The Gifted

by Ann H. Gabhart

  She did her best to appear penitent as she detailed her wrongs. It was evident she knew I would be displeased and was sorrowful for that reason. How could I not be displeased? She purposefully walked out of her way to go past Brother Benjamin’s garden with the knowledge told to her by Sister Abigail that the man of the world might be taking air among the good doctor’s medicinal plantings. Oh, my dear little sister. She has no conception at all of the possible consequences of her impulsive actions. To her credit, the watcher did say the man of the world accosted her. To her detriment, she did not flee the temptation. The watcher reported that though the man laid his hand upon her arm, there seemed no force implied in his actions.

  Sister Lettie does report the man is aware of the rules and had been plainly told not to bother the sisters. However, most men of the world seem unable to understand our ways and see no harm in speaking with one of the sisters if the opportunity presents itself. Such men have no desire to exercise the dutiful diligence to the rules necessary to overcome the customs of the world and abide by the Shaker way.

  But our Sister Jessamine has been with us many years. She knows the rules. She simply chose to chase after knowledge of the world. She admitted as much to me with a contrite look that I fear had more to do with her knowing she had disappointed me than anything to do with her wrong actions. The watcher reports it looked as if Sister Jessamine was the one to pull the man of the world into the shadows of the garden where the watcher was no longer able to clearly see the actions of the two of them.

  When I asked her about what happened in the shadows, Sister Jessamine said they talked of the rose gardens and of how the man had remembered his name. She claims nothing any more sinful than her wanting to speak to him happened. But I wonder, since her cheeks fairly flamed as she spoke. I did ask her if the man touched her. This Philip Rose.

  She kept her eyes on her hands folded upon her apron while she told of how he touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. When I remained quiet, she pushed out more words to fill the air between us and claimed his touch was like fire on her cheek.

  I asked her if she found that a bad feeling. A painful one. But I had little hope it would be so. She has ever been one to throw herself after wayward thoughts.

  Her whispered nay was so softly uttered I more saw it than heard it.

  There are times when I wish Sister Jessamine was not so truthful. For now what is there to do but see that she is not alone to succumb to temptation again while the man of the world is among us. That is what the Ministry sees as the only possible answer. They have been patient with Sister Jessamine on many occasions, but this is a very serious infraction. We cannot have such rules of conduct ignored so blatantly. For her own good they have handed down the order for constant supervision at least until Sister Jessamine can prove herself worthy of trust again.

  I cannot argue against their verdict. I offered up Sister Annie as the one to stay ever with Sister Jessamine, but Eldress Frieda reminded me that it must be one of the Covenant-signed sisters who has a willing obedience to the Millennial rules. She is right, as always, and it would be a difficult task, at any rate, for Sister Annie who is often unable to stand up against Sister Jessamine’s enthusiasms as evidenced by their escapade in the woods on Monday.

  Nay, Eldress Frieda says it must be Sister Edna. When I heard her name, I suggested I be the one charged with watching Sister Jessamine myself, but it is evident the Ministry has determined that I am too closely connected with my young sister. As I am. I shall endeavor to not put Sister Jessamine higher than any of the other young sisters in my estimation. She is a lovely girl with a spirit of joy that is a gift to her sisters, but there are many other young sisters around me with gifts just as lovely. I must view each of them with kindness and humility and equal love.

  Eldress Frieda was not taking me to task. She was quite plain in lauding my love of the young sisters and my watch care over them all. And she assured me she does not hold me at fault for giving this sister with her loving smile and troubling lapses so much attention and care. But she says now we must allow the Ministry to guide our actions. Our sister must learn the discipline to control her impulses before she is of the age to sign the Covenant.

  I felt it my duty then to remind Eldress Frieda of the letter that lies in wait for Sister Jessamine.

  Eldress Frieda looked very concerned as she voiced her worry that the letter might confuse our sister’s steps even more. While I knew she spoke true words, I felt it necessary to speak up for Sister Jessamine’s relation who left the sealed missive for her and remind the eldress of how long we have already held the letter from our young sister. While we did not do so with intent, but merely from neglect of memory concerning it, now that it has been remembered, it did not seem truthful to pretend it did not exist.

  I know dear Eldress Frieda had no intention of suggesting any sort of untruth. She was merely showing her deep concern for our young sister’s future here among us. She fears a letter from the world might push Sister Jessamine to make grievous decisions and cause her to choose a pathway leading to naught but sorrow for her.

  I too can summon up no confidence in the decisions our young sister might eventually make in regard to her future. Oh, how I wish I could decide for her, but our novitiates have the freedom to choose their own paths, rightly or wrongly.

  After much consideration, Eldress Frieda decided to ask the Ministry to open and read the letter before determining the best course to take. There seems little need in sharing something painful with our sister when she is already surrounded by doubtful thinking. Meanwhile I am to inform Sister Edna of her new duty and Sister Jessamine of her opportunity to begin a better walk with her family of Believers. Sister Edna will not be resistant of the duty, but I fear Sister Jessamine will be downhearted to know she has lost the trust of those who love her. I will pray she will quickly conform her thoughts and actions to such ways considered proper for one of our sisters.

