Killing Gifts (14 page)

“Nope. The food stores look fine, and so do the water faucets. Whoever did this probably didn't have much time, so they settled for some buckets.”

“Perhaps,” Rose said. “Where any of these buckets used just before the worship service last evening?”

“Well, yeah,” Otis said. “I grabbed some to feed and water the animals. Didn't see anything wrong with any of the buckets I used, and the cows didn't get sick or anything. That was maybe half an hour before everyone left for the service.” His weather-worn face crinkled into a pugnacious ball. “I didn't go to the service myself, but I was done with my chores well before it started. Anybody else could have gotten to those pails after I was done with them.”

“So the actual poisoning could have been done just before or during the service—or sometime overnight.” Anyone could have done it. Rose felt a wave of weakness and realized how hungry she was. “All right, that's enough for now. The police should be here soon, and you need to get your breakfast. I know you've missed several hours of work already. Theodore, do you have a padlock you can use to lock away the tainted buckets? Good, then we'll eat, since it seems clear the food supply was not touched. If any of you thinks of something else I should know, please tell me immediately.”

She led the way outdoors, where the snowfall had thickened and gave a ghostlike appearance to the Brick Dwelling House. She wondered how long it would be before the police managed to plow their way through the rapidly deepening snow.

FOURTEEN

I
T WOULD BE A VERY LONG TIME
, R
OSE THOUGHT, BEFORE
she again found a snowfall enchanting. The storm had finally tapered off by early afternoon, leaving nearly a foot of sloppy snow, already shrinking into a sodden mess as the sun appeared and pushed the temperature above freezing. Worry had frayed her temper, and stomping along Hancock's cold, wet paths wasn't helping. She prayed for patience, but even more than that, for a speedy resolution to the village's troubles.

Rose had found no reason to suspect the Shakers themselves, but she could not yet eliminate any of the hired workers or the novitiates from her list. No one had an alibi for either Julia's murder or the poisoning of the village's buckets. Even Honora Stearn could have accomplished either or both. At first glance, she seemed a likely suspect for the poisoning, given her threats during the worship service. Rose had watched Theodore drive her toward Pittsfield, so she could only have done the poisoning before the service started.

Rose had no clear ideas about why any of the novitiates or hired workers would have dusted the buckets with poison. To distract or to divert suspicion to outsiders, perhaps? It didn't make sense.

The police had yet to arrive, but there was little that they could do, anyway. She had spoken by phone with Chief O'Malley, who had listened respectfully to the information she had gathered from the men. He'd promised they would send someone, when the road was passable, to pick up a bucket and see if a pharmacist could verify that it was rat poison. That's all she could hope for at this point.

For now, all she could do was carry on with her questioning. She'd had no luck finding Johnny Jenkins, so she was trudging back to the Brick Dwelling House, where she knew there was a sewing room. Esther Jenkins was supposed to be in it. With Mother Ann's Birthday close upon them, the sewing and cooking were in full swing. Esther had been assigned to make Shaker dolls, which were proving popular with worldly customers looking for Shaker mementos for their children. The Shakers were hoping to sell many more on March 1, when they expected crowds of visitors to come for the celebration.

Rose hung her heavy cloak on a wall peg just inside the dwelling house door, to allow it to dry after being dragged through the snow. She noticed that a collection of rags had been spread on the floor to catch the drips from soaked outdoor clothing; it was untidy, but efficient. She could already hear the chattering of female voices from farther down the hall. She followed the sound to a meeting room, converted to a sewing room.

Rose had begun to feel like an executioner. As soon as she entered the open door, conversation stopped and needles halted. Two elderly sisters smiled and nodded to her, then went back to their stitchery. Dulcie and Esther remained frozen in mid-stitch. Dulcie hunched over a Singer sewing machine, apparently putting a seam in a long length of red wool. Her right foot hovered an inch above the foot pedal. Rose gave her a reassuring smile and walked instead to Esther, who sat at a sewing desk, hand-stitching a small piece of butternut wool.

“We haven't had a chance to talk yet,” she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. “Why don't you leave your work for a moment, and we'll walk in the hallway. It won't take long. I know how busy you are.”

