THE LOW-HANGING SUN BRIEFLY ESCAPED THE CLOUDS AND bronzed the winter countryside as Grady O’Neal’s brown Buick followed a rutted back road that led out of North Homage and north to Cincinnati. A weary Rose sat in the backseat, throwing her arms across the luggage each time the car bounced over a hole or veered to avoid a rock. Gennie sat in the front seat, gazing with simmering excitement at the countryside as if she’d never seen it before. She was too thrilled even to chatter, for which Rose was grateful.
Grady simmered with something darker—worry, perhaps. “I made a call last night to Pittsfield,” he said, raising his voice so Rose could hear him over the noise of the motor. Rose noticed the tight cords in the back of his young neck and his quick sideways glance at Gennie.
“Why?” asked Gennie.
“You said you didn’t know anyone in Pittsfield,” Rose said at the same time. Both their voices snapped with suspicion.
“Well, I couldn’t let you two go out there and walk into who-knows-what without trying to make sure you’d be safe. I figured you’d both be angry, but that’s—well, that’s just the way I am.”
“Interfering?” Gennie asked.
Grady’s shoulders twitched and his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
Rose held her breath, waiting for an argument to begin. She hoped Grady would keep his attention on the road. Gennie and Grady were young, in love, and had grown up only miles from each other, yet they came from such different backgrounds. Orphaned at ten years old, Gennie had been raised and educated by the Shakers. She had been taught and shown that men and women were equal in God’s eyes and, therefore, she would expect Grady to treat her as a partner. Grady had grown up in the world. The only son in a wealthy, tobacco-farming family, he’d attended college, served as deputy and now as sheriff, and he was used to having influence.
When Rose saw them together, it reminded her of trying to blend cold butter into milk; no matter how much she chased and mashed those little bits of butter, they remained separate unless she heated the mixture. Grady and Gennie’s love for each other, when it prevailed, smoothed their differences. The rest of the time, they couldn’t agree on much of anything.
Rose was tempted to indulge once again in her “Sister Gennie” reverie, but Grady surprised her. After a few moments of tense silence, he flexed his shoulders and spoke in a low voice. Without a thought that his words might not be meant for her hearing, Rose leaned forward.
“Gen,” he said, “I know you think I’m bossy, and maybe I am, a bit, but it’s because I’m worried. I just want to protect you.”
“I’ll be with Rose.”
“I know, and I know you’ve both handled danger before. Maybe that’s what worries me. You encourage each other.”
“We both want the truth, Grady. It’s what Rose taught me. Agatha, too. Your people brought you up to protect folks who are weaker or poorer than you, so you became a sheriff. The Shakers taught me to be honest and to abhor the killing of one human being by another.” Gennie’s voice brightened. “So you see, we want the same thing, both of us. I worry about you, too, but I don’t ask you to stop being a sheriff because it’s dangerous, do I?”
“No, but—”
“So I deserve the same consideration from you.” Gennie gave a quick nod of satisfaction, as if she’d just deciphered an obscure coded message. She turned back to the car window. The road had smoothed as they neared Cincinnati, though signs of desperate poverty dotted the landscape. Tattered shacks clustered at the base of rolling hills, stark brown with winter. Come spring, not far off, a near-tropical lushness would blanket the hills and disguise some of the destitution.
Grady’s silence gave Rose a chance to break in with the questions she’d been burning to ask. “Who did you call in Pittsfield, Grady? The police, I assume?”
“Yeah, I got the chief’s name and just called him at home. At first he was pretty sore that you all were butting—”
Gennie’s head whipped toward him.
“Sorry, I mean that you’d be investigating, too. But I think I convinced him you could be useful. I told him a bit about how you’d helped the Languor Sheriff’s Office in the past, and especially how much understanding you can add about the Shakers and how they think.”
“So you indicated we would be his eyes and ears in Hancock?” Rose asked.
“Well, more or less.”
Rose sat back to think through the implications of the role in which Grady had placed them. It would be best not to advertise any connection with the police if she hoped to gain the trust of the folks she’d be questioning, most of whom were strangers to her.
“His name’s O’Malley, and he seemed like a reasonable guy,” Grady said with a nervous jerk of his head toward the backseat. “I don’t think he’ll deliberately make things difficult for you. He even shared some information with me.”
“What?” Rose wasn’t hopeful that she’d learn anything Eldress Fannie hadn’t told her already.
“They have a suspect,” Grady said.
“The young novitiate?”
