A Simple Shaker Murder by Deborah Woodworth Page A

her as she spoke.
    â€œI came to find you for a purpose, Mr. Weston,” she said.
    His attention snapped back to her face. “Oh? Is there anything I can do for you?”
    â€œYea,” Rose said, “you can stay away from my sisters.”
    â€œYour sisters? I don’t think I . . .” The splotching reappeared, and he gazed down at the dusty floor. “I see,” he said. “You’re talking about Gretchen. I meant no harm, I assure you.”
    â€œI’ll accept your assurances, Mr. Weston, but I must insist that it never happen again. Will you promise me that?”
    â€œI wouldn’t dream of causing problems for Gretchen, I was only . . . well, she’s an old friend, you see.”
    â€œI know all about that.”
    â€œAh. Well, I’m glad you brought this to my attention.” He was edging toward the door. “I certainly understand. If you’ll excuse me, I promised to meet with Gilbert.” He was out the door and thudding down the stairs so fast Rose had no chance to respond. From the window, she saw him trudge through the dormant Kentucky bluegrass toward the South Family Dwelling House. He was halfway there before she realized that he had not actually promised to stay away from Gretchen.

NINE
    D URING THE SILENCE OF THE NOON MEAL, R OSE HAD TIME TO gather her thoughts. Gretchen’s tidbits about the Griffiths sparked her curiosity. She wanted to find out more, as fast as possible. However, she did not dare say so to Gretchen, who would surely conclude she had permission to talk again with Earl Weston. The Griffiths themselves would probably be secretive, if she were to ask them her questions directly. She could talk to Matthew and Archibald, but no doubt Wilhelm would consider her questioning the brethren an invasion of his responsibility. Still, it might be worth a rebuke.
    The gentle slurping of soup and an occasional sniffle were the only sounds in the Center Family dining room. Across the room at the brethren’s table, two heads were not bobbing over their soup bowls—Matthew and Archibald leaned slightly toward each other as if whispering a message. Rose noted that the chairs on either side of them were occupied by Earl Weston and Gilbert Griffiths.
    Archibald nodded. As his wide, round face turned forward, he caught Rose staring at him. His gaze dropped to his plate. Matthew seemed not to have noticed. Rose made her decision—she would question them.
    The brethren were first to finish their meal, and they left silently. Rose squirmed with impatience. As soon as the last morsel at the sisters’ table had been eaten—by Elsa, as usual—Rose placed her napkin over her empty plate andstood. All the sisters—and, more slowly, the New-Owenite women—followed her lead.
    As Rose lifted her chair and swung it upside down onto its wall pegs, she noticed that one of the front rungs was cracked. She remembered that the stool in the kitchen, the one she had plunked Mairin on top of, had been in need of repair, too. Why shouldn’t she bring them to the attention of the brethren at the Carpenters’ Shop? Surely that would not irritate Wilhelm.
    The sisters who had sat on benches pushed them under the table and waited as the others re-hung their chairs. They all followed Rose from the room, silent and in single-file. The chattering began as soon as they emerged into the sunshine and parted for their afternoon work assignments. Rose took advantage of her long legs to scurry ahead and avoid conversation as she made for the Carpenters’ Shop.
    Matthew and Archibald were deep in their work by the time Rose opened the shop door. She noted, with disapproval, that they were also deep in wood chips and shavings, which they had not cleaned up from the morning and probably before that, as well.
    Both men glanced up at her, then went back to their tasks. They were mending and refinishing furniture, and other pieces