The Gifted

by Ann H. Gabhart

  “But that is exactly what it would be. I’m not a shrinking violet of a girl as many see my mother. That’s how you see her, isn’t it? As completely overpowered by my father.”

  “She does seem somewhat reserved.”

  Laura laughed. “You are delightfully polite, Tristan. But right now the truth would tickle my ears much more than polite nonsense. In fact, my mother is a very determined woman. That is why it is so difficult for her when she is in company with my father and why we maintain a second residence in Boston to, as she says, keep her sane. What seems like nervous worry to those who do not know her is actually often pent-up irritation. She, like you, my good sir, feels the need to be socially correct and polite, but I will not be one whit surprised if she stands up in the dining room and lets everybody there know exactly what she thinks before we leave the Springs.”

  “About what?”

  “About the servants. You are aware that many of them are slaves, aren’t you? Purchased to do the bidding of Mr. Hargrove. Even the band that plays so charmingly. Slaves with no freedom. My mother comes from a long line of Boston abolitionists.” She looked straight at him again. “I told Father that might be a problem in the merging of our families, since I’m sure you are accustomed to slaves attending your every whim. Of course, Father would be jubilant if he could make everyone his slave. He does expect to get his way. You should be forewarned of that.”

  “I am not always polite,” Tristan said.

  She blew out a long breath. “I’m relieved to hear it, but even so, my father can be difficult.”

  Tristan studied Laura as he considered his position. She looked lovely in a yellow striped dress with matching roses woven into her dark hair. He thought back through the days since they’d been introduced and couldn’t remember seeing her in the same dress twice. Whatever she was saying about her father, it was obvious she wanted for nothing. Tristan could not possibly supply her with the same unless the father surrendered some of his fortune to them. He moved uncomfortably on the bench. If they married, Tristan would never be his own man again. He’d be bought and paid for. A name for his daughter.

  “He seems to give you whatever you want,” Tristan said.

  “Things are not always as they seem,” she said softly as she turned her eyes from him to stare out toward the lake. Her shoulders drooped and the smile slipped away from her face. “The thing I want most I cannot have.”

  She sounded so sad. He might not be moved with love for her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be moved by her obvious unhappiness. “And what is it that you cannot have?”

  “Some things are better left unspoken.” She shifted her gaze to her hands grasping the fan in her lap.

  “I thought we had dispensed with politeness and were being brutally honest with one another.”

  “I don’t know about brutally,” she said. “But honest might be a good way to begin our relationship since a relationship we do seem to be fated to have.”

  “So tell me what you want that you cannot have.”

  She hesitated as color rose in her cheeks. Then she lifted her chin and stared straight at him. “The love of my heart.”

  “You love someone else?” Tristan didn’t know why he was surprised. Wasn’t he haunted by another as well? A girl he barely knew. He barely knew Laura either. She had to be near twenty. Plenty time enough to meet and fall in love with a man deemed unsuitable by her father. There was no doubt the blue-eyed beauty whose face would not fade from his memory would be considered more than unsuitable by his mother.

  “If we are to start on an honest plain, I might as well admit the truth of that.” She fluttered her fan in front of her face a moment before she dropped it to her lap and reached over to touch his arm. “You are very nice, Tristan. I like you. But this man, well, he is different. He took my heart practically from the first word I heard him speak. I met him long before I met you. I hope you aren’t troubled by that.”

  “But he’s unsuitable.”

  “My father would surely think so.”

  “You’ve never told your father you love this man?”

  She sighed and picked up her fan again. She twirled it open and waved air toward her face. “As I said before, some things are better left unsaid. I know my father. He would never accept this man. Not only that, but he might do something to ruin him. That I could not bear.”

  Tristan took a considering breath and was silent for a moment before he said, “We don’t have to do as our parents order. I will tell my mother we will have to find another way to keep her house in Atlanta.”

  “No, you mustn’t do that.” The color drained from her face as she grasped his sleeve.

