Meet me at the far end of the lake. Why would she want to meet by the lake? They had never strolled around the lake together. Why not in the garden?
Something wasn’t right about all this. Something he should have stopped and considered before rushing out in the storm. Just as he had rushed out into the woods a couple of weeks ago. Even if he couldn’t remember the reason why he’d ridden into the woods, the end result had been near disaster.
Wet as it was, the hair raised up off the back of his neck. A feeling he had learned to note in the war. A feeling that had kept him alive on more than one occasion.
In the lightning he caught sight of a figure in a cloak up ahead, the hood pulled up over the woman’s head. He pushed aside his caution and hurried forward. He was almost to the figure in the cloak when he realized it was not a woman. His foreboding was warranted.
“What do you want?” he said, but the man didn’t answer as he threw off the cloak that had been hiding some sort of club. Tristan looked around to see how best to escape the man if he came toward him. He took a step back when someone sprang from behind a tree. Tristan stepped to the side, but he was trapped between them. He did the only thing left to do. He spun on his feet, lowered his head and charged straight at the man behind him. He could hear the other man running toward him.
The club caught him a glancing blow on the back of the head. As he fell, he thought he heard his name on the wind again before he sank into blackness.
31
The storm was moving away. With the lightning dimming to a distant flicker away to the east, the black of the night wrapped around Jessamine like a thick, wet blanket. She slowed her steps until her eyes began to adjust to the darkness and she could once more see the glint of the lake water. All at once two figures emerged from the shadows to attack the man she’d been following. Tristan. She hadn’t found him in time to warn him.
Yelling his name again, she ran toward them. She had no idea what she thought she could do. She wasn’t thinking at all. Desperation was moving her feet as Tristan crumpled to his knees and then fell. The men grabbed his shoulders and feet and carried him toward the water. She tried to run faster, but she tripped over her wretched petticoats and fell flat. As she scrambled to her feet, she heard a loud splash.
A scream ripped out of her. Abigail had been right. This was no gentlemen’s prank.
Both the men looked up at the same time. Their hats pulled down low on their foreheads hid their faces, but she knew neither was Tristan. He was nowhere to be seen.
The splash. She looked toward the lake and prayed for more lightning to show the lake surface. But only the wind remained, turning Jessamine’s full skirts into sails that were trying to push her back instead of letting her go forward to where she’d last seen Tristan. A tree limb crashed down behind her as one of the men started toward her.
She stopped in her tracks as frozen as a frightened rabbit caught too far from cover. It would do little good to run. The man would catch her easily. So she stood her ground waiting. The storm seemed to be waiting too as the rain became no more than a spattering of drops. The wind whistled past her, chasing after the thunder and lightning in the distance. Then it was quiet. Too quiet. The air pressed down on her. The storm was not over. That was as plain as the threat of the man coming after her.
Her breath caught in her throat. She stood as tall as she could. She would defy him. While the Shakers had taught her peaceful ways, this man was from the world. He had nothing about peace on his mind.
The other man came after him and Jessamine feared he was going to attack her too. But then he grabbed the first man’s arm and yanked him back.
“We gotta get out of here.” His words were plain in the still air. “We done what we was paid to do.”
“But—”
“I been in storms like this. We’re fixing to have a big blow.” He turned away from his accomplice and began to run away from the lake.
The man hesitated. Jessamine stared straight at the dim outline of his face under his hat and spoke with as much confidence as she could muster up. “Dr. Hargrove is following me. As soon as he gets his gun.” It was a complete fabrication, but she felt no guilt for the lie.
She wasn’t sure the man believed her, but his head did turn away from her toward the hotel. The other man yelled at him again, and with one last glance at her, he turned and took off after the other man.
Jessamine gave the men no more thought as she rushed toward the lake. She couldn’t see Tristan. Not on the bank near where he’d fallen. Not floating in the water. Panic grabbed her throat and she was barely able to squeak out his name. The heavy stillness pushed in against her skin even as the air grew darker. He had to be in the lake.
She had no idea how deep the water was. While her granny had taught her to swim in the deeper pools of the creek practically as soon as she could walk, that was years ago. She hadn’t been in the water since she’d come to the Shaker village. And never in a broad, deep lake like this. Even so, she didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her shoes and waded into the water.
Before she’d taken four steps, the water was up to her waist. Her silky skirt rose up to float on top the water, but the hindering petticoats soaked up the water and made every step a struggle. Her feet sank down into the soft mud, but she pushed deeper into the lake, trusting the Lord to guide her. Praying fervently for the Lord to guide her to Tristan.
The Lord is an ever present help in times of trouble. The verse ran through her head as she looked up toward the sky that seemed to be boiling with dark clouds.
“Help me!” she almost demanded as she stopped moving. She didn’t know which way to go. Tears spilled out of her eyes as despair soaked through her. Her voice softened and she begged with a broken spirit. “Oh dear heavenly Father, please help me. I can’t find him. Please, help me. I promise . . .”