  It is good that tomorrow we will meet together to exercise the songs and dances to bring our spirits back into harmony. It will be good to labor a sweeping dance to cleanse us from the wrongs of the week and bring purity to our bodies and minds so we can receive the gifts of the spirit from our loving mother. Good spirits will not abide where there is dirt. That includes the natural dirt of the world carried into our buildings on our shoes as well as the filth of sinful desires besmirching our thoughts. Such dirt needs to be swept from the corners and crevices where it is wont to hide—whether that be the hard to reach corners of our abodes or the equally hard to reach recesses of our hearts.

  10

  Tristan couldn’t get the young sister out of his mind. Even as he promised Brother Benjamin he wouldn’t forget the Shakers’ rules for the remainder of the time he was in their village, he knew if he had the chance to speak to Jessamine again, he would break his word without hesitation or remorse. He was already lying about his name. That seemed to make other lies easier to say.

  When the doctor asked how he was feeling, Tristan pretended more weakness than he felt. His dizziness was gone, and while his arm was far from healed, that would not keep him from mounting his horse and riding back to White Oak Springs. He would have to go back. He couldn’t desert his mother forever, and he had no real reason to hide out in the Shaker village.

  The more he thought about the gunshot in the woods, the more he had to believe he had simply been accosted by a thief seizing the opportunity to steal whatever coin Tristan had in his pockets. As for his horse, the animal could have escaped the thief, who in turn must have been frightened off by the voices of the two women. Luckily enough for Tristan.

  It was the only thing that made sense. The only thing that explained his empty pockets and the bullet wound to his head.

  His mother would be frantic by now. Not due to worry for his safety. She probably had few worries about that. She would think he had merely ridden away with no regard to her needs or state of mind. Perhaps he had. It was certainly t
rue he was resting on the Shaker bed when he was not that far distant from the bed at White Oak Springs. His mother had sold one of her jeweled brooches to finance their time there. A few weeks that was to assure their future. And negate his dreams of adventure.

  His mother didn’t want to hear about his yen for adventure any more than she had wanted to listen to his pleas for love. But where she might have been somewhat moved regarding his wish for love, she had absolutely no sympathy for his need to seek excitement in his life.

  “Adventure!” She looked up at him from the list she was making of things they’d need in Kentucky as if he’d spoken a word not fit for her ears. “People who set off on adventures generally find nothing but a bad end. Think of your father and his eagerness to go fight the Mexicans. You well know the sad end of that thinking.” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “Now, now, Mother.” Tristan spoke up quickly in hopes of keeping her from dissolving into a puddle of tears as she was wont to do since his father’s death. “You know Father would have never been happy again if he hadn’t stepped up to do his part in defense of our country.”

  “Oh yes, your dear father was quite ready to charge off down the trail of glory. His problem was reining in his impulses and tending to business at home. Now here you are. Wanting to follow in his footsteps.” Her tears dried up in an instant as she rose from her desk to poke his chest with her finger. “Let me assure you that glory will not keep a roof over our heads. Nor will you chasing after adventure. Think about what happened when you took off for Mexico with those ideas in your head. Your father in his grave and us left with very few resources.”

  “I didn’t start the war, Mother, and there was little glorious about any of it.”

  “Exactly. Now you’re beginning to talk sense. Your father—wonderful man that he was—had a serious lack of good sense about many things. I have ever hoped you will be more turned like me and able to focus on the practical issues of life. Such as how we mean to survive.”

  “Our company is still operating. Whitley buggies are in as much demand as ever.”

  “So they are, but what seems to be escaping your attention is that your father did much speculative investing without proper consideration of the risks. Mr. Ridenour has been going through our affairs and has regretfully informed me that your father took from the company’s till to speculate on land deals that have not delivered income. That, indeed, may have never been properly documented by your father. The company my father and his father before him built up with dedication and sound business acumen is in danger of failing if those funds are not restored.”

  “Is this Mr. Ridenour accusing Father of taking money illegally? And who is he anyway?” Tristan asked.

  “Mr. Ridenour is an associate with the firm that has long looked after my family’s legal business needs. Barton and Fister. You are familiar with those names, I would hope.” She raised her eyebrows and waited for his assenting nod before she went on. “As for Mr. Ridenour, he is a very nice man and there’s not the least need in you trying to make him the villain of the piece. He has regretted deeply having the unpleasant duty of making me aware of the dismal facts of our situation. He has not accused your father or anyone of malfeasance. Merely incompetence, but that is enough. That is certainly enough.”

  “So we need money.”

  “Indeed. If you want to state it so crudely.” His mother put her hand to her forehead as if having to think of money pained her. “Never in my life did I think I’d have to concern myself with such vulgar necessities. I don’t know what William could have been thinking when he so endangered our livelihood.” Her voice carried the tremble of tears as she sank back down on her chair. “He was always looking for something better, something more. He had a way of waving away worries and charging ahead, sure there would be a way. Perhaps if he had lived, he would have found that way, but now it’s up to us to make our own way.”

