23

The truth will out. Sister Edna’s words kept circling in Carlyn’s head all through the morning. After their garden duty ended, she and Sister Berdine had been assigned to the washhouse. Mountains of soiled sheets, towels, and clothing waited to be washed. At least the Shakers had wash mills, large water-powered wooden contraptions that did the scrubbing and saved the sisters’ knuckles. Even so, the loads of wet clothes had to be transferred from tub to tub. The splash of the water and the slap of material gave little opportunity for talk among the workers.

But when they went outside to hang the clothing on lines strung behind the washhouse, Sister Berdine carried her basket to the line near Carlyn. After a look behind her to be sure no one was paying attention, she asked, “What happened? When you didn’t show up for the morning meal, I feared Sister Edna might have locked you in the dressing room or something.”

Carlyn draped a sheet across the line and smoothed out the damp cloth before she pinned it. The wooden pins were another Shaker innovation, according to Sister Alice.

“I don’t think there are locks on the inner doors,” Carlyn said.

“Something delayed you.”

“We were talking, so when the bell rang, I had not finished my chores.”

“Talking?” Sister Berdine made a face. “You mean she was browbeating you.”

“Nay. Sister Edna told me to go on to the eating room, but I didn’t think I should leave her alone until she got off her knees. She is getting up in the years.”

With a snap, Sister Berdine shook out a towel to pin on the line. “I can’t believe you sound almost sorry for her.” She reached for another towel. “That woman has done everything possible to make your life here miserable.”

“She does cling to the rules.” Carlyn pulled a pillowcase out of the basket. It was good to be outside. The sun was warm on her face and the fresh smell of the laundry filled her nose. Small, ordinary pleasures. Maybe that would be where she would find her happiness from now on. A piece of apple pie. The feel of dirt in her hands. Warm water for a bath. The smile of a friend. Simple things.

That was one of the Shaker songs she was learning in the practice sessions. ’Tis a gift to be simple. ’Tis a gift to be free. Was that the truth she was supposed to find?

“So she was telling you the rules.” Sister Berdine hung another towel on the line and turned back to Carlyn, doubt evident in every word.

“Nay. She was not herself. She was worried about something, but didn’t say what.” Carlyn shifted to the side to let the wind blow the wet sheets away from her. “Perhaps we have misjudged her.”

“Right. And Shakers don’t whirl when they dance.” Sister Berdine laughed. “That sister takes pleasure in every wrong she catches us doing because it makes her feel that much holier when she can point out how unholy we are. I can’t imagine what she could have told you to make you miss breakfast and now defend her even when her ears aren’t listening.”

“I’m not defending her. Just telling you what happened.”

“What I think must have happened is that you went back to bed and had a most interesting dream,” Sister Berdine said.

“I did want to pull the covers up over my head when the rising bell rang this morning. Dream more.” Carlyn looked over at Sister Berdine pinning a shirt to the line. “If you could dream whatever you wished, what would you dream?”

“That’s easy. I’d dream a handsome man would ride through Harmony Hill, take one look at me, and decide he couldn’t live without me.” Sister Berdine sighed and held a handkerchief next to her cheek before she draped it over the line.

“Sounds like a fairy tale,” Carlyn said.

“That it does.” Sister Berdine grabbed another shirt out of her basket. “And one that’s not likely to come true.”

“What about that brother you said was watching you at the meetings?”

“That one?” A little color bloomed in Sister Berdine’s cheeks. “He’s not exactly Prince Charming, but he’s not so bad.”

“You sound like you’ve talked to him.”

“We’ve met a few times.”

“Met?” Carlyn stared over at her. “How?”

“There are ways if a person is determined.” Sister Berdine wouldn’t meet Carlyn’s eyes.

“Are you thinking of leaving?”

“A girl can dream, can’t she?” Sister Berdine sighed.

“But what would I do without you here to talk to?”

“Talk to Sister Edna, I suppose.” Sister Berdine grinned across the line at her. “I think I have as much to worry about on that count as you. What with the way that sheriff was looking at you yesterday morning before Sister Edna messed things up. He has no problem filling the handsome prince role. Is he married?”

Now the color bloomed in Carlyn’s cheeks. “He’s not, but I was.” Carlyn corrected herself. “I am.” She pinned another pillowcase to the line. It was surely a betrayal of Ambrose to even think about the sheriff, and yet the thought was there. Sister Edna was right. She was entertaining sinful thoughts.

Sister Berdine reached between the lines to touch Carlyn’s hand. “It is not wrong to be lonesome, my sister. I know the feeling well, and it must be doubly hard for you to have known love and lost it.”

“But I can’t be sure he’s lost.” Carlyn pulled her hand away from Sister Berdine and took another sheet from her basket.

“There are many things we cannot be sure of.” Sister Berdine ran her hand along the wet clothes. “Whether we will be given breath to live through the day to bring in these clothes after they dry. Whether a rain cloud will appear to delay the drying.”

Carlyn looked up at the blue sky. “There are no clouds.”

“Yea, and we look to the promise of another day with the need for clean clothes, but do you not think Brother Henry was doing the same before the fire took his life? We face an unknown future.” Sister Berdine gave her a sympathetic look. “And with your husband you are burdened with an unknown past as well.”

“It would be easier to know. At least to be sure of what has already happened.”

“Yea.”

Carlyn smoothed out the sheet. “I prayed for answers.”

“Then I will join my prayers to yours.” Sister Berdine looked up with that smile that meant she was about to say something a Shaker sister should not say. “And you can join yours to mine that Brother Payton becomes more courageous and a bit, just a bit, better looking.”

“Looks are not everything.”

“Indeed.” Sister Berdine reached for a clothespin. “So concentrate your prayers on the need for courage. For all of us.” She nodded her head toward the washhouse. “We may need it posthaste. Sister Edna is headed our way. I fear we have been caught exchanging too many pleasantries.”

