WHEN THE BREAKFAST BELL RANG, GENNIE AT FIRST thought it must be a middle-of-the-night emergency. Surely breakfast couldn’t have arrived so soon. It seemed only a few hours since she had snuggled under her covers. In fact, she remembered, it had been about four hours. After her adventure in the fifth-floor attic, she had rousted Rose from a sound sleep, and the two women had sat up sharing information and speculations for quite some time.
A burst of renewed excitement gave Gennie the strength to toss off her warm blankets and dress. She was eager to find out how Rose would deal with Helen Butterfield after learning of her midnight visit to the attic. Not that Gennie would have much opportunity to observe anything firsthand. With Mother Ann’s Birthday so close now, Fannie had asked if Gennie could be spared to help out in the kitchen. The very thought almost sent her back to bed. The kitchen wasn’t even cozy and warm, like the one at North Homage. And working with Carlotta was nearly as unpleasant as working with Sister Elsa. On the other hand, with Carlotta’s gossiping skills, Gennie would surely hear about anything exciting soon after it happened—though perhaps not accurately.
Gennie splashed some water on her face and ran a comb through her tousled curls. She missed having a warm bath in the mornings, like she could in her boardinghouse back home. She strongly suspected she was growing soft, and it was okay with her. When she and Grady married, she’d have a bath whenever she wanted, and she’d enjoy it. And she’d have a cook and a housekeeper, and she’d only go to the kitchen to check on dinner. Although working in the Hancock kitchen might not be all that bad, she told herself—Fannie had said they’d be baking lots of Mother Ann’s Birthday Cakes, with rosewater frosting on top.
Footsteps outside her room told her the hired women were heading for the washroom or downstairs to gather for breakfast. Gennie was eager to get there early, so she wouldn’t miss anything. It would probably be her last time outside the kitchen until after the evening meal. Thank goodness she hadn’t been asked to help with breakfast, or she would have had no sleep at all.
A knock on her door was followed by Carlotta’s uninvited entrance. “Come on, sleepyhead,” she said. “You can’t stay in bed all day, not around here. We’ll be on our feet for the next twelve hours in that kitchen—not that it will matter. No one is going to show up for this big birthday party, not with all this snow coming in.”
“I’ve been ready for ages,” Gennie said. She couldn’t decide whom she found more irritating—Carlotta or Helen. She wished she’d caught them both wandering about in the middle of the night.
Carlotta slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. “Did you hear the news?”
Gennie managed to shake her head innocently, as she wondered if Rose had already called the police, and they had arrested Helen Butterfield for murder.
“Honora is here.”
“Honora?”
“Yes, silly, Honora—Aldon’s wife. The crazy lady—remember?”
“Of course I remember. You mean she’s come for a free breakfast?”
Carlotta sighed. “No, that wouldn’t be news. She’ll take a free meal whenever she can get away with it. What I meant was, Honora came last night and just told the sisters she was gonna nurse Dulcie back to health. Can you imagine? She claims she was some sort of nurse during the war, so she thinks she can work miracles. I think it’s real funny—all of a sudden, Crazy Honora is helping the Shakers.”
“But why would Honora care about Dulcie?”
“Gennie, you’re so innocent. She don’t give a hoot about little Dulcie. My guess is she thinks Dulcie was one of Aldon’s many lovers—or at least she thinks Aldon and Julia was lovers, so she figures she can get the story out of Dulcie while she’s weak. Maybe she plans to murder Dulcie before she can talk,” Carlotta added, with a ghoulish grin.
Gennie grabbed her sweater from a wall peg. “Come on,” she said, “time for breakfast.” She’d had quite enough of Carlotta DiAngelo, and she found the thought of spending the entire day working with her thoroughly unpleasant. Maybe a full stomach would help.
Rose had been dressed and ready for the day long before the breakfast bell. Her sleep had been far from peaceful, and a howling wind hadn’t helped. She opened her curtains to black-gray clouds moving quickly toward the village. The snow never seemed to stop for long.