“Yeah, Sewell Yates was his name. I’ve got some notes I’ll give you at the terminal. Seems he was pretty friendly with the victim before he decided to become a Shaker, and some folks in Pittsfield suspect they never really broke it off.”
Old information, Rose thought. “They have no real evidence, though, do they?”
“Not much. Everybody they’ve interviewed at Hancock says the suspect was still overfriendly with the girls, despite wanting to become a Shaker and all. More than one witness saw him flirting with a couple of the hired girls, including the victim.”
“That’s hardly evidence,” Gennie said. She’d learned a lot about such things since meeting Grady. “Flirting with someone doesn’t mean you’re getting ready to kill her. Maybe this Sewell is just a Winter Shaker and only says he wants to sign the Covenant. I’m surprised the eldress hasn’t tossed him out by now.”
Grady didn’t answer as he swerved to avoid a skinny jackrabbit that leaped out of a culvert, right in front of the Buick.
“Grady,” Rose said when she’d straightened up again, “did Chief O’Malley have anything to say about the murder itself? About the place where the body was found or the girl’s clothing? Fannie said she was dressed for a summer dance.”
Grady swerved again to avoid something Rose couldn’t see, and it was several moments before he spoke. “Yeah, he did mention something about that,” he said slowly. “He’s got a theory. He thinks the strangling was done somewhere else, maybe in the suspect’s bedroom, which was in the Shaker dwelling house next door. Then O’Malley thinks the killer carried the body out to the Summerhouse and left her there like that’s where it happened.”
“But why?” Rose asked.
“Well, his idea is that the killer wanted to confuse folks about the actual time of death by chilling the body. Maybe he wanted to establish an alibi or just make it tough for anyone else to establish one.”
Could there possibly be a Shaker, or even a novitiate, so calculating as that? Rose sat back against the leather seats and pulled her long, wool cloak tightly around her.
The Cincinnati Union Terminal did not seem to awe Rose, but then she’d seen it before. Gennie, on the other hand, had been only once to Cincinnati, as a young girl, before her parents had died. It had been Christmastime, a few years before the stock market crash, and they’d gone to Cincinnati to see the glorious decorations and to shop. Gennie’s years with the Shakers had certainly been happy and safe, but she yearned for some of that long-ago excitement. Union Terminal brought it back to her.
Gennie linked her arm through Grady’s and flashed him a smile. “Do we have time to look around, even a little?”
Grady grinned and squeezed her arm. “I thought you might want to, so I brought us here half an hour ahead of schedule.”
“You two explore to your heart’s content,” Rose said. “I’m going to splash some water on my face. I’ll meet you at the ticket booth.”
Gennie suspected Rose was giving them time to say good-bye and perhaps to settle their tiff before separating for who knew how long. She smiled her thanks to Rose, who picked up her small satchel and disappeared into the crowd. Gennie felt a brief pang of loneliness, then shrugged it off. She released Grady’s arm and twirled slowly to take in the huge terminal. Tilting her head upward, she gazed at the high domed ceiling. The loneliness hit again as her own movements reminded her of the Shaker dancing worship, in slow motion.
This will never do, Gennie told herself sternly. With the Shakers, she had always felt loved, but an outsider all the same. She swept off her hat and shook out her curls, bringing herself back to the world, where she belonged. She turned to Grady, who watched her with warmth in his deep brown eyes. A lock of his hair, straight and brown and difficult, had fallen across his forehead, as it always did. Gennie reached up and smoothed it back in place. As soon as she removed her hand, it fell forward again, and they both laughed.
In an instant, Grady grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. He kissed her on the tip of her nose, triggering another giggle, which he silenced with a kiss full on her mouth, right there in the Cincinnati Union Terminal, while scads of people brushed past them in all directions. Finally he loosened his embrace and held her at arm’s length, smiling into her eyes. She had never felt so happy, not even with Rose and Agatha and all the other sisters.
Gennie gazed back at him, wishing to extend the moment, but something distracted her—something behind Grady but still within her field of vision. Movement swirled around them, travelers with places to go and little time to get there. Besides herself and Grady, only one other figure stood still. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a double-breasted navy-blue suit lounged against a post, smoking a cigarette. His blue hat was tilted so that the black ribbon band appeared where his left eye would have been. The right eye, however, looked directly at her.
She shivered and rubbed her upper arms. The man must have realized she’d caught him staring, and he shifted his gaze to the surrounding crowd. He dropped his half-smoked cigarette on the floor, stubbed it out with his heel, and strolled away.
