A Simple Shaker Murder by Deborah Woodworth Page B

lay about the workroom, in various stages of disrepair. All the objects were old, some probably dating back a century or more, when the Shakers made most of their own furniture and tools, often developing new, more efficient designs. Archibald smoothed the nicks out of an oval candle stand, the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth. Matthew’s long, thin fingers worked at the more difficult repair of a table swift with a cracked slat. Rose knew the weaving sisters still used table swifts to wind yarn into balls, but surely they had several newer, unused ones in storage in the Sisters’ Shop.
    â€œI see you are mending one of those lovely old maple candle stands,” she said to Archibald, whom she knew to be the more pliable of the two brethren. “We don’t use them so much anymore, do we?”
    Archibald started when she spoke, and he took several momentsafter she’d finished to digest her words. Though he was a young man, no more than twenty, his face looked puffy, as if he were unhealthy or not sleeping well. Matthew paused to listen.
    â€œSome want ’em again, I guess,” Archibald said.
    â€œOh really? Who?”
    Archibald shrugged. Matthew bent again over the new slat he was shaping.
    â€œDid Wilhelm suggest that you fix these old things?”
    â€œYea,” Archibald said. He cast a furtive glance at Matthew.
    â€œThey are such wonderful pieces,” Rose said. “I’m glad to see them used again. You are bringing that table to a lovely shine, Archibald.”
    â€œThank you, Eldress.” Archibald flashed a quick, nervous smile, clearly pleased. For once, he showed no need to check his response with Matthew. Rose wanted a chance to talk with Archibald alone, and she had an idea.
    â€œMatthew,” she said, “there are a couple of repairs that need to be done in the Family Center Dwelling House.”
    â€œWe’ll get to them later.”
    â€œI know you’re busy, but I was hoping you could go over now and at least retrieve the items. I believe they might be unsafe to sit on, and they are both in frequent use.” Rose explained the cracks in the chair and stool, knowing that only Matthew had the skill to assess and complete such repairs. “If you could even just take time to examine them—you would know better than I how dangerous they really are.”
    Rose had reached for just the right combination of deference and command, and apparently she’d succeeded. Without a word, Matthew put down his work and left, surly but obedient. He would likely give the items a cursory look and carry them back to the Carpenters’ Shop. She had perhaps fifteen minutes.
    As soon as she was sure Matthew was out of earshot, Rose turned to Archibald, who watched the door with the panic of an abandoned puppy.
    â€œI’d love to see what you are doing,” Rose said brightly. “How are you getting the wood so smooth?”
    The fear faded from Archibald’s face as he ran his handover the top of the candle stand. “I just keep at it, is all,” he said, with a touch of pride.
    â€œDo you think Wilhelm might use it himself?”
    Archibald shook his head. “What he told us was, we needed to get all the old stuff fixed up for the South Family Dwelling House.”
    â€œYou mean the building our visitors are staying in?”
    â€œYea.”
    â€œBut there are only seven of them now, and they will be leaving soon, won’t they? Is Wilhelm hoping to use the dwelling house for future guests?” With anyone else, Rose would worry she was giving the impression that she and Wilhelm never consulted one another, but Archibald was unlikely to notice anything amiss.
    Archibald looked confused for a moment, then brightened. “Elder Wilhelm said them folks might stay,” he said.
    â€œStay? Do you mean, permanently?”
    â€œI guess.”
    So Wilhelm was certain he could convert the New-Owenites en masse