Free Killing Gifts by Deborah Woodworth Page B

outside the dining room, where the other sisters were praying before their silent entrance. Several women from the world waited also, though they did not pray. At least they were quiet.
    Rose located the eldress, Sister Fannie, a small, vibrant woman in her late sixties. At a signal from Fannie, the sisters filed into the dining room and took their seats. Fannie led Rose into an adjoining, much smaller dining room. Rose was pleased. When she had visited Hancock before, she and Fannie had always eaten with the others, rather than sequester themselves in the cheery Ministry dining room.
    â€œRose, I am so glad you are here,” Fannie said, when they’d settled across from each other at the small trestle table. A kitchen sister brought them white serving dishes holding steamed brown bread, hotcakes, and a small amount of precious maple syrup.
    â€œI know I said at least three times last evening how glad I was to see you, but you were half dead with exhaustion. It’s a long trip to make, especially in winter, and it’s hard to be away from your own Family so close to Mother Ann’s Birthday, but I am so very relieved that you have come.” Fannie pushed the serving plates closer to Rose. “You must be famished, as well. I know they fed you on the train, but it wasn’t good Shaker food, after all.”
    Rose, for whom the train meals had been far too generous, said nothing. In fact, a Shaker breakfast looked delightful to her, especially the maple syrup, which they almost never had in Kentucky. She took a healthy serving of everything.
    Fannie, on the other hand, fixed her empty plate with a frown. “I’m afraid things are not as they were when you visited last,” she said finally. “And I feel responsible.”
    â€œFannie, you mustn’t blame yourself. You could not possibly have controlled the actions of someone depraved enough to kill another human being.” Rose took the liberty of sliding a hotcake onto Fannie’s plate. “First, eat something,” she said, pouring a dollop of syrup on the hotcake. “Then tell me everything, and let me handle the situation from now on. You have your hands full already, getting ready for Mother Ann’s Birthday.”
    Fannie managed a wan smile and a bite of hotcake. “I am so glad you are here, Rose. I know you’ll get to the bottom of this horrible killing, but I do bear some responsibility. Now don’t argue with me. Let me explain.” She cut another bite and pushed it around with her fork. “As you well know, times have been very lean for us here. Oh, I know it has been the same for you, in the West, but somehow you’ve held on to more Believers. We are mostly sisters left, and we are no longer young.”
    Fannie stared out the large dining room window, where the weak morning sunlight brightened as it flashed off the snow. “Our faith is as strong as ever, but otherwise our heaven on earth is shrinking. We live almost entirely within these walls. We no longer use our Meetinghouse or our Schoolhouse. Our lovely Round Stone Barn is empty and cracked. We’ve had to sell a great deal of our land. To do any farming at all nowadays, we must hire men from the world. We hire women to help in the Fancy Goods Store and in the kitchen. We buy our goods from town, instead of supporting ourselves, as we used to. We tried to be more welcoming to the world, hoping to attract more Believers, but if anything, it seems to be backfiring.”
    Rose said nothing. On her last visit, she had seen everything Fannie described. North Homage was suffering, as well, but they’d been lucky enough to gather some fine, young Believers in recent years. Elder Wilhelm’s insistence that they wear old-fashioned dress, hold dancing worship, and keep as separate from the world as possible might, Rose admitted, actually have something to do with their slight advantage. It wasn’t a thought she cared to