Rose didn’t yet know what to make of Gennie’s revelations about Helen Butterfield. She needed to find out more about the woman, which would take time. Meanwhile, she would relieve Helen of any nursing duty with Dulcie. Rose couldn’t shake the fear that someone might try again to harm Dulcie. As soon as Fannie stopped by her retiring room to mention that Honora had come to help out with the nursing, Rose’s fear redoubled. The offer seemed out of character. In fact, Honora’s character could best be described as demented—and wasn’t it most likely that a demented person had made those devil dolls Gennie had found in the attic? What if Honora had a wild plan to kill everyone she perceived to be stealing her husband from her? Whoever had poisoned those buckets might indeed have seriously injured many people, if the buckets had been used for drinking water. A minister’s wife might not know that they were intended for use with animals. She was in Hancock the night of the worship service. She might have gone to the barn looking for Aldon, seen the poison and the buckets, and simply acted on impulse.
On the other hand, Honora had an alibi for the time of Dulcie’s fall. What if someone wanted to give the impression that the killer was insane? Honora was the perfect dupe.
A few rooms in the Brick Dwelling House had been set aside for the care of ill Believers, and Rose headed directly for the one in which Dulcie lay comatose. According to Fannie, Honora had shown up near bedtime the night before and offered to watch Dulcie all night, so the sisters could get some rest. Luckily, one of the sisters had insisted on staying, so Honora had not been alone with Dulcie, as far as Rose knew.
Rose reached Dulcie’s room as Sister Abigail was closing the door behind her.
“She’s the same,” Abigail said. “I’m going to get some breakfast. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Rose entered the room without knocking. Honora sat in a rocker next to an adult-sized cradle bed, crooning a hymn and gently rocking the unconscious Dulcie. It wasn’t the scene Rose expected to see.
“She has lost a child, you know,” Honora said, as Rose approached the cradle bed. “I lost a child, too. It is always a judgment, to lose a child, but not on the mother. No, not on the mother. It’s a judgment on the father, the sins of the father. The mother only bears the pain. It’s the way of God.”
Rose had no inclination to argue the point. “How did you know Dulcie lost a child?” she asked. “Did someone tell you?”
“A woman knows.”
“Fannie said that you arrived last night, offering to watch over Dulcie to relieve the sisters. That was kind of you.”
Honora nodded in rhythm with her rocking.
“It’s quite a storm coming in, isn’t it?”
“Nothing we don’t deserve,” Honora said.
“I was wondering, how did you manage to get here last night? Surely you didn’t walk, did you?”
“I could have, you know. We grow up strong around here.”
“But last night, you didn’t have to?”
“God sent an instrument,” Honora said, with a smile. “Someone to help.”
“Really? Who did God send?”
Honora squinted at Rose as if she were unbelievably stupid. “Sewell has always been God’s instrument, ever since he was a child. That is why he bears so much pain. God bestows great pain on those he treasures most. It is a test.”
“Has Sewell picked you up and brought you to Hancock before?”
“Of course. He is a good boy, always thinking of others.”
“Indeed,” Rose said. “Was it Sewell who brought you here the other night for the worship service?”
“Such a dear boy. He knew without asking.”
“Honora, you must be hungry after your vigil. Breakfast is about to begin. Let me watch Dulcie while you eat. You must keep up your strength, you know.”
Honora slowed the cradle bed until it came to a gentle halt. “Yes,” she said. “I don’t know how many more nights I will be called upon to stand watch over this poor bereft mother. I will eat something.” She walked toward the door with tall dignity, as if God were calling from the dining room, leaving Rose sad but relieved.
Gennie ate every bite of her biscuits and oatmeal. Lack of sleep had increased her appetite. She noticed both Helen and Honora at breakfast, as well as Rose’s absence. Since it was unthinkable that Rose had slept through breakfast, she must be with Dulcie. So, Dulcie must still be alive.
