Free A Simple Shaker Murder by Deborah Woodworth

sleep.”
    â€œAmen to that,” Josie said. She hoisted herself out of her chair and swung it upside down on a couple of wall pegs.
    Rose gathered up the book she’d been skimming and put it back in the wall cupboard. As Josie opened the work room door, Rose said, “Josie, I was just wondering . . . I don’t remember Gretchen or any of her people living in Languor, do you? Is she from this area?”
    â€œNay,” said Josie. “I believe she came from somewhere in Indiana or Ohio, but I’m not certain. Is it important?”
    â€œI’m not sure,” Rose said.

EIGHT
    â€œG OOD OF THEE TO TAKE TIME FOR A BREAKFAST AT THE M INISTRY House,” Wilhelm said, as Rose sat in the chair across from him. She had expected him to give her a dose of irony, so she made no response. She bowed her head in prayer, silently thanking the Father and Holy Mother Wisdom for food and for the wide, strong trestle table that stood between her and Wilhelm.
    Though she’d had only a few hours sleep, Rose was eager to track down all the information she could about their visitors before the situation worsened.
    â€œI assume there is a reason for thy rare visit?” Wilhelm asked.
    Rose smiled. “Have some baked apple?” She was learning, finally, to rise to his bait only when it really mattered. However, she had to admit he could still irritate her.
    â€œI thought it would be useful for us to chat about our visitors,” she said, scooping some of the sweet fruit onto her own plate.
    It was Wilhelm’s turn to say nothing, as he took a large bite of apple. By the time he had torn off a hunk of bread and begun slathering it with apple butter, Rose understood that she would receive no encouragement from him.
    â€œWhat do you know about these New-Owenites?” she asked.
    Wilhelm frowned. “All I need to. They would make goodShakers. What is thy specific concern about them?”
    â€œI have numerous concerns,” Rose said. “But I’ll start with the worship service last night. It was a disaster.”
    Wilhelm’s bushy eyebrows drew dangerously close together, but Rose ignored the portent and continued.
    â€œYou and Gilbert Griffiths are both deluded if you think you can join our two communities. Your vision of the New-Owenites suddenly devoting themselves to the teachings of Mother Ann is as ridiculous as Gilbert’s notion that somehow he can convince us to forget the faith that we breathe every moment of our lives. All you two will accomplish is a rift within both groups. Disgruntled New-Owenites might become Shakers, but unhappy Shakers will replace them. Gilbert won’t change, and neither will you. What possible good can this do?”
    Wilhelm took another bite of bread and chewed slowly, staring at the wall behind her. She knew there was nothing there to contemplate but her palm bonnet hanging from a wall peg. With a lazy blink, he brought his gaze to her face. His deliberateness was meant to rattle her, and to her frustration it was beginning to succeed. She steeled herself to stay calm.
    â€œThy faith is poor and weak,” he said. “I believe that Mother Ann watches over us always. The arrival of these visitors from the world is her doing. They are meant to become Believers. They need faith, and they have been sent to us to find it. Surely that must have occurred to thee.”
    â€œBut, Wilhelm, the New-Owenites are just as convinced they can turn us into their followers. Neither group will win, you must see that. It will be a constant struggle. We’ll be arguing with them and with each other, and the last thing we need is to be fighting among ourselves.”
    Wilhelm’s lips curved in a way that Rose had come to dread. “There is no need for thee to worry,” he said. “The way is clear. More apple butter?”
    Rose crossed the central road and walked toward the Laundry, enjoying the crisp warmth of an