  “I don’t understand.” He looked at her with puzzlement.

  She let go of his sleeve and shut her eyes a moment as she struggled to get her emotions under control. “You are not the only man who desires to marry me.” A blush rose back into her cheeks as she began to fan her face furiously. “I mean that your mother wants to pair me with. I suppose I am being forward mentioning marriage when we’ve only talked of arrangements and plans.”

  “Marriage was implied,” Tristan said. “But I still don’t understand why you can’t tell your father you won’t marry me if the idea is not one you favor.”

  “Calvin Green, that’s why.”

  “I saw you dancing with him.”

  “The man is a cad.” A frown chased across her face. “An absolute cad. He thinks he can finagle a way to force me to marry him. He fancied himself the frontrunner with my father until your mother came on the scene last summer with stories of her heroic son fighting for his country. And Father knew of the Whitley buggies. Father is harsh and often overbearing, but he does know business. If he thinks the buggy business will succeed under his tutelage, you can be assured the buggy business will succeed and your fortune will be restored.”

  “And everybody lives happily ever after,” Tristan said drily.

  She shifted on the bench, discomfited by his words. “Perhaps not totally happily, but certainly happier than I could ever be with Calvin Green. He makes my skin crawl.”

  “I can’t believe your father would insist you marry a man repulsive to you.”

  “Father thinks love can be ordered up like three-minute eggs for breakfast.” Her lips turned down with disgust at the thought.

  “And you prefer something a bit more romantic,” Tristan suggested. “What girl wouldn’t.”

  “What I do not prefer is Calvin Green. I want to shrink away from his eyes every time he looks toward me. There is something . . . I don’t know what. My mother says a woman has a sixth sense about some things.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  “And does your mother want you to marry for position or convenience?”

  “Oh no.” Laura pulled in a deep breath and began fanning herself again. “My mother claims such is overrated. That even money is overrated, although she enjoys all the benefits of my father’s Midas touch with business. She abhors the south and would love nothing better than moving back to Boston permanently. Father thinks once we can make a climb in Georgia society, all will be well, but at times Father can be rather dense when it comes to personal affairs. Or to Mother.”

  “So you consider me to be the least abhorrent choice among those available.” Honesty was freeing to the tongue.

  She peered at him over the top of her fan, her eyes suddenly amused. “As I would hope you might consider me the better choice among those your mother might pick. I’ve been told I am attractive.”

  When he didn’t jump in on cue to assure her that indeed she was very attractive, she folded up her fan and lightly tapped his arm with it. She twisted her mouth to the side to hide her smile. “Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t abandon all your gentlemanly politeness. Even in a business deal, a smattering of flattery is not a bad thing.”

  “Do forgive me, Laura. You are very much better than merely attractive. You are quite lovely, and much the be
st choice my mother could have made.”

  “Good. Then it’s done. You will propose in a gallantly romantic way in the gardens. Perhaps at the midsummer’s ball next week. I will accept with shy gladness.” She stood up and he rose quickly as a gentleman should. “If we cannot have love, friendship is the next best thing.”

  “But why can’t we have love?” Tristan asked suddenly.

  “Because my father is wrong. Love can’t be ordered up. It is a serendipitous thing with wings that swoops here and there and sometimes lands on you when you least expect it. Or when you can ill afford to follow your heart.” She looked away out across the lake and beyond. “But oh, how you desire to do so.”

  He followed her gaze and felt an answering longing rise inside him. To follow wherever love beckoned him. Whether back through a Shaker village or on an unknown as yet pathway. But instead duty to his mother, duty to his family name, kept his feet on this path.

  Beside him, Laura let out a sad chuckle. “You’re wishing you could follow your heart too. Who is it? The beautiful Shaker girl. Did she steal your heart so quickly?”

  “No.” He smiled to allay her suspicions. “I only talked to her twice. It would take more than that to know love.”

  “Perhaps,” Laura murmured. “Perhaps not.”

