Killing Gifts by Deborah Woodworth

explore just then.
    Fannie chewed slowly on a corner of her slice of brown bread. “In my eagerness to accept new Believers, I may have been too trusting.”
    Rose put down her fork. “Are you saying that you suspect one of your novitiates of being a killer?”
    Fannie met her eyes. “I pray not, of course. But these novitiates are not like those I remember from times past. Certainly we had our share of Winter Shakers, and I could usually tell which they were in short order.” She shook her head. “These new ones are . . . hard.”
    â€œTheir natures, do you mean?”
    Fannie nodded. “In part, it is pride. They seem unwilling to put aside their own petty desires, for the good of the Society. At times, they act as though driven by greed. I have spent untold hours laboring with them in confession, and they profess to understand, but then one of the hired hands will complain of being harshly treated by a novitiate, or one novitiate will come to me with stories putting one of the others in a bad light. Their hubris seems unconquerable. I had thought of sending them all back to the world.”
    â€œYet you did not.”
    Fannie shook her head sadly. “I did not. I told myself they had been sent to us, that Holy Mother Wisdom wanted us to show them a better way. And I suppose . . .” Fannie poked at her remaining piece of hotcake until it turned to a sticky pulp. “I suppose I was feeling downhearted about our dwindling numbers, and these novitiates have brought such wonderful skills with them.”
    â€œAnd you hoped they would give you new life? There is no shame in that, Fannie. Some of the most devoted Believers had great wills to conquer before they could truly serve God and others.”
    Fannie looked unconvinced. Still shaking her head, she consumed the rest of her breakfast, as Rose had hoped she would, rather than throw it away.
    â€œTell me what you know about each of the novitiates—and the hired help, too,” Rose said, once Fannie had crossed her cutlery over her plate and laid her cloth napkin on top. A pot brimming with spearmint tea had been steeping at her elbow, so she poured a cup for each of them and settled back against the curved slats of her chair.
    Fannie held her cup close to her lips and breathed deeply before taking a sip. “You are right, of course. The sooner we get to work, the sooner this nightmare will be over. I’ll begin with the hired help. I know very little about them, except that they all come from Pittsfield, and I believe they have known one another for many years.” Fannie took another sip and frowned. “Now that I think of it, the novitiates all come from Pittsfield, as well, so everyone might know everyone.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Rose said. “I’ll sort it out.”
    â€œOf course. Well, Julia Masters, the girl who was killed, worked sometimes in the Fancy Goods Store. She was pretty and poor and, I’m afraid, not quite honest. Little items used to disappear whenever she worked.”
    â€œYou didn’t confront her about it?”
    â€œI was planning to do so, of course. In fact, I was ready to let her go, but Sister Abigail is so kind-hearted, she asked me to give the girl another chance. She promised she would speak to Julia and watch her very carefully. You can find out quite a lot about Julia, I’m sure, by speaking with her sister, Dulcie. She helps out in the kitchen. Dulcie is a good worker, a very honest girl, though the kitchen sisters tell me she’s been ill of late. She was destitute when she came to us. She probably wouldn’t have enough to eat without this job, so we keep her on all the time, even when the sisters could easily handle the kitchen work themselves.”
    â€œHow did Dulcie get along with her sister?”
    â€œOh, fine, probably. I don’t really know. But I’m sure Dulcie had nothing to do with her