At the Shaker village, she had to keep her mind on her lessons or her assigned duties. She had to ask forgiveness over and over again when she forgot one of the rules, but the forgiveness was always forthcoming. She was encouraged and admonished to continue down the Believers’ pathway with the goal to do better on the next day. So her tears dried up. She had no reason for tears. What had happened could not be changed. Her granny was in heaven and the woods the same as lost to her except in her memory.
She had no reason to cry now. Nobody had died. Not Tristan in the lake. Not any of the guests in the storm. The hotel had been spared by the tornado. Trees about the grounds had not fared as well, but as much as she regretted the beauty of the trees being ripped away by the wind, her tears weren’t for the trees.
Nor could she blame her sorrow on her narrow escape from the lake and the storm the night before. That wasn’t reason for tears. That was reason for rejoicing.
Exhaustion and lack of sleep. That’s what Abigail blamed the tears on as she fussed over her and the excuse she used to turn away the people who came to inquire after Jessamine.
They had both been questioned by the sheriff early that morning. Dr. Hargrove had sent for him after he heard hers and Tristan’s story. The two men by the lake were nowhere to be found and another guest had disappeared before the sheriff arrived. A man suspected of conspiring to hurt Tristan. Why he had wanted to do so wasn’t clear to Jessamine, but Abigail said Jimmy heard it had to do with Laura Cleveland. A jealous suitor.
After the sheriff asked his questions and left them alone, Abigail had gone to the kitchen for tea and come back full of information. A good number of the guests, unnerved by the storm, were packing to leave. Dr. Hargrove seemed to be everywhere at once as he confidently assured his guests of their complete safety in his hotel while announcing a new round of parties to encourage them to stay. He promised his workers would have the fallen trees cleared away in a couple of days and that such severe winds were a rarity.
“If anybody can get them to stay, Dr. Hargrove can,” Abigail said as she poured a cup of the tea for Jessamine. “He’s a wonder. The piazza is already cleared off and he’s got his band out there playing their cheeriest tunes to discourage the guests from stepping up into their carriages.”
She handed Jessamine the cup and then picked up one of the sodden handkerchiefs. “It appears we could use some of that cheering music in here.”
Jessamine took a sip of her tea and reminded herself again that she had no reason to cry. She swallowed hard before she asked, “Is it working? The cheerful music?”
“On some,” Abigail said with a glance out the window. “More carriages appear to be arriving than leaving. The dining tables will be full again tonight. My guess is that the storm and all will bring in more people. Curiosity seekers once the word goes around.”
Jessamine stared down at the notebook in her lap. The page was empty. Her father had encouraged her to write it all down. He had been nigh to distraught the night before as he helped her back to her room from the lake. She hadn’t cried then. She’d been so drained she could barely talk. Mrs. Cleveland had followed them to her room where Abigail was waiting.
After her father stepped out of the room to allow her to change, Mrs. Cleveland said, “Oh, my dear child, I should have followed you out of the ballroom.”
Without a bit of concern about getting her own party dress wet, she put her arms around Jessamine and held her close for a long moment before she gave her over to Abigail’s care. Abigail sniffled now and again as she helped Jessamine strip out of her sodden dress and petticoats, but neither she nor Mrs. Cleveland pushed her to talk.
Once she was dry and wrapped in a dressing gown, Dr. Hargrove came into the room to make sure she wasn’t injured. While Jessamine’s father hovered anxiously in the background, the doctor gently questioned her about how she was feeling and what had happened.
So she forced out the words to tell him about Abigail’s warning. She admitted her foolishness in chasing out of the ballroom after Tristan. She tried to describe the men she’d seen at the lake, but they had been little more than shadows in the night. When the doctor patted her hand and told her how brave she was to pull Tristan from the lake, her father came over to touch her hair with a tearful smile.
She hadn’t told them of her desperate prayers promising God whatever she had to offer if only he would lead her to Tristan in the water. She hadn’t spoken about Tristan kissing her or his words of love as they sat at the edge of the lake in the midst of nature’s destruction. She would never tell anyone that. Nor was there any reason to speak of the promises Tristan had given others that were the reason for the tears of the morning.
Promises. At the very thought of those promises now, new tears slid out of her eyes and down her cheeks.
Abigail kept talking as she straightened the coverlet on the bed. “They say Tristan is fine. A nasty bump on the head and the bandage on his arm had to be replaced. Jimmy says no one has seen him except Dr. Hargrove since the sheriff left. Tristan doesn’t have a manservant and that maid of his mother’s isn’t likely to carry any stories from their rooms down to the servants’ quarters. She’s a tight-lipped one.”
Abigail turned back to Jessamine, and noting her fresh tears, she fetched a dry handkerchief. “There, there, my sister, don’t spend all your tears. He is alive. There may yet be hope for the two of you.”
“Nay, he has made promises he must keep. The same as I must keep the promises I have made.” Jessamine pulled in a breath and wiped the tears off her face. The Lord had answered her prayers. The Lord had helped her pull Tristan out of the lake. The Lord had covered them with his hand as the storm passed over top them. The Lord had allowed them a treasured kiss. She had every reason to be thankful and none to be tearful.
