The Gifted

by Ann H. Gabhart

  The man turned his pointing spoon up toward Dr. Hargrove. “I was just telling them here how none of those Shaker women set my feet to tapping. Ugly as homemade sin.”

  Dr. Hargrove smiled. “Now, Jim, whatever else you might say about them, they did fix up our friend here and send him on back to us.” The doctor clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “And if he wasn’t deluded by their potions, he has a different opinion of some of the Shaker sisters, don’t you, son? Perhaps you should tell them about the beautiful Jessamine.” Dr. Hargrove laughed heartily before he winked toward Laura and went on. “Then again, sitting here beside you, my dear lady, I’m sure he has quite forgotten her beauty.”

  Then without waiting for any of them to respond, he was spinning off to entertain another table. Or to make trouble. Tristan’s mother was looking faint once again. Laura kept her eyes on her plate whether to hide a blush of anger or amusement, he had no idea. Mr. Floyd preened a bit from the notice of the Springs’ owner and Mrs. Floyd giggled yet again. An irritating sound coming from a grown woman. The man beside Laura, the famous writer, paused in buttering his roll to look over at Tristan. Robert Cleveland was staring across the table at him too. That was nothing new, but the furrows between his eyes were deeper than before.

  “Who is this Jessamine?” Cleveland demanded in his army voice.

  Tristan folded his napkin and placed it by his plate. He began to understand why Mrs. Cleveland kept folding and unfolding her napkin as she held down the chair by her husband.

  He met Cleveland’s glare without flinching as he answered, “Jessamine was one of the young sisters who happened to be out in the woods searching for wild raspberries. They heard the gunshot and, fortunately for me, were curious enough to investigate.”

  “I would have thought they would have run the other direction,” Mrs. Floyd said. “That’s what I would have done. Wouldn’t you, Wyneta? Viola?”

  “It would seem to be the sensible thing,” Tristan’s mother murmured as she picked up her coffee and took a sip. “I wonder what our main course will be this evening. They have such delightful food here. I’ve heard that Dr. Hargrove brought a chef over from France.”

  Her attempt to steer the conversation away from the Shakers failed. Everybody else at the table was suddenly fascinated by the thought of an attractive Shaker sister. Even the writer had put down his fork and was sitting very still as though he wanted to be sure not to miss a word.

  “That was very brave of them,” Laura said. She didn’t sound the least upset or worried about the beautiful Jessamine. She knew her own worth and beauty.

  “Or very foolish,” Tristan’s mother said shortly.

  Tristan smiled at her. “That’s what the second sister thought. Sister Annie was her name. She wanted to leave me to my chances in the woods.”

  “Surely she wanted to help you,” Laura said.

  “In a more acceptable way.”

  “Acceptable?” Robert Cleveland echoed. “What in heaven’s name does that mean?”

  “Acceptable to her community. Apparently, it was quite daring for them to offer help to a stranger of the opposite sex. And against their Shaker rules for them to even be near me. The sister Annie wanted to go fetch some of their brethren, but the one named Jessamine refused to leave me alone since I was injured. They had come a long way through the woods in search of berries, and she said it would be full dark before they made it back to the village. Without a doubt I would have been wandering around lost all through the night since I didn’t even know my name when I came to. The blow to my head when I fell, I suppose. Anyway, the young sister Jessamine caught my horse even though she claimed to have no previous experience with horses.”

  “Sounds like an unusual girl,” Sheldon Brady said.

  “And beautiful besides.” Laura smiled at Tristan. “With such a lovely name too. Jessamine.”

  “What was her last name?” the writer asked. The main course had come. Thick slabs of roast beef with roasted potatoes and carrots. But the man seemed unaware of the food. Instead he was watching Tristan as though his answer had great import.

  “I don’t know. Everybody over there was Sister this and Brother that. First names only. They wanted to know my full name once I remembered it, but I never thought to ask theirs.” Tristan smiled at Brady. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly anyway. In a fog from their potions as Dr. Hargrove said.”

