Just the sound of the shooting club that afternoon as he’d walked with Laura had brought back too many images he wanted to block forever from his thoughts. Shooting targets wasn’t the same as what he’d done in Mexico. And even if he had escaped Laura as she’d surmised and gone to the California goldfields, he would have certainly needed to be armed in that wild country. It could be he should have been armed in the woods only a few miles from this Mecca of society and ease.
Perhaps he had been. The night before when he returned to the Springs, he searched his room for his father’s pistol without success. While he couldn’t remember carrying it into the woods, he did know he brought it to the Springs from Georgia. His mother had insisted because of the shooting club. Perhaps the gun was lost to the thief the same as whatever else might have been in his pockets. Had he been carrying his father’s gold watch? He hadn’t even thought about the watch or the gun while he’d been at the Shaker village. Neither seemed important there.
Tristan looked around the elaborately decorated room with its large soft bed carefully fluffed and draped in a dark green coverlet by unseen servants who returned the room to pristine condition every day. Fresh water filled the pitcher and bowl to splash on his face upon arising in the morning. A rag rug of a rainbow of colors covered the wooden floor by the bed. Another rug spread more cheer in front of a chair near a window. A fairly recent issue of Harper’s Weekly was beside the lamp on the table. Tonight when he returned to the room after whatever entertainments were scheduled, the lamp would be lit and waiting. A wardrobe sat against the wall with large doors that revealed drawers on one side and a place to hang his suits on the other. A long mirror on the wardrobe door reflected back Tristan’s image. His mother’s room that adjoined his was similar except with a dressing table and an extra sitting chair and plenty of ruffles and flounces on the bedcover and curtains to appeal to the ladies.
None of it was a thing like the narrow cot in the sparsely furnished room at the Shaker village. The only decorations there were the chairs and lamps hanging from blue pegs all around the room. Out of the way but in reach if needed. Everything plain and simple. And yet, he almost wished he were still sleeping there on this night. Still being Philip Rose. Still listening to old Sister Lettie’s wisdom. Still hoping to catch sight of the beautiful Jessamine.
He stared at himself in the mirror. He would not think of the young Shaker woman again. He had his duty as a Cooper. His lips flattened in a determined line. He was not in Mexico. He was not poor Philip Jeffries in a grave. He was in a veritable paradise paying court to a lovely woman who knew how to laugh. That was not a bad thing.
So what if he’d lost a day or two of memory and a few treasured possessions, if indeed his father’s gun and watch were missing? So what if he’d lost his heart to the beautiful Jessamine? He had never expected to fall in love with Laura. Security generally trumped love in the game of life. Love was a poor man’s card of choice. A man who had nothing could easily throw that to the wind and pursue love. A man with a house, an estate, a failing business, a mother depending on him, could not so easily do the same.
That mother tapped on his door. “We must not be late, Tristan. We are sitting with the Clevelands this evening and Robert expects promptness. As do I.”
Tristan pasted a smile on his face before he opened the door. “I’m quite ready, Mother.”
She gave him an up and down look. “We can only hope. You met Laura’s mother last week. Dear sweet Viola. I do hope you’re able to recall that.” She raised her eyebrows at him as she went on. “A mouse of a woman with not much to say. I daresay she’s often afraid to open her mouth around Robert. He arrived here two days ago. Thank goodness, you saw fit to recover your memory and return forthwith. Another day and you might have ruined your chances forever.”
“It would seem to me that Laura’s approval is what I need. Not his.”
“That’s because your head is full of romantic nonsense.” His mother let out an exaggerated sigh. “Trust me on this, Tristan. Men like Robert Cleveland run the world. And their families. If he wants Laura to marry you—and he has given me every indication in our previous meetings that he does want you to be the father of his grandchildren—then you can be assured yes will be on Laura’s lips when you go down on your knee to propose to her.”
He opened his mouth, but his mother spoke before he could. “And don’t even consider pretending you might decide not to make that proposal. We have no other choice.”
