Sins of a Shaker Summer (7 page)

“I've sent two of the brethren to spread word throughout Languor that our worship service will be open on Sunday,” Wilhelm said as he smoothed a small portion of raspberry preserves on a thick slice of brown bread. “And I want to add a dance or two to the service—with Patience leading the sisters.”

Rose's hand hesitated as she reached for her water glass, but she said nothing.

“Does this disturb thee?” Wilhelm took a large bite and watched Rose as he chewed.

Feeling his eyes on her, Rose spooned some preserves onto her plate, then began to spread it evenly across her
bread. The silence thickened the already heavy air in the sunny room.

“I do not need to remind you that normally the eldress leads the sisters in the dancing,” Rose said.

Wilhelm sliced himself more bread. “Nay,” he said, “I need no such reminder.”

“I am not required to agree, as you also know,” Rose said, after enduring more moments of silence.

Wilhelm nodded once without looking at her.

“And why should I agree?”

Finally Wilhelm glanced at her, one bushy white eyebrow high over an ice-blue eye. “Because,” he said, “in the end we have the same hope, do we not? Is it not thy wish, as well as mine, that the Society thrive?”

“If it is God's will,” Rose said.

“Of course.” Irritation tinged Wilhelm's voice. “But we cannot sit by passively waiting for perfect understanding. We must push forward with all our might to know God's will for us and to accomplish it. We know quite clearly that Mother Ann put herself in mortal danger to help the Society form and grow. She willingly let herself be imprisoned and starved for us.” Wilhelm's eyes flared with blue flame, and his half-eaten bread lay forgotten on the plate before him.

“Wilhelm, Mother's world isn't our world. What we are meant to do may be quite different now.”

“Nonsense. Our mission is timeless. We are called to live as the angels, chaste and apart from the world.”

“Yea, indeed, but must we grow in number to fulfill this purpose?” As trustee of the North Homage Society, with her mind on practical matters, Rose had been exhausted by discussions such as this one. But lately, as she grew into her role as eldress, spiritual matters intrigued her more and more. She could feel herself rising to Wilhelm's challenge.

“Of course we must grow,” Wilhelm said. “How else can we show the world a heaven on earth? Without our example, the world's people will be hopeless slaves to their carnality.”

“And without their carnality, there would be no new Shakers,” Rose said, “and we could not grow.” She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head at Wilhelm, waiting for the powerful response she knew would come.

Wilhelm's already ruddy complexion reddened. “Perhaps,” he said, “that would be for the best. I would welcome our own demise if it meant the end of carnal relations in the world.”

“But, Wilhelm, not everyone is called to—”

A swishing and panting sound drew their attention to the open entryway to the dining room. Elsa Pike steadied herself against the doorjamb, one hand spread across her neckerchief as if to hide the immodest heaving of her ample chest. Her cheeks flushed with exertion. She opened her mouth to speak but gasped in air instead.

“What is it, Elsa? What has happened?” Rose rushed to her side and reached an arm around her shoulders. “Steady now. Sit down and catch your breath.”

Elsa dropped into the chair Rose had just left. Ignoring Rose's ministrations, she spoke directly to Wilhelm.

“It's bad spirits,” she said, leaning her elbows on the table. “False spirits.”

“What do you mean, Elsa?” Rose asked, not sure she wanted to know. Wilhelm leaned forward, his face alight with eagerness.

“Elder, you gotta come stop her,” Elsa said. She'd caught her breath and was beginning to relish the drama she had created. Rose decided not to encourage her with any more questions; they were unnecessary anyway.

“It's that Sister Patience,” Elsa continued, her voice hushed, as if she were speaking of the unspeakable. “She's a witch. Those gifts of hers, they ain't from Mother Ann or Holy Mother Wisdom or no one you'd ever want to know.”

Wilhelm's eyebrows inched together over worried eyes, but otherwise he sat rigid, waiting. “Explain thyself,” he said.

A warning tinge to his voice seemed to quell Elsa's dramatic tendencies. Rose, ignored by both of them, watched their faces. Wilhelm did not want to hear that Patience was evil—that much was clear—and Elsa was getting the hint. Yet she had always hungered to be the most gifted of Believers, and Patience was usurping that position. If she was wise, she would change direction instantly. But her craving easily overpowered her modest wisdom.