  The others at the table tired of the subject and let their eyes drift away from Tristan. Tristan’s mother managed to strike up a conversation with the reticent Viola about a volume of poetry they’d both read. Robert Cleveland finally stopped staring at Tristan and attacked his meal with vigor, as did the Floyds. The Shaker curiosity now seemed limited to Sheldon Brady, with Laura paying polite attention since she was seated between the two of them.

  “But Jessamine, that is a rather unusual name. Do you know any Jessamines, Laura dear?” Sheldon Brady picked up his knife and fork to cut a bite of meat, but he didn’t put it in his mouth.

  Laura took a tiny nibble of her potato as she considered his question. “There was a Jasmine at the finishing school in South Carolina. A lovely girl. She married last year, I believe.”

  “Well, I hope,” Brady said as he finally took a bite.

  “That is the only way to wed, I’m told.” Laura peeked across the table at her father, who continued to give all his attention to his meal.

  Brady smiled at her and her smile in return looked very genuine and not the polite turn up of lips she often sent Tristan’s way. But then this man was an old friend of the family and famous enough—in spite of the fact Tristan had never heard of him—that she seemed a bit star struck.

  Brady turned his smile on Tristan. “And I am absolutely certain our lovely Laura is making the memory of this Jessamine dim in your memory, Tristan, but what did she look like? If you don’t mind sharing.”

  Tristan felt his mother’s eyes poking him from across the table. But the man asked and Dr. Hargrove had already spilled the beans about him thinking the girl was pretty. Not pretty. Beautiful. He could see no choice except to answer. With a smile toward Laura first. “She looked nothing like our lovely Laura. Her hair was very blonde. At least what I could see peeking out from her cap. The women there keep their hair covered. And her eyes were blue.”

  “There are many shades of blue,” Brady said.

  “Blue is blue,” Robert Cleveland said without looking up from cutting his meat.

  “Oh no, Robert. Not if you are writing romantic stories. There’s midnight blue and then the faded blue of a garment washed a hundred times.”

  “And the blue of a summer sky,” Laura put in. “Or those flowers that grow in the wild along the pathways.”

  “Cornflowers,” Mrs. Cleveland spoke up.

  “Yes, Mother. Those are the very ones I was trying to remember. Thank you.” Laura smiled sweetly across the table toward her mother. The woman’s face softened with affection before she turned her attention back to Tristan’s mother and Mrs. Floyd, who were making plans for the following day.

  Sheldon Brady’s smile disappeared as he put down his fork and stared off toward the far wall of the dining area as though seeing something in the air none of the rest of them could see. “I once knew a girl like that.”

  “Why, Mr. Brady, you sound decidedly pensive,” Laura said. “Who was this girl who makes you forget your meal and your table companions as well?”

  “Her name was Issandra and she was very beautiful. With cornflower blue eyes.”

  Mrs. Floyd put her fingers over her lips as another of her grating giggles escaped her mouth. “He must have been in love with her,” she said in a stage whisper.

  Brady’s eyes came back to the table. “I was, Mrs. Floyd. I most definitely was. She was my wife.”

  “I didn’t know you’d ever been married.” Laura looked surprised.

  “That was the only time. For one year and three months. She died of fever after the birth of our daughter.�
� He bent his head as though the memory of his wife’s death still filled him with sorrow.

  “How tragic to lose your wife and daughter that way.” His mother’s voice was so sad Tristan knew she was remembering his sister’s death in childbirth.

  “I didn’t lose the daughter. At least not to death.” He looked up then as he explained. “Her name was Jessamine. A romantic name that called forth the memory of the South Carolina garden where I met her mother. The yellow jessamine was filling the air with its intoxicating scent that evening. Her mother spoke her name before she died. And even as I held my tiny infant daughter, I could see the imprint of her mother on her face.”

  “Didn’t know you were a father, Sheldon,” Robert Cleveland said before he sopped up the last of the beef juices with his bread.

  “I don’t suppose I was much of one. It was all so long ago.”

  “Where is she now?” Laura asked.

  “I don’t know. If she still lives, she would be twenty this year. I’ve heard nothing from her for years.” He sounded more resigned than sad.

