AFTER HER SOJOURN IN THE SOUTH FAMILY DWELLING HOUSE and a quick meal, Rose made straight for the Carpenters’ Shop for a talk with Matthew and Archibald. She was in no mood to stop and chat with anyone, so she cut through the grass between the Children’s Dwelling House and the Schoolhouse. In so doing, she had a clear view of the area in back of the Carpenters’ Shop. She saw someone walking toward the grove of sugar maples, well past their autumn prime. The figure was dressed in trousers and a long coat, but the swaying gait could only be Celia’s. There was nothing suspicious about a walk in the woods on a crisp fall afternoon, of course. But Rose was fairly certain Celia was walking from the back door of the Carpenters’ Shop; otherwise, she’d have been visible earlier. All the more reason to give the carpenters a serious talking-to, since Wilhelm had on his blinders.
By the time Rose reached the door, it was clear that all was not well inside the shop. She heard no sanding or sawing through the open window, only the unmistakable sounds of an argument.
“I was only thinkin’—” said a protesting voice, which Rose recognized as Archibald’s.
“Well, don’t, all right? Don’t think,” Matthew responded in a harsher voice. “And for God’s sake, don’t open that mouth of yours.”
Tempting as it was, Rose couldn’t stand outside and listen. She might be discovered at any moment. She could, however, question Matthew and Archibald about Celia’s visit. Even if they lied, she would learn something.
She rapped on the door and stepped inside. Both men sat at worktables, in front of partially finished projects, but neither held any tools. As Rose entered, Matthew grabbed a ladder-back chair and examined its splintered leg. Archibald stared at her, his mouth slightly open. Neither of the brethren greeted her.
“Surely our visitors have enough chairs,” Rose said. “How much furniture can seven people possibly need?”
“I couldn’t say,” Matthew said, without looking up. “I just do the work I’m given as best I can.”
Rose strolled to a corner of the shop and took a closer look at the jumble waiting to be refurbished. Bookcases, small tables, rocking chairs, desks, and a variety of baskets were stacked precariously.
“Who has been giving all this work to you?”
Matthew bent close to the chair and seemed not to hear her question. Archibald had gone to work on his oval box, but he glanced up when Matthew didn’t answer.
“Elder Wilhelm told us, go ahead and fix up what’s needed,” Archibald said helpfully. When Matthew scowled at him, he cringed and went back to his work.
“I see,” Rose said. “I wondered because I saw Celia leaving the shop and thought perhaps she’d come to order more furniture.”
She didn’t expect an immediate answer, and she was not surprised when neither man spoke. In fact, she was encouraged and even somewhat amused by their discomfort. She might yet convince one of them to blurt out some information. Archibald was the better bet, once he’d recovered from Matthew’s rebuke.
To buy time, Rose pulled down a small oval box waiting for repair. It was aged maple with tiny cracks under the swallowtail joints and a few streaks of mustard yellow paint clinging to the top. Across the side the word “nutmeg” was written in careful script. She pulled off the top. If she held it close to her face, she could still smell the spicy-sweet nutmeg, some grains of which had lodged in the seam between the bottom and the curved sides.
Carrying the box, she walked over to Archibald’s worktable. He was sanding a larger box, which looked to be of the same vintage. His pudgy fingers worked the surface of the wood as if he were petting a newborn kitten. “You’re doing a good job on that,” she said. “You’ve brought out the grain, and I can’t tell if it was ever painted.”
“Bright red it was,” Archibald said, “and cracked worse than that one.” There was pride in his voice, for which Rose forgave him, since he seemed unaware of it. She sensed Matthew was watching them, so she continued to chat to keep Archibald’s attention away from the other carpenter. Her voice was low and casual, and she hoped Matthew could not hear her.
“By the way, I’ve spoken with Wilhelm about some special lessons for you, as we discussed. Since the harvest is finished, one of the older brethren could spend some time teaching you. Would you like that?”
Archibald’s grin broadened his already round face. “Yea, I would. It might be a while, though,” he said, looking at the box in Rose’s hands. “We have a lot of work left to do.”
“How many of these boxes have you repaired already?”
“A couple dozen, thereabouts,” Archibald said. “There was a lot of them in some empty rooms.”
“Did Wilhelm send you around to look for unused furniture?”
“He started us off, but he didn’t know all the places.” This time the pride came through with a shy smile. “We found some on our own, in the South Family Dwelling House, getting the place ready, you know.”
Rose nodded. “Of course, when the South Family was gone, we really didn’t have room to store all that they’d left behind, so we put most everything into a few rooms and just took out what we could use. Goodness, there was furniture enough for fifty Believers, at least. You must have been working day and night to repair all of it.”
Archibald beamed. “Day and night,” he agreed. “Matthew’s been sleeping here, in the room upstairs, so he can work past bedtime. That’s the last of it, over there. That you’re holding is the last box, and Matthew, he’s doing the last ladder-back.”
Archibald’s face fell as he glanced up and caught another of Matthew’s glowers. But this time his fleshy lips formed a pout, and he turned his attention back to Rose. “Matthew and me, we’ve been working mighty hard to help out. We got near three rooms full of fixed-up chairs and tables and such-like back at the dwelling house, and those folks’ve been real grateful.”
