not be as much of an issue as the interiors. There were still several Shaker school buildings still standing around the country, not to mention loads of examples of schools from that time period and areas that were not Shaker-affiliated. The dry house would be a cinch (there wasn’t much to it structurally to recreate, even though it was mostly gone) and the weaving building wasn’t as deteriorated as it had appeared on first inspection. The interiors, however, would be trickier. Shaker style had its own nuances and definitive elements; it was still emulated today. If she screwed something up then even laypeople would notice; she wouldn't be able to get as creative as she liked.
Normally, Taryn would begin the job by doing some charcoal sketches. She was going to approach this one a little differently, however, and start with some research. (To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure what a “dry house” was; she'd just nodded her head and smiled at Virgil when he showed it to her.) Luckily, the park had an archives and research room that she was given free reign of (within reason, of course; she couldn’t take anything out of it) and she intended to use it to her advantage.
So, on her first full day at Shaker Town Taryn found herself locked in a good-sized room, alone, surrounded by piles of dusty ledgers, drawings, letters, and books. She learned about Shaker furniture, Shaker inventions (a Shaker woman actually invented the circular saw-fascinating), Shaker clothing (plain and same was the theme), and Shaker design. By lunch she’d been studying for almost four and a half hours and felt like she was back in school again. She'd barely touched the tip of the iceberg even after all that time. The Shakers were excellent record keepers.
Still, her tummy rumbled and she was no fool. Taryn knew when it was time to eat and since the park provided her meals she let herself out of the room, making sure to lock it behind her, and made her way to the restaurant.
The beautiful dining room with the glorious winding, circular staircase (featured prominently in all the brochures) was crowded, probably thanks to the gorgeous weather they were having. Young, yuppifying women with screeching toddlers fighting spoons in high chairs and relaxed-looking retirees clinked glasses of teas, slathered real butter on rolls, and oohed over dessert trays. The dinner crowd had been somewhat different the night before, a little more reserved maybe. She tried to imagine living in the area and being a stay-at-home mom, loading the kids up in the Suburban and taking them to spend a day at the park, complete with horse and wagon ride and a trip down the river on the old-fashioned sightseeing boat. It sounded kind of nice.
Taryn, deciding that if she didn’t start watching her weight now she’d weigh a ton by the time she left, chose a nice spring salad and bowl of tomato bisque soup. She was still passing on the sweet tea, thanks to her stint at Windwood Farm, and hadn’t quite gotten around to giving up Coke–her main vice. While she waited for her food she thumbed through a well-worn Peter Straub novel she’d stuck in her day pack and set out to enjoy her lunch.
She was still feeling a little high at the idea of actually being there. In college she’d been a tour guide at a historical home in Nashville and had always wondered what it might have been like to work there at Shaker Town. She still felt kindred spirits with other costumed guides whenever she visited a park like the one she was at now and made a terrible guest herself, always wanting to take over the tours and lecture herself. Staying there in the beautifully appointed, but simple, rooms and eating glorious meals for a month was almost like being at a resort. Granted, a resort where the women wore bonnets and long-sleeved dresses and there was a bit more blacksmithing than usual...
Her server was a plump middle-aged woman with shockingly red hair, bright green eyes, and the faint