  Tristan looked at the man. Could the young Shaker sister actually be this man’s long lost daughter? He tried, but he could see no family resemblance to the beautiful Jessamine in Brady’s face.

  Silence fell over their table as if no one knew what to say next. Then Viola Cleveland surprised Tristan by being the one to lean forward toward Brady and speak as though they were the only two at the table. “Did you never try to go back? To see her?”

  “I gave that choice to her in a letter before I left her with my grandmother. She promised to give Jessamine the letter when she turned twelve and let her make the decision as to whether she wanted me to ride back into her life. I thought she would be old enough to go with me then on whatever journeys my wanderlust took me. When I didn’t hear from her the year she would have turned twelve, I assumed she had no desire to change her life.”

  “How very sad.” Mrs. Floyd sniffed and touched a handkerchief to her eyes.

  “Not really, madam. It was my daughter’s choice.”

  “But didn’t you want to see her, to know she was well?” Mrs. Cleveland was still leaning toward him. “A child is the dearest blessing a person can receive. It seems wrong to reject it out of hand.”

  Brady looked back at her as though her words were stones she had thrown at him. “I don’t think I did that. I saw that she was cared for. I loved her. I do love her.”

  Mrs. Cleveland sat back in her chair and touched her napkin to her lips. “Then you should find her.”

  “Perhaps I should,” the writer said. “Perhaps I should.”

  “And how serendipitous.” Laura was smiling but not with the same abandon as earlier. “You have a blue-eyed daughter named Jessamine whom you suddenly have an urge to find and Tristan is rescued by such a girl only miles from where we’re sitting.”

  “Perhaps not merely serendipitous, my dear,” Mrs. Cleveland said. “Perhaps providential.”

  Providential. The word echoed in Tristan’s head. He remembered his thoughts as he was following his mother down to the dining room. That if the Lord meant for him and Jessamine to be a match, he would bring them back together. And now it could very well be he was sitting at the same table as her father.

  “Probably no connection at all,” Laura’s father boomed. He shot a look toward his wife. “Viola is just being a meddling fool. Pay her no mind, Sheldon.”

  “No, no, Viola is speaking from the heart. She knows about loving a daughter.” Brady smiled at Mrs. Cleveland, who went back to folding her napkin after her husband’s blast. Then he looked back at Cleveland and laughed a little. “But you’re no doubt right, Robert, about there being no connection between our new friend’s unanticipated encounter with a Jessamine and my own Jessamine. Even so, there are times when serendipity—not to mention providence—can be the friend of a man who earns his coin penning stories.” He turned his eyes back to the ladies across the table from him. “It would make a heartrending story, don’t you ladies think? Long lost daughter or, perhaps more accurately put, long lost father is found.”

  “A waste of time. Chasing the past. It won’t do anything but bite you if you catch it.” Cleveland looked up and around before he tapped on his cup with his spoon. “Where are those waiters? Hargrove needs to get a better bunch of servants.”

  Tristan’s mother began to chatter innocuously about the delicious ribbon cake for dessert. Nobody mentioned the Shakers or Jessamine again, but thoughts of her so lingered in Tristan’s mind that he couldn’t concentrate on what was being said around the table. He wasn’t the only one. The writer seemed preoccupied as well. Between them, Laura also had little to say. Mr. Floyd took advantage of their silence to begin the litany of his aches and pains. Sister Lettie had told Tristan the Shakers forbade talk during their meals. Perhaps they were on to something.

  18

  When the rising bell sounded, Jessamine sat up and put her feet on the floor as she had every morning for years. The planks felt cool on her bare feet, and from outside the open window she heard the cheery trill of a mockingbird even though dawn was barely breaking. For a minute with that sound of joy in her ears and the lingering wispy remnants of a blissful dream tickling her mind, she forgot her day would not be as it might have been before Sunday.

  That unpleasant truth slammed into her waking brain when her eyes caught on Sister Edna rising from the bed next to hers. Her watcher. Already the woman’s eyes were pinned on Jessamine. Waiting to catch her in some wrong. Waiting to squeeze the very joy out of the day. Jessamine dropped to her knees beside her bed as did all the sisters in the room. A Believer knelt to pray upon rising every morning. A silent appeal for an industrious day and right attitudes before they went out to their duties.

