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Carefully, she peered over the edge of the hayloft walkway. Exiting the stall just below her, she saw the tops of three heads—gray, gray-black, and blond. She recognized them all. The three men were novitiates, who had expressed a desire to become covenanted Believers and were living in the village, working side by side with the Shakers, as they explored the faith.
    Sewell Yates, his gray-streaked dark head bent toward the ground, kicked absently at some old hay on the barn floor. He looked downhearted, and Dulcie felt sorry for him. He was such a mild-mannered fellow, always friendly to the women, from the sisters to the hired help. Theodore hated how friendly Sewell was to her and kept muttering about how he shouldn’t be a novitiate if that’s the way he was going to behave. But whenever she looked in those sad brown eyes, Dulcie felt her heart soften.
    â€œThis barn is a useless eyesore. We ought to get rid of it, just tear it down and start fresh.” The harsh voice belonged to Johnny Jenkins, a tall, broad-shouldered man with wavy blond hair. Dulcie thought he was mean, but Julia had liked him a lot—probably because he was still legally married, and a Shaker novitiate to boot. Julia had always fancied herself a temptress. Dulcie shivered and pulled her scratchy blanket closer at the memory of Julia.
    â€œWe mustn’t do that,” Sewell said. The poor man sounded like he was pleading, Dulcie thought; you’d never know he was in charge of fixing the buildings, and Johnny was supposed to follow his orders.
    â€œThis barn is an architectural marvel. There’s nothing else quite like it anywhere. It’s our duty to preserve it,” Sewell continued. “With some work, we can bring it back, I know we can.”
    â€œBut will it ever be useful again?” asked the third man of the group, Aldon Stearn. He leaned back against a wooden pillar and crossed his arms. “Sometimes, Sewell, I wonder if you’re suited for this life. You continue to value worldly things, like buildings, over the tenets of your faith.” Though his words were cruel, his deep baritone sounded more disappointed than contemptuous.
    Sewell tightened his shoulders and seemed to become even thinner.
    â€œOur time would be better spent if we concentrated on saving the Meetinghouse,” Aldon said. “That building, at least, is central to our faith. We are here to create a heaven on earth, not to preserve Hancock Village as a monument to a glorious past. None of that matters. What we do here, now, that’s what matters. We must do what is right every minute of every day.” His voice rose, clear and insistent, up to Dulcie. It mesmerized her. She’d heard some of the sisters say that Aldon needed to study humility more deeply, but whenever he spoke of the Shaker faith, she tingled. She could still hear the preacher’s voice in him—the voice that had enthralled her all those years she’d attended his Congregationalist church in Pittsfield. At the same time, a sudden dread caught her like a blow in the chest, knocking the breath out of her.
    Johnny snorted in derision. He paced in a circle, looking to Dulcie like one of those lions she’d once seen at the circus, with his blond curls burnished by a sudden appearance of the sun through the windows encircling the top of the barn. “You’re both wasting time,” he said. “If we want to keep this place going, we gotta move fast. We need money to create heaven on earth. All the talking in the world won’t do it.”
    â€œGiven the abysmal state of the world’s economy, just what do you think will bring in all this . . . lucre?” Aldon asked.
    The silent Sewell had returned to kicking the dirty floor, his head bent. Dulcie wanted to run right down there and tell him to speak up, but she could never do such a bold thing. After all, she never really spoke up for herself, did she? Another