For once, the basement kitchen was warm when Gennie arrived to help clean up and then bake for Mother Ann’s Birthday celebration. The sisters had started fires in all the ovens, in preparation for baking dozens of loaves of bread, numerous birthday cakes, and sundry cookies. If she had to cook, Gennie thought, baking was her choice.
To her relief, she was not alone with Carlotta in the kitchen. Esther had also been assigned to help out. She didn’t look happy about it, either. Gennie guessed that the demands of so much baking would make it difficult for Esther to sneak off to be with her children.
Gennie gathered the ingredients for Mother Ann’s Birthday Cake and began measuring. She reached for the rosewater and, to her astonishment, Helen Butterfield appeared by her side.
Smiling brightly, as if she’d had a full night’s sleep, she said, “I’ve come to lend a hand. Gennie, I see you’ve got the cakes. I’ve always wanted to make Mother Ann’s Birthday Cake. I’ll work with you.”
Gennie couldn’t suppress a shudder. It was bad enough Helen wasn’t under arrest, but now Gennie would have to work side by side with the woman who nearly gave her a heart attack just hours earlier. A woman who might be a killer. On the other hand, at least Gennie could keep on eye on her, maybe wheedle some incriminating information out of her.
“I do so love the feel of flour. So silky,” Helen said, as she used her hands to dump flour into a bowl. “Now, I’ve heard that the Shakers used to stir the batter with the branches of a peach tree, but apparently we aren’t going to do that?” Helen smiled, and Gennie’s heart chilled.
“Are you all right, dear?” Helen asked. “You look ill.”
“I’m fine,” Gennie said, with feigned cheerfulness. “Have you been satisfied with your stay here?” she asked. “I mean, have you found what you were looking for?”
“You mean furniture and so forth? Oh yes, more than I imagined. Such precious items, just lying about unused. I’m thinking of opening a store, an antiques store. Shaker furniture is so simple and lovely. Even with times being what they are, I’m sure I’ll be able to make quite a bit of money selling what I’ve been buying from the Shakers.”
“This has been quite an exciting time, too, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has.”
“What do you think is going on? I mean, who do you think murdered Julia and hurt Dulcie?”
“I can’t imagine, my dear. Furthermore, I thought Dulcie simply fell. Do you think differently?”
Gennie busied herself with measuring butter. “I’ve no idea,” she said, after a while. “After all, I just got here. I never met Julia, and I barely knew Dulcie.”
“Of course.”
Gennie tried a different approach. “I noticed Honora Stearn showed up for breakfast. Why do you suppose she’s here?”
“I heard she offered to help nurse Dulcie,” Helen said.
“Do you think that’s safe?”
“I can’t imagine why not. I also heard that Honora had nurse’s training, so she might be quite helpful to the sisters, and I’m certainly glad to share the work with another nurse. Why? Do you have reason to believe Honora isn’t capable—that she might hurt Dulcie in some way?”
“Well, it seems odd, that’s all. Honora hates the Shakers and seems to think every woman here has been involved with her husband.”
Helen measured and stirred in silence. Finally, she reached over with a floury hand and touched Gennie’s arm. “Curiosity killed the cat,” she said. She released her hold on Gennie and picked up the rosewater.
Gennie had to restrain herself from throwing her bowl of cake batter at the unbearably irritating Helen Butterfield. Instead, she poured the batter into a pan and started another batch, to give her temper ample time to cool. She had no intention of giving up.
“Where do you intend to open this antiques store?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound casual.
“What? Oh yes, the shop. I hadn’t really gotten that far. Pittsfield, perhaps.”
“What about back in your hometown? Where did you say that was?”
“Oh no, it’s far too small. Perhaps I’ll even try Boston—there are still wealthy families in Boston.”
Helen was almost as skilled at not answering questions as Grady, when he didn’t want Gennie to know something. Why was her life so filled with frustrating people? The more Helen avoided answering her questions, the more suspicious Gennie felt, and the more determined she became.