With obvious reluctance, Esther secured her needle in the wool and laid the doll dress on the desk, next to a cloth body with a dried-apple head. Rose studied Esther's profile—fine pale skin, an upturned nose, and golden-blond hair pulled in a neat bun. Though an avowed novitiate, she wore neither an indoor cap nor a Shaker work dress. Her dress was worldly, yet shapeless, as if it were too large for her or had once been worn with a belt. She moved with smooth grace, and Rose wondered if at one time in her life she had been trained in dance. When she turned, Rose noted her perfect oval face and serious gray eyes.

Rose led her into the hallway, where they settled on a wooden bench backed against a wall. “You know why I am here,” Rose began.

“There is nothing I can tell you,” Esther said. There was a hint of command in her voice. “I barely knew Julia. I know her sister, Dulcie, only slightly better, since I did one kitchen rotation with her.”

“I understood that you grew up in Pittsfield. Is that correct?”

Esther shook her head. “I grew up in Boston and moved to Pittsfield as a young woman, after my marriage.”

“I see. I was led to believe that the novitiates and the hired workers all knew each other, at least to some extent, before coming to Hancock.”

Esther blinked rapidly, but otherwise did not respond.

“Was that information inaccurate, as well?”

“I knew the others, but not well at all. We . . . ran in different circles.”

“Do you mean because you were somewhat older, were married and had children?”

“In part.”

Something about the young woman's demeanor led Rose to an unexpected line of questioning. “Are your people still living in Boston?”

“My family? Yes, they are.”

“Do you see them often?”

Esther's lips parted to reveal teeth in need of care. “I don't see how my family can be of any concern to you, or to this . . . this incident.”

Rose could sense she was poking at a tender spot. In her experience, tender spots often proved quite useful. She poked from another angle. “Your people were wealthy, weren't they? Did they lose their wealth in the crash, or are you estranged from them?”

Esther's eyes flashed. “I have little contact with my family. That's the way I prefer it. All this has nothing to do with Julia's death. They never met her, and they would never have occasion to do so.
I
would never have had anything to do with such a person, if it hadn't been for . . .”

“If it hadn't been for the Shakers?”

One of the older sisters left the sewing room and walked past them, toward the sisters' stairway. Rose nodded a greeting. Esther hardly glanced at the sister. Her straight back and elevated chin conveyed barely controlled anger.

When the sister was out of sight, Rose asked, “Your association with the Shakers has led you into contact with people you consider inferior, hasn't it?”

“Is that a reason to suspect me of murder?”

“Nay, not yet.”

Esther's eyes turned to granite. “But I suppose you will keep looking until you find a reason?”

“I only want to find the truth,” Rose said. “It troubles me that a novitiate so clearly despises those with whom she lives and works. That is all I meant. You might want to consider again whether you are called to this life.” She'd poked enough, and she'd only raised yet more questions. Class arrogance was not an obvious motive for Julia's murder, yet Rose knew there was more to Esther's story than she was willing to discuss. She had offered nothing about attending Aldon's church in Pittsfield.

“I have just one more question,” Rose said, “and then I'll let you get back to your work. Where were you last night between the evening meal and the worship service?”

“I had no reason whatsoever to poison anyone.”

“Then you won't mind telling me where you were.”

To Rose's surprise, Esther flushed. Could it be that the woman had a lover? Or perhaps she still had contact with her husband? Then Rose remembered Gennie's quick report about discovering Esther in the abandoned Meetinghouse, playing with her six children. Quite likely, she'd been with them again. Since she wasn't assigned to the kitchen, it would have been a perfect time to sneak off, with no one the wiser. The children lived in the Brick Dwelling House, along with everyone else, and would probably have been put to bed right after the meal. She could have gone to their rooms to spend bedtime with them. But if Rose mentioned her suspicions, she'd be giving away her connection with Gennie.

“It will help me to prove your innocence if you tell me where you were. If you decide to do so, or if there is anything else you wish me to know, you may call upon me anytime.”

Esther nodded and headed back to the sewing room, not bothering to wait for a formal dismissal.

