Christmas at Harmony Hill

by Ann H. Gabhart

  Your grandmother often spoke ill of the Shakers for they took her daughter from the family circle, but I’ve heard others credit them with much charity. I have never been to the Shaker village, but Sophrena is family even if the Shakers claim to shed their kin in the world. I see in the words of her letters a desire to know us. Perhaps God-given for just this moment in your life. The Lord makes a way for his children.

  Her mother’s writing became shaky. Heather held the paper closer, but try as she might, she couldn’t make out the next words. “Mother, don’t hide your thoughts from me now,” she whispered. She narrowed her eyes and peered at the scribbled letters and some of the words began to come clear.

  So tired. . . . can’t stop. . . . more to say.

  As if through sheer will her mother’s hand grew steadier and her writing became clear once more.

  One last thing, my precious daughter. Your father does love you even if you think he does not. The death of his sons has made him rage against God and all he holds responsible, and my death will be another grievous blow for him. Don’t allow anger to poison your heart as it is poisoning his. Have compassion. Forgive and love. You must.

  Your loving Mother

  Heather stared at her mother’s final words until they became blurry. How could her mother expect her to keep loving a father who turned her away into the cold night without offering so much as a drink of water? Even the men on the battlefields had more compassion than that for their enemies. Heather frowned down at the letter in her hand. Some things went beyond forgiveness.

  She was so cold. In the east, clouds were gathering to steal any promise of warmth from the sun. A gray curl of smoke was rising from the house’s chimney, but none of that warmth was for her.

  What of the quilt your brother carried to you in the night? Heather heard her mother’s voice in her head. Is there not warmth in it? Warmth put there by my own hands.

  Heather pulled the quilt closer around her and remembered her mother sewing scraps of material together to make their quilts. The thought comforted her.

  Then Willie was running from the house toward the barn. Halfway there, he peered back over his shoulder before heading for the trees where she waited, as if he’d gotten a sudden call of nature.

  All legs and arms, he must have grown taller so quickly his body hadn’t been able to keep up. Beth was right. He was like their father. Even the same wrinkle of worry settled between his dark eyebrows when he spotted Heather beside the maple.

  “Thank you, Willie,” she said when he handed her the sack of food. “Beth tells me she couldn’t make it without your help.”

  He looked down but not before Heather saw a pleased look flash across his face. He traced a line in the hard dirt with the toe of his shoe. “I don’t do that much.” His voice was that of a boy becoming a man. “It’s just that things is hard right now what with our mother gone and Pa feeling so hard toward everybody.”

  “You don’t?” Heather asked. “Feel hard toward me?”

  He looked up, surprise on his face. “You’re my sister. Mama said family has to stick together.”

  “She used to tell me the same. Have you grown too old to give your sister a hug?” Heather set the food down and held out her arms to him.

  He stepped into her embrace eagerly enough, but pulled back after a few seconds. “Pa will be heading out to the barn.”

  “And you wouldn’t want him to catch you talking to me.” Heather kept her eyes on Willie’s face. She would not look toward the house and let Willie think her afraid. She would not.

  “He’ll get better. Beth says he will. That it takes time.”

  “He’s good to you, isn’t he?” Heather kept her voice quiet.

  “He lets me go hunting with him.” A smile lit up Willie’s face, but then he pushed it away as if worried he shouldn’t be smiling. “Things will get better with you too once he figures out you didn’t have anything to do with Simon getting killed.”

  “I’m sorry about Simon.” Tears pushed at Heather’s eyes again. “I wish the dying was over.”

  Willie peered over at her, his eyes curious. “Did you see a lot of fighting?”

  “I saw the results.” Heather tried to block the memory of the fallen soldiers from her mind. She had enough death to think about here. “I don’t want to talk about the war. I’m away from it now.”

  “But Gideon’s not.”

  “No, he’s not.” Heather bit the inside of her lip to keep back tears.

  “I like Gideon,” Willie said. “Even if he is a Yankee. Mama said no matter which side comes out winning, we’ll all have to learn to get along again. You think we can?”

  “If Mother said so, then maybe we can. For certain, you and I can.”

  “And Pa too. You’ll see. Beth says we just have to be patient.”

  Patience. Forgiveness. Heather didn’t have time for either one. She had a baby on the way and no home. But it wasn’t the fault of the boy in front of her. She reached out and touched his cheek. “Thanks, Willie, for bringing the food.”

  “I almost forgot.” He pulled a note out of his pocket. “Beth says give this to Perry. You remember his house? Just this side of the church. You can cut through the field.” Willie pointed to the west. “Not but a couple of fences to climb.”

  “I remember,” Heather said.

  “Good.” Willie looked down toward her middle, then flashed his eyes back up to her face. “You’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be all right.” She did her best to sound sure of her words as she touched his cheek one last time before he turned and loped across the open space toward the barn.

  But she hadn’t been sure then and she wasn’t any surer now here in the middle of the Shaker village with the Shaker men and women moving briskly along the paths beside the road. All so alike with their heads bent to hide their faces under their hats and bonnets. Even if she could see the women’s faces, it wouldn’t matter. She had no idea what this aunt Sophrena looked like. She had no idea about anything except how very, very tired she was.

  Perry helped her down from the wagon in front of a huge brick building. He looked uneasy as he pointed her toward the door. “They’re not as bad as some people say. My ma says they’re just people like anybody else. Even if they do have some odd ways of thinking.”

  She thanked him and watched him climb back up on the wagon to start his horses moving. What choice did she have but to turn and climb the stone steps? The door opened and a somber-faced woman in a gray dress with a large white collar lapped over her bosom waited for her. Heather slipped her hand in her pocket to touch her mother’s letter.