  Jessamine let the familiar words whisper through her mind. Dear Father in heaven. Help me to work with willing hands at the tasks thou hast set for me this day. Let my heart rejoice in serving you. She kept her head bent and her eyes closed as she waited for more prayer words to surface in her mind. Words of love for her sisters and praise for the blessing gifts of the day. But she did not feel loved. She did not feel blessed. She felt burdened. And sorrowful. The same kind of sorrow she’d felt when her granny passed on.

  But no one had died now. She was surrounded by her sisters. Surrounded by their love for her. And yet the sorrow mashed down heavy on her soul as though someone had dropped a heavy sack of troubles across her shoulders.

  She kept her eyes tight shut while the sisters around her began rising to their feet. Prayer time was over. She knew that without peeking through her eyelids and yet she stayed on her knees hoping for a prayer to come to mind. A prayer that would help her endure Sister Edna by her side every moment of the day to come. She could almost feel the sister moving toward her to give Jessamine’s shoulder a shake and demand she conclude her morning prayer. She would remind Jessamine of Mother Ann’s admonition that time was wasting and they had none to waste.

  Her words would be true. Wasting time was not the Shaker way. Duties called. But prayers weren’t wasted times. She thought of the song “Come down, Shaker life, come life eternal.” She wanted the prayers to come down, give her peace eternal, show her the way. She didn’t want to simply come up with the words she’d been told the Eternal Father wanted to hear. She wanted the words to be true prayer words from her heart. Besides, she had no way to imagine any words of her own on this morning. Her imagination felt flat as a flapjack stepped on by one of the brothers. One of the fleshier brothers.

  “Sister Jessamine, it is time to be about our day.”

  Sister Edna’s words wormed into Jessamine’s ears even though she pretended she did not hear as she continued in a pose of prayer.

  Sister Edna spoke louder, more stridently. “Sister Jessamine!”

  As if the sharply spoken words released something inside Jessamine, a prayer slid through her mind with the ease of a snake slithering off a hot rock to hide beneath that same
rock until danger passed him by. Watch over the man from the woods. Tristan. Tristan Cooper. Let me see him again. If it be thy will. And oh please, let it be thy will.

  “Whatever are you praying for so many minutes, Sister Jessamine?” Sister Edna was standing directly beside her, tapping her toe impatiently. She was already dressed with a crisp, white apron tied around her waist, ready to begin the day’s duties and very cross that Jessamine still wore her white cotton sleeping shift.

  “I was praying for the day, Sister Edna,” Jessamine answered softly as she scrambled to her feet. “As I do every morn.”

  “Seemed to be taking you somewhat longer on this morning.”

  “I was praying the Lord might make the day joyful.”

  “Work well done and done promptly, that is the reason for joyfulness.” Sister Edna’s eyes were narrow slits peering out of her frowning face. “That is what pleasures our Mother Ann.”

  “Yea, Sister Edna. I will hasten to dress so that we may begin our cleaning.”

  Jessamine looked around the room as she got to her feet. There were five beds on each side of the room. Sister Edna had moved her things to the bed against the inside wall next to Jessamine’s. She wanted to be sure Jessamine made no midnight escapes. Such a thought had never occurred to Jessamine in the years she’d been among the Shakers. At times she had used the excuse of a trip to the privy to go out into the night and take joy in the sky full of stars. On other nights in the midst of summer, she often slipped outside to escape the gathered heat in the sleeping rooms, but she had never thought to sneak out of the retiring room simply to escape her sisters.

  At least not until now. The night before as she lay straight and still on her narrow bed waiting for sleep to come, the velvety night had called to her with its promise of moonlight and stars. Her feet had itched to run out into the night and let the sound of the whippoorwills and tree frogs fill her ears with nature’s music. She wanted to find a place in a garden and see the lightning bugs rise from the grass to disappear in the gloaming of the gathering night. Things she had done while living with Granny. Things she had nearly forgotten. Things that for some reason now pulled at her.