“What were you going to do if I didn’t return?”
“I don’t know.” A worried look flashed across her face and she looked ten years older before she said, “I honestly do not know.”
Instantly sorry he’d goaded her, he touched her arm and spoke softly. “It’s all right, Mother. I did come back. I wouldn’t desert you.”
Sadness settled on her face for a moment. “Promises are easy to make. Your father made plenty of his own with the same heartfelt intentions and then he went off to catch the fever.”
“The war is over, and I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
“That’s good to hear in my ears, but those are words you need to say in Laura’s ears.” Her voice hardened a bit. “The sooner the better.”
“Why the rush? We’re going to be here for another month at least, are we not?”
“Open your eyes, Tristan.” She poked a finger into his chest. “This place is full of bachelors intent on marriage and there is no more attractive candidate for their attentions than our lovely Laura. I’ve even heard rumors that Laura came to the Springs expecting to hear a proposal. And not one from you.”
“Then from whom?” Tristan asked. “Has she a secret love?”
“So the rumors go, but you know I don’t put much credence in gossip. I do know one thing. She has no serious suitor her father approves. It is Robert Cleveland you must win over. Starting this very evening.” She straightened the collar of his coat and smoothed down the silky sling. Her voice softened as she went on. “Any man should be glad to welcome you into his family.”
“I’ll do my best to make you proud, Mother.”
“Yes, well, the less you say about your supposed loss of memory and stay among those strange Shaker people, the better.” The softness fled from her face as she turned to collect her reticule. “The man does not suffer fools lightly. He demands attention and right thinking.”
“Right thinking in what way?”
“Whatever way he’s thinking, obviously.” She waited for him to open the door and then proceeded through it, lifting her head high as she assumed her public persona. A person had to remember one’s station in life and keep up appearances, come what may.
Tristan followed her, bracing himself for the evening ahead. Would he too have to turn into someone different? Someone ready to bow and scrape to win the approval of Robert Cleveland. He thought of Brother Benjamin then and his air of confident peace. There was no pretense to him. Just a man who knew his path and was glad for the simple life. A life without the stress of marriage. A man who knew what he believed and was giving his life to it.
Maybe that was Tristan’s problem. He didn’t believe anything. The war had emptied him of belief. He didn’t deny God existed. He simply didn’t think he cared one whit what happened to Tristan. But then the beautiful Jessamine had found him in the woods. That thought whispered through his mind again. And now he couldn’t forget her eyes.
What was it Sister Lettie had told him? That the Lord gave gifts to all his children. Providential care could be considered a gift. If it had been another sister like the cautious Sister Annie, he might have been left in the woods while they went for help. He might have been beset by wild animals or by the return of whoever had shot him. He might even now have deserted his mother in spite of his promise not to.
An inner smile lightened his thinking as he thought about his meeting with Jessamine being providential. If it was and the Lord up in his heavens had deemed them a match
, then surely he would bring them back together. It would have to be soon, because before the week was out, his mother would see to it that the expected proposal words were spoken to Laura.
17
Tristan and his mother arrived at their assigned table at the same time as Laura and her parents. After pleasantries were exchanged, they settled in their seats. The table sat eight. One chair was empty and the other two were occupied by a Mr. and Mrs. Floyd. Tristan had had the misfortune to meet them the week before. A blustery man and a vacuous woman come to the Springs for the water in an attempt to rid themselves of the aches of rheumatism. Tristan gave them a bland smile he hoped wouldn’t encourage the man to begin the long-winded description of his every ache and pain that Tristan had been treated to on their last meeting.
Robert Cleveland stared across the table at Tristan. He wasn’t a young man. Tristan guessed him in his sixties already, at least ten years older than his wife, maybe more. He was a big man, but not soft. His broad, meaty hands had obviously once been well acquainted with physical labor, and the hint of boom in his voice made Tristan think of sergeants ordering their companies forward. When he spoke, he would expect people to listen. But after the first greetings, he was quiet while the ladies chattered about the lovely day they’d had. Tristan pretended not to be aware of the man studying him the way one might size up a new stallion. Instead he gave his full attention to Laura next to him.
