Sins of a Shaker Summer (17 page)

Rose slid the book toward her and began.

“I was doing my rotation in the weaving room today, and Sister Beatrice entertained us with the most astonishing story. She was a young sister at New Lebanon—I doubt she'll ever get used to calling it Mount Lebanon—during Mother Ann's Work, in the 30's and 40's. She told us of a very special feast day, one which no one honors anymore, that arose during that time. Holy Mother Wisdom would visit from time to time, causing great joy and celebration. On one visit, the Believers were instructed to designate a holy hill, a secret place, never to be noted on a map, wherein a sacred fountain would reside, visible only to true followers of Mother Ann. Twice a year, they would march to the holy hill, sisters in one line, brethren in another, singing at the tops of their voices. Thousands of angels would hover above and send messages through their chosen instruments. Once, Beatrice said, Mother Ann sent each of them a tiny gold cross to protect them from evil. Sometimes they received baskets full of sparkling jewels and yards of fine silk. The angels delivered dish after dish of celestial food—grapes and succulent chickens and rare sweets, of which Believers would gratefully partake. They drank sacred water from the holy fountain and heavenly wines sent by the angels. For hours, often
a whole day, they would march and sing and laugh and receive holy messages.

“Later I asked Beatrice if North Homage Believers had celebrated these feast days, too. She said, ‘Yea,' but then went back to her task. I pressed her, asked if we, too, had a holy hill and a heavenly fountain, and she grew irritable. Finally, she told me I must wait to know these things, that the name and location of the holy hill are secret and only if I signed the covenant would I be allowed to know. Though I promised that I longed to sign the covenant as soon as possible, Beatrice would not budge.”

Agatha interrupted Rose's reading. “The rest is another topic,” she said. “I was only sixteen, and I had to wait for what seemed an interminable length of time before I could sign the covenant.”

“And now I can barely stand the suspense,” Rose said. “What did you finally learn?”

“I suspect that you will not be surprised,” Agatha said.

Rose nodded. “So the hill on which I watched Patience was North Homage's holy hill?”

“Yea, it was. No one speaks of it anymore, and it is not shown on any map of our village. I should have told you long ago, especially when we began to see your calling to be eldress, but I simply never thought of it. Until Wilhelm came to us, our ways had changed so that the feast on the holy hill seemed more like a story. After all, even I am not old enough to have witnessed it.” She closed her journal and held it against her frail chest. “But once it inspired me so . . . I should have remembered. I should have prepared you more thoroughly.”

“Agatha, no one could have been a better teacher for me. Even now, you are teaching me.” These moments of self-doubt worried Rose. She wanted Agatha to look back and see what an extraordinary life she had led, and be certain
that Mother Ann would welcome her someday. Though not too soon.

“Tell me more about this feast,” Rose said. “What is the name of our hill?”

“Ah, the secret name. You must promise, of course, never to reveal it to outsiders.”

Agatha seemed serious, so Rose answered with equal seriousness. “Of course.”

Agatha nodded. “It was named the Empyrean Mount. I was told that we celebrated the feast for only two years before it fell into disuse. The Manifestations were quite exhausting, you see, and rather hard for the Ministry to control. So many instruments of the angels emerged that the feasts would go on all day and into the night, and Believers were dropping from exhaustion. And from hunger.” Agatha gave a hint of a smile. “The celestial food was perhaps not as hearty as that in our own cellars. Anyway, the Ministry began to designate which instruments were to be heard, and they were always those who kept the worship shorter and calmer. It was the only way. The world derided the Society more and more for its strange rituals, all of which threatened our sales and therefore our financial survival. One must be practical, after all. Living like the angels does not require us to worship to the point of collapse and ruin.”

Rose relaxed. This was the old Agatha, with her clear-sighted spirit. “Patience's behavior sounds as if she knew of this feast and was repeating it. But for what purpose?”

“Indeed,” Agatha said. “For what purpose?” She shuddered, despite the heavy air in the room. “A part of me longs to believe that she is truly a chosen instrument, sent to us by Mother Ann to renew our faith and deepen our understanding. But something is not right here. I wish I could say what it is. I have watched her at worship and listened to the stories, and I am convinced she is not pretending. Her actions are true and yet not true.”

