Our Sister Jessamine has stepped back into our ways willingly. She is not the same sister who left us last week. She came to me early this morn and asked forgiveness for her waywardness, but she seemed reluctant to list her sins. She named pride and vanity, which are so abundant in the world. She spoke of her yearnings to write down the frivolous words that run through her mind. She did not speak of the man from the woods until I asked her about him.
It is obvious she carries some worldly feelings for him in her heart, but I did not try to pry them out. Perhaps I erred in not doing so. If she had shown me a splinter embedded in her finger, I would have insisted it be removed before it festered. So why did I not do the same when I noted this splinter of worldly sin buried deep in her heart? Until it is removed, she will not heal. I must pray for the wisdom and fortitude of purpose to do whatever is best for her.
But her sadness is so deep that my own heart hurts when I look at her. And I wonder. I should strike out those last words. I should not wonder about the feelings of the world. I have been here surrounded by the love of my sisters and brethren too long. I know the peace of a true Believer. But our Sister Jessamine does not. She is longing for something she left behind in the world.
I fear she may never be the sister I knew and loved before she found the stranger in the woods. I seem to be mourning with her even though I know not what I mourn. Eldress Frieda will take me to task for these errant feelings and I will ask forgiveness. Such forgiveness will be needed. I must turn from these feelings and separate myself from our sister’s sadness. Only she can shrug that heavy burden off her shoulders and step back onto the proper path that will bring her happiness. She has put her feet on that path, but she yet looks over her shoulder toward the world. While that is something I will never do, I do seem to be wondering about what it is that draws her gaze.
34
Tristan woke early on Sunday morning. When he sat up, the dizziness and thumping were finally gone from his head. And again, as he had every waking hour since his mother had told him Jessamine had gone back to the Shaker village, he wanted to go after her. But each time his mother’s words stopped him. She made her choice.
He surely had only dreamed those words of love after the storm swept over them. He hadn’t dreamed his words. He knew he had spoken of his love to her. But he must have only wished like words spoken back to him. She had run from him. From the world. If only he could talk to her one more time. Kiss her lips once more. Then perhaps she’d make a different choice.
The thought went round and round in his head, but as much as he wanted to brush aside his mother’s words, he could not. He did need to honor Jessamine’s choice. She knew her father had left. Her maid told Dr. Hargrove that. So she was aware that Tristan had been freed from his promises and yet she had still run back the Shaker village. Perhaps she felt bound by promises he knew nothing about.
He pulled his bag out from under the bed. He couldn’t keep hiding out in this room, his mind in a fog, not wanting to face the truth. It was time to move on. The lawyer would see to his mother’s welfare. Tristan had been relieved of that duty. In time he might even appreciate that, but now sadness set too heavily on him. He felt adrift. Last week he was ready to give up his own dreams and marry a woman he didn’t love to satisfy his mother’s need for security. To be a dutiful son and gentleman. And why? Out of a sense of duty.
Duty. That was what Jessamine had said about the Shakers. That they had duties. Had she returned to them out of her sense of duty?
He pushed the thought aside as he began laying clothes in his bag. She made her choice. Whatever the reason.
He had to make some choices of his own. He was free to go west now the way he’d planned before his mother interfered. “Strike it rich” stories were still coming in from California. It would be good to be in the wild, seeing new territory, putting out of his mind everything about White Oak Springs. The first day of July would be a good time to begin over. He’d simply wipe away the last few weeks. Forget love.
She had chosen. So he would do the same. Choose to begin again. He would not forget his beautiful Jessamine. She would go with him in his memory and in his heart. He would remember how she’d looked, searching for him in the water while he was drowning. He’d seen her with more than his eyes as he’d floated above the water. Perhaps that was when he’d imagined the words of love because he’d felt that love. It was her love that had pulled him back to life when the light had faded and darkness had wanted to take him.
He would remember that love and the light. Scraps of Bible verses surfaced from some deep well of memory. I am come a light into the world. And the light shineth in the darkness. He would not step back into that darkness ever again.
He was about to fasten his case when he heard a soft knock on his door. When he didn’t answer right away, the knock came again. This time stronger and more determined. Not his mother, for she would not knock from the hallway. Perhaps the lawyer or Dr. Hargrove. That would be good. He would be spared the chore of finding suitable words to pen a note to his mother.
When he opened the door, Viola Cleveland had her hand up ready to knock yet again. “Oh good. I was concerned you might be too deeply asleep to hear me and I did so want to speak to you before we left.”
“You’re leaving?”
Tristan could not imagine why she had come to talk to him. It certainly wouldn’t be proper to invite her in. But she didn’t appear to be worried about her reputation as she stepped past him and into the room.
“Please shut the door,” she said. “Unless you are worried about propriety.”
“I think that is your worry, madam, and not mine.”