She loved Tristan Cooper. He had claimed to love her. She had the gift of those words in her heart. And she would keep her promises to the Lord. Promises that had not had words but that had meant faithful obedience to his will for her life. Whether that was here with her father or not, she did not yet know, but she had assurance the Lord would reveal a path to her.
She would not let herself dissolve into tears again. She took a sip of the tea Abigail handed her and peered up at the girl. She looked ready to drop as she stood watching Jessamine with concern. “You must be as tired as I am, Abigail. You should rest.”
Abigail hesitated. “But you need someone with you.”
“Nay, I do not. I simply need time to think things through.” When Abigail continued to look doubtful, she added, “But if I do need someone, my father has promised to be close by.”
“True. He came to his door when I went to get your tea. He is very worried about you. It was hard for him to see you so upset this morning. Tears injure some men more than stones.”
“I know. I should have controlled my weeping, but I could not.”
“And have you now?” Abigail peered at her.
“I have.” Jessamine blew out a breath. “Go tell my father I am fine and then rest awhile. I will do the same. While it seems sinful to sleep in the afternoon when one is not sick, perhaps that is what we both need to do this day.” What was one more wayward sin to add to her growing number?
“I am so thankful you weren’t hurt last night.” Abigail leaned down to touch her cheek to Jessamine’s in a quick embrace. “You feel more like a sister to me now than you ever did while they were forcing sisterly love down on us at Harmony Hill.”
Harmony. After Abigail went out the door, the word circled in Jessamine’s thoughts. That was what she was lacking. Harmony. Perhaps such wasn’t possible in the world when the wrong kind of love sprouted in one’s heart.
She set her teacup down on the table beside the chair and picked up her pen. The nib had dried, but she didn’t dip it into the ink. Just as she had no more tears to cry, she had no words to write. She was still staring at the blank page when she heard a soft knock on the door.
Before s
he could rise from her chair, her father eased open the door and stepped inside. “Abigail said you might be up to having a visitor.”
“Yea, I mean yes. I have recovered,” Jessamine said.
Her father pulled the dressing table stool over in front of her and sat down. He looked at her for a long moment. “I promised you adventures, but I had no plans for any of them to be a danger to you.”
“I am not hurt.”
“Or cause you sadness.”
“I’m no longer tearful.” Jessamine looked away from her father’s face down at the notebook in her lap.
“No tears on the outside,” he said as he reached out to touch her cheek with his fingertips. “Floods of tears on the inside.”
She looked up without saying anything. How could she deny his words without adding to her sins?
“My dear child, you may think it was wrong of me to come find you at the Shaker village and bring you out into the world where there can be such pain. At the village, you might never have known these feelings since you would have stayed closed off to the love that can take you to the heights or drop you to the depths. But even in the depths, love is worth it. I know for I have been in both places.”
Jessamine studied his face, so concerned, so familiar even if she had only actually known him for a few days. He was familiar in her very being. “Granny called you the prince who loved my mother.”
“I wasn’t much of a prince.” He smiled a little but the echo of sorrow was in his voice. “But I did love your mother. With her I knew the heights and then when she died, the depths.”
“The elders and eldresses say such love is sinful. That those who marry will fight and know no peace.”
“There are many kinds of peace, Jessamine. Your elders and eldresses have found their peace by shutting away the temptations of the world. That is not wrong for them, but for you . . .” He paused and smiled into her eyes. “For you it would be as much a sin to deny the joy of love as to stomp on a beautiful butterfly.”
“But he loves another.”
“You don’t believe that.”
Jessamine managed to hold in a sigh. “Whether I believe it or not, I do believe he made a promise he must keep.”
“At least one he thinks he must keep,” her father said. “Some promises are ill made.”
“Even promises made to God?”
“I’ve made a few of those. I did when your mother was birthing you.”
“Did you keep them?”
“The ones the Lord wanted me to keep,” he said.
“And how did you know which ones they were?” She peered at him, anxious to know his answer.
“The Lord showed me.” He was quiet for a moment before he said, “Have you made promises to God?”
“Yea.” She didn’t bother changing the Shaker word. “Do you think he will show me?”
“I not only think it, I’m sure of it. The Lord gives us many gifts. Your quest for life is one. A longing for love is another. But so is happiness. I believe the Lord wants us to seek those gifts. He wants to give us the desires of our heart and sometimes the desire of our heart is to love another person more than we love ourselves.”
“Is that how you loved my mother?”
“It is, but the heart can hold many loves. That’s what the Lord showed me. For a long time after your mother died, I refused to open my heart to the possibility of love again. But then the Lord put a woman in my path. I didn’t love her as I loved your mother. Each love we invite into our hearts is different, but I did fall in love with her. I do love her even now.”
“Will you marry her?” Jessamine looked at him with some curiosity.
“She is young in experience even as you are and does not understand the worth of love, but I have hope of convincing her before it is too late.”
“Too late?”
“Too late for all of us.”