  “Are you sure about this, Mother?” she muttered under her breath.

  The door is open, isn’t it? Her mother’s voice whispered through her mind.

  God’s plan. That was what her mother had written in her letter. Heather looked back up at the Shaker woman who didn’t smile but did speak a word of greeting. She opened the door wider and Heather passed into the warmth inside.

  9

  The Ministry is deeply concerned about you, Sister Sophrena.” Eldress Lilith folded her hands together on the table between them and studied Sophrena’s face.

  Sophrena wasn’t sure if it was concern or pity she saw on the woman’s face. The new eldress was so very young. Nothing like dear Eldress Freda who had stepped over into heaven last year, taking her wisdom and gentle spirit with her.

  Not that Eldress Lilith wasn’t wise. Sophrena was sure she was, else the Ministry would not have raised her to the position of eldress. But the young woman’s wisdom had been only lightly tested. Her smooth young face had no lines etched around her eyes or mouth to give evidence of the joys and sorrows she might have shared with her sisters. New to the position of leadership, she had much desire to perform her duties in a way pleasing to the Ministry. Such colored her listening talents until she seemed to be continually looking behind every word spoken to her in confession for some unrevealed sin, instead of m
erely responding to the admissions of her sisters’ wrongs with kind forgiveness.

  Eldress Lilith had come to Harmony Hill from one of the eastern communities. Which one, Sophrena could never remember. Age was such a worrisome thing, not only stealing a person’s peace but also impairing her ability to easily recall those things she knew she’d been told. Heaven forbid that she would get like poor Sister Alice who could not be trusted to find her way from her retiring room to the dining table without the aid of another sister. Then again, dear Sister Alice never seemed worried, so perhaps it would not be so ill to become like her. Happy in her place. Happy with her sisters. Of little concern to those in the Ministry.

  Sophrena shifted in her chair and was thankful the seat was well woven so that it didn’t complain under her weight to give away her uneasiness. She did not like thinking of the Ministry discussing poor Sister Sophrena’s lack of unity and peace. True or not. She wanted to squirm in her chair again when she thought of all the times she herself had been concerned about the reluctant spirit of this or that young sister in her charge.

  But she had not completely lost all discipline and managed to sit straight in the chair and meet Eldress Lilith’s eyes. After all, she had been a proper Shaker for many years, and being a Shaker required a great deal of disciplined behavior. She leaned on that discipline as she waited for whatever else the eldress was going to say.

  The younger woman let the silence wrap around them for a long moment. Then she made a clicking noise with her tongue, a habit she had that signaled her effort to remain patient when the proper peace of the household was in question. “Have you nothing to say, my sister?”

  Sophrena didn’t know what the eldress wanted to hear. Hadn’t she already confessed her weariness and the contrary thoughts she’d had regarding Sister Edna? She searched her mind for more sins to confess, but how could she confess what was only an aching feeling inside her that had no words? Another click of Eldress Lilith’s tongue poked Sophrena. She would have to say something. It was expected.

  “I regret giving the Ministry concern. I realize their time would be better spent praying for our village and the direction of Mother Ann rather than in consideration of my shortcomings.” Sophrena dropped her eyes to the table. Perhaps she should confess her reluctance to confess to one so much younger than herself. But age did not matter. Spirit was what mattered. And Sophrena’s spirit was as dry and brittle as last year’s cornstalks.

  “Nay, Sister Sophrena. It is the Ministry’s dearest duty to encourage those walking this path of love and salvation. Each sister or brother here is very important to our family. After all, as our Mother Ann teaches, man is more precious than anything he makes, and the best product of industry is character.”

  “Yea,” Sophrena murmured without looking up at the eldress. “I have always endeavored to have good character.”

  “So you have, my sister. So you have. You are much loved here. That is the reason for the concern over the evident weariness of your spirit.” She unwrapped her hands and tapped her fingers on the table a few seconds before once again clicking her tongue. “And for your growing interest in things and people of the world.”

  “Nay, I have no desire for things of the world.” Sophrena pushed the words out too quickly, as though she needed the denial in her own ears even more than in Eldress Lilith’s.

  “Nor for its people?” The eldress didn’t wait for Sophrena to answer. “What of these letters from your worldly family that have brought you tears?”

  “Hard times have hit that family and I merely continued to write to them in hopes of offering them some peace.”

  “One cannot offer what one does not have.” There was no click of the tongue this time, only words that Sophrena could not deny.

  “Yea, that is true, Eldress. I confess that I have not the proper peace.”

  The woman reached across the small table between them and touched Sophrena’s arm. She studied her a moment before she asked, “What is it you want, Sister Sophrena?”

  “What we all want. The gift of a simple spirit. A spirit that does not poke me with unneeded worries.”

  “A Believer has no reason for worries. Not if we put our trust in the Lord and wait for our Mother Ann’s help and guidance.”

  “Yea. I surely misspoke.” Sophrena could not argue with Eldress Lilith’s words. She had often said much the same thing to the young novitiates she had guided along the Shaker path over the years. Many had strayed from that path. A few had embraced the peace of a proper Believer and happily continued to give their hands to work for the common good of the Society.

  She looked at her own hands with fingers calloused from the peeling knife and stained from working with the apples. She was relieved when the eldress dismissed her to return to her duties.

  What is it that you want? Eldress Lilith’s question echoed in her head all through the morning as Sophrena worked through the bushels of apples. She wasn’t alone in the work. She and Sister Evelyn traded times turning the handle of the peeler or placing the apples on the spindle. Two other sisters worked beside them with another peeler to get the many apples ready for other sisters to cook into applesauce or apple butter. It was a good duty, one that profited the Society