When she waved a hand in dismissal, Tristan shut the door and offered her the only chair in the room. As she perched on the chair, he awkwardly leaned back against the bed and waited for her to reveal the purpose of her visit. Laura had been right about her mother. She was far from the timid creature he had assumed she might be on their first meeting. Sitting there with her eyes leveled on him, she reminded him of his mother but without the pose of Southern charm.
She didn’t bother with polite chitchat as her eyes went to his open case on the bed. “You are going after her?” It was half inquiry, half command.
“After who? Laura?” He shifted uneasily against the bed. Surely she didn’t expect that.
“No, of course not. Laura finally came to her senses. Thank goodness. Saved me a good deal of grief in going against Robert.” She pierced him with a steady stare. “I am quite aware you had little interest in Laura. The two of you were making a deal as if love were no more than a piece of cloth that could be measured and bought and made into a serviceable coat.”
“I liked Laura.”
“More reason than ever not to deny her a chance to be loved.” She got to her feet and stepped over in front of Tristan to poke her finger into his chest. “Jessamine. I’m talking about Jessamine. Any fool could see the two of you were in love. Don’t run from that. Grab it with both hands. It’s not a gift given to every person.”
“She made her choice to return to the Shakers. I have to honor that.” The words seemed even sadder when spoken aloud.
“Men. Southern men in particular.” She blew out an irritated breath of air. “Gentlemen to the core but with such blinders on you can only see straight ahead to what you’ve been told is your duty to family, God, and country. Injustice can bubble and boil all around you, but if it’s the way it’s always been, then you can’t see it.”
He looked at her with a puzzled frown. “I did no injustice to Jessamine.”
“Do forgive me. I do not do well in the South. Being in such familiar contact with the institution of slavery upsets me greatly.” She shut her eyes a brief moment as she pulled in a calming breath. “And you could be right that you have done no injustice to Jessamine and then again, you may be very wrong.”
“She is the one who left. Not me.”
“She left because she thought you wer
e marrying Laura. I spoke with her maid. It was very evident to her that Jessamine is much in love with you and in deep sadness at the thought of you marrying another.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “I heard Jessamine speak those words myself and saw the sorrow they brought her. The thought of you wedding Laura.”
“I did tell her that,” Tristan said. “But I was going to tell her differently. Even before I knew Laura left, I was going to tell her differently.”
“She had no way of knowing that.”
“She knew her father left with Laura.”
“That is where you are wrong.” Mrs. Cleveland pinned him with her eyes. “She did not. She left before the morning meal. She only had her father’s letter. The maid showed it to me. The silly man wrapped his leaving in such pretty words, his note told her nothing other than that she should trust him and wait for love to come grab her. I’m sure that is what he thought would happen when he spirited Laura away in the night. Poor Sheldon. He has written so many romantic novels he must have forgotten the art of clear communication. I fear he will be distraught when he finds his words sent Jessamine running back to the Shakers.”
Tristan didn’t know what to say.
The woman’s face softened and her eyes were suddenly sad. “As distraught as you were. As you are.”
“I love her.” The simple words rose from deep inside him.
“I know you do.” She touched his arm. “Go after her. It’s not too late. It is never too late for love. Even your mother is discovering that.”
“Do you love Mr. Cleveland?” He didn’t know why he asked the question, but he did want to know her answer.
“I do. It surprises me every time I realize it.” She laughed. “I can’t live with him every day of the year, but I do love him. It’s good we have two houses.”
Tristan stared at her as hope began to awaken inside him. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I am not the one who needs to hear your words.” She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a tight roll of bills. “Here, you may need this.”
“I couldn’t.” Tristan pulled back his hand.
“Consider it a loan from a friend.” She reached around him and shoved the money into the case on the bed. “I was quite taken with Jessamine. Make her happy, Tristan. Do that for me.” She tiptoed up and brushed her lips against his cheek before she turned on her heel and pulled open the door. She looked back at him before she closed the door behind her. “Don’t delay. Go after her.”
When the bell tolled for meeting Sunday morning, Jessamine lined up with her sisters to march to the meetinghouse. On the outside it looked as if she had never left, that she was one with her sisters. On the inside it was a different matter. On the inside she could not stop weeping.
Tears that didn’t show, but that her father had seen. And yet he had left her alone in the world. She could not make her way in the world alone. But here in the village she was not alone. Sister Sophrena had welcomed her back with open arms and heart. Eldress Frieda had greeted her with a smile when she had climbed down from Brother Hector’s vegetable delivering wagon. Her waywardness had been forgiven. At least the waywardness she had confessed. It had been easy to shed some of the sins of the world. She did not miss the lacy dresses, the soft bed, or the noisy dinner tables. She felt comfort in the familiar clothes and surroundings and was more than ready once again to embrace the simple gift of silence.
Sister Sophrena warned her that the improper silence of not speaking sins was as wrong as the clanging noise of words spoken merely to tickle the ears of those listening. Even so, Jessamine had not confessed her sin of clinging to the memory of worldly love. She could not bear the thought of purging her heart and mind of Tristan completely, as she knew Sister Sophrena would tell her she must. That she would be unable to do. He was there in her mind, a glowing ember that the memory of his words of love kept bright.