She bent her head down to stare at the pen she held. It was already too late. It had been too late before she even stumbled over Tristan in the woods. Such sad words. Too late.
He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face up until she met his eyes. Dark eyes full of concern for her sadness. “Don’t fret, my little girl. You had a terrifying night. It’s only natural for you to feel unsettled. So rest today and tomorrow wake with the sun and be ready to begin the rest of your life.” He smiled at her. “Trust me on this. I do believe the morning to come will be a gift to you.”
He left her then, after she promised to lie down and rest. That was a promise she could keep. So she lay in the too soft bed and listened to the thud of axes and the scraping sound of saws outside as the workers cleared away the downed trees. So much broken and torn away in such a few moments. And yet when she had looked out that morning, some trees were still standing. Trees that had been outside the path of the storm.
A good place to be. Outside the storm. Protected and spared. That’s how she’d been at Harmony Hill. Protected and spared from the winds of the world. Was her father right that no matter the destruction, it was better to have known the wind?
And what could he mean by the morning being a gift to her? The morning would change nothing. But come morning, perhaps the Lord would show her the way, show her how to keep the promises she’d made. She would not see Tristan again. It was enough that she knew he was well. He would marry the princess and keep his promises. And she would pray for a sign.
There are many kinds of love. Her father’s words echoed in her head. Then Sister Sophrena’s words were there. The love of the Eternal Father and that of your sisters and brothers will forever be the same. But over them all were Tristan’s words. I love you, my beautiful Jessamine.
Was that gift enough? Hearing those words of love even if there would never be more. She stared up at the ceiling and prayed that her way would come clear. She prayed for gifts to shower down on them all. She gave thanks for the trees out of the path of the storm. She gave thanks for the Lord’s hand protecting her. Protecting Tristan. More gifts of grace.
She had so many reasons to be thankful. It was wrong to want more gifts. Hadn’t Sister Sophrena always told her it was a gift to be simple? To do her duty and receive what the Lord gave. A song she had sung in meeting hundreds of times began playing through her mind.
’Tis the gift to be simple
’Tis the gift to be free,
’Tis the gift to come down
Where we ought to be.
Where she ought to be. That was what she needed the Lord to show her. That was what the morning would bring her. That sign.
Jessamine woke before daylight and listened for some sound that might give a hint of the time. No noise came to her ears except the whine of a mosquito. She slapped at it as she sat up and stared toward the window. Her father had promised she would be ready to welcome the morning. That she might know her way then, but all she felt was very alone.
No, not alone. Never alone. Her granny’s words whispered through her memory. You don’t ever have to feel alone, my sweet Jessamine. I’m here with you and even if something were to happen to me, you can be sure the good Lord will still be right here beside you. He won’t let you be bewildered or frightened too long. He’ll send you light in the dark, answers in the day, and joy for your heart. That you can depend on.
Jessamine had depended on that and the Lord had been an ever-present presence with her, as close as a prayer the same as he had been when she was stumbling around in the lake. She got out of bed and went to the window. The morning was coming. The eastern horizon was uncurling fingers of pink. In her head, she heard the echo of the Shaker bell that would be ringing to signal the time to rise and begin work. She missed the sound of the bell. It had been such a rhythm of her life. Keeping her in order. Letting her know when it was time to rise or time to eat or time to worship.
The world had no bells to keep order. She could sleep all day and no one would ring a bell to wake her. They did ring a bell to signal the evening meal here at White Oak Springs
, but it didn’t bring about order. Instead the people pushed against one another, talking and yelling as they rushed for their tables.
She looked toward her pad of paper and pen and ink on the table and wished for more light so that she could write down her contrary thinking. While at Harmony Hill she often chafed against the rules, but now here in this garden of indulgence, she reached for rules.
Something white caught her eye over by the door. An envelope slipped under her door while she slept. Dare she believe it might be from Tristan? Her heart was beating up into her ears as she leaned over to pick up the note. There was no writing on the envelope. She pulled the letter out and unfolded the thin sheet of paper, but the light was too dim for her to read the words. She carried it over to the window where dawn was beginning to lighten the air.
The handwriting was familiar, changed somewhat from the letter she’d read only days ago, but still her father’s.
My dear Jessamine,
The morning has come and with it your new beginning. You may not be able to understand what I am doing or forgive it. But I assure you I am not deserting you now any more than I did when you were a baby. I carried you with me through the years in my heart. I will always carry you in my heart, my beautiful daughter.
That said, there is something very important that I must do. As much for you as for me. Perhaps even more for you. And so I have left. But not for long this time. That is a promise I make without hesitation.
But this brief separation is necessary for the happiness of us both. I saw your tears and though I could not wipe them away, I must do whatever I can to eliminate the reason for your sadness. Love is worth it. Whatever the sacrifice, love is definitely worth it. For me as well as for you. Now you must trust and wait for that love.
Your room is paid here at White Oak Springs until the end of the season. I will always see that you are cared for, but I am confident what I do today will open up other opportunities to you. Do not be afraid to seize those opportunities. Especially if that is what your heart is telling you to do. Do not doubt your heart. Never doubt your heart.
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