“Anything wrong, Gen? Are you cold?” Grady slipped out of his wool overcoat and put it over her shoulders. She didn’t protest. It was easier to acquiesce to a sudden chill than to admit that a rude stranger had spooked her for a moment. If Grady knew, he’d try again to keep her from leaving with Rose, and that was the last thing Gennie wanted to risk. She just hadn’t traveled much, that was all. She’d gone from the gentle Shaker life to Languor, which might be the county seat, but was little more than a small town. She worked in a florist’s shop with Grady’s sister, lived in a boardinghouse for young women, and spent her off hours with Grady and his people. Gennie straightened her shoulders and lifted her small chin. She needed this trip, and nothing would stop her from taking it.
“I’m fine now,” she said, handing Grady his overcoat. “Come on, let’s look around. Isn’t this the most beautiful place?”
“It’s almost time to meet Rose,” Grady said, without enthusiasm. “Let me just pick up a Cincinnati Enquirer, since we’re here.” They’d paused near a kiosk that sold newspapers, magazines, cigars, and cigarettes. “Pick a couple of magazines, Gen. It’s a long train ride.”
Though she thought she’d be perfectly happy watching the countryside breeze by, Gennie picked up the latest editions of the Ladies Home Journal and The American Home. Might as well find out what she could look forward to as a married woman. Since the age of ten until just over a year ago, she had been living in a community where men and women slept, ate, and worked separately, joining one another only for worship—and for Union Meetings, where they could chat while sitting several feet across from each other. She’d missed the training most girls got growing up in a worldly home. Sometimes, when she was talking with her new girlfriends, she felt about twelve years old. Other times she felt much older than she was.
Gennie stowed her purchases in her satchel as Grady paid the wizened old man sitting on a stool inside the kiosk. While she waited, she opened another magazine at random to an ad showing a woman in a figure-hugging dress with slightly puffed sleeves. The model lounged in a chair, smoking a Camel. A few pages later, several brides in close-fitting satin wedding gowns admired an ornate set of sterling silver dinnerware. This was too much for Gennie. The Shakers had taught her the value of simplicity, and the picture seemed cruel in times like these, when so many had so little. She flipped the magazine shut. As she returned it to its display shelf, a man hurried up to the kiosk and bumped Grady’s shoulder in his haste. Grady dropped his change, and both men bent down to retrieve it. Their backs were to Gennie.
The man leaned toward Grady and mumbled something that must have been an apology, because Grady smiled, and said, “No harm down. Don’t give it a thought.” Gennie felt a rush of warmth. Grady was such a gentleman, so polite, even to clumsy strangers. The man nodded once and turned to go on his way. Gennie’s chest tightened as she saw his face. He was the same man who’d had a leisurely smoke and watched Grady and her embrace.
Now was the time to tell Grady her fears, but still she resisted. All sorts of people lived in the world, and some of them were men with less than honorable intentions. This man might be one such. Perhaps he had listened to their conversation and knew that Grady would not accompany her on her journey. He might not know about Rose’s existence. What if he had selected Gennie for some evil purpose of his own? Would she be worldly enough to handle him? Well, I’ll just have to be, that’s all. I’m going on this trip, and that’s that! She decided not to mention the incidents to Rose, either. No point in causing her worry.
When they reached the ticket booth, they found Rose waiting on a wooden bench, one arm draped over the satchel next to her. She looked like a visitor from the previous century. Her long, loose dress and hooded cloak might have gone unnoticed, but the palm sugar-scoop bonnet over her thin, white indoor cap gave her away. The clothing of passersby ranged from smart to worn, but they all stared. Rose seemed oblivious. Gennie was willing to bet that the book on her lap was a copy of the Testimonies of Mother Ann Lee, the Shaker foundress. Rose hadn’t been an eldress for very long—not much longer than Gennie had been out in the world. They both still had much to learn.
Grady collected their tickets and handed them over with clear reluctance. “I’ve gotten you berths together for overnight, so you won’t have to sit up in coach.”
“Grady, you didn’t have to pay for my ticket,” Rose said. “The Society can reimburse—”
“Nonsense. I can afford it, and I want the two of you to be as comfortable as possible. It’s too bad you couldn’t have delayed your trip until summer; I could have gotten you a roomette on one of those fancy new Pullmans.”
“Yea, it was rude of the killer not to wait,” Rose said quietly.
Gennie grinned and noticed that Grady, ever polite, pretended not to hear. He accompanied them to the tracks and hailed a redcap to stow Gennie’s extra luggage in the baggage car.