“I imagine they are. Why else would Celia come over here just to thank you for your work?”
“Oh, she just come to pass the time of day, see how things are going, like she always does.” It didn’t take Matthew’s disapproval to quell him this time. At once he realized what he’d said. He gulped hard and began sanding, just a bit harder than before.
Behind her, Rose heard the clunk as Matthew put down his work, and she knew he was coming in her direction. With a light spin, she faced him.
“Well, it’s good to know you will be done with this huge task soon,” she said. “There’s quite of bit of repair needed elsewhere in the village. When do you suppose you’ll be ready to turn to that?”
“Soon,” he said. “If we can get some peaceful work time.” He stood in the middle of the room, and his tall, gangly body made it seem as if he’d be more comfortable galloping through the pastures. Apparently aware of his rudeness to his eldress, his shoulders hunched forward and he took an awkward shuffling step out of Rose’s path.
“I’ll be running along, then,” she said, with determined cheerfulness. As she headed for the door, she passed the chair Matthew was repairing. It had a cracked leg and a seat woven from red-and-white tape, like the ones she’d seen in the South Family Dwelling House. This one had dirty streaks across the seat, as if someone had stood on it with muddy shoes, and then slipped off.
Rose pulled out Mairin’s three most recent drawings and spread them across her desk. She picked up the checkerboard. Despite the lack of color, it could represent the interwoven tapes used for ladder-back chair seats—like the one she had just seen Matthew repairing—the one that looked as if it had been kicked aside by a man committing suicide. Even old chairs were unlikely to have such scuff marks on them. Shaker furniture was functional but delicate, more easily broken than furniture used by the world. Shaker pieces were made to be treated gently, used with respect. They were crafted for the glory of God and the pleasure of the angels. No Believer would use a ladder-back chair as a step-stool, especially without wiping his feet first.
The chair Matthew had been repairing was surely the one that had disappeared after Hugh’s death. She had questioned all the Believers, and no one had admitted to taking it out of the orchard. How did it get to the Carpenters’ Shop? Matthew and Archibald had just shrugged when she’d asked them. Had Celia perhaps stopped by on one of her frequent visits and told the brethren there was one more chair to be picked up and fixed? That seemed cold-hearted. She would have known, surely, how it had been used. Or perhaps she had used it herself.
Rose shook her head to clear it. She still had virtually no factual information, but her suspicions were growing. She wished she could just leave it alone and let Hugh be recorded as a suicide. But there was too much at stake. Mairin’s serious little face floated into her mind. She could never leave Mairin with the New-Owenites if there was the slightest chance one of them was a murderer, and it was looking more and more as if the New-Owenites would not hand her over to Rose without a fight. Mairin was, at the moment, a valuable possession for Gilbert.
A worse specter popped into her thoughts. What if, by some doubtful miracle, the New-Owenites decided to join with the Shakers? Even if they were only Winter Shakers—using the community’s food and shelter for a time, perhaps pretending to be serious novitiates, and leaving in the spring—then Mairin could come, too, but at what cost? Would the Society be taking in Hugh’s killer—or killers?
Rose took a sheet of paper and a pen from her desk drawer, set the drawings aside, and settled down to organize her thoughts. She drew three columns, labeled “Murder,” “Suicide,” and “Oddities/Questions.” After half an hour of writing—small, so she could fit everything on one page—she relaxed in her chair and read her lists.
| Murder? | Suicide? |
Celia felt imprisoned by Hugh. |
Hugh had gambling debts. |
Gilbert wanted Hugh’s money, |
Suicide note. |
could get through Celia? |
Chair. |
Gambling threatened the $ source. |
|
Earl disliked Hugh—why? |
Oddities/Questions
Was Hugh gentle or cruel?
Who took the chair from the orchard, and why?
Why so much furniture? Just how many New-Owenites are there?
What do they want from us?
Is the note real?
What is Celia’s relationship with Gilbert, Earl, Matthew, and Archibald?
What did Mairin see in the orchard?
What frightened Mairin outside the Schoolhouse?
What does Gilbert keep locked up in his wall cupboard?
Despite the lack of factual information, Rose felt more sure, seeing it all written down, that murder was a stronger possibility than suicide. Mairin’s shock proved nothing by itself; she might have been affected as badly by suicide as by murder. But something continued to frighten her, as if a threat still existed.
The amount of furniture being readied disturbed her. She had understood from Wilhelm that Gilbert had left behind a handful of followers, far too few to need all that. It was possible that Wilhelm had given the initial instructions to begin the repairing, and he might not have checked recently to see how much was being done. It would be like him to lose interest in the details. If that was what had happened, then the New-Owenites were the ones stockpiling furniture.
She folded the paper and staffed it in her apron pocket. When she heard from Andrew, perhaps she could straighten out some of her questions. In the meantime, the list would help to guide her efforts. She wanted a look at that so-called suicide note. Then it would be time for a heart-to-heart talk with Mairin, and she would need Agatha’s help.