ROSE PAUSED ONLY TO RIP OFF HER GALOSHES BEFORE RUNNING upstairs to Dulcie’s room. Fannie sat on a bench in the hallway, squinting at some knitting she was trying to do in the poor light.
“All is quiet, Rose,” Fannie said. “I knew you were worried, so I posted myself outside the door. Abigail and Gennie are with Dulcie.”
“Has Dulcie awakened again?”
“Not a peep out of her, poor child.”
“Has anyone else come up here?”
“No one.”
“The phones?”
“Still out, but that’s not unusual. The snow should let up fairly soon, I think, and then the lines will be repaired. Run along and dry off now. I had one of the sisters put some clean dry clothes and shoes in your retiring room.”
“Bless you.”
Rose gratefully slid a dry wool dress over her head. Her retiring room smelled of wet wool and a hint of mildew, so she was glad to leave quickly. She went immediately to the kitchen, where the cakes and pies were getting more attention than preparations for the sparse evening meal. The fragrance of onion and potato was barely perceptible under waves of apple, cinnamon, rosewater, and yeast. For once, the kitchen was warm, with every oven fired up.
Carlotta was grumpily stirring a cauldron of soup, and Esther was nearby, crimping the edges of a piecrust. Rose decided to question Carlotta first.
“If you’ve come to tell me Dulcie woke up and that she was pregnant, forget it. I already know,” Carlotta said.
“Obviously, but how?”
“Did you really think Honora could keep her mouth shut? She couldn’t wait to make an appearance down here and tell us all how she lost a baby, too. Like anybody cares.”
“Has there been any discussion about the father?”
“Everybody else thinks it’s Theodore, of course. Not me. I’d bet money on Sewell.”
“Why?”
Carlotta gave her a pitying look. “No man and woman can be such good friends without it going a lot farther, not to my way of thinking.”
“You sound jealous,” Rose said. “After all, Dulcie had two men paying attention to her.”
Carlotta shrugged. “I didn’t care.”
“Between them, Julia and Dulcie didn’t leave many men for you, did they?”
Carlotta’s raised her sharp chin. “I do okay,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I got a boyfriend in Lenox. I don’t have to run after Shakers and married men. If you want my opinion, it was Dulcie killed her own sister, probably for going after Theodore and Sewell.”
“Then who pushed Dulcie?”
“Chances are, she did it herself. Probably wanted to kill the baby and herself, both, out of shame.”
Rose was shocked into silence—not so much by the suggestion that Dulcie might want to kill herself and her baby, which was the sort of behavior she had encountered too many times in the world. Rather, she was stunned that the idea had not occurred to her before now. She tucked the notion away in a corner of her mind and left Carlotta to her work.
Esther was already rolling out another piecrust when Rose arrived at her side. “Go ahead with your crusts,” Rose said, “but I have some questions that can’t wait.”
Esther did not look pleased, but she nodded.
“I know that you’ve heard all about Dulcie. What I want to know is—do you suspect that Johnny might have been the father of Dulcie’s child?”
“What? How dare you suggest such a disgusting thing.” She’d shouted, and several curious faces stared in their direction. Esther saw them and rolled her piecrust so hard she pushed the roller through to the table.
“Then why does Johnny wander around in the middle of the night? Is he meeting you?”
Esther’s shoulders sagged. “No, he isn’t meeting me, or our children. He cares little about any of us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Nay, of course not. I want to know the truth.”
“The truth is that Johnny cares only for money. If he is wandering around at night, it has something to do with money.”
“Would he kill for money?”
“If you are asking whether he might have killed Julia, only if she threatened his grand plans in some way.”
“Such as with blackmail?”
Esther mashed the piecrust back into a ball and began to roll it out again. “I had six children with him,” she said, “and I never really knew him.”
Bringing with her a small oil lamp, Rose took Fannie’s place on the bench outside Dulcie’s room. When she was alone in the hallway, she pulled her notes from her apron pocket and began to jot down answers to her questions. She now knew a great deal, but the final answer still eluded her.
Rose closed her eyes to think. Theodore was probably not the father of Dulcie’s child, but who was? Otis and Johnny seemed least likely. Esther had confirmed the recurring accusation that Johnny cared deeply for wealth. Dalliance with a kitchen worker promised to another was surely something Johnny would avoid. At the least, such behavior would interrupt his single-minded pursuit of control over Hancock’s assets.
