Killing Gifts by Deborah Woodworth Page B

“Let me help you,” she said, more gently.
    Tears spilled down Dulcie’s cheeks and diluted the track of drying blood. She wiped away the tears and swallowed hard. Her red-rimmed eyes searched Rose’s face with the hope and longing of a terrified child.
    â€œIf you tell,” she said, “my life will be over.”
    Rose leaned toward her and took her cold hands. “If you don’t let someone help you, this secret, whatever it is, might make you very ill.”
    Dulcie took a deep, ragged breath. “I’m not ill,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”

EIGHT
    P ART OF THE B RICK D WELLING H OUSE’S THIRD FLOOR had been set aside to house the female hired help who needed a place to live. Despite the sparse furnishings, for most of the women these were the warmest, cleanest, and most private rooms they had lived in for many years. After Dulcie’s startling revelation, Rose accompanied the young woman back to her room to extract the whole story. Since she’d become eldress, Rose had heard enough of the sisters’ confessions to know that nothing could shock her—and that the process could work miracles with a soul in desperation. It mattered little that Dulcie was not a Shaker sister.
    Surrounded by her own belongings, Dulcie was calmer. Rose glanced around the room, so familiar to her because it was so similar to all other Shaker retiring rooms. Dulcie put some effort into keeping it neat. The linens on the narrow bed were as smooth as any Shaker hands could have made them. The floor was swept, and a spare Shaker work dress hung from a hanger hooked over a wall peg. However, Dulcie’s worldly sensibilities showed in the decorations she had placed wherever she could find a surface—a cluster of old photographs in cracked frames; an empty red glass vase; a bottle of cheap perfume; and an old Shaker box, in need of refinishing.
    Shyly, Dulcie offered Rose the one ladder-back chair, then sat on her bed. “It was kind of you to bring me back to my room,” she said. “I’m feeling much better now, really I am. You don’t need to stay.”
    â€œI was hoping we could talk awhile,” Rose said.
    Dulcie’s puffy eyes roamed around her room, landing everywhere except on Rose. “I wish I could offer you some tea or something.”
    â€œThat isn’t necessary.” Rose pulled her chair closer to the bed. “Dulcie, I think we should talk about what you told me just now in the kitchen.”
    Dulcie scooted farther back on her bed. “There’s nothing you can do,” she said. “It’s my problem.”
    â€œNay, it isn’t just your problem,” Rose said. “You are carrying a child, and if you do nothing to care for yourself, you and your child will both suffer.”
    Dulcie nervously twirled a ring with a small red stone around her finger.
    â€œIs that your engagement ring?” Rose asked.
    â€œIt’s a promise ring. Theodore gave it to me. He’s saving for a real engagement ring.”
    Rose’s question seemed to upset Dulcie even more. “I believe that I can help you,” Rose said. “If you will let me. Have you been to a doctor?”
    â€œI could never afford a doctor.”
    â€œThe sisters would take you, and they would pay.”
    â€œNo, they can’t know. You don’t understand. Oh, I shouldn’t have told you anything. It was so stupid of me. Theodore is right about me.” With an awkward movement that seemed to cause pain, she pulled her legs underneath her.
    â€œTheodore is your fiancé, isn’t he? Did he warn you not to reveal your condition to anyone?”
    Dulcie said nothing.
    â€œIf he values the world’s opinion over your health and the baby’s future, if he won’t take responsibility, then he is not worthy of you.” The words came out harsher than Rose had intended.
    â€œI know the Hancock Shakers well.