Free Dancing Dead by Deborah Woodworth Page B

escape. She had an idea, and she wanted to follow up on it right away. Ignoring the path, she cut east through the medic garden behind the Infirmary and went straight for the Laundry. The story of a plump Shaker sister who danced alone at odd times, and for unknown reasons, was beginning to sound far too familiar.
    Despite unseasonable coolness, the Laundry had already reached midsummer temperature. When Rose opened the door, a cloud of heavy, hot air enveloped her. No one was on the ground floor, where the huge washing tubs, with their community-sized agitators, had finished their work for the day. Since no one had been hanging clothes outside to dry, Rose guessed the sisters would be upstairs ironing as much as they could before the outdoor heat made it impossible until autumn.
    Rose paused a moment to pray for guidance—and for patience. As eldress, Rose held primary responsibility for the sisters. They confessed to her regularly, and she endeavored to help them open themselves to deeper spiritual understanding. She guided them through the sometimes turbulent waters of community life. At times she doubted herself, yet she always did her best for the sisters, and they seemed to know that and to appreciate her assistance.
    All but one, that is. Since the day she’d arrived, Sister Elsa Pike had been a source of frustration and the cause of many of Rose’s pleas for patience. Elsa was a firm supporter of Wilhelm’s plans to thrust North Homage far into the past, and she felt protected by him. She openly defied Rose, resisted confession as long as possible, and made little effort to live in harmony with the rest of the Family. More than once, Rose had been prepared to tell her she must leave the village and go back to the world, where she’d lived most of her life. Yet each time the moment arrived, Elsa changed her tune. She would suddenly confess with great vigor and meekly do as she was told for as long as it took to show the community she was contrite. Rose suspected that Wilhelm coached her. Rose always let her stay, then soon enough came to regret her decision. The timing was just about right for Elsa to shed her contrition and return to her normal self. Fevered dancing worship, ecstatic enough to please Wilhelm, was one of Elsa’s specialties.
    It was no use waiting to calm down. This ghostly activity smacked of Elsa; Rose could see no other possibility—or at least no other possibility that felt convincing. She marched toward the stairway leading up to the ironing room. Before she reached it, a quiet pair of feet in soft cloth shoes slipped down the steps, and Sister Gretchen, Laundry Deaconess, appeared. Gretchen was normally a reserved, even-tempered young woman. Today she looked harried. Dark brown hair had escaped in clumps from her white indoor cap, and her eyes darted furtively back up the staircase.
    â€œDon’t tell me,” Rose said, “you’ve spent the day alone with Elsa.” She shouldn’t have said such a thing, of course, but experience had taught her that the other sisters tolerated Elsa far better when they knew their eldress sympathized.
    Gretchen flashed a quick smile and maintained a diplomatic silence. “Are you here to speak with me?”
    â€œNay, with Elsa. Alone, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œI don’t mind in the least. I have some clothes to collect off the lines. Elsa is upstairs.” She didn’t add and you’re welcome to her , but Rose was fairly certain she’d thought it. She was out the door with a speed born of relief. Rose, on the other hand, was dangerously ready for a confrontation.
    Elsa heard her footsteps and began talking before Rose reached the landing. “Don’t see no rhyme or reason to pressing these old work shirts,” she said. “The brothers just mess ’em up five minutes into wearin’ ’em. Those men don’t pay no never mind to how much work we womenfolk put into