The Innocent (27 page)

“Then tell me the part I need most to hear. Whether my husband is alive.” Carlyn was breathless at the thought.

“Nay, Sister. Mrs. Watkins claims to have done all she could for him, but just when she thought he was on the mend, he took a turn for worse and passed on to his eternal reward.”

Carlyn bent her head, the sure truth of Ambrose’s death like a knife twisting in her heart. “Why did she not let someone know?”

“She was afraid to post a letter to the North. She feared what her neighbors would think if they knew she had cared for one of the enemy, and then even after the war with her sons home from fighting with the Rebels, the secret seemed better
kept.” Elder Derron paused. “She didn’t consider the pension she was denying you by not reporting your husband’s death.”

“Pension?” Sister Edna said.

“Yea, worldly money, but nevertheless useful in our society since it is not hoarded by one but used for the good of all.” Elder Derron looked pleased as his eyes landed on Carlyn. “The Eternal Father gives us blessings in many ways when converts such as you, Sister Carlyn, join our society.”

A pension. What the elder called worldly money could be a doorway for her to leave the Shaker village and return to that world, but Carlyn couldn’t think about that now. Sorrow swamped her mind at the greater truth of Ambrose for a certainty never coming home.

“Please, let me see the letter.” She needed to read the words with her own eyes.

At last he handed it to her. She stared down at the unfamiliar writing. The writing of this Ida Mae Watkins, she supposed. Carlyn had prayed for answers, and now hours later, she held them in her hands.

“Aren’t you going to read it, Sister Carlyn?” Sister Edna asked.

“I would rather do so alone, even though Elder Derron has told me much of what it says already.”

“Those in the Ministry examine all letters to be sure they are not damaging to our Shaker family,” Sister Edna said.

“But can I not have a few moments alone?” The envelope seemed warm in her hands.

In spite of her evident curiosity, Sister Edna stood up. “Come, we will find a place.”

Elder Derron also stood. “You may stay here. I have things to do outside. Sister Edna can wait for you in the hallway.”

Sister Edna’s face turned stony as she turned to the door. “As you wish, Elder.” She looked back at Carlyn. “Do not take overlong, Sister. The sheets will not get dry without hands to put them on the line.”

“But there are many hands, Sister Edna,” Elder Derron said. “Many hands make the work easy.”

“But each pair of hands must do their part,” Sister Edna said. “Such is expected.”

Carlyn was glad when the door closed behind them. The silence of the room wrapping around her was somehow comforting. She whispered a prayer of thanks for the answer the Lord had sent her in case she would be unable to summon up thankfulness after reading whatever words were there on the letter.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled out the top sheet of paper. Another letter, the paper yellowed with age, remained in the envelope.

Dear Mrs. Kearney,

First I must beg your forgiveness for not sending this sooner. But it was wartime and I feared the repercussions that might come if it was discovered I had harbored a Union soldier. Compassion is in short supply in our town for those of the North, but I did feel compassion when I discovered your wounded husband in my orchard. His unit had moved on without him. Not intentionally, I am certain, but in battle, many soldiers are lost. I thought of my own sons, perhaps wounded and lost in some Northern state and I could do no less than open my heart and care for this unknown Yankee.

I washed and bandaged your husband’s wounds and kept cool compresses on his head. Those first days he went from unconscious to delirious and I feared he would pass from life without ever opening his eyes and speaking his name. My servants searched the area, but could not find his knapsack or even his gun. All must have been lost on the battlefield.

After a week, his fever abated and he came back to consciousness. For three days he talked to me about his life. About you. He loved you very much. Then, in spite of my best efforts, the wound went septic. The fever returned and swept his life away in the dark of the night. I am truly sorry, Mrs. Kearney. My servants and I laid him to rest in a place we thought would not be discovered and watered his grave with many tears. Before he passed on to his heavenly reward, which I am sure was great as he told me how deeply he trusted the goodness of our Lord, he wrote a letter to you.

Again I apologize for being fearful to post the letter. First there was the war and then once it was over, my sons had such antagonism for anything Northern, I thought it best not to reveal my role in harboring one of their enemy. I shall have to beg our Creator for mercy for that lack of courage. That is why I was overjoyed to see the answer to my prayers when the Shaker trader came to our town. Your Ambrose had told me the two of you lived near a village of such people. I think the Lord let my path cross Brother Josiah’s just so that I could finally forward this to you. Brother Josiah is waiting in the town for my letter. One of my faithful servants will deliver it to him and then I will pray that it is delivered you.

May God bless you and comfort your grief. A grief I understand all too well since I lost my own husband in the war.

Your sister in grief,
Ida Mae Watkins

Carlyn looked up from the woman’s neat script and stared across the room toward the window. She did not see the sunlight streaming through the glass. She didn’t see the leaves turning red on the trees outside. She saw Ambrose as she had not been able to pull him out of her memory for many weeks. Smiling. Ever joyful even when he was working to clear ground to plant corn behind their house.

She very gently pulled Ambrose’s letter from the envelope. One of the last things he touched with the hands she loved. The gold locket she had given him the day he left fell out of the letter. With trembling fingers, she opened the catch. The locket was empty. The strands of her hair she’d curled inside it gone.

She shut her eyes a moment. She did not want to weep. Not yet. With a deep breath, she unfolded the letter to see Ambrose’s writing looping across the page. He could not write small. He did everything large, even loving her.

