Woe to the unwary, to those like the Shakers who came into the wilds like babes into the world, filled with trust and peace and convinced the rest of the world was as they were. Maklin was right about them having blinders on.
It was well past midnight when Nate neared the Valley of Skulls. Twice he heard grunts that might be the same griz that killed Sister Benedine, but they were off in the brush. At the valley mouth he drew rein and tested the night with his senses.
Once around the bend Nate drew rein again. The valley was completely dark. Not one of the windows glowed with the light from a lamp or candle. He imagined—he hoped—they had doused the lights when they turned in, and there wasn’t a more sinister explanation.
An eerie feeling came over Nate as he rode amid the littered bones of bygone creatures while above reared the heights pockmarked with caves. He would like to explore those caves sometime soon. Who knew what he might find?
A bubbling sound reminded Nate of the hot springs. There was a hiss, and he flinched when hot drops spattered him. The bay nickered. Quickly, he reined away from the pool.
The Shakers were asking for misery by staying there. Somehow, Nate must convince them to go back East or else pick a more habitable spot.
The hoot of an owl from somewhere above was followed by a cry such as Nate had never heard, a wavering moan that might have come from out of one of the caves, a moan so human it made Nate think of a soul in torment. Involuntarily, he shuddered.
A gust of wind brought with it a whiff of a foul odor, sulfurous and vile. Nate almost gagged. He had not smelled anything like it when he was there earlier.
Suddenly Nate drew rein. High up at the caves a pale shape had appeared. It seemed to roil and writhe as if alive, yet it was as formless as fog. It was there and then with another gust of wind it was gone. He didn’t know what to make of it.
Presently, Nate reached the corral. He stripped the bay, draped his saddle and saddle blanket over the top rail, and put the bay in with the other horses. Rather than knock on a door and wake the Shakers, he went to the Conestogas and climbed into the first one he came to. It was empty. The bed was hard but comfortable enough and he was out of the wind and night chill.
Curling onto his side, Nate willed his body to relax. A strange sense of forboding gripped him, a sense that he shouldn’t be there, that he should flee while he could. It was silly, he told himself. Those stories about the valley had frayed his nerves.
Still, the Indians said the valley was bad medicine, and the Indians should know. It had been Nate’s experience that their legends were steeped in truth. Maybe the facts had been twisted in the many retellings, but if they said the valley was bad medicine, then by God, it was.
With that troubling thought, Nate drifted off. He slept fitfully. A loud hiss awakened him once. Another time, it was a slight shake of the wagon. The ground was quaking again. The tremor only lasted ten seconds, but it was unnerving just the same.
Dawn had not yet creased the sky with the glow of the rising sun when Nate climbed from the wagon, and stretched. He was stiff and sore and famished.
The patch of green at the valley’s heart covered about ten acres. Already the Shakers had chopped down a third or more of the trees to build their cabins and the corral. Nate gathered an armful of limbs and got a fire going near the corral. He put coffee on to perk and hunkered close to the flames for the warmth.
Leather hinges creaked, and a figure emerged from the building reserved for the men.
“You’re up early,” Nate said.
Arthur Lexington wore his beatific smile and carried a large Bible. “I am always the first up.” He gazed across the valley as a baron might over his domain. “I’m surprised to find you back so soon. I thought you were coming with the wagons.”
“There’s a complication,” Nate said, and told him about the Pawnees and the dead farmer and the dead wrangler.
“Ah. You came ahead because you feared for our safety? I thank you for your concern, but you needn’t worry about us. The Lord will watch over us and deliver us from harm.”
“Tell that to Sister Benedine.”
Lexington’s smile widened. “I assure you that her soul is in Paradise even as we speak.” He paused. “Do you like us, Brother King?”
“Like has nothing to do with it. I don’t understand you,” Nate confessed. “I don’t savvy why you chose here, of all places, to settle.”
“Ah,” Lexington said again. “Perhaps all will be made clear if you attend our evening gathering.”
Just then the ground shook. Nate gave a start and reached for the coffeepot to steady it.
“Isn’t it glorious?” Lexington said.
“Doesn’t it worry you just a little?”
“Why should it? This valley has been here for ages, I understand. Those high walls, that stream, are unchanged from the dawn of time.” Lexington chuckled. “The tremors are nothing to be afraid of. Quite the contrary. They speak to the glory of God.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“You’ll understand this evening, I promise you,” Lexington assured him. “You and the freighters are to be our guests.”
Once the sun was up, Nate searched outside the valley for sign of the Pawnees. He found none, but that only meant Kuruk was being clever. The Pawnees were around somewhere, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.
By the time Nate returned, the Shakers were once again bustling like bees, human bees that hummed and sang and smiled. The men chopped trees, hewed logs, and worked on the third building. The women washed clothes in the stream or skinned potatoes for the cooking pot or worked on quilts.
Despite the incident with the bear and Nate’s warning about the war party, no sentries were posted.
Nate needed to talk to Lexington but couldn’t find him. He spied Sister Amelia by the corral and asked to see him.
“Elder Lexington is in the men’s quarters,” Amelia said, with a bob of her double chin at the log dwelling.
“Will you take me to him?”
Amelia’s eyebrows rose. “Haven’t you been paying attention, Brother King? In our society men and women never mingle except when they must. I am no more permitted to go into their living quarters than they are to enter our living quarters.”
“Do you like it that way?”
“What a silly question,” Amelia said. “I wouldn’t be a Shaker if I didn’t.” She glanced over at the men sweating and toiling, and sniffed. “To be honest, I have never felt comfortable around men. You are peculiar creatures, every one of you.”
“Some ladies like us.”
“Don’t be flippant. Ideally, God would never have separated us to begin with unless it was meant to be.”
“Care to explain?”
“Men and women, Brother King.” Sister Amelia gestured at her brethren. “The Shakers believe that the male and female principle are both present in our Maker. In other words, God is both man and woman, yet so much more, of course.”
“If God is both, why do you split them up?”
“Because He did. Clearly it’s a sign. We are not meant to live together. Nor, might I add, to sleep together.”
Nate was compelled to point out a flaw in her reasoning. “If everybody did as you do, no babies would be born. The human race would die out in a few generations.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Sister Amelia smiled. “Besides, we don’t have that long left. Elder Lexington expects the Second Coming before the decade is out. There is no need for more babies.”
Nate excused himself and walked to the male quarters. He knocked, but no one came. Figuring most of the men were busy elsewhere, he tried the latch. A musty, dark hall led past room after room. Each contained a bed and some a chair and a few a chest of drawers. At the far end a lamp glowed. Nate came up quietly and stopped in the doorway.