“Come and see for thyself, Elder,” Elsa said, remembering finally to use the archaic language Wilhelm preferred. “Patience is alone with them poor girls. She's supposed to be taking her turn watchin' them while Josie has breakfast, but sure as I'm sittin' here, what she's really doing is putting spells on them.”

“There! See what she's doing?” Elsa pointed to Patience, who leaned over Nora's cradle bed. Rose approached the bed close enough to see over the sides. The top of Patience's hand lay across the girl's cheek as if she were stroking it.

“They are still deeply asleep,” Patience said, glancing up at them without apparent concern.

“Ha!” Elsa said. “Josie said they was starting to come to, but now suddenly here they are sleeping like the dead again, and the only difference is, it ain't Josie with them. Explain that!” With her sturdy legs planted apart and her fists on her plump hips, Elsa glared in triumph at Patience.

Rose was prepared to intervene, but one look at Patience stopped her. Patience straightened her back with catlike leisure and faced her accuser. The folds of her dark work dress seemed to elongate her tall body so she towered over the shorter, fuller Elsa. Her face remained impassive, though her dramatic dark coloring gave her a smoldering look.

“I wonder,” she said, “why you had such need to hurry over here when you heard the girls were awakening. Were you perhaps worried about what they might say?”

Flame spread across Elsa's cheeks. “Me?!” She sputtered
a moment, confused by the attack. Darting a worried glance at Wilhelm, Elsa drew herself as straight as she could. “I got no call to be worried,” she said. “Unlike some. Nay, I just wanted to help. I know a lot about herbs and such; learned it all growing up. I figured if the girls could tell me what they got into, I'd know how to help them.”

“They no longer need help,” Patience said.

“Why? What have you done to them?” Elsa asked, rushing toward Nora's bed.

“I believe you saw that for yourself.” Patience's voice had grown softer, as if she were calming an overexcited child. “Nora is healed. She has been near death, and she needs a long rest.”

Not satisfied, Elsa leaned over the sides of the cradle bed and touched Nora's forehead. The girl stirred and moaned in her sleep. Betsy moaned in answer from her bed. Elsa straightened and turned to the group, her plain face lit with cunning.

“We saw something, all right,” Elsa said. “But about it being a healing, well, that's what you told us, but that don't make it so. I don't believe it.”

“Why?” Wilhelm barked out the question. After his long silence, the force of his voice jolted Rose. For Elsa, it seemed to be the question she'd been waiting for.

“Because, Elder, if it was really Mother Ann and Holy Mother Wisdom working, why'd they send Patience to Nora and not to Betsy? I don't believe they'd do that—pick one little child out as better than the other for healing. They'd save both girls. Right, Elder?”

In the moment of silence that followed, Rose looked from face to face. Wilhelm said nothing, but he watched Patience with intensity. Elsa's triumphant stance held a hint of uncertainty; she wasn't used to engaging in logical reasoning. Patience herself relaxed; her generous mouth curved in a slight smile. She reminded Rose of Humility,
the Society cat, when she knew she had a barn mouse cornered.

“Mother Ann was here indeed,” Patience began, her low voice silken, “with all the eldresses that followed her path and crowds of lovely angels dressed in white and gold.” Intensity deepened her voice. She closed her eyes and began to sway, as if reliving her trance. “All the sisters who have gone before us came to the aid of these innocent children, and Holy Mother Wisdom watched over us all. Every one of them guided my hands, sent healing through my hands.” She held her hands out in front of her, fingers spread apart.

Elsa looked worried. Her voice faltered, but she stood her ground. “Why'd they guide your hands only toward Nora, then? Why not poor little Betsy?”

With her arms still extended, Patience opened her eyes wide and stared at Elsa. “Because Betsy did not need healing,” she said. “Holy Mother Wisdom told me herself. She blew the message into my ear like a gentle wind, and I knew that Betsy would be well without my help. She was never as ill as Nora.” Patience lowered her arms and gazed around the small group. “Although none of you could have known that, of course.”