But what could she promise? Her best was naught but filthy rags to the Lord. And yet, his love was in her heart. He wanted good for her. He wanted her to find Tristan. She knew he did. Reach out your hand.
The words whispered through her mind. She swirled her hand through the water around her and touched nothing. But she couldn’t give up. She wouldn’t give up. She stepped deeper into the water. Tristan was there. She might need to take only one more step to find him. The Lord would show her. She just had to trust.
A song they sang sometimes in meeting rose in her mind and she began singing the words under her breath for courage.
Search ye your camps,
yea, read and understand,
for the Lord God of Hosts
holds the Lamp in His hand.
The darkness didn’t matter. The Lord held the lamp. The Lord could show her where Tristan was. The water lapped up against her, almost to her shoulders. The next step might slide her into depths over her head, but hadn’t Sister Sophrena always told her she didn’t possess a hesitant spirit? No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a rock turned sideways under her foot and she went down. The water closed over her head, entombing her in absolute silence for a few brief seconds before she began floundering to get her footing. She got her head above the water only to get entangled in the wretched petticoats. With a gasp for air, she went under again, flailing her arms uselessly against the water.
Her hand hit something. Cloth. Not the silky feel of her own skirts. Purpose stilled her panic, and she jerked up her skirts to free her feet to find the bottom again. Her head broke above the surface and she coughed out lake water and pulled in a raspy breath. She wasn’t over her head. All she had to do was keep her balance. And feel back through the water for the cloth her hand had touched in her panic.
Her hand touched hair. Tristan’s hair. She wrapped her fingers in it and pulled him toward her to lift his head out of the water. His face felt cold to her hand and she couldn’t tell if he was breathing. She tried to think how many minutes he might have been in the water. How long since she’d heard the splash. Three, four, five minutes? Too many minutes? With he
r own breath loud in her ears, she wrapped her arm around his chest and held him against her while she pulled him through the water toward the shore.
It seemed an eternity before she was finally tugging him up out of the shallow water, tripping over her skirts and falling. At last she felt grass under her feet. She dug her heels into the soft bank, grabbed Tristan under his arms, and pulled as hard as she could. She kept hold of him as she fell backward and managed to jerk Tristan out of the water on top of her legs.
She pushed him over on his side to free her legs. Water spilled out of his mouth. If only Dr. Hargrove had really been following her. He’d know what to do, but she couldn’t leave Tristan to go after him. She thought she heard a gurgling and put her ear against his chest to listen for a heartbeat. She wanted to believe she heard a faint flutter, but he wasn’t breathing. Why would the Lord let her find Tristan in the lake only to take him after she had him out of the water?
Anger swept through her as she shook Tristan’s shoulder and then began pounding on his back. He had to breathe. He wasn’t supposed to give up and not even try to breathe.
She looked up at the sky and shouted, “I wish you had never let me find him that first time out in the woods.”
Before the words were out of her mouth, she knew there was no truth in them. Even with the pain, even with the loss of everything familiar in her life, even as a stranger in this odd world, she did not regret finding this man in the woods and knowing the gift of worldly love. But why was it being stolen from her so soon? Had Tristan died because of her waywardness? It was true that Sister Sophrena had often warned her of how sin brought its own punishment.
She leaned down to put her cheek against his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so very sorry.” Her tears mixed with the lake water wetting his face.
All at once his head jerked under her as he let out a strangled cough and began gasping for air. He was alive. Such joy exploded inside Jessamine that she wanted to stand up and whirl. But there would be time for twirling later. Now she needed to help Tristan grab for his breath by lifting up his head and holding him while he tried to rid his lungs of the lake water.
For a few seconds, she didn’t pay any notice to the roar. Nothing mattered except Tristan pulling in breath. But the roar got louder like a million bumblebees swarming toward her. She looked up. A black mass of clouds was heading toward them swallowing up trees in its path.
A feeling of peace enveloped Tristan as he floated toward a bright light. He was dying. He knew that, but he couldn’t fight it. He had no power to save himself. He wasn’t even in the body floating in the water. He was above the water, watching in a detached way. It was out of his control.
Would angels come for him? He felt profound regret that he hadn’t taken the time to figure out what he believed about God while he could do something about it. He had turned his back on God during the war, but he longed to embrace the light now. Now when it might be too late. A dozen prayers raced through his thoughts. Prayers he should have said yesterday and the day before yesterday. Prayers he knew mattered. Now when it was too late.
He saw Jessamine wading into the water toward his body and he opened his mouth to warn her to go back. But his voice was silenced by the water.
He remembered wondering if she was an angel when he opened his eyes and saw her for the first time in the woods. And here she was again, trying to save him. He could almost feel her prayers rising up around him, buffeting him as they reached toward God. He added his own prayers. Not for himself. He knew it was too late for that, but for her.
She went under the water. Tristan reached for her with everything he had, and the light that had been so bright faded away to be replaced by a dark swirling hole that sucked him down.
The next thing he knew he was on the ground, coughing up lake water with Jessamine’s tears falling on his face. He wanted to reach up and brush those tears away, but it was taking every bit of his strength to pull in a breath and then another.
