Sins of a Shaker Summer (12 page)

“But how can you bear to let it out of your sight, then—to sell to the world, that is?” Gennie asked, then held her breath. But Benjamin missed the irony in her voice.

“One can only pray that God will be watching,” he said.

Gennie stifled her immediate response. Before she could formulate a more moderate one, Brother Thomas Dengler appeared at her elbow.

“Benjamin tends to exaggerate a bit,” Thomas said. “We rarely use poisonous herbs anymore.” With a beefy hand, he pushed straight blond hair off his broad forehead. “We're not in the world anymore, Benjamin. No need to impress the girls.”

The hollows in Benjamin's cheeks darkened a shade, but otherwise he ignored Thomas.

“I thought you were supposed to help Patience,” Thomas said to Gennie. “You should not be on this side of the room, tempting a weak brother.”

Benjamin skidded his stool across the floor as he slid off. His narrow-shouldered, delicate body assumed a menacing tilt in Thomas's direction. Thomas, bigger and tougher, could threaten without even trying. Gennie felt small and trapped between them.

“She is not a sister,” Benjamin said. “She can do as she pleases.”

“But you cannot. You should not be talking to a woman.”

Yet another male figure joined the group surrounding Gennie as Andrew arrived. “Is there a problem with your work?” he asked. He looked from Benjamin to Thomas, then smiled as his gaze dropped to Gennie, more than a head shorter than all of them.

“Ah, Gennie Malone, isn't it? I'm sorry I didn't greet you at first; I was distracted. We're most grateful to Rose for finding us extra hands for our workload. She said, too, that you are quite experienced with herbs.”

Despite her worldly status, Gennie's discomfort urged her to step sideways, out of the masculine circle. “Only with the culinary herbs, I'm afraid,” she said. “But Rose knows how much I love to learn about herbs, so she thought we might help each other.”

“Ah. I see. And are you learning?”

There was nothing harsh in his tone, yet Gennie felt chastised. “A great deal,” she said, a shade too quickly. “Brother Benjamin was just—”

“She shouldn't be talking to the brethren,” Thomas said. He and Benjamin glared at each other.

“I'm sure she meant no harm,” Andrew said. “And she'll be more circumspect in the future.” Again he flashed a brief smile at Gennie, which did not comfort her, and he turned toward his own desk before she had a chance to respond. Leaving Thomas and Benjamin to wage their own private battle, she slipped back toward the women's worktable. In the middle of the room, she stumbled to a halt as she faced Patience, whose dark eyes watched Gennie. Somehow Gennie knew that Patience had been observing her every move since she'd left her stool.

“E
LDER SAID
I'
D BE RIGHT BEHIND THEE, HELPIN
'
LEAD, LIKE
I should,” Elsa said. “Why should I be in the back and her in front? That ain't fair.” She crossed her arms over her crisp new work dress, made a size bigger to accommodate her expanding figure. All the other sisters, gathered together in the family meeting room of the Center Family Dwelling House for the cleansing ritual, looked from Elsa to Rose and waited.

A whining middle-aged woman was a stern challenge for Rose's temper. She sped through three silent prayers for patience. Then she changed her plans.

“All right,” she told Elsa and Patience, “we have too many buildings to cover anyway. I'm going to divide the sisters into two groups. Patience, you will lead the group in sweeping the buildings north of the central path, and, Elsa, you'll take the south.”

Elsa's pout melted into triumph. Patience looked unconcerned.
The question is,
Rose thought,
who needs watching more, Elsa or Patience?
She'd have Gennie's help. Everyone was used to Elsa's ways by now. Separated from Patience, she probably couldn't do any real harm. Gennie could accompany her group and alert Rose if trouble erupted. Rose could then focus on keeping Patience in line. Patience had missed the noon meal, as well as breakfast. Clearly she was fasting. For most, such persistent fasting
would cause weakness, but Patience seemed to have a high tolerance. It was likely her self-denial only fostered increasingly frenzied trances.

“Gennie,” Rose called to the girl standing off to the side. “Gennie, why don't you go along with Elsa and her group of sisters. You'll be purifying the south side of the village, except for the brethren's shops, of course.” She fixed Gennie with as meaningful a stare as she could manage. Gennie opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut.