They both snatched up something to hang on the line. By the time Sister Edna was near enough to speak to them, Carlyn’s basket was empty and Sister Berdine’s almost so. But that didn’t change the frown darkening Sister Edna’s face.

“The sun only shines for so many hours a day, Sisters. It is best to get the laundry hung on the lines with diligent efficiency to take advantage of those hours.” Sister Edna appeared to be back to her normal self.

“Yea, Sister Edna.” Sister Berdine managed to look contrite as she hung up the last shirt in her basket. “We will hasten our labor.”

“Yea,” Carlyn murmured in agreement as she started toward the washhouse.

“Give your basket to Sister Berdine, Sister Carlyn. She will have to work doubly quick. Elder Derron has need to speak with you,” Sister Edna said. “Immediately.”

“Has Sheriff Brodie returned with more questions about the fire?” Carlyn was ashamed at how her heart lifted at the thought of seeing the sheriff.

Sister Edna’s eyes narrowed on Carlyn. “I am not privy to the elder’s reasons for sending for you. I have been told to bring you to the Trustee House. So that is what I will do.” Her words were clipped as if each cost her effort. Dark shadows lined her eyes and her hands were trembling. When she saw Carlyn looking at them, she thrust them out of sight under her apron and turned away. “Come. It is our duty to do as our leaders ask.”

Carlyn handed her basket to Sister Berdine with a shrug and hurried after the other woman. When she caught up, she asked, “Elder Derron is not one of the Ministry, is he?”

“Nay, but they appointed him to oversee much of the financial workings we have with those of the world. It is a position of much import. And danger.”

“Danger?” Carlyn asked.

“The ever necessary exposure to those of the world. Such worldliness can rub off on a person if he lets down his guard.”

“Elder Derron seems very devout.”

“I did not say he wasn’t.” Sister Edna slowed her pace to send Carlyn a pointed look. “I merely said worldly temptations might be stronger on a brother or sister who is continually exposed to such. You should understand that since you are struggling to give up your own worldly thinking.”

“Yea.” She should be like Sister Berdine and simply agree with whatever Sister Edna said, but then she went on. “I hope it’s not Sheriff Brodie with more questions.”

“Are you being truthful, Sister Carlyn?” Sister Edna turned to look at her again. “Moments ago you sounded eager at the thought the sheriff might be the reason you were called from your duties.”

“Yea, I am telling the truth. It is better if I do not see the sheriff again.” Carlyn ignored how that thought pushed tears toward her eyes. “Much better.”

“I do not know the reason the elder wishes to see you, but temptations do fall into our paths at times even here in our heaven on earth. That is why one must be vigilant and why there are watchers to keep those tempted to stray away from the slippery paths of sin.” She put her head down and began to walk faster. “Rules are good and necessary. Mother Ann rewards those who learn the rules and do not stray.”

She sounded more as though she were trying to convince herself than Carlyn, so Carlyn followed along without speaking. It was plain the worries bothering the sister that morning were still trailing along after her.

No horse was tied to the hitching post in front of the Trustee House, and even while Carlyn breathed easier, a finger of regret poked her at the same time.

Sister Edna climbed the steps, pulled open the door, and hurried past the whirling stairways to Elder Derron’s office as though the midday bell was already sounding and she feared they would miss another meal.

Carlyn wasn’t sure of the time. Clocks were scarce in the village. The days were ruled by the ringing of the Centre House bell. A worker was not to be forever watching the time. But she judged it was barely past ten. Unless the sheriff was there, they had little worry of being delayed long by Elder Derron. He would state his business with her and release them back to their duties. She had no idea what he could have to say of such import to interrupt their workday. Such was not the Shaker way.

Elder Derron turned from his writing desk when they entered the room. Sister Edna inclined her head, but said nothing. Two chairs were already down from the peg strip and placed a respectable distance from the elder.

Sister Edna sat down and pointed Carlyn to the other chair. At last she spoke. “We have come as you requested.”

“Yea, I will not long keep you from your work.”

“Does it concern the fire?” Sister Edna stared across the space at the elder, her impatience not quite concealed.

“Nay, this is a different matter.” The elder shifted his eyes from Sister Edna to Carlyn as he picked up an envelope and held it in the air. “We have received a letter from Brother Josiah who is on a trading trip to the south.”

“So what has that to do with Sister Carlyn?” Sister Edna demanded.

“Quite a lot actually.” The elder leaned forward in his chair. “Quite a lot. Do you know Brother Josiah, Sister Carlyn? He has often been out in the world selling our products both near and far.”

“Nay, I don’t think so.” Carlyn shook her head slightly.

“Even so, Brother Josiah remembered your husband.”

Sister Edna spoke up. “Not her husband now. She forsook that union when she came among us.”

“I fear he forsook it first.” The elder waved the envelope. “I think you told us your husband—” he hesitated and adjusted his words—“your husband in the world was missing in the war. I have heard, oftentimes, the army considers that to mean a man deserted his company.”

“Ambrose would not have deserted.” Carlyn defended his good name.

“You are right.” He indicated the letter in his hand again. “This letter proves that.”

Carlyn barely kept from standing and snatching the letter from the elder. “Is it from the government?”

“Nay, it is from a woman Brother Josiah met on his trading trip. Ida Mae Watkins. She lives on a small plantation close to a battlefield. A couple of days after the battle there, her servants found your husband in her orchard, wounded and out of his head from a fever. In spite of his Yankee uniform, she took pity on him.”

“Can I not read the letter for myself?” Carlyn felt as though her heart was being squeezed.

“Certainly.” But the elder did not hold the letter out to her. “It merely seems expedient to tell you parts of it first.”

“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.