At first he thought the roar might only be in his ears, but then Jessamine went stiff and looked away from him toward the sky. The noise surrounded them as loud as a hundred artillery shells exploding all at the same time.
He grabbed her and yanked her down beside him. With every bit of strength he could summon up, he threw himself over top her. Then he mashed his body down against hers as he shouted in her ear, “Pray.”
He didn’t know if she heard him or not, but she would be praying. He doubted any person could be in the middle of a tornado without a prayer rising up inside him. But he’d been in the middle of a war storm and refused to call for mercy. Why were the prayers rising so desperately within him now?
So many reasons. Jessamine with the joy of living radiating from her. Jessamine with her tears of love falling on his cheeks. Beautiful Jessamine. But even more than Jessamine, he didn’t want to see the light fade the next time death came to claim him. If he had escaped drowning only to be jerked away from living by the tornado, this time he wanted to belong in the light. The same as Jessamine did.
The roar was deafening as it passed over them, pelting him with debris and then water as the wind sucked up the lake and spit it back out. He turned his head to look. Waterspouts were rising into the air as the twister headed across it straight toward the hotel. Then as if Dr. Hargrove were standing outside, daring the tornado to destroy his southern Saratoga, the wind lifted back up into the sky and roared over the building and on toward the river.
In moments, it was gone, but the silence that followed its passing seemed almost as deafening as its roar.
Beneath him, Jessamine whispered, “Is it over?”
“It’s over.” Tristan slowly moved off her. He felt bereft when he was no longer touching her.
“And we’re alive. Thank God, we’re alive!” She sat up beside him and grabbed his hand. “I thought those men had killed you.”
He tried to remember what had happened, but it was all a blur. “I don’t remember,” he said.
“The way you didn’t remember before?” Her voice changed, got quieter.
“No, not like that.” He had to cough again before he was able to go on in a weak voice. “I remember being in the water and drifting toward a bright light, but not how I got into the water. It was strange. Like I was out of my body. That’s how I could see you.” He reached over and took her hand. “And I was afraid. Not for me, but for you. Then everything went dark and the next thing I knew I was here fighting to breathe.” He pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “Because of you.”
She drew in a quick breath as he scooted closer to her to touch his lips to her cheek before tipping her face around toward him and capturing her lips. She surrendered her lips to his and twined her arms around his neck, and this time the whirlwind was sweeping through his heart.
When he thought he could bear no more joy, he raised his head and whispered into her wet hair. “I love you, my beautiful Jessamine.”
She pulled away and stared at him. “But you love the princess.”
“Only if the princess is you.” He reached for her again.
She didn’t scoot away from him, but she resisted his embrace as she stared at him. “Nay, Laura is the princess.”
His promises to Laura and his mother came crashing down around him. “I don’t love her. I love you,” he said. But she must have heard the echo of sorrow in his voice.
“But you’re going to marry the princess.”
“I have made that promise,” he admitted.
“A person should keep his promises whether to man or God.”
Jessamine spoke in a voice so low he had to strain to hear her words even as they poked his conscience. He had made promises to God too. He couldn’t so soon slide back into living a life where his vows meant nothing.
The moon edged out from behind the clouds and shone down on the destruction around them with unmerciful light. Downed trees had been tossed willy-nilly like a game of pickup sticks. The same destru
ction lay within his heart. The destruction of his happiness. How could he turn her loose and return to his life as though nothing had happened?
“I can’t—”
“Shh.” She put her fingers over his lips. “Let’s give thanks to the Lord that we are still alive this night. That and nothing more. Tomorrow will be soon enough to think of what must or must not be done. The men are coming from the ballroom.”
She was right. People were streaming out of the hotel toward them. And he regretted that he wouldn’t be able to pull her to him for another kiss to celebrate breathing. He tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t hold him up. He tried again and this time Jessamine put her arm around his waist to lend him her strength. He leaned against her and wished with everything in his heart that he belonged there by her side forever instead of only until other hands could hold him up.
32
The next morning, the sun came up on the devastation on the far side of the lake in front of the hotel. The day before the trees reached leafy branches toward the sun and supplied shade for the couples strolling around the lake. Now they were nothing but firewood waiting for the crosscut saw.
Jessamine could not look out her window without tears spilling out of her eyes. She hated the tears, but she felt as scattered and broken as those trees. She’d already soaked two handkerchiefs. It had been years since she’d had the need to do more than brush aside a stray tear. Not since her granny died and the old preacher had taken her to the Shakers. Those first months in the Children’s House, everything had been so strange with so many rules she couldn’t keep in her head that she cried herself to sleep every night. She missed not only the love of her granny but the freedom of the woods.
But the sisters were kind, and one morning she’d risen from her Shaker bed determined to be one of them. To remember to step up on the stairs with the right foot every time. To follow the rules. To pray on her knees at assigned times instead of simply grabbing hold of the Lord’s hand in the morning and talking to him all through the day the way her granny had taught her to do.
The Gifted Page 35
