Free A Simple Shaker Murder by Deborah Woodworth Page A

Indian summer morning. She was still worried about the effect of the New-Oweniteson the village, but her breakfast chat with Wilhelm had set her mind at rest on one issue—he did not yet know that Sister Gretchen had been seen out at night with a man from the world. If he had known, he could not have resisted blaming Rose for Gretchen’s behavior. Elsa would surely tell him soon, though, and Rose intended to be armed with knowledge if Wilhelm saw fit to confront her.
    Many of the sisters worked by rotation, spending six weeks helping with the laundry, then moving on to the kitchen or the gardening, or any of a dozen other jobs. However, as Laundry deaconess, Gretchen spent most of her working time either washing the Society’s clothing in the huge washing machines on the Laundry’s ground floor, or drying or ironing on the top floor. It seemed grueling work to Rose, and occasionally she would offer Gretchen a different rotation, to give her a change. But Gretchen always said she was content and rather enjoyed laundry work. Rose hoped she hadn’t been hiding a growing discontent with her Shaker life.
    The steamy Laundry air smelled of soap and lavender rinse. Rose found Gretchen upstairs, ironing a blue Sabbathday surcoat. The weather was still warm enough for the other laundry sisters to hang clothes to dry outdoors, a job preferable to ironing, so Gretchen was alone. She held the heavy iron poised over a sleeve as she saw Rose top the stairs.
    â€œHas there been a problem with the laundry?” Gretchen asked. Her normally cheerful face was pinched with worry.
    â€œNay, the laundry is fine, as always,” Rose said. “Stop a moment and talk with me.” She lifted down two chairs. Gretchen watched, her iron still hovering in the air. “It’s all right, Gretchen. I just want to chat with you.” Rose had never felt so aware before of Gretchen’s youth; she couldn’t be more than twenty-five or twenty-six. She was so competent and devoted, she seemed much older. But now she looked young and frightened.
    â€œElsa saw us, didn’t she.” Gretchen up-ended the iron and slid into the chair next to Rose. “She was hinting like crazy this morning before we went in to breakfast, so I’m not surprised you found out. Does Wilhelm know?”
    â€œNot yet, though I’m sure he will soon. Let me help you, Gretchen. Tell me what there is to know, and I’ll see what I can do to shield you.”
    â€œI’d like this to be my confession,” Gretchen said, sitting straight in her chair.
    Rose nodded her assent, and Gretchen took a few moments to compose herself. No matter what was coming, Rose was grateful it would be revealed without too much fuss. Now that she was eldress, she was learning to handle torrents of tears, but she surely did not regret their absence.
    â€œI do not make a habit of speaking to men alone at night, I want you to understand that,” Gretchen began. “But I confess that I did so yesterday. I had no idea Elsa would be out spying on me, instead of in her own bed.” Her voice hardened.
    â€œLeave Elsa to me.”
    â€œOf course, I’m sorry. This is my confession, and my own behavior deserves reproach. I met with a man from the world, alone, after dark. But that is all I did, Rose, truly.”
    â€œWho is the man, Gretchen?”
    Gretchen’s right hand began kneading the fingers of her left hand, as if in soothing reminder of rubbing a stain out of cloth. “It’s not what you think, Rose.”
    Gretchen bit her lower lip, increasing Rose’s fear that “it” was even worse than she’d thought.
    â€œHe . . . the man I was talking to . . . Gretchen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “It was Earl Weston. We grew up together. We were the best of friends. Over time our friendship . . . well, we were engaged to be married.” A pleading note slipped into her