 

“Ma'am? Sister Rose?”

Rose was reaching for her still damp cloak and formulating questions in her mind for her coming interview with Johnny Jenkins. She recognized Dulcie's voice.

“I was just working in the kitchen, and Sister Elizabeth said you were up here, and I asked her if I could have a word with you.”

Dulcie looked just as pale as she had before her visit to the doctor, but there was a brightness in her eyes that Rose hadn't seen before.

“Of course, Dulcie. Let's go to my retiring room, shall we? We can be private there.” Rose's cloak could do with more time to dry out, and to be honest, she was glad to delay yet another foray into the snow.

“What's on your mind,” she asked, as she offered Dulcie her rocking chair and settled on top of her bed.

“Well, you said I could talk to you anytime . . .”

Rose nodded encouragement.

“It's about my baby.” Dulcie laid her palm on the small mound forming under her waist. “I want my baby to be okay. I want it to have a good life, better than Julia and me had. We didn't really have a father, not to speak of, anyway. Even before we lost everything because of the crash, he wasn't around much. He'd just show up now and again to get money. Mother took in laundry and mending, and we made do, even with Father showing up like he did. But then we lost our little house, and we all had to live in this one room in a boardinghouse, and it was so cold, and Mother could only do mending, because there was no way to take in laundry anymore.” Dulcie rocked gently, as if comforting her child while reliving her own deprivation.

“You had a terribly hard life,” Rose said, inviting her to continue.

“Yes, it was very, very hard. Then it got even worse. Father would come and take the little bit of money we had, so sometimes we couldn't eat if we wanted to pay our rent. Julia got really wild, which hurt our mother so much she cried every day, sometimes right over her mending. All that sadness, I know it's what killed her.” Dulcie lifted her small chin. “I stayed in school. It made Mother happier, and I wanted a better life.” She stopped rocking and leaned toward Rose. “That's what I want so much—a better life. I don't want my baby to know what it feels like to be poor and cold and hungry.”

“How can I help?”

Dulcie sat back and rocked again. “Theodore is a good man,” she said. “He doesn't drink. He works hard. Sometimes he's a little hard on people, but it's only because he expects everyone to do their best. I know he wants to protect me.”

“You are thinking of telling him about the baby?”

“Yes. But I'm scared.”

“Your fear is understandable,” Rose said, “but I am so glad you are gathering your courage to take this step. I agree completely—your baby deserves the best life you can give it. If Theodore will accept responsibility and be a father, your baby would have a good start in life.” She slid off her bed, pulled a chair close to Dulcie, and took her hand. “Remember, too, that if Theodore is unwilling, the Shakers will help you. Your baby can have a safe life, either way.”

But Dulcie did not seem to hear her. She rocked gently, caressing her abdomen. “Theodore will take good care of me and the baby. He will, I know he will,” she said. “I'm going to tell him as soon as possible. Maybe we can be married right away, so the baby won't ever have to feel fatherless. Nobody will ever know, except you. You promised you wouldn't tell,” she reminded Rose.

“Yea, I promised.”

“I'd better get back to the kitchen,” Dulcie said, sounding lighthearted for the first time since Rose had met her. She turned at the retiring room door and looked back at Rose. “I'll let you know when the wedding is,” she said. “We'll want to keep it quiet, but I'd like you to be there.”

“I would be honored.”

Rose frowned at the door for several minutes after Dulcie had closed it behind her. She felt ill at ease, but she couldn't say why. Surely it was best for everyone if Dulcie would confront Theodore with their dilemma. He seemed an upright man, one who would accept responsibility for his mistakes. He was perhaps a bit strict, but wasn't that far better than drunken and shiftless? He would provide a safe haven for Dulcie and their child. If any man could find a way to care for a family during these dreadful times, it was Theodore. So why this niggling, nameless fear?

The bell rang for the evening meal, and Rose took it as a reminder that she didn't have time to sit in her retiring room, fussing about everyone else's life. She had work to do, and the days were passing too quickly. Best to let Dulcie and Theodore sort out their own lives, with no more help from her than prayer could provide.