My beautiful Carlyn. I am dying. Mrs. Watkins kindly tells me that is not so, but I see the truth in her eyes and feel the grip of death pulling me toward the grave. My only sorrow is the thought of never again holding you in my arms. But heaven awaits and someday I will see you again. Until then, live your life with joy. There is no limit to love so there is no need to be miserly with your feelings as your father is, but embrace the gifts the Lord offers so freely to his children. I mourn the family we will never have. But believe this through your tears. I release you to find another man to love and sire the children we dreamed of having. In some way, through the memory of the love we shared, those children will be mine as well.

My strength is ebbing. But know I loved you with every inch of my being. I have asked Mrs. Watkins to send you this letter and the locket, but she has promised to put the strands of your hair over my heart before I go into the grave. My last prayer will be for your happiness and your name will be on my last breath.

Your loving husband

She placed her fingers over those last words. Her husband. Tears spilled out of her eyes then. She was truly now the Widow Kearney.

24

Carlyn read the letter again. Ambrose’s last words of love to her. Such a good man. A man ruled by love. Of the Lord. Of her. Of country. He’d given his life for that country.

She could no longer deny the truth of that as she had tried to do for so long. He was buried on a plantation in the South. Carlyn would never plant flowers on his grave as a widow should. She held the locket up against her cheek and wet it with tears.

The bell signaling the noon meal jerked Carlyn back to the present. She stared around at Elder Derron’s office as though seeing it for the first time. The tall windows. The desk with inkwell and pen waiting. The pegs on the railing circling the room. The chair hung on those pegs with the legs pointed toward the ceiling. Sister Edna must have hung her chair on its pegs before she left the room. Sister Edna. She would be waiting in the hallway, tapping her foot with impatience.

Carlyn carefully folded the letters and secreted them in
her pocket along with the locket. Whatever the rules, she would not part with Ambrose’s last missive to her. Carlyn braced for battle over keeping the letters when she went out into the hallway. Sister Edna was at the foot of the sisters’ winding stairway, holding to the railing, her head bent in an attitude of prayer.

Carlyn hesitated, reluctant to disturb her, but Sister Edna looked up. “The bell rings. We must hurry.” She made no mention of the letters or of Carlyn’s tearstained cheeks as she turned toward the door.

“May I return to my room instead of going to the eating room?” Carlyn followed after her.

Sister Edna paused with her hand on the door handle. She kept her eyes on the door as she answered. “Nay. You missed the morning meal. It would not be good to miss the midday meal as well. A Shaker has to take care of her body and continue to abide by the established schedules no matter how heartsick.”

“But I—”

“Nothing is gained by resisting the rules that keep us ordered and in unity. Our duty is to eat the food prepared by our sisters. Such is necessary to keep up our strength.” She pulled open the door and stepped out into the sunshine.

Carlyn stayed where she was. She could flee down the hallway. Find a different door. Find a place to be alone.

Sister Edna looked back at her. “Come, Sister Carlyn. We are sisters. We cannot run from our destinies.” Sister Edna looked as sad as Carlyn felt. She reached a hand out toward Carlyn. “Without obedience, our Society will collapse. We must obey the rules.”

“Perhaps the rules are wrong,” Carlyn said.

“Nay.” Sister Edna’s voice was not much more than a whisper. “Nay. Our Mother Ann made the rules and Father Joseph who followed after her. I have ever clung to the rules and ensured others did as well by watching.”

“But rules can be broken. It would seem better to be ruled instead by the love of God in our hearts.” Carlyn put her hand over her pocket to feel Ambrose’s letter. He had been ruled by the love of God.

“When rules are broken, confession can be made and atonement. One does not have to continue to slide down the slippery slope of sin to destruction.” Sister Edna’s face looked pale in the bright noon light. “They do not.” As if she’d said the final word on the matter, she turned and went down the steps.

The Shaker sister was drawn by the bell. Controlled by the rules. Yet, she was not herself. Something seemed to be bearing down on her soul. Something more than her duty to see that Carlyn followed her to the eating room.

At the gate in the plank fence in front of the Trustee House, Sister Edna looked back and motioned with impatience for Carlyn to follow. Carlyn did. Her life too seemed bound by must-dos, for however much she did not want to entertain the thought of eating at this moment, she knew that would not last. Her stomach would demand food. She would need shelter from the winter cold. The pension the elder mentioned might change her ability to supply those for herself, but who knew how long it would be before she could do whatever necessary to receive that money? Weeks? Months?

Until then, the Shaker village supplied the necessities of life. Happiness was not a necessity of life. Had not her father
lived many years without showing evidence of knowing one happy moment? At the same time, Ambrose had a way of cupping the glow of happiness in his hands and sharing it with those around him.

Now, he was gone. She’d known it must be so, but the surety of his words in the letter in her pocket awoke the sadness she had walled away from her heart. She could not follow after Sister Edna as though nothing had changed, yet that is what she did.

She lined up with the other sisters to go into the eating room. She knelt for the silent prayer. She stood with her hand on the back of her chair waiting for the moment when all sat down at the same instant. She stared at the bowls of food in front of her plate without making the first move to dip any portions out on her plate. She could not eat even if her stomach was empty. Instead she bowed her head and let the tears slide off her cheeks and drop on her hands folded in her lap. And she was glad for the silence of those sitting at the tables around her.

Some cast curious glances her way, but she doubted if it was the first time a sister sat at the Shaker table with tears wetting her face. A sister gave up much to live the Shaker life. Her spouse beside her. Her children nestled in her lap. Her own kitchen floor to sweep. Her freedom to choose her own way for even an hour of the day. Her dog.