she was talking about.

She had him on speaker phone while she lounged on the firm, but comfortable, bed in her room. An episode of
Friends
was on, was muted in the background. She couldn't hear it but the colors and movements made her feel less lonely. Matt had just gotten home from work and was puttering around his place, probably getting something together for dinner. He loved cooking more than anyone else she knew. He loved the organization, the instructions, the ability to experiment in a controlled environment–he even liked the tidiness of the cleanup. She felt a little pang for him, for the order he brought to her often-frazzled lifestyle, and grinned.

“Good I think,” she answered carefully. She'd been ignoring the tense feeling that tugged at her all day, trying to pass it off as first-day-on-the-job jitters. After all, everything had gone perfectly fine and she was happy to be there. The people were all friendly and likable so far. She had nothing to worry about and wasn't going to worry Matt with some misgivings she wasn't even able to articulate yet. “I just explored today, sat in on some demonstrations and talks. Went into all the buildings. Learned to make a basket. It was fun.”

She took in her lopsided basket now, drying on a towel on the bureau, with pride. A young, pretty woman with long dark hair and a name tag that read “Heather” had been patient enough to go over all the steps at least three times with her. It wouldn't win her any awards, but she liked making practical stuff. Taryn figured she could store her makeup in it.

“Sounds good,” Matt murmured absently, making her wonder if he'd even heard a word she said. And then, “Ooh! I learned a better way to make poached eggs this afternoon. Apparently, if you swirl the water a little bit first…”

Matt proceeded to go off on a lecture about perfecting not only the poached egg but hollandaise sauce. (He might have been an astro engineer but he'd definitely missed his calling as a television chef on a cooking show.) Taryn let him ramble, unperturbed. She used the opportunity as s chance to hear his voice and paint her toenails at the same time.

He humored her when it came to her own work and love of history but Matt himself had little use for art or the past. He was fixated on the future, on what adventures the world could offer now, thanks to modern technology and other innovations. Both often felt they were born in the wrong time periods–but several hundred years apart. Still, they managed to make it work and their relationship was the longest one Taryn had known, especially now that both her parents and grandmother were long passed on.

Taryn waited until his excitement slowed down (the boy really
could
get worked up over Teflon) and came to a pause in his speech before gently changing the subject. “So do you think you’ll be able to make it up here in a few weeks?” They hadn’t seen each other in almost a month– the longest they’d been apart since starting this new chapter in their relationship.

Both were proceeding a little cautiously with their new developments, still feeling the other out. They were as good of friends as they'd ever been, but once they'd introduced sex into the picture the ballgame had gotten a lot more interesting. Taryn thought she'd have trouble being naked with a guy who'd once wailed tears of pain after he fell off his bike and landed on the sidewalk in front of half the school. (She still remembered helping him to her house, cleaning the dirt out of his “wound” and applying a Fraggle Rock Band-Aid to his dark skin.) Turned out, nakedness or any of the other stuff wasn't as weird as she'd imagined. It was actually pretty good. The part of his personality that was rigid and controlled in the rest of the world knew how to let loose when it needed to.

But still...neither knew where they were headed and it made them both nervous.

Matt sighed, irritation on his breath, and considered their distance. “I don’t know. I planned on it, but we have a bunch of things to clear off the table down here. I’m going to try.”

Taryn was disappointed, but couldn’t push him, of course. He’d taken off almost two months to spend with her in Georgia in the fall, and he'd almost been killed there, so she didn't blame him for not jumping at the bit to get involved in more of her drama. Besides, she didn't want to be the damsel in distress again. Whatever was happening to her, health-wise and ghost-wise, was for her to deal with. He'd come to her rescue over and over again, almost with more obligation than feeling, and it bothered her. It was time that she learned to maneuver her own life.

That didn't mean she didn't want to see him. She was human; she got lonely. He was, after all, her best friend.

“Do you think you could come down here?” he asked hopefully.

Taryn struggled not to become annoyed. After all, she had just asked him the same thing. Still, historically she'd done the traveling to get to him and sometimes she felt just shy of stalking. “I just started this job. I don’t know if I can leave it. I’ll see how it goes, though.”

Matt sighed and even in the small noise she could hear disappointment. “So tell me about the Shakers a little,” he suggested. “What did they believe in? Who started them?”

This
was something Taryn could talk about with ease. After all, she'd studied them in college. “Well, think of them like a communist cult, only in a good way,” she began.

Matt laughed, a nice rich sound that flooded through the phone. She felt better. “Okay.”

“Seriously. They believed in communal living, confessing their sins, separating themselves from the rest of the world....oh, and celibacy.”

“How'd they get away with that?”