“I hear the Shakers stored dozens of items up in the attics in this building,” Gennie said, “Have you had a chance to explore up there?” She pretended to test her batter for lumps while watching through her lashes to note Helen’s reaction.
“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Helen said. She poured her batter into a pan, which she carried over to a table near one of the large ovens. When she returned, she gave Gennie a sunny smile and said, “Well, that was great fun. I have a few little things to do just now, but I’ll return in a while to help some more.”
Gennie had picked up a few curse words around the Sheriff’s Office, and she used them silently on herself. She was certain she had just caused Helen to fear that Gennie was planning to explore the attics herself. Helen was probably going right now to move those grotesque dolls to a safer place. And Gennie was stuck in the kitchen. Maybe someday she’d learn to keep her mouth shut.
Several hours passed as Rose watched over the silent Dulcie. The sisters had stoked up a fire in the old black cast iron stove to keep the room especially warm. For once, Rose wasn’t chilled, but the air was getting stale. She poured some rosewater into a bowl and placed it on a table near the head of the cradle bed. Maybe it would add a hint of sweetness and summer to Dulcie’s troubled dreams.
The room darkened as if evening had arrived, though the noon meal was still a ways off. Rose rubbed some moisture off the window to discover snow falling thicker and faster than she’d ever seen before. She had planned a trip into Pittsfield, but it would have to wait. She would have to make use of the Society’s telephone to find answers to some of her questions.
Finally, one of the sisters arrived to take over Dulcie’s care, and Rose left her with strict instructions not to leave the injured girl alone with anyone other than another sister. It was the best she could do, and she feared it might not be good enough. It was already almost noon, and it seemed that each hour took her further away from a solution to these terrible events.
With everyone so busy, Rose decided to use the phone on the sisters’ floor in the Brick Dwelling House, since they would be least likely to take time for a rest in their retiring rooms. She took along her notes and a ladder-back chair and settled down for a long conversation. The connection crackled ominously, but she managed to reach the Pittsfield police and the soft-voiced officer named Billy. To gain his assistance, she told him everything she had uncovered so far.
“Sure, I guess I can give you some time,” Billy said, “but it sounds like you’ve found as much reason as we have to think Sewell killed Julia. Even if you figure Dulcie’s fall wasn’t an accident, Sewell seems the most likely bet. He’d’ve had the most time of anyone to go to the old barn and push her.”
“I realize that, but neither of us has proof yet. I was wondering if you could tell me more about some of the others. You know them all, don’t you?”
“Yep, went to church with them up until I left.”
“You left Aldon’s church? Any particular reason?”
“Nothing that has a bearing on this case. Let’s just say Aldon and I came to a parting of the ways. I don’t want to say anymore. Not to a lady, especially a Shaker lady.”
“I’ve heard about his reputation with women. You certainly won’t shock me.”
“Still, I won’t say anything more. Honora’s got it bad enough already. I don’t have a lot of time, so you better get on with your questions.” Billy no longer sounded so genial, and Rose knew she would get nothing more about Aldon from him.
“Tell me about Johnny Jenkins. He seems ambitious to me.”
Billy laughed. “You can say that again. Ambitious as they come. I always figured that’s why he married that snooty girl from Boston, because he thought he could get his hands on her family’s money. But they wouldn’t give him the time of day, didn’t even come to the wedding.”
“Why do you think he wants to become a Shaker?”
“What? The snow’s weighing down the lines, I can’t hear you.”
Rose glanced up and down the long, dark corridor. No sign of another living being. Perhaps it would be all right to shout. “I asked, why did Johnny become a Shaker novitiate?”
“Good question. Only one reason I can think of—he suspects there’s money to be had in Hancock. Probably spends his nights digging up the graveyard, looking for it. That’d be like Johnny Jenkins.”
“Don’t you think it’s possible that Julia got in his way somehow—maybe she tried blackmailing him, threatening to tell Fannie about his passion for wealth?”
