Trusteesâ Office. Their refusal to fight in war, even to defend their country, infuriated many. So the discovery of a murdered man in North Homageâs Herb House stirred both anger and glee in many of their neighborsâ hearts.
âWe havenât had a murder round here in five years,â the county sheriff, Harry Brock, said when he arrived at the Trusteesâ Office steps at midmorning. âFunny it happened here, ainât it?â
Sheriff Brockâs thin, wiry form seemed to shift constantly. His suspicious eyes darted between Wilhelm and Rose, who stood a respectable distance apart. Running a distracted hand through his thick white hair, Wilhelm fastened his fierce eyes on the horizon. A still-shaken Gennie huddled beside Rose. The sky was splotched with black, and a growing wind whipped at Roseâs cloak. She drew the thick wool closer.
âSheriff Brock,â Rose said, raising her voice tocommand his attention. âWe Shakers do not murder. To kill another human being goes against our most sacred beliefs. It is abhorrent and certainly not funny.â
To her discomfort, Brock grinned at her. âYeah,â he drawled, âbut here we are. Funny.â
Curious Believers had begun to cluster nearby. A plump, middle-aged sister, Elsa Pike, elbowed through a group of whispering women. She ignored Rose and barged toward Wilhelm. Elsaâs behavior no longer surprised Rose, but she had grown increasingly concerned that Elsa seemed to respect only Wilhelm.
âElder, we gotta do something,â Elsa said, anger pinching her plain, flat features. âWordâs out that we killed somebody. Thatâs hogwash, pure and simple, everybody knows we Shakers donât kill, but thereâs horses and wagons cominâ in already, just to see for themselves. Couple folks even stopped at the kitchen and asked the way to the body, of all the nerve. And if they think Iâm going to cook for them and make it a party, well, they got anotherââ
âElsa!â Wilhelm rarely used a sharp tone with Elsa. It silenced her. âYea, a young man has died, but of course we did not cause it. Go back to thy work now. There will be no extra cooking. The gawkers will have nothing to feed their disgusting curiosity.â
Elsa hesitated. âThis young man, was he one of us? One of the brethren?â
âNay, only a Winter Shaker, and not a promising one.â
âI knew it,â Elsa crowed. âItâs that Johann, ainât it? He was askinâ to get killed, the way he carried on. And with sisters and young girls, too.â Her smirk was more self-righteous than shocked.
âHush,â Wilhelm urged. He glanced at the sheriff, who had hurried off toward a tall young man just emerging from a dusty black Buick used by the Languor County Sheriffâs Office. Wilhelm almost pushed Elsa away, but stopped himself before he actuallytouched her. âBe careful about statements like that if the police question thee. Now get back to the kitchen.â
Looking pleased with herself, Elsa trotted away on strong, hill-country legs.
Molly Ferguson, Gennieâs roommate, stood apart from the crowd. She balanced a laundry basket on one hip, and her dark eyes fixed on Gennie. With a flick of her index finger, Molly signaled for Gennie to approach her. Mollyâs eyes were wide and murky, her cheeks paled to a ghostly white against the black rim of hair edging her bonnet.
Behind her, a group of men, mostly brethren, milled at the base of the Trusteesâ Office steps. Elder Wilhelm murmured with Brothers Albert and Hugo and a tall, weathered man Gennie did not recognize. His head tilted toward Wilhelm, but he watched Rose. Roseâs attention was on Brock. She wouldnât miss Gennie for a moment or two.
âHurry,â Molly whispered. She clutched Gennieâs wrist in a painful grip. âThe sisters in the Laundry said you found a dead