The bell rang for evening meal, and doors opened and closed, but Rose sat still, willing the pieces to fall into order. Theodore had rejected Dulcie after discovering her sin. Had the real father turned her away, as well? Might she truly have tried to kill both herself and her child, out of shame and despair? Rose’s heart ached at the thought that Dulcie had been so alone in her torment—and that no one, including Rose, had been there to help her.
Rose heard a faint clicking sound and opened her eyes. Except for the light from her small lamp, the corridor was now in complete darkness. The room to Dulcie’s door opened, and a small figure peeked out. “Fannie? Are you out there?”
“It’s me, Gennie. It’s Rose. It looks like all the lights have gone out.”
“Abigail said this happens sometimes in a snowstorm. What should we do?”
“You two must be hungry,” Rose said. “I’m sure they’ll have plenty of candles and oil lamps in the dining room. Why don’t you and Abigail have your evening meal, and I’ll watch over Dulcie.”
Gennie disappeared inside the room for a moment, and then reappeared. “Abigail said that would be okay, but she will eat quickly and return to spell you.”
“The poor dear’s been quiet,” Abigail whispered as she and Gennie turned the sickroom over to Rose. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Rose could no longer read her notes, so she watched Dulcie’s shadowy face and worked from memory. She thought there was one person she could eliminate from her list of suspects, and it was going to make Gennie furious. The recent conversation with Officer Billy had given her the clue. Helen Butterfield was surely not the killer. Rose had a strong suspicion that Grady had a lot to do with Helen’s convenient ever-presence. If so, he might find that Gennie was even less inclined than before to marry him right away.
In the dark, quiet room, Rose found her eyes closing. She hadn’t realized how tired she was. It wouldn’t hurt to rest a few moments, surely. If the night held more surprises, she wanted to be strong enough to face them.
The click and creak of an opening door jolted Rose out of a sound sleep. “Rose? It’s Abigail. I’m back. If you hurry, you can still have a bit of company for the evening meal. Has Dulcie said anything?”
“Not a word,” Rose said, hoping it was true. She wished she hadn’t fallen quite so deeply asleep.
“Well, you run along then. Fannie said we should all eat and go right to bed. The kitchen workers had to stop their baking, and Esther volunteered to take out the cakes and pies already in the ovens. We’re running low on oil, so Fannie told her not even to do the washing up, just wait till morning, she said. She’s certain the lights will come back on in the morning, so we can pick up with our work. We have so much to do, with Mother Ann’s Birthday just day after tomorrow.”
“Surely she isn’t still planning a big celebration,” Rose said. “No one will be able to get here.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Abigail said. “Snow can melt so quickly, especially late in the winter. Besides, Fannie has asked Mother Ann to intercede—after all, it’s her own birthday, and she wouldn’t want all this lovely food wasted.”
Rose was too tired to suggest that Mother Ann might have more pressing matters that needed her divine influence. But perhaps Mother would have a few moments to help Hancock through this difficult time. Rose sent a silent prayer of her own for help finding a killer before any more human life was lost.
As Rose reached the dining room, the men began to file out. Fannie must have told them to leave as soon as they had finished eating, rather than wait for the sisters. Sitting around would just waste oil and candles. Rose stood aside and waited as the men walked past her and toward the men’s staircase. Each held a light that cast eerie shadows on his face. Rose shivered, remembering the Pullman porter Hezekiah’s words about demons roaming the corridors of Hancock Village. These were live men, of course, yet one of them might be a murderer. She watched each face as it went past her.
The spectral images reappeared as she closed her eyes to sleep that night, after a sparse and lonely meal. As each man’s face drifted across her eyelids, a corner of her mind observed his demeanor. Aldon appeared first, looking strained and grim. Johnny peered at the level of oil in his lamp, perhaps wondering if he had enough to continue his nighttime inventories. Theodore dragged with exhaustion, and Otis grinned at Rose as he passed—surely pleased at the prospect of extra sleep.
Sleep was overtaking Rose, confusing her inner sight. The next figure to appear had a grotesquely wrinkled face and was dressed for worship. With her last ounce of conscious will, Rose suppressed the image. It was the dried-apple doll come to haunt her dreams, and she would not allow it to do so. For the day ahead, peaceful sleep was her best ally.