“Nah, that wouldn’t bother Johnny. He’d just go on to the next scheme.”
Rose was less certain, but there wasn’t time to argue. “Do you know Helen Butterfield, by any chance?”
“Helen Butterfield? The name’s familiar, but . . . Is she from Pittsfield?”
“I don’t think so. She’s a rather stout, older woman—arrived the same day I did, though I don’t remember seeing her on the train.”
“That name . . . You know, if she’s a widow lady from Williamstown, she just might be the Helen who was married to old Jake Butterfield. Retired years ago, Jake did. He was a good cop, knew his job.”
“Helen is a police officer’s widow?”
“If it’s the same lady,” Billy said. “You know, I gotta hang up. This weather will be causing accidents, and I’m the only one here just now.”
“I understand. Could you just tell me if the Helen Butterfield you knew had any connections with anyone here at Hancock?”
“Not that I can think of. All I ever heard was what a good cook she was.”
“Thank you, Billy. I’ll try calling some other folks in town and let you get back to work.”
Aldon’s church would be a good start, she thought. Maybe she could learn more about the other suspects, and especially about Billy’s disagreement with Aldon and the effect on Honora, from the church secretary. Church secretaries knew everything.
She picked up the receiver and jiggled the cradle. The line was dead. Maybe it was temporary—snow on the line, as Billy had mentioned. She hung up, waited a minute, then tried again. Nothing. Taking along her notes, she climbed the sisters’ staircase to the third floor, where the hired women lived, and tried their phone. It was dead, too.
The bell rang for the noon meal. Rose reached the staircase and hesitated. She was so close, she might as well go up and have a look at those dolls Gennie described. She passed by the fourth-floor attic without encountering anyone. The fifth-floor attic seemed deserted as well, and dark as dusk with the noon sun in hiding behind snow-filled clouds. Nevertheless, she easily located the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. She found one doll, not two. She picked it up and held it close. It was a Shaker sister, and, as Gennie had said, the dried-apple head was obscenely decorated with painted red horns. She replaced the doll and felt around the drawer, then checked all the other drawers in the dresser. She found rags and kerchiefs, neatly folded, but no sign of a Shaker brother doll.
“Oh, don’t worry about the phones,” Fanny said, as Rose pulled her aside before she could enter the dining room. “We have weather like this so often in the winter, and the phones go dead all the time. They will be back.”
“But isn’t this rather dangerous? Perhaps we should suspend work for the day, keep everyone in the dwelling house and together. We could have a worship service.”
Fannie stared at Rose as if she had drifted into lunacy. “A worship service when there is so much work to be done? My goodness, how would we ever be ready for the celebration? Surely we can give our hearts to God and still keep our hands at work. Don’t let this storm alarm you, Rose. We are used to it. Everything will be back to normal by tomorrow. You’ll see.”
Rose gave in. She didn’t want to frighten Fannie without good reason. She would just have to trudge around in the snow and gather information as fast as she could, and hope it was fast enough to protect Dulcie.
The meal was blessedly simple and quick. As they left the dining room, Rose slipped out of the sisters’ line and reached the hallway before anyone else. She watched everyone head for their afternoon work, so she would have a chance of knowing where they would be, if she wanted to question them again.
Rose sat on a bench and pulled her notes from her apron pocket. She added what she had learned from Billy, the police officer, and had just begun to describe the violated Shaker doll when she heard rapid footsteps on the stairs.
“Rose, I’m so glad I found you. Hurry.” It was Abigail, who had closed the Fancy Goods Store, due to the weather, and had volunteered to help with Dulcie.“She’s coming around,” Abigail said. “Quickly, come with me.”
Rose grabbed up her skirts, for once not concerned to hide her legs, and followed Abigail, who was already half a flight ahead of her.
“Abigail,” Rose called after her. “You didn’t leave Dulcie alone, did you?”
“Don’t worry,” Abigail said, panting with exertion. “I’ve left Honora with her.”