“Remember, call me every other night, Gen,” he said, and gave her a farewell kiss. “You will at least try to stay out of trouble, won’t you?”
Gennie merely laughed and gave his hand a quick squeeze. She couldn’t blame him for being worried; she supposed she would be, too, if he were going off to investigate a murder hundreds of miles away. It was good for him to find out what it felt like.
“She’ll be fine, Grady,” Rose said. “We are not going off into uncharted territory. Hancock is as quiet and gentle a village as North Homage.” At Grady’s raised eyebrows, she added, “Well, perhaps more quiet and gentle, in some ways—at least, under ordinary circumstances. With God’s grace and Mother Ann’s assistance, circumstances will be ordinary again in no time.”
“Now tell me everything,” Gennie said. “What’s the plan? What part shall I play? Will you call me your assistant, or should I just wander in and ask to be a novitiate? What do you think? Oh, I have an idea—didn’t you tell me the dead girl worked in the Fancy Goods Store? What if I ask for a job there? Then I could room in Hancock, couldn’t I? That might be easier, because I could chat with all the other hired help, and I wouldn’t have to pretend to be a Believer, although I could, of course, and that might be—”
“Gennie, slow down! We have lots of time before we reach Pittsfield,” Rose said. They’d barely settled into a coach car, stowed their small satchels on the floor near their feet, and pulled away from the station. Not five minutes earlier, Gennie’s face had been streaked with tears as she’d waved good-bye to Grady.
“Let me gather my thoughts for a bit, and then we’ll talk.” Rose patted Gennie’s arm, then leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.
Gennie couldn’t help a small sigh. Rose seemed so calm about everything. She wasn’t interested in watching the scenery or exploring the train or even planning their investigation. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to explore by herself, would it? She stood and brushed the creases out of her new wool suit. Rose opened her eyes.
“I’m just going to look around the train,” Gennie said, “so you can have some quiet.”
Rose’s eyes were closed again before Gennie had left her window view and edged into the corridor. Gennie didn’t yet have her train legs, and she stumbled as the car rounded a curve. She reached the door and hesitated. Though she’d taken several short train rides since entering the world, she’d never walked from car to car by herself. Grady had always been there to hold her elbow as they negotiated the unsteady passage.
She squared her small shoulders, pulled open the door, and stepped outside. She expected the roar of the wind past the speeding train, but it seemed louder than she’d remembered, now she was on her own. The shifting floor over the coupling just about sent her scurrying back inside the car behind her. Instead, she scolded herself. After all, she was the one who didn’t want to be treated like a helpless baby. She hurried to the next car and congratulated herself on her bravery.
The thrill was beginning to fade after Gennie had traversed three more cars full of sleepy, bored passengers. She decided to try just one more. As soon as she entered the next car, she had that delicious naughty feeling she got each time she tried on a stylish gown, especially when the bodice was cut a shade low for Shaker comfort. She had found the club car. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the acrid mixture of cigar and cigarette smoke. The few women in the car sat close to the door, reading or chatting. Despite the early hour, several men relaxed in stuffed easy chairs around small tables, sipping what looked to her now practiced eye to be whiskey.
Gennie was not the least bit shocked, and she was pleased with herself for this evidence of worldly sophistication. Fascinated by the scene before her, she took in every detail, from the worn but plush easy chairs to the waiter dressed in a crisp white jacket. Only slowly did she realize that every eye in the car had turned toward her. Some of the male gazes gleamed with appreciation. The women looked her up and down with grudging admiration for the new rust wool suit that hugged her slight frame and the small swirl of a hat perched amid her curls. Gennie knew these were well-off women; they envied her appearance, not her relative wealth. In fact, without Grady’s help, she’d more likely be traveling in a boxcar. Gennie drew herself up with pride, as much as she could manage with a mere five feet of height.
She took a step into the club car, trying to look as if she belonged in such a place. A young man sitting near the middle of the car eyed her over his whiskey glass. He put down his drink, stood, and started toward her. Gennie’s heart climbed up her throat. With a quick, nervous smile, she spun around and made for the exit. With more speed than grace, Gennie traversed the coupling and opened the door to the passenger car she’d recently left. She found herself inches from the sinister man she’d seen in the terminal. His eyes widened as if he recognized her and didn’t expect to see her there. She noticed his eyes were bloodshot; perhaps the club car was his natural habitat. With a murmured “excuse me,” she slid past him and hurried back toward the safety of Rose.