  “Either way, I’ll never see her again, so it little matters.”

  She was silent as they started back toward the hotel. It was easy walking with her with no pretensions between them.

  He looked at her, lovely in the sunshine with purpose written on her face as though she had figured out a satisfactory answer to a dilemma. He couldn’t keep from wondering if she had considered all the hidden angles. One he thought well to push toward her. “They will want children. We will want children.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” she murmured as she stared down at the ground and kept walking. Her voice was too soft, nothing like her assured tone of moments ago. “But not tomorrow. There will be a time of engagement. Why don’t we consider the, uh, potential awkwardness of producing children on another day?”

  He wished his words back. Everyone knew young belles such as Laura led sheltered lives and knew little of the expectations of married life. She was right. It would be better to take things one step at a time. He hadn’t even officially proposed yet. The deal had been made between them. More telling, it had been made between his mother and her father days ago, if not months before he and Laura had even met. There was no going back. No changing things. Love would have to wait. Perhaps forever.

  His mother was jubilant when he reported progress had been made in regard to his and Laura’s relationship and a proposal was in the offing. She laughed out loud, something he hadn’t heard her do in a natural way since he’d returned home after his father’s death. Then she actually gave him a hug or as much of a hug as his bandaged arm would allow.

  “Oh, Tristan, I knew you would captivate her with your charm. The two of you make such a lovely couple. I saw you strolling around the lake today. Perfectly matched. Absolutely perfectly matched.”

  “We’re not a team of horses you’re purchasing for your carriage, Mother.”

  Her smile disappeared as her eyes narrowed on him. “Don’t be vulgar, Tristan.”

  “That’s how business deals can be at times,” he said bluntly.

  “Honestly, you’re trying to make this all sound so, so . . .” She searched for the right word.

  “Arranged?” Tristan suggested with raised eyebrows.

  “Perhaps, but all for your own good.” She pretended not to see his irritation as she turned to the mirror to give her hair one last pat. “But speaking of arrangements, Mr. Ridenour arrived at the Springs today with paperwork to be signed.”

  “Mr. Ridenour?”

  She met his eyes in the mirror. “Our lawyer. Please do try to pay at least a bit of attention to the necessary information about running our business. He will be dining at our table tonight. He is quite anxious to meet Laura.”

  “He probably wants to marry her too,” Tristan said, his voice dry. “Everybody wants to marry Laura.”

  “Don’t be foolish. Jackson is at least as old as I am.”

  “Jackson?” Tristan smiled widely. “So it’s Jackson.”

  His mother actually blushed. “Now there’s not the least need in you thinking up something that isn’t true. Jackson is merely a dear friend. He was very helpful when your father passed away.” She wiped away a convenient tear before she tapped his chest with her index finger. “I do expect you to be civil to him.”

  “When have I ever not been civil, Mother?”

  “I know. You are a good son.” She gave his cheek a pat before she picked up her gloves. “I hear there will be another surprise guest at our table. The rumor is going around about our writer—Mr. Brady—that he has brought a guest. I’m surprised Laura didn’t tell you about it this afternoon. Mr. Brady seems to be an old friend of the family.”

  “He probably wants to marry Laura too.” Tristan intended it to be a joke, but then he remembered the smoothness of their dance the evening before.

  “For goodness’ sake, Tristan, stop worrying about everybody else who wants to marry Laura. She is most desirable, but you are the one she is going to marry.” She smiled up at him, obviously very pleased.

  A few minutes later they were seated at the dining table, thankfully minus Mr. and Mrs. Floyd. Jackson Ridenour had taken one of their places. He was a tall, slim man with a face that looked more familiar with frowns than smiles, but the smile won out when he held the chair for Tristan’s mother. Tristan wasn’t sure whether it was his news of progress with Laura or the lawyer’s attentiveness, but whatever the reason, it had been years since he’d seen his mother so animated.

