Cradle to Grave (3 page)

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm not sorry for our marriage but…” Her free hand made a slight motion toward the structures around them. “I was happy with the Shakers. They were my family for so many years.”

“We'll have another family of our own,” Rees said. He tried not to reveal his hurt, but she knew. Quickly wiping her eyes dry with her black-gloved fingers, she smiled at him.

“I know. And I chose you, over this. I just feel sentimental.”

“Sir. And Madam.” An elderly man with a white beard approached the buggy. He was clad in a much worn blue coat. His eyes rested a moment upon Rees's black greatcoat and beaver hat, a wedding gift from Lydia, and then glanced at her. “Are you lost?”

“No,” Rees said with a shake of his head. “We received letters from Elder Herman and Mouse—ah, Hannah Moore, a Sister here.”

“This is First Family. Elder Herman guides the Second Family. I will direct you.” He started walking rapidly. Rees urged Ares into a slow walk so they could keep pace.

“Chancy weather for traveling,” the Brother said. “I don't think the Elder expected you until April or after.” If ever. Unspoken, the words hung in the air.

“We would never abandon Sister Hannah,” Lydia said in a chilly voice.

“I see.” He gestured at the turn ahead. “Go right here.” He preceded them down a narrow twisty road. Buildings began to appear on both sides. He stopped in front of a large brick building. “Come into the Dwelling House while I fetch the Elder.”

Rees jumped out of the buggy and went to the other side to steady Lydia. The heavy folds of her thick wool cloak twisted around her legs and feet and she clutched his arm while she twitched the burgundy-dyed fabric into order. The Brother gestured to the two entrances. “We have a door for Sisters and a door for Brothers.…” He paused and looked at Rees and Lydia questioningly.

“Don't worry,” Lydia said. “I'll wait on the women's side.” She smiled at Rees. “We'll meet soon.” She disappeared through the left-hand door. Rees passed through the other entrance, frowning with displeasure at being left to pace the small hall alone.

All the doors along the hall were open and the Sisters on housekeeping duty scurried through them. Rees, who'd first met Mouse when she was cleaning the rooms of the Brethren at Zion, smiled at one young woman. Uttering a squeak of dismay, she fled toward the back. The Sisters rarely met strange men, especially when going about their daily chores.

“Mr. Rees?” A lanky man with a full beard appeared at the door. He removed his hat and revealed curly dark hair. Gray streaked his beard and glittered at his temples so Rees assumed the Elder was at least a few years older. “Come with me. I'm Elder Herman. One of the Eldresses will meet us in the office with your lady wife.” As he spoke, he led Rees out of the Dwelling House toward the Meeting House across the street. “We're surprised to see you so soon, and in winter, too. I told Sister Hannah you were unlikely to arrive before spring, but she was convinced you would arrive sooner.” Casting a thoughtful glance at Rees, Herman added, “I see her faith in you was not misplaced.”

“I am very fond of Mouse,” Rees said. “We both are, my wife and I.”

They went up the narrow flight of steps to the second floor. The apartment in the Meeting House at Zion was arranged in a similar fashion, but this one was larger, with at least two additional rooms. And Lydia was already here, waiting in the hall, her cloak hanging from a peg on the wall. She turned to her husband with a relieved smile as he hung his garment beside hers.

“Eldress Agatha,” Herman said, motioning toward the Sister behind Lydia. “The other Elders are busy at their work.” With a gesture he invited them to enter the rearmost room. A large table occupied the center. Elder Herman took two chairs down from the pegs on the wall and put them in front of the table. “Please sit down, Mr. and Mrs. Rees.”

“Will we see Sister Hannah?” Lydia asked, clutching at the back of the chair.

“Yes,” the Elder said. He glanced at the Eldress standing next to him. She was older than he was, her wispy gray hair drawn back under her linen bonnet, but her face was smooth and unlined.

“I'll fetch her from the kitchen in a few moments,” she said.

“We wanted to tell you what happened before you spoke with her,” the Elder added. “Please, sit.” Exchanging a glance, Rees and Lydia did as they were bid.

“Your letter said Mouse tried to kidnap some children?” Rees said. He hadn't meant to reveal his doubt but he could hear it in his voice.

