Killing Gifts by Deborah Woodworth Page A

age. Did you go to school together?”
    Carlotta laughed. “If you can call fourth grade school,” she said.
    â€œYou didn’t go to the Shaker school?”
    Carlotta shrugged her bony shoulders. “For a year. It was boring. I had better ways to spend my time.” She snorted and tossed her straight dark hair, like a frustrated mare impatient for her feed. “Maybe things are different down where you come from, but around here, we have to work hard just to eat and stay warm. Julia and me, we didn’t have rich families. We had to make do.”
    â€œYou went to work young?” Rose asked.
    Carlotta didn’t respond.
    â€œI suppose you had to work also, Dulcie?”
    Again, Carlotta gave her characteristic snort. It was beginning to irritate Rose. “Dulcie? No, she’s the baby sister. She got to go all the way through the Shaker school, got herself this job, and even got herself engaged, didn’t you, Dulcie?” The bitterness in Carlotta’s voice was unmistakable. She slopped a damp cloth onto the worktable as if it were responsible for her hard life.
    â€œIt’s not my fault you and Julia were so wild,” Dulcie said. Her soft voice slid into a whine. “You didn’t have to go and—”
    â€œYou mind your own affairs, Miss Dulcie Goody Two-Shoes,” Carlotta said, “and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’re wilder than you let on.” She tossed her cloth in the sink and headed for the door. “You two can clean this place up by yourselves.”
    Rose watched Carlotta’s thin back disappear. It seemed her questions had poked at a sore spot or two. It might be worth tracking down some information about this so-called wildness that Dulcie had attributed to both Carlotta and Julia. At this point, Rose was willing to look at anything that might help explain the girl’s death. She turned to ask Dulcie for more information, but the young woman’s cheeks had lost all color, and her chest heaved under her loose bodice. Before Rose realized what was happening, Dulcie’s eyes rolled upward, and she collapsed, crashing against a ladder-back chair as she fell.
    Rose ran to her and felt her pulse, which was slow and weak. She had broken the delicate chair and scraped her forehead on a cracked slat. An alarming amount of blood ran down the side of her head. Rose grabbed a clean rag and pressed it against the wound. She decided not to raise the alarm just yet. The cut was small, surely too small to need a stitch, and she knew that even slight head wounds bled profusely. This might be her only chance to probe Dulcie’s secrets without prying ears around. She wished fervently that she could call Josie, North Homage’s Infirmary nurse, whose discretion could be counted on.
    In a few minutes, the bleeding stopped. Dulcie moaned and opened her eyes. She squinted at Rose as if she couldn’t place her, then tried to scramble to her feet too quickly and tumbled down again. This time, Rose was able to catch her by her shoulders, which felt surprisingly thin.
    â€œYou’ve hurt yourself, but not too badly,” Rose said, helping Dulcie to an undamaged chair. “But I’m very concerned about this fainting spell. Have you had any before now?”
    Dulcie shook her head.
    â€œHave you been feeling unwell?”
    â€œJust a little. It’s nothing to worry about.” Dulcie tried to stand, and Rose pushed her back down.
    â€œA fainting spell is indeed something to worry about,” Rose said, using the firm tone she reserved for sisters who tried to avoid a much-needed confession. “You need to tell someone. If you are afraid to talk to Fannie or any of the Hancock sisters for fear of losing your job, then you’d better tell me. I can help you, and I give my word as a Believer that I will do my utmost to protect you.” She pulled over another chair and sat directly across from Dulcie.