work once they’d left the farm, but who would have looked after Ben all day? And there was the danger that they might be chased down and tried for arson—perhaps even murder. Or else, discovered by a man—her own father—who wanted them dead. Without her children, Mama would find it easier to hide from the law, perhaps even to begin her life anew in another town, under another name. Without them, she might even be able to slip free of Silas. Polly shuddered. What wheels had she put in motion when she set their house on fire?
The obvious dawned on her: She was the reason Mama had left them here. It was she who had laid waste their home, perhaps even killed Silas. What choice had she left Mama but to take the blame should the truth about the fire come out? She’d no right to be angry, but she was.
Closing her eyes, Polly tried to will the angels to her side but they, too, seemed to have abandoned her. She and Ben had nowhere else to go. They would have to stay in The City of Hope, hide there until Polly could be sure that the world beyond its walls was safe—whatever that meant. How, then, to stay in the good graces of these strange people?
Work. Polly realized that industry was all that could save her now. She would work until she could work no more, toil like she had never before toiled, make of herself an indispensable… believer. Labor would ease her sorrows and fears. Exhaustion would be her solace. She had discovered herself to be a fighter when it came to those she loved. In this new place—so foreign to her in every way—she would walk among strangers, pliable as dough. She was a lone traveler. She was no one now.
Polly rose and mimicked the ginger girl’s every move, pulling on a borrowed brown woolen dress and slipping her feet into worn leather shoes belonging to a sister who, it seemed, no longer needed them.
“How could it be,” Polly asked as she ran her fingers over the soft, well-woven cloth, “that a girl could find no use for clothes such as these?”
Sister Charity pursed her lips and regarded her sharply. Had she been foolish to be so inquisitive?
“You wear the dress,” the sister said, “of one who was offered a life of fullness and purity here, but chose instead to run away. She has joined the filth of the World from which you have just come. She did not deserve the attention we gave her.”
Charity yanked the quilt from her bed and shook it. “We shall see if you are different,” she said. “Then, when you prove yourself a good believer, you shall have your own set of clothes, made for you and no one else. Why, the sisters will even make you a cap, for you are comely and of an age when your hair and the nape of your neck could distract the brethren.”
Polly put her hand to her head. How strange these Shakers were! Did they not have more to concern them than the attraction between a boy and a girl? She had never before given a single thought to her hair or the nape of her neck. Where she came from, no would-be suitor ever so much as glanced her way.
Sister Charity had turned her focus to airing out the sheets on her narrow bed before making neat its cover. Polly thought it best to do likewise, so she let billow her own coverings before pulling them tight and tucking them smoothly under her mattress. Nothing looked askance in the room where she had spent her first night. Brooms, hanging from pegs on the wall, bore mute witness to the girls’ efforts. The white basin on the washstand gleamed. The warp and weft of the woven cotton rug lined up precisely with the floorboards. All was as it should be as Polly joined her new sister in silence and crossed the hall to air out and sweep clean the brethren’s quarters, waiting for the second bell to summon them into the company of believers.
Sister Charity
A MIRACLE HAS taken place and the telling fills me with such joy that I can barely speak! But I shall catch my breath and attempt to calm myself, for if I do not, my words will
The obvious dawned on her: She was the reason Mama had left them here. It was she who had laid waste their home, perhaps even killed Silas. What choice had she left Mama but to take the blame should the truth about the fire come out? She’d no right to be angry, but she was.
Closing her eyes, Polly tried to will the angels to her side but they, too, seemed to have abandoned her. She and Ben had nowhere else to go. They would have to stay in The City of Hope, hide there until Polly could be sure that the world beyond its walls was safe—whatever that meant. How, then, to stay in the good graces of these strange people?
Work. Polly realized that industry was all that could save her now. She would work until she could work no more, toil like she had never before toiled, make of herself an indispensable… believer. Labor would ease her sorrows and fears. Exhaustion would be her solace. She had discovered herself to be a fighter when it came to those she loved. In this new place—so foreign to her in every way—she would walk among strangers, pliable as dough. She was a lone traveler. She was no one now.
Polly rose and mimicked the ginger girl’s every move, pulling on a borrowed brown woolen dress and slipping her feet into worn leather shoes belonging to a sister who, it seemed, no longer needed them.
“How could it be,” Polly asked as she ran her fingers over the soft, well-woven cloth, “that a girl could find no use for clothes such as these?”
Sister Charity pursed her lips and regarded her sharply. Had she been foolish to be so inquisitive?
“You wear the dress,” the sister said, “of one who was offered a life of fullness and purity here, but chose instead to run away. She has joined the filth of the World from which you have just come. She did not deserve the attention we gave her.”
Charity yanked the quilt from her bed and shook it. “We shall see if you are different,” she said. “Then, when you prove yourself a good believer, you shall have your own set of clothes, made for you and no one else. Why, the sisters will even make you a cap, for you are comely and of an age when your hair and the nape of your neck could distract the brethren.”
Polly put her hand to her head. How strange these Shakers were! Did they not have more to concern them than the attraction between a boy and a girl? She had never before given a single thought to her hair or the nape of her neck. Where she came from, no would-be suitor ever so much as glanced her way.
Sister Charity had turned her focus to airing out the sheets on her narrow bed before making neat its cover. Polly thought it best to do likewise, so she let billow her own coverings before pulling them tight and tucking them smoothly under her mattress. Nothing looked askance in the room where she had spent her first night. Brooms, hanging from pegs on the wall, bore mute witness to the girls’ efforts. The white basin on the washstand gleamed. The warp and weft of the woven cotton rug lined up precisely with the floorboards. All was as it should be as Polly joined her new sister in silence and crossed the hall to air out and sweep clean the brethren’s quarters, waiting for the second bell to summon them into the company of believers.
Sister Charity
A MIRACLE HAS taken place and the telling fills me with such joy that I can barely speak! But I shall catch my breath and attempt to calm myself, for if I do not, my words will
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