  Sheldon Brady was late to the table once more and the salads had been served before he appeared with his surprise guest in tow. All the way across the dining area, heads turned to watch them—the writer and the beautiful girl in the lilac gown with her blonde hair caught up on her head in a careless twist. She seemed to have no awareness of her beauty as she watched everything around her, her eyes gobbling it all up, embracing the newness of it.

  He knew her at once. But at the same time he wasn’t sure he could believe his eyes. The beautiful sister from the Shaker village. The sister whose blue eyes had stolen his heart. Jessamine. He’d thought never to see her again, and now he was standing up along with the other men at their table as Sheldon Brady presented her to them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present my daughter, Jessamine.”

  The young woman kept her eyes on Brady as he pulled back her chair to help her be seated. Color rose in her cheeks as she hesitated as though unsure of what to do before she gingerly sat down and stared down at her hands. Tristan and the other men settled back in their chairs too.

  For a moment their table was an oasis of silence in the noisy dining room. Tristan willed the girl to look up at him, but when she didn’t, he took a quick glance around the table in hopes one of the ladies might break the uneasy silence. Laura had a smile spread across her face that looked a shade too polite to be sincere. Tristan’s mother made no effort to smile, politely or otherwise. Instead she looked as if she might have just swallowed something unpleasant as she touched her handkerchief to her lips. Viola Cleveland was watching the girl intently, but Tristan had no confidence she would speak up in spite of what Laura had told him that day out by the lake. He expected her to start fiddling with her silverware or napkin at any moment. Robert Cleveland, on the other hand, had only a passing acquaintance with politeness. He leaned forward to stare at Jessamine, who kept her gaze demurely downcast. Tristan thought she might be praying.

  He searched for acceptable words to fill the silence before Cleveland could spout something brash, but it was Viola Cleveland who spoke first. “Good heavens, Tristan. You were right. She is exquisite.”

  “Tristan?” The girl looked up and straight across the table at him as a smile lit up
her face. “It is you. I did so hope I would see you again, and here you are.”

  “Yes, here I am.” Their eyes met and all he could think about was the last time he’d looked into her beautiful eyes in the Shaker doctor’s garden. A profound desire rose within him to be in a garden now, alone with her. He forced himself to remember his manners. “It’s good to see you again too, Jessamine. I’ve told my friends how you rescued me.”

  “Nay, not rescued. It was simply my duty to help you when you were in need.”

  Tristan knew he shouldn’t keep staring at her, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from hers. She had been beautiful in her Shaker dress and cap, but she was a breathtaking princess in evening attire.

  “Nay?” Tristan’s mother said. “Is that some kind of Shaker talk?”

  Jessamine looked down at her hands again and Tristan frowned at his mother, who merely glared back at him before she turned a smile toward Mr. Ridenour next to her. “Well, really, it would be clearer if everyone would just speak yes or no when asked a question, don’t you think?”

  “Dear Wyneta, I beg you to show a bit of patience for my daughter.” Sheldon Brady smiled as he spoke up. He’d been sitting back watching the scene unfold as though taking mental notes for one of his romance stories. “The Shakers say yea and nay instead of yes and no as we do, and since my daughter has been with the Shakers for almost ten years, such habits of speech are not quickly broken.”

  Jessamine looked up at Tristan’s mother. “My father speaks the truth. I know very little of the ways of the world.”

  “I’m sure you’ll learn quickly,” Laura said. “With your father to help you.” She looked from Jessamine to Sheldon Brady, her polite smile firmly in place.

  “And so you found your long lost daughter,” Robert Cleveland boomed. “Good for you, Sheldon. She looks to be a fine asset.” Then he picked up his spoon and banged it against his glass. “Where are those waiters? A man could starve at this place.”

  Jessamine watched him a few seconds before she picked up her spoon and hit it against her glass the same as he had. “Is this the way you begin dinners in the world? With much noise instead of silent prayer? That is much different than the Believers.”