The Elder nodded at Rees, his expression grave. “She did. She confessed to it, in fact, as I indicated in my letter.” Lydia's eyebrows rose and Rees suspected he looked as astonished. “We always bring baskets of food to the needy before Christmas. And the Whitney family is very needy. Sister Hannah begged to be included. She'd only just arrived in August.” His words trailed away.

“Only a little while after we left Zion,” Lydia said remorsefully.

“We were asked to leave,” Rees reminded her. All of the non-Shakers had been, while the new Elders and Eldresses reorganized the community. “Mouse was willing to brave the outside world?” Rees asked. Mouse was self-conscious of her harelip, even with those she knew, and had rarely set foot outside of Zion.

“Yes. But this was the celebration of the birth of Our Lord, who made the blind see and the lame walk. And we tried to restrict her to visits with some of our elderly widows. We thought they might be more tolerant of her”—he hesitated, appearing to consider several words before choosing one—“mark. And there were no problems with them.”

“So what happened?” Rees asked.

“The Deaconess leading the group was accustomed to calling upon Maggie Whitney's aunt, Olive Tucker. She passed away a few years ago. Sister Hannah was willing to visit the children.”

“Eager to,” put in Eldress Agatha.

Lydia nodded. “She loves children,” she said.

“The first visit went well. They returned a few days later with a second basket. But this time Mrs. Whitney was…” Again that hesitation, as the Elder struggled to find the appropriate word.

“She was drunk,” the Eldress said, disapproval thickening her tone.

Herman nodded. “Mrs. Whitney is a wet nurse and has a foundling right now, a little boy. He was sick, so Sister Hannah asked to be left with the children, to care for them, and to tend the baby. She spent all night walking the cabin with that child in her arms. And he survived. But Sister Hannah made a complaint that Mrs. Whitney was unfit. The town fathers from Dover Springs looked into it.” He paused and then added, carefully choosing every word, “They investigate Mrs. Whitney regularly. There is some question as to whether she should be warned out. I believe they are worried that she will apply for Poor Relief, although so far she has not.”

“I see,” Rees said, understanding the disapproval he heard in the Elder's voice. The selectmen enjoyed complete authority in determining who among the needy in their town deserved Poor Relief. Any poor soul not born in town, or sometimes those whose parents were not born in the jurisdiction, could be warned out. Warning out was a euphemism for expulsion and entire families, pregnant women, even young children could be seen wandering the roads in search of a home. “Mrs. Whitney was not born in Dover Springs?”

“She was, I am told, but not her mother. No one knows anything of her father. So, in the opinion of several selectmen, Maggie is not a resident and so not deserving of a claim on the public coffers.”

“But you said she hasn't even applied,” Lydia said, her voice rising with sympathy.

“They must be afraid she will,” Elder Herman said. “She has four children of her own besides the little boy.” His expression combined both pity and anger.

“Would she have joined the Shakers?” Rees asked.

Elder Herman shrugged. “I don't know. Not everyone can live as we do. Celibacy and obedience can be difficult rules.” He sighed. “Anyway, Maggie Whitney claimed she celebrated the season a little too enthusiastically and promised she would not fall into such a state again. So they left the children there. A few days later, Sister Hannah stole one of our buggies and drove to the farm. Although I don't know the particulars, she managed to gather up the children and put them in the buggy and drive them here. We were horrified, as you might imagine.” He paused and added, “We worried that our entire community might be blamed. We are suspect for our beliefs as it is, and several of the town fathers still have not forgiven us for refusing to fight in the War for Independence.”

Rees nodded. “Passions ran high during the war,” he agreed.

“And haven't entirely faded now,” said Herman, a line forming between his brows. “Anyway, a few hours later, Mrs. Whitney arrived to recover her children. Since she had not been declared unfit, we had to relinquish them to her care. Sister Hannah has been restricted to this community since.”

“She has been in a state,” said Sister Agatha with a frown. “She is in the kitchen right now, moping over the cut vegetables.”

“Mouse has been a Sister a long time,” Lydia said, shaking her head in disbelief, “and would not break her vow of obedience lightly. She must have been certain those children were in danger, to take that step.”