“They didn't, really,” Taryn answered. “It's why they all died out.”

“Geeze. And they were into the religious experiences, seeing things, talking to God–those things?”

“Yes. Ann Lee, the woman who founded them, was very charismatic. The Shakers thought she embodied the second coming of the Christ spirit as manifested on Earth.”

“Huh.”

“I have my own theories about her. It has to do with her losing all her children and being in a weird marriage. But I don't want to get into that.”

Now they were both silent, either lost in thought or with little else to say. Taryn went ahead and wrapped up the conversation with a hurried “love you” (saying that always made her uncomfortable; she couldn’t help it) and hung up. Feeling slightly depressed now, she bunched up the feather pillow and un-muted the television.

It was growing dark outside and she’d already had supper in the restaurant. She needed to drive into Harrodsburg, the neighboring town, and stock up on snacks but she was too lazy to move. In Georgia a doctor had finally put all the symptoms that had been plaguing her for years together and diagnosed her with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a connective tissue disorder. On the plus side, it made her freakishly flexible and she could do “tricks” that both amazed and repulsed people. On the down side, it caused a whole host of problems that started with her head and went all the way down to her toes. It was responsible for her chronic pain (bursitis, tendinitis, osteoarthritis, scoliosis, hundreds of micro tears all over her body and a labral tear in her left hip) and fatigue–making her relieved she wasn't as lazy as she'd thought. (Well, she still was, but
now
she had an excuse.)

When she returned to Nashville and saw the geneticist at Vanderbilt she'd been further diagnosed with crossover symptoms of Vascular Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a more serious form, and that was causing its own set of problems. She didn't have the genetic components to make it true VEDS, but still had worrying symptoms. Taryn had an aortic aneurysm they were keeping an eye on and varicose veins that were ugly more than anything else. She'd lost her appendix and spleen after Christmas due to ruptures. Her maternal grandmother had died of an arterial rupture in her sleep but she'd been in her eighties. Taryn still had a lot of living left to do. But she could do it tomorrow.

In the meantime, she might as well enjoy some downtime before the real work started.

T
he cries woke her up. Deep and ragged, they were instantly recognizable to her; only someone who had experienced that much grief themselves knew them for what they were. She sat straight up in bed, the pillow under her dropping to the hardwood floor with a light “thump.” The room was coal black and she belatedly realized the television must have been set on a timer, going off in the middle of the night. She hated to be in a dark, quiet room alone. 

Her heart pounding, she listened with curiosity to the uncontrollable sobs that sounded neither male nor female and her heart ached. Was it someone in another room? She didn’t think so; as far as she knew she was the only one staying in that particular building. Someone outside then?

Quietly, Taryn slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor in her bare feet, the wood cold against her skin. The lacy curtains were a flimsy barrier between her and the night sky and before she’d even pushed them aside she could see the pale figure below, alone on the grass. It was a woman then, a slender woman of undecipherable age. Her long dark hair billowed out behind her, whipped by the wind, her white nightgown a contrast to the dark sky. Despite the security lamp above her, no shadow followed her on the ground.

At first, the woman was motionless, only her sobs a testament to her presence. She could’ve been a statue, a pale tree swaying in the wind. But then, as her cries grew louder and swirled up towards Taryn, carried by the breeze, she began to sprint across the grounds. Taryn watched as she ran towards the old stone fence that surrounded the building and then gasped in surprise as she ran
through
it. The figure disappeared then; as suddenly as she’d materialized she was gone.

With a leap back from the window, Taryn placed her hand on her chest, as if to manually steady her heartbeat. A ghost then, she thought, as the chills ran up her arms. The hairs on her head stood at attention. It would make sense that the grounds were haunted, if for no other reason than their age and the former spiritual nature of the compound. Just because there was a ghost, though, didn’t mean
she
had to do anything about it, she reminded herself.

But as she climbed back into bed and flipped on the lamp for comfort, she shivered in dread and pulled the blanket around her like a shroud. She would
have
to do something about it. Because just before the figure passed through the fence like a puff of smoke she’d turned towards Taryn’s window and gazed right at her. The two had made contact.

Game on.

C
reating the outside of the buildings would not be as much of an issue as the interiors. There were still several Shaker school buildings still standing around the country, not to mention loads of examples of schools from that time period and areas that were
not
Shaker-affiliated. The dry house would be a cinch (there wasn’t much to it structurally to recreate, even though it was mostly gone) and the weaving building wasn’t as deteriorated as it had appeared on first inspection. The interiors, however, would be trickier. Shaker style had its own nuances and definitive elements; it was still emulated today. If she screwed something up then even laypeople would notice; she wouldn't be able to get as creative as she liked.