She met his look with a smile reminiscent of the one she’d shared with him as they sat by the lake. “Not off to find any gold this evening, Mr. Cooper?”
“I’m told it takes two good hands to pan for the gold, Miss Cleveland.” Tristan returned her smile.
“Gold? What’s this about gold?” Mr. Floyd leaned toward them. He was a fleshy man and beads of sweat ran down the side of his face. He pulled out a handkerchief and caught some of the rivulets before they could drip on the table. “Confound it! They should have servants in here with fans.”
“It is quite warm,” Tristan’s mother said. Her face had gone pale at the mention of gold and now she did her best to turn the conversation. “Perhaps a drink will cool you.”
Mr. Floyd wouldn’t be distracted. “I heard you were off to the goldfields, Cooper. Any truth to that?”
“Goldfields?” Robert Cleveland frowned first at Floyd and then Tristan.
Tristan met his look without flinching, even as out of the corner of his eyes he noted Laura’s smile. She obviously was enjoying stirring up a bit of trouble for him. “I’ve heard men can get rich there,” he said noncommittally.
“A scattered few might strike it rich panning gold.” Cleveland waved his hand dismissively. “But take my word for it, the only real riches to be made would be in selling the pick axes or sluice pans. Outfit the idiots thinking they’ll find their fortunes sifting through pebbles in a creek. That’s where a man could make some money.”
“What’s this about goldfields?” A man stepped up behind the empty chair on the other side of Laura. “Forgive me for being late. I was in the middle of a story.”
Laura looked up at him, her smile warm and welcoming. “How delightful, Sheldon. I can’t wait to read it. Please join us.” Then as if she remembered she was supposed to be giving her attention to Tristan, she turned back to him. “Tristan, I don’t think you’ve met Sheldon Brady, a dear family friend.” She turned back to Sheldon Brady as he sat down. “This is Tristan Cooper. And you know his mother, Wyneta, and Mr. and Mrs. Floyd.”
Sheldon Brady leaned forward to smile past Laura toward Tristan. “We’ll shake hands on the introduction later, my good man. It’s been a pleasure this week getting acquainted with your charming mother.” The man turned his smile toward Tristan’s mother and a flattering splash of color bloomed in her cheeks.
The man was probably near to Tristan’s mother’s age if the liberal sprinkling of gray among the black hair on his temples was any indication. He was tall, maybe even taller than Tristan, with broad shoulders and the easy air of a man used to admiring glances from the ladies. He wore his cravat carelessly tied and his hair a bit long and unkempt, which gave him a rakish look. After a sip from his water glass, he looked first at Robert Cleveland and then at Tristan. “And so are you both considering being off to the goldfields? One to pan and the other to charge exorbitant prices for that pan?”
“Tristan is not off to the goldfields.” His mother hurried her words out.
Laura laughed a little, a delightful trill of pure enjoyment. “No, no, of course he isn’t. It was just a little joke between us.”
“Perhaps you should share the joke, my dear,” her father said.
“Oh, Father, you don’t have to know everything.”
Tristan had the feeling Laura was doing her best to upset her father. It was certainly a fact she was upsetting his mother who appeared ready to faint.
He shot a reassuring look toward his mother before he explained. “I went for a ride last week and ended up the victim of a highwayman intent on relieving me of my possessions and perhaps even my life. For a while, it seemed possible I might find some gold. Those streets of gold.” Tristan smiled as he looked around the table. “To make a long story short, I was rescued by some Shakers and nursed back to life. Forgot who I was for a day or two. So while I was missing, the rumor started that I had ridden off to the goldfields in California to seek my fortune.”