Rees nodded in agreement. Mouse's goal had always been to become one of the Sisters charged with the care of the children adopted into the community. She might never attain that dream now.

“You say there are four children?” Lydia asked.

Herman looked at the Eldress. “Five, including the foundling,” she said. “But we'll let Sister Hannah disclose the remainder of this tale to you. We wanted you to know, however, that she has never denied taking those children. Indeed, she could not, since she brought them here. I don't know what she expects of you, or what you can do to help her.”

“Be here, so she knows we support her,” Lydia said. The sharpness in her voice created a short stillness. The Elder looked at Lydia but said nothing. Lydia did not lower her gaze. Then the Eldress rose to her feet and left the room.

The sound of footsteps upon the stairs interrupted the uncomfortable silence. But it was neither Mouse nor Sister Agatha who came through, but a young girl carrying a tray. The severe Shaker garb could not disguise her soft clear skin or the pink in her cheeks. She did not dare look at either of the visitors but slid the tray onto the table. “Sister Agatha sent me,” she said in such a quiet voice Rees could barely hear her.

“Thank you,” the Elder said. As the girl hurried from the room he gestured to the food. “Please,” he said to Rees and Lydia, “refresh yourselves.” He removed the lid from a tall pitcher and the fragrance of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted through the room. Rees sucked in his breath in delight; the Shakers were famous for their cider and this had been warmed and spiced. Both Rees and Lydia accepted mugs of the hot cider, but only he took a plate with a slice of apple cake. Lydia wrapped her hands around the mug but did not drink. Her knuckles turned white with the tightness of her grip and Rees realized she was nervous. Well, he was, too, as he contemplated Mouse and the trouble she was in.

Rapid footsteps rattled up the stairs and Mouse appeared at the top of the steps. Tears of joy and relief filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “I knew you'd come,” she cried, and ran toward Lydia with her right arm outstretched.

Chapter Three

Lydia jumped up, releasing her mug so hurriedly it slopped cider on the table, and opened her arms. Mouse ran into Lydia's embrace. Elder Herman turned away from the naked display of emotion and joined Eldress Agatha by the door. Rees sensed their embarrassment and faint disapproval.

After more than a minute of hugging and loud exclamations, the excitement abated. Rees handed his handkerchief to Lydia. She mopped Mouse's wet face, drew her toward the table, and pressed her into a chair. Herman quickly took down another seat and placed it next to Mouse. Lydia sank into it and grasped Mouse's hand. “Oh my dear,” she said. “What's happened to you?”

Rees pushed his chair forward so he could see the young woman's face, or what was visible above the hand that shielded her mouth from view. Dark circles ringed her eyes and her skin was pale and tired.

“Did the Elder tell you…?” Mouse looked at Elder Herman.

“He told us a little,” Rees said. “We know you took the children.”

“I
rescued
the children,” she declared. “I tried to tell the constable and the town council but they wouldn't listen. Maggie Whitney was born in Dover Springs, after all. And she's a property owner. She owns that little farm. But those men wouldn't listen.”

“Tell us about the night you stayed with the children,” Lydia said. “How many children are there?”

“Five. Four are that woman's, but the baby, Joseph, was put to nurse with her. He's a foundling.” She clutched at Lydia's hand. “He was so sick. Coughing and struggling for breath. And that woman passed out in the other room.” Rage twisted her features and for a moment she did not resemble the gentle girl Rees knew.

“So you stayed to care for the children,” Lydia said.

“Yes. There was almost no food in the house, other than what we'd brought in the basket. So I made mush. Simon helps out at the dairy next door and he brought some milk.”

“Simon?” Rees asked.

“Mrs. Whitney's oldest boy. He … I don't know what the arrangement is but he goes to the dairy every day. Like an apprentice. Fortunate for that family, else those children would starve. Anyway, after I fed them and washed up, they went to bed. And I walked with Joseph around and around. Every now and then I put a little rag on the end of a splint and swabbed out his nose so he could breathe. He hated that. But when I boiled water for tea, it seemed to help him; the steam seemed to help him. By morning he was better.”