Killing Gifts by Deborah Woodworth Page B

the car, he stopped before her, clearly trying to keep some distance between them.
    â€œCould I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.
    â€œOf course. May I know your name?” she asked.
    He seemed surprised by her question. “My name is Hezekiah, Sister.”
    â€œAnd mine is Rose, Hezekiah.” She was relieved that he did not extend his hand. The handshake was so accepted in the world, and so awkward for her. “You called me ‘Sister,’ ” she said. “Do you know about us?”
    â€œI know that you are a Shaker by your dress,” Hezekiah said. “I know you are good people. I wondered if you and the young miss might be traveling to Hancock?”
    â€œIndeed, we are. Do you come from Pittsfield?”
    For the first time, Hezekiah smiled, a gentle smile that revealed a row of strong, yellow teeth. “I was born in Mississippi and raised in Pittsfield, Sister. My folks wanted to get as far north as possible.”
    â€œI’m afraid I’m from North Homage village, in Kentucky.”
    â€œI meant no offense.” Hezekiah glanced toward the end of the car as if afraid someone would overhear his faux pas and chastise him.
    â€œAnd I take no offense, I assure you.”
    He lowered his eyes, perhaps sensing he was overstepping his bounds. “Begging your pardon, Sister, but I know the folks at Hancock, used to do farm work for them before I got this job with the Pullman Company. My folks used to talk about the Shakers, how they was so kind and generous. That’s why I wanted to work for them. They treated me fine. It was Sister Fannie gave me the letter that got me this job, just a couple months ago.” His spine straightened when he mentioned his job, and Rose understood his pride.
    A portly man returning from the washroom pushed past them with a critical glance at Hezekiah. Rose knew they didn’t have much time. She was immensely curious about why Hezekiah would risk losing his position to speak to her.
    Hezekiah took one step toward her and lowered his voice. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, Sister, but I wanted to warn you. They just had a murder at Hancock, a pretty young lady, and I noticed the young miss with you, and, well, I guess I just thought you oughta know what you’re getting into. The Hancock Shakers are good people, but there’s a killer in their village. I wouldn’t go near the place, if I was you.”
    â€œHezekiah, I appreciate your concern, but I know about the murder,” she said, “because Sister Fannie sent for me to help find out what happened. If you left recently, then perhaps you knew the other hired workers and the novitiates?”
    â€œYes. I knew ’em all.”
    â€œThen perhaps you might be willing to help me. I don’t know those people. Could you tell me anything about them, anything you heard or noticed that might help me get to the bottom of this tragedy? It would be a great help to Sister Fannie and the others.”
    Hezekiah’s dark, broad face pinched in concern and concentration, and his deep brown eyes studied the flowered carpeting. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but seeing as how it’s for Sister Fannie . . . Those novitiates, they just arrived in the last few months I was there. I know the Shakers need more folk to join them, but I didn’t trust these new ones, not a one of them.”
    â€œOf all the novitiates, is there anyone you think could be capable of such a horrible crime?”
    â€œSeveral of ’em, I’d say.”
    An older porter, a small light-skinned man with curly white hair, entered the coach and raised bushy white eyebrows at Hezekiah.
    â€œI’m sorry, Sister, but I’d best get busy. I can’t lose this job.” He began to straighten the curtain over the upper berth, and Rose could see that his large hands were shaking.
    â€œI understand, Hezekiah. If you think of anything,