His mother was valiantly keeping her lips turned up, but she wasn’t happy with his attempt at levity. Laura on the other hand appeared to be very amused if her broad smile was any indication. Mrs. Floyd giggled into her handkerchief while Mrs. Cleveland looked down and began folding her napkin into an ever smaller square. Whether that was to hide her amusement or boredom, Tristan wasn’t sure. He was sure Robert Cleveland was not amused as he stared across the table at Tristan.
The new man smiled politely as he shook his napkin open to spread in his lap. “Shakers. Interesting people. There are several colonies of them in the East, one not far from where I once spent a few years in New York.”
Like a drowning person grabbing for air, Tristan’s mother seized on his words as a way to shift away from Tristan’s time with the Shakers. She smiled across the table at Tristan. “Mr. Brady is a writer. Quite well-known for his books of fiction.”
“Obviously not so well-known if you have to fill your son in on who I am, madam.” The man laughed.
Laura lightly jabbed Brady’s arm with her fingertips. “Oh, Sheldon, those of us who love romantic stories certainly would need no introductions once we heard your name. You have readers spread far and wide.”
“So, Mr. Brady, what have you written?” Tristan asked as servants set bowls heaped with fresh lettuce on the table.
“What hasn’t he written?” Laura jumped in with the answer before the man could speak. “He’s had numerous novels published. My favorite is Tomorrow’s Promise.” Laura put her hands together under her chin and sighed. “Such a tragic shipboard romance between two indentured servants coming to America. It was so sad when they were forced to part.”
“Romantic drivel,” Robert Cleveland muttered as he attacked his salad.
With no sign of taking offense, Brady laughed again before he said, “But it pays well, Robert. Extremely well. And the ladies enjoy their romance. You should try a little in your life. I’m sure our sweet Viola would enjoy a rose laid on her pillow at night. Dr. Hargrove would gladly surrender a few blooms from his beautiful gardens for the purpose of romance.”
“Viola can pick her own rose if she wants one.” Cleveland finished off his salad and grabbed a roll.
“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you, Robert?” Brady said.
Mr. Floyd, who had been busily tending to his salad, looked up then and shoved the conversation right back in a direction sure to grieve Tristan’s mother. “Then I guess you’d fit right in with those Shaker people that our boy here was with last week, Robert. I hear they don’t believe in marrying, hard as that is to
believe.” He looked toward Tristan. “Is that the truth of it, Tristan?”
“That’s what I was told.” Tristan stuffed half a roll in his mouth so the man wouldn’t expect him to say any more. While he didn’t mind talking about the Shakers, he did have to return to their rooms with his mother later. Besides, it was definitely better if he didn’t let Jessamine’s beautiful eyes surface in his thoughts. Not while he was supposed to be winning over Laura with his charm.
But Mr. Floyd was more than happy to expound on the oddness of the Shakers without Tristan’s encouragement. “I’ve been over there. Seen their houses with their separate doorways for the men and women. Stairways too. Claim to live like brothers and sisters, but I’m wondering.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down. “If you catch my drift.”
Mrs. Floyd giggled again, but then noted Wyneta’s pained expression and put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Now, James, maybe you shouldn’t be talking that way with ladies present.”
“I’m not talking any way. Just telling the truth of it. Isn’t that right, boy?” The man pointed his fork toward Tristan but didn’t give Tristan time to respond. “They dance too. Crazy up and back and whirligig dancing. But there weren’t any of those Shaker women I would be asking to dance. That’s for sure. Plain as a spoon bowl in their caps and aprons.” He held up his spoon to show them before he began stirring sugar into his coffee. “You saw them, Tristan. I’m betting you can vouch for what I’m saying.” This time he pointed his spoon toward Tristan. It dripped coffee on the white tablecloth, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
Dr. Hargrove saved Tristan from having to come up with an answer. He swooped down on their table to stand behind Tristan. “Did I hear somebody here mention our Shaker neighbors?” He smiled at Mr. Floyd.
The Gifted Page 19