“Certainly,” she said, with a compliance Rose had never before seen in her.

Rose dared not say, “Bless you” outloud, so she gave Gennie a light pat on the shoulder.

“Patience, you will follow behind me.”

Now Elsa glowed, obviously thrilled to the marrow. She would lead alone, while Patience must follow Rose. The plan would probably encourage Elsa to perform, but Rose decided it was worth the risk. Patience was the unknown factor. Rose was reasonably certain that Patience would be the chosen instrument of the angels during the gift, but she could not know how Patience would manifest the messages she received. It was worrisome.

Elsa led her band of sisters out of the dwelling house. Gennie, bringing up the rear, turned and glanced back at Rose, a combination of understanding and discomfort in her brown eyes. Rose made a wry face to convey her gratitude and apology. Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself for whatever the cleansing ritual might bring.

With Patience, silent and intense, beside her, Rose led her group out the women's door of the building. She had decided that they should start at the west end, with the kitchen in the Trustees' Office. Since Andrew was now trustee, the rest of the building would be cleansed by the brethren.

They followed the walkway single file to the central path and turned right. Rose heard Patience hum softly behind
her and remembered that she had chosen marching songs for them to sing as they went from building to building. Her own alto was strong but too low for most of the sisters, so she had asked Sister Irene to begin the songs. She raised her arm to give the signal, and Irene's sweet soprano responded.

“Living souls let's be marching on our journey to heaven

With our lamps trimmed and buming with the oil of truth.

Let us join the heav'nly chorus and unite with our parents.

They will lead us on to heaven in the path of righteousness.”

They repeated the lyrics six times as they marched down the central path, then turned right again and mounted the steps of the Trustees' Office. The front doors were open, and from inside they could hear deep voices chanting a different tune. Rose led the sisters inside and straight past the office, suppressing an instant of sadness that it was no longer hers to purify. The brethren were in the room, wielding imaginary brooms as if they had been waiting all their lives for the chance to do the sisters' tasks.

Andrew sang with zest, attacking presumably dusty corners with invisible broom straw. Rose was so startled by this display that she stumbled and had to hop to get back in step. She had never seen Andrew show such joy, even when he rhapsodized about medicinal herbs. His face looked fuller and younger, and his brown hair fell in waves across his forehead.

Rose had begun to march down the hallway to the kitchen when something told her to turn her head and look behind her. No one had followed her. The sisters were jumbled in front of the office door, with Patience at their center.

“A thousand angels have arrived,” Patience said, raising
her arms to the ceiling. “They are with us in this place, and they have designated me their instrument.” The boisterous singing in the office stopped. Rose hurried to join the circle of sisters. She could see the brethren in the office, keeping their distance but all watching the scene unfold in the hallway.

“Mother has sent us all brooms to make this place clean,” Patience said. “She has sent the angels to deliver the fire of righteousness to light the corners and purify this ungodly place. Some of us must carry the fire—there, take some, be careful now,” she said, as she scooped a handful of invisible flames from the air and handed it to a nearby sister. The sister took it, careful to cup her hands together tightly so as not to spill the sacred gift. She stepped away and another sister received a portion of the fire. Patience handed each sister either a broom or some cleansing fire, and each responded in mime, until only Rose remained empty-handed.

Patience tilted her head as if cocking an ear to hear a hushed voice. Her features hardened and she turned slowly. “You!” she said, raising her arm and pointing her finger at Rose. “Mother has sent a warning angel to tell us that you are unworthy. Her heart is so broken she could not come herself, for fear her tears would drown her beloved children. You have betrayed her.” Her eyes were angry slits that widened to black omens of vengeance.

Rose felt her body turn to limestone, and her mind to molasses. She had no idea what to do or say to stop this horror. The other sisters murmured and pulled away from her, and the men stared at her from inside the office. Andrew stood nearest the door, and behind him, Wilhelm. Was it a trick of the shadow, or did Andrew look sad? And was Wilhelm smiling?