In time, she would have to confess that sin. She would have to pick up her cross of denial and block memories of him from her mind in order to regain the proper communion with her fellow believers. But not yet. For a bit longer, she wanted to cherish thoughts of him. To treasure his words of love and hide them in her heart. She had more than a year before she would turn twenty-one and be expected to sign the Covenant of Belief. Time enough for the Lord to help her stop looking back toward the world with regret and find a gift of peace. Time for the Lord to show her that this place among her sisters and brothers was where she ought to be.
In the meetinghouse, it was the same as any other Sunday. The Believers sang and marched, whirled and trembled. Jessamine marched with the others and hoped she would appear to be in harmony with her sisters even though she was not. Her every movement felt wrong.
Upon her return to the village, she had gone to the gardens willingly to pick the beans. There during the busy daylight hours, she felt useful and part of the Believers’ family. At night the sound of her sisters breathing in the beds around her cushioned her with familiarity. But singing of love falling down on them and going forth to exercise the songs that were to show her love for the Lord seemed to tear away her pretense.
She had promised the Lord she would live for him. He would not want a sad sham of belief. He deserved joy. A verse her granny taught her years ago came to mind. Now the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope.
She did not stop dancing. She continued to move her feet through the well-known exercises even as a prayer rose up inside her. For another sign. She felt like Gideon in the Old Testament who had put out his fleece once, and even though he got his answer, he nevertheless put it out again. The Lord had not denied Gideon that sign. He would not deny her the sign she needed.
The singers suddenly changed from their marching song to one about chasing away the devil. The dancers began stomping and pushing down with their hands. Jessamine stopped moving in their very midst and looked around to see what had brought on the warring dance. And there in the doorway was Tristan. Her love. Her sign. Her gift.
He was watching her, waiting for her to see him. When she looked his way, he held out his hand toward her. A simple gesture, but one that made her heart leap with joy. Her prince had come.
Shouts of woe began sounding around her, but she paid them no mind as she moved toward him as though drawn by some unseen force. Her sisters grabbed her arms and dress, but she shook them off and kept walking. Her feet seemed to almost be floating above the floor.
She put her hand in his and the woes grew louder, but in spite of the noise, his words were clear in her ears. “Will you come with me?”
“I will.”
Joy flooded through her, burning away even the memory of her tears as she followed him out of the meetinghouse. Whatever happened, her father was right. Love was worth it.
Sister Sophrena caught up with them before they reached Tristan’s horse out by the road.
“You don’t have to listen to her,” Tristan said.
Before Jessamine could say anything, Sister Sophrena glanced at Tristan and then settled her eyes on Jessamine as she spoke. “Worry not, my brother. My words will not take her from you.”
“I must go with him.” Jessamine appealed to Sister Sophrena for understanding. She did not want their parting words to be woeful.
“I know.” Tears shone in Sister Sophrena’s eyes as she reached out to pull Jessamine close. Her words were a whisper in Jessamine’s ear that none around them could hear. “I love you, Jessamine. As a mother loves her daughter, I love you. Go and find happiness.”
She stepped back from Jessamine and smiled. A smile that buried itself in Jessamine’s heart and one she returned in kind.
Tristan mounted the horse and then pulled Jessamine up in front of him and wrapped his arm around her. The sound of singing followed them as they rode out of the village. The woes had stopped to be replaced by the song Jessamine had hoped they would sing that morning in meeting.
’Tis the gift to be simple
,
’Tis the gift to be free,
’Tis the gift to come down
Where we ought to be.
Jessamine did not look back. She did not need to. She was carrying away with her everything she needed.
The sound of the song faded away behind them as they rode out of the village. When they could no longer hear even an echo of the Shaker song, Tristan leaned down close to speak into her ear. “Will you marry me, Jessamine Brady?”
“Yea.” She started to change the Shaker word, but then she didn’t. The Shakers were part of her just as her granny was and also her father. And now Tristan was part of her too. A wondrous, joyous part. She turned her face up toward his and said, “Yea, I will.”
He bent his head down to touch his lips to hers even as the horse kept walking, taking them toward their future.
Journal Entry
Harmony Hill Village
Entered on this 1st day of July in the year 1849
by Sister Sophrena Prescott
Sunday—a day of rest and worship. I should be sad this night, but I am not. Our Sister Jessamine left us again. This time, barring a tragedy in her life, I do not believe she will ever be back. I feel no sorrow for that truth. Instead it brings me peace.
The stranger from the woods came for her. Caused a disturbance during our morning meeting as he stood at the door and beckoned to her. Before he came, I was watching her, mourning her deadened movements as she went forth to pretend an exercise of worship. She was not the sister I knew and loved, and my heart was as heavy as her feet. I lifted my hands up in the air and silently asked our Eternal Father what could be done about Sister Jessamine. I beseeched him to restore her joy.
The Gifted Page 38
