Free A Simple Shaker Murder by Deborah Woodworth Page B

voice. “You were engaged once, weren’t you, Rose? During your time in the world? You understand. We broke the engagement years and years ago, but he was a special part of my life, and I can’t just forget that. I know I should, but I can’t. When I saw him again . . .” Gretchen frowned at the floor as if it were responsible for her misery.
    â€œSeeing him again stirred old feelings?” Rose asked.
    â€œNay, I promise, those feelings are gone. My heart belongs to Mother Ann and the Society, yet . . . I suppose there is a littlepiece of it that still belongs to him. Can you understand that?”
    â€œYea, I do understand,” Rose said. And she did. “Is that why you met with him? Because that little piece of your heart called to him?”
    â€œBecause I thought I could do some good.”
    Rose raised her eyebrows in a question.
    â€œEarl was a good man,” Gretchen said. “I hated to see him so involved with those Godless people. He wasn’t like that when I knew him. He refused to become a Shaker, but he was still a believer. Now it hurts my heart to listen to him talk. He thinks God is a lie, and faith is just ignorant superstition.”
    â€œSo you hoped to convince him otherwise?”
    Gretchen nodded.
    â€œAnd was he receptive?”
    â€œNay.” Gretchen grimaced. “He tried very hard to convince me that I was wrong to believe as I do.”
    â€œDid he attempt to convert you to his way of thinking?”
    â€œWell, a little, maybe. But there’s no need for you to worry on my account, Rose. I would never leave. You know that, don’t you?”
    Rose was silent for a moment. She was fairly certain that Gretchen was devoted; that wasn’t what worried her. Gretchen was indeed unlikely to leave. But would Earl Weston know that?
    â€œYou mustn’t see him again,” Rose said.
    Gretchen looked stricken. “But he was such a good friend, and I want so to help him.”
    â€œJust as he wants to help you. Don’t you see it is pointless? You won’t change your mind, nor will he change his, but neither of you will give up, so you’ll argue until even the good memories of your friendship are gone. And you will be setting a bad example for the other sisters. What good could possibly come from seeing him again, even in broad daylight?”
    â€œHe trusts me,” Gretchen said.
    â€œBut what does that—”
    â€œHe tells me things.”
    â€œWhat things?” Rose felt her hopes stir.
    â€œAbout his people, those New-Owenites. I know you areworried about Hugh Griffiths’ suicide—whether it really was a suicide. After hearing Earl talk, I think you are right to worry. Those folks aren’t the close friends they pretend to be, and Hugh wasn’t as liked as everyone says.”
    Rose leaned forward. “Tell me exactly what Earl told you.”
    Gretchen leaned, also, her misery blotted out by eagerness to share a good story. “He said that Celia didn’t really love Hugh. She only married him to be near Gilbert, who only cares about his ideas. Hugh was besotted with her, though, and he was terribly jealous because he was convinced that Celia and Gilbert were . . . together.” Gretchen paused in her enthusiasm to look embarrassed, but it didn’t last. “Earl was trying to prove to me that men and women should be able to just change around and divorce and remarry all they want, and then there wouldn’t be this sort of jealousy. Of course, I told him it only proved that men and women are much better off not marrying at all!”
    Rose was torn between pride in Gretchen and alarm that the conversation had become so intimate. She was also, she had to admit, grateful for the information. So she swallowed her reprimand and asked, “Did he mention anything else?”
    â€œNay, nothing in particular,” Gretchen said with obvious regret. “But I