Patience closed her eyes and raised her face toward the ceiling. She stretched out her arms and turned, slowly at first, then faster into a twirl. She halted so suddenly that her billowing dress kept swirling back and forth around her.
Her outstretched arm now pointed toward the brethren, apparently singling out Andrew and Wilhelm.

“And you!” Patience said, her voice deepening as if speaking now for a male angel. “You have sinned in deed, and you have blasphemed in your heart, which God can see clear through.”

All eyes turned to Wilhelm and Andrew. Slowly Wilhelm eased backward, into the shadows. Patience's accusatory finger did not move. Now it pointed directly at Andrew, whose long, lean body stood rigid, his hands still clutching his invisible broom. His face was pinched, and his eyes, haunted. It lasted only a moment. Patience's arms dropped to her sides and hung limply. Her head slumped toward her chest as if a puppeteer had dropped the strings. When Rose glanced back at Andrew, his face was composed again.

Everyone began to chatter at once. Rose edged through the sisters surrounding Patience, who had regained her strength but remained silent, unmoving, staring at nothing. Rose held Patience's shoulders, resisting the impulse to shake her.

“Patience, are you ill?” she asked. “Do you need help?” Patience shifted her gaze to Rose's face. Her eyes were dark as loam. She wriggled out of Rose's grasp and stepped away from her.

“Mother's angels would never harm me,” she said. “They know my strength. And they will use me to tell the truth.”

No angels had appeared for two hours, and Rose dared to hope that the worst was over. They had sung and swept and marched their way in a circle around the north end of the village, covering the Center Family Dwelling House, the Herb House, and the Laundry. From the ironing room, they had heard the Brethren cleansing the barn and counted their blessings. The nearness of the brethren did not seem
to trigger another angelic visitation. Now they had only the Infirmary to cleanse.

Rose allowed the sisters to sing as they approached the Infirmary. Aside from Hugo, whose door was kept closed, the only other patients were Nora and Betsy. They were much improved, so Rose thought they would enjoy the ritual. The girls still claimed to remember nothing of their adventure before awakening in their cradle beds. Perhaps the excitement would help pull them out of their lingering stupor.

Josie ushered the group into the patients' waiting room, where she kept a large desk, usually cluttered with apothecary jars and tins filled with herbal infusions, powdered barks, and crumbled dried herbs. For her part in the ceremony, Josie had tidied the desk and dusted off all the little bits of leaves and bark that seemed to bury themselves in the wood grain.

“Make this place clean,” Rose announced, as she had at the entrance to each building. The sisters got to work. With their transparent brooms and dustcloths, they swept and cleansed. The carriers of the gospel fire marched after them, purifying the newly swept corners and offering each area for Mother Ann's approval and blessing.

The sisters seemed to stay closer now to Patience, taking their cues from her rather than from their eldress. Rose had noted this in each building but kept hoping it was only her imagination. In these tight quarters, it was clear. The sisters avoided Rose. They followed after Patience, sometimes even copying her movements.

“Has it been a good cleansing?” Josie whispered to Rose.

“You can't imagine,” Rose said. For the moment, she gave up trying to lead and stood in a corner with Josie. Irene Dengler looked up from her sweeping and gave Rose a slight smile. She was the only sister who had so much as glanced in Rose's direction since Patience had singled her out as unworthy. Rose nodded in gratitude.

As eldress, of course, she should be guiding the ceremony. In the days of Mother Ann's Work, the eldress would be at least one of the instruments chosen to receive messages from the holy angel. Rose would be untruthful if she did not admit to some relief—much as she loved the Society, her talents had always been more practical than supernatural. She had fit well into the trustee's position, but she sometimes felt herself lacking as eldress. She resolved to redouble her efforts toward spiritual understanding. But she doubted she would ever become more than an indirect instrument of Holy Mother Wisdom. It simply wasn't in her nature.

Following Patience, the sisters wove out of the waiting room and headed for the sickrooms. Rose and Josie brought up the rear. They marched into Nora and Betsy's room, singing a rousing tune. The girls were sitting up in their cradle beds, their eyes wide and their cheeks spotted pink with excitement. The sisters swirled around the girls, sweeping carefully underneath their beds and over their heads, as if chasing away evil spirits. Irene paused in her sweeping to pat Betsy's head.