  “Men are getting rich in the goldfields of California. You’ve read about that in the papers.” Tristan had made no decisions on what he actually wanted to do. The idea of adventure, of leaving behind all that he knew, all that was expected of him, pulled at him. To make a fortune on his own and not simply ride along on his father’s or his grandfather’s coattails. That could happen in California. It was happening for other men there.

  She sprang out of her chair again, grabbed his coat lapels, and gave him a little shake as she tiptoed up to glare into his face. “More men will die there than get rich. You survived Mexico. There’s no need in tempting fate further. You need to mine the goldfields closer to home.”

  “And what goldfields are you suggesting, Mother?” Tristan asked, even though he already knew the answer. “The Cleveland fortune?”

  “Perhaps my words were a bit brash. The stress of our situation has me quite beside myself.” She turned loose of his coat and smoothed down the lapels. “I had no intent of suggesting that dear Laura was merely an object to be pursued for our financial security. She’s a lovely young woman. Worry can make one say the most dreadful things. Although our financial security is something that must be considered. And it is true that her father has already spoken to Mr. Ridenour about perhaps investing in our company, but that possible investment does not come without strings.”

  “And I’m the string.”

  “We’ve been through this a dozen times, Tristan. You have to marry someone and I know Laura will make you very happy. Think of the children you will have.” She looked away from him out the window as if she could see something he could not. “Sons named Cleveland and Whitley. Can’t you almost see them out on the lawn, climbing trees, carrying on the proud Cooper name?”

  He turned and let his eyes follow her gaze through the double windows to the green lawn spreading away from the house. But he wasn’t seeing children. He was seeing the road leading away. A road he could not take. He was all his mother had left. A man could not disavow his family, and so he had accompanied his mother to White Oak Springs. To mine the Cleveland family gold.

  Yet here he was, sequestered in this Shaker village, pretending to be someone he was not while innocent blue eyes haunted his thoughts.

  The rising bell pulled him from sleep before dawn on Sunday. The Shakers were early risers. Sister Lettie had told him there was much work to be done in the village and no time to waste in accomplishing the necessary tasks set before them. Time was something to be treasured and used wisely. That was something he had not always done before he joined the army and was so plainly confronted with the possibility of time coming to an end for him. Now he could see the wisdom of the old sister’s words. So when the bell rang, he sat up and faced the day himself even if he had no necessary tasks. At least none in this village.

  He put on the plain, sturdy clothes the Shakers had given him. Sister Lettie had split the sleeve of the shirt so he could pull it over his injured arm. It was awkward but he managed. The arm ached but the pain was not unbearable. He flexed his fingers. They felt stiff and swollen, but at least they moved. At least he could still move. He had another day, even if he didn’t know what the day might bring.

  His stomach growled, but he ignored its complaints. If this day was like the others he’d been in the village, it would be awhile before Sister Lettie brought him breakfast. She said every villager had duties to perform before the morning meal so that those in the kitchens were not working while others lolled in bed. All were servants in the community. None to be served, but all to serve.

  In time, there would be breakfast and good food if the meal followed the way of the previous days. Nothing like the food they’d had in the army. Hardtack and whatever could be gathered from the countryside. The land ravaged by war and picked clean by too many hungry men yielded up little. A scrawny jackrabbit. A rattlesnake at times.

  The dawning light filtered through the window and pulled him out into the garden to lean against the wall where he’d talked to Jessamine. Away from the pathways, it was unlikely he’d
be noticed in the gray morning light. He didn’t want to cause more problems. While he might like to stand in the shadows with Jessamine once more, it would not be wise to bother her. Not only because he’d be breaking the Shaker rules, but because the memory of her eyes was so unsettling to him.

  The sky began to lighten and blush pink before fingers of golden light brightened the day. As the sun reached down toward him, Tristan decided to be Philip Rose one more day. Sister Lettie had said they opened their meetinghouse doors to those of the world on Sunday mornings.

  “It is hoped that our spiritual labor will convince those of the world who come with curiosity of our worship to choose the way of salvation and seek the gift of simple purity among us,” she explained. That was before he had broken the rules by stepping out of the garden to talk to the beautiful Jessamine. He didn’t know what she might be ready to say to him now.

  But later, when she brought his morning meal, she seemed no different. Even so, Tristan felt the need to make an apology.

  “Forgive me for ignoring your rules,” Tristan told her as she arranged his breakfast on the table beside his bed. “It didn’t seem that wrong to thank the young sister for helping me in the woods. To my way of thinking, it seemed more wrong not to do so. As you told me, I might have died without the help of her and the other sister.”

  “Were you seeking Sister Annie out to thank her as well?” Sister Lettie fixed her eyes on him.

  “I didn’t see her passing by the garden.”

  Sister Lettie’s smile set off a whole new set of wrinkles. “I hear truth in your words, Brother Philip. Our Sister Annie would not set her feet on a wayward path that would lead her past the good doctor’s garden. Sister Jessamine did allow her feet to stray and now must pay the cost.”