Elsa opened her mouth to object again, but Wilhelm cut in. “Thy experience has clearly been Mother Ann's Work among us again,” he said. “I have complete faith that the children will recover. We are deeply pleased. Are we not, Sisters?” He glanced from Rose to Elsa, who glared at the floor. “And now I have an announcement. On Saturday we will begin again a ceremony that has fallen into disuse.”

Rose's heartbeat picked up speed. Wilhelm should have discussed the idea with her first; he often forgot—whenever it was convenient—that they were now equal partners in spiritual guidance for the North Homage Believers.

Wilhelm's rough, thin lips rarely smiled, but now they did so as he said: “On Saturday afternoon, immediately
following the noon meal, we will conduct the sweeping ritual.”

Rose was thrown off balance. The sweeping ritual? What could that possibly gain for him? The sweeping gift had come and gone so quickly a century earlier, during Mother Ann's Work, that few Believers even knew about it.

“Wilhelm, you and I should discuss this,” Rose said quietly. “The sweeping involves the sisters, so—”

“I would have done so at breakfast, but remember that we were interrupted.”

Rose was reasonably certain that he'd had no such intention. His plan had the feel of a sudden inspiration.

“Elder, what's a sweeping? I been clear through my novitiate, but no one said nothin' about it.”

“That is understandable,” Wilhelm said. “The cleansing was a regrettably short-lived gift given during Mother Ann's Work. It is most appropriate now, I believe. After all, it is thy own assertion, is it not, that there are evil spirits at work here. Remember what Mother Ann said: ‘Good spirits will not live where there is dirt.' We will cleanse and purify ourselves and our dwelling places with brooms and sacred fire delivered by the angels. And then we shall see.” For the second time, he smiled, which redoubled Rose's discomfort.

“How's it done?” Elsa asked.

“I'm sure thy eldress will prepare thee and the other sisters for thy roles in the ceremony, as I will prepare the brethren. The sweeping used to take all day, but we have too much work to do, and too few hands, so we will set aside only the time between the noon and evening meals. And we must work doubly hard today to spare even that time. So ‘hands to work' . . .” Wilhelm turned and left the room.

Elsa looked confused but intrigued. Patience absently rocked Nora's cradle bed and began to hum a haunting tune. Though her face was unreadable, Rose felt certain she was delighted by Wilhelm's announcement. Rose herself
thought frantically. She knew about the sweeping gift and could easily prepare the sisters—but why? To cleanse them of evil spirits? The explanation rang false to her. As she watched the two eager women before her, the answer slipped into place. The ritual, though performed—separately, of course—by both brethren and sisters, took the sisters' task of cleaning into the realm of the spiritual. It was the ideal setting in which to trigger a competition between two sisters who exhibited spiritual gifts. During such a battle, who knew what could happen? That was what Wilhelm wanted—a powerful spark to relight Mother Ann's flame, a century after it had died away. And never mind the consequences.

I
N TIMES OF CONFUSION, THE
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OUSE BECAME
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sanctuary. She almost ran toward it now. She had dispatched Elsa to pass the word among the sisters to meet together briefly after evening meal, when Rose would explain the sweeping ritual to them. She would lead it herself, both because she was eldress and in hopes of keeping either Elsa or Patience from taking control. In the meantime, she wanted to pursue the other problem weighing on her mind—the apparent poisoning of Nora and Betsy, and any possible link, accidental or not, between that episode and North Homage's medicinal herb industry.

The Herb House, a white clapboard building, stood well back from the unpaved path that ran through the center of the village. Rose had spent many happy days working in the upstairs drying room, hanging bundles of herbs to dry, pressing crumbled dried herbs into round tins for sale to the world, and recording production figures in her daily journal. Since she'd become eldress, those days had dwindled to a few hours here and there. This afternoon she had a good reason to capture more of those pleasurable hours.

Irene Dengler, Thomas Dengler's wife, was working her rotation in the Herb House. Though not legally divorced, the couple had agreed to separate upon joining the Shakers. What better way to find out more about Thomas, Rose thought, than through Irene? She would have little contact
with him now, of course, but perhaps she could offer some insights into his character.