“Do you sense a sickness of the mind?”

“The mind or the soul, I do not know. Or something else, perhaps another influence, an evil one in our midst. Has anyone any influence over her, do you think?”

“She seems to associate closely with no one,” Rose said. “In fact, she has accused nearly everyone else of something evil, including myself. I doubt that anyone has the slightest influence over her. She sneers at Wilhelm, though her actions seem to support his hopes for us.”

Agatha leaned back and rocked herself gently. Her eyes closed, and Rose felt a prick of guilt for tiring her.

“I should let you rest,” Rose said.

“Nay, this is far more important than my naps,” Agatha said in the stern voice that Rose remembered. “This picture or design you mentioned, the one Gennie saw,” Agatha continued. “Have you seen it?”

“Nay, I've been waiting for a time when the Medicinal Herb Shop is empty.”

“Don't wait any longer,” Agatha said. “Go now.”

Rose deposited Agatha's breakfast tray in the kitchen and discovered preparations under way for the noon meal. It was the perfect time to follow Agatha's urging to take a look at those designs; it wouldn't take long, and she'd still be able to race back to the Ministry House and change for the afternoon worship service. She helped in the kitchen until everyone was seated and served. When the activity had settled down, she peeked into the dining room and saw everyone from the Medicinal Herb Shop, except Patience. Never mind, if she ran into Patience at the shop, she'd simply send her off to eat. Surely she wouldn't openly defy an order from her eldress.

A kitchen sister laden with a heavy tray of cold soup reached the door to the dining room, and Rose held it open for her. No sooner had she allowed the door to swing shut and turned toward the outside door than the sound of sniffling stopped her. She followed the sound to the open pantry. Inside, Gertrude stood in front of the shelf holding the
partially used jar of peppermint jelly she had fed to poor Hugo. Her shoulders shook, and she patted her cheeks with her apron.

“Gertrude, are you ill?” Rose asked softly.

Gertrude spun around, gulping air. “Oh, Rose, nay, never you mind about me. I'm fine, truly, it's just . . .” Pain contorted her features.

“Is it Hugo?”

Fresh tears spilled over Gertrude's lower eyelids and cascaded down her cheeks. Yet she said nothing. “I'd best get back to work,” she said, the words catching in her throat.

“You are in no condition,” Rose said, taking her elbow. But Gertrude wouldn't be cajoled out of the pantry. She slid from Rose's grasp and stepped farther back into the small room.

Rose was puzzled. She'd had no idea Gertrude had been so fond of Hugo. Unless. . . “Gertrude, Hugo was dear to us all, a very special brother. I hope you know you needn't feel guilt if you miss him deeply. There is no shame in love of the heart.”

Gertrude let out a soft wail and pushed past Rose. She ran through the kitchen and out the back door, as all the kitchen sisters and Rose watched in confusion and dismay. After a few moments' hesitation, Rose hurried after her. Gertrude was well into her fifties, but by the time Rose reached the door, the Kitchen Deaconess was nowhere in sight. The kitchen and medic gardens were empty. Rose picked up her long skirt, ran to the southeast corner of the Center Family Dwelling House, and looked around the front, but again she saw no one. Now deeply concerned, Rose raced to the back of the building and toward the herb fields. None of the herbs was higher than her waist, so she could see that the fields were empty.

As she turned around to return to the building, she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her right eye. She squinted toward the area containing the Empyrean Mount and was certain she saw the swish of a dark blue work
dress among the trees. Gertrude must have gone there to be alone. Well, she wouldn't be for long. Rose headed toward the area, determined to pry Gertrude's troubles from her. But as she rounded the northwest corner of the dwelling house, Believers began pouring from the two front entrances and scattering toward other buildings to prepare for the worship service.

After her racing around in the noonday sun, Rose was dripping. She would need a quick sponge bath before changing into her blue-and-white-striped Sabbathday dress. As it was, she would have trouble being on time. She turned away and found herself walking toward Andrew, who stood on the unpaved central path, watching her. He gave her a quick, shy smile, which she returned.

“I'm surprised to see you,” he said, as she approached him. “I thought perhaps you had eaten in the Ministry House.” His brow furrowed. “You have eaten, haven't you?”

Rose shook her head and glanced away to hide the prick of pleasure she felt at his concern.

“You mustn't skip meals, you know,” he insisted. “You need your strength.”

“Believe me, it is a rare occurrence,” she said, laughing to lighten the air between them.

“I wanted to be sure to tell you something,” he said. “It may mean nothing, of course, but I know you have had doubts about Hugo's illness . . .” Andrew focused his eyes on a point in the distance and pursed his lips.

“Where did you hear that I had suspicions about Hugo's illness?” Rose asked.

Andrew's eyes refocused on her. “Ah. Well, it was something that Patience said. You see, I think someone was in the shop after hours a few weeks ago. Patience complained that Willy had been sloppy in his cleaning and had moved around some of her experiments, and Benjamin said he'd noticed the same thing.”

“Have you asked Willy about it?”

“Yea, and he denied touching the experiments, but . . .” Andrew shrugged. “I'm sorry. I should have mentioned it to you earlier. Or to Wilhelm, of course.”

“Of course, but . . .” Rose hesitated in confusion. “What did Patience say that linked this incident with Hugo's illness?”

To Rose's surprise, a faint flush colored Andrew's cheeks. He shrugged as if to dismiss the importance of what he was about to say. “Oh, she just remarked that with our medicinal herbs spread around the village, it was no wonder so many people were getting sick and you were so . . . suspicious.” His halting tone told Rose that Patience had used far harsher words to describe her. She pressed no further.

“As I said, all of this may be completely unrelated to Hugo's or the girls' illnesses. But if someone has taken any of our medicinal herbs, well . . .” Andrew glanced toward the Trustees' Office, from which two brethren were emerging, dressed in their white Sabbathday shirts with blue vests and trousers. Because of the heat, Wilhelm had evidently told them to forgo their long surcoats.

“We haven't much time before the service,” Rose said. “Thank you for telling me your suspicions.”

Andrew nodded. An instant later, Rose was watching his back as he sprinted toward the Trustees' Office.

T
HE BRIEF SPONGE BATH BEFORE SLIPPING INTO HER
S
ABBATHDAY
garments made Rose hopelessly late for the public worship service. She was certain to hear about Wilhelm's displeasure later, but that did not concern her. For Believers, work had often been known to take precedence over formal worship, so his disapproval would have little bite.

Horses and wagons and a few automobiles were parked on the path outside the Meetinghouse, but from the number, it looked as if the public was less interested in the Society than it had been at times in the past. That was how Rose preferred it, though she knew Wilhelm would be disappointed.

Rose slipped in the women's entrance and watched for a few moments. Wilhelm had started without her, undoubtedly with glee, since he wanted Patience to lead the sisters in the dancing worship. The sisters moved in a straight line, their backs to Rose. Between them, she could see the smaller number of brethren, in a row facing the sisters. Though the large, two-story room was far from full, enough people of the world had come that the benches were full and a group of tall men stood in front of Rose, giving her only a partial view of the dancers. She considered weaving through them to join the sisters, but she preferred to watch. Agatha must have stayed in her retiring room, and Gennie
was probably with Grady, because the sisters' benches were empty.

Rose eased along the wall until she came to a doorway leading into the remainder of the Meetinghouse, which held a number of unused rooms and an observation area that looked down on the worship from a window high in the wall of the large meeting room. She climbed the stairway to the observation room and slipped inside. Without turning on a lamp, she sat in front of the window and looked down on the dancers, now forming two circles, sisters on the outside and brethren inside. Fortunately, the far greater number of sisters kept the circles from coming close to each other.

The outer circle opened out and straightened again, led by one sister, who was, Rose soon realized, far too plump to be Patience. Elsa was leading the dancing. Rose examined each figure in turn and saw none that had Patience's tall, statuesque body, nor her natural grace. Elsa shook the room when she walked, but she was an adroit and often dramatic dancer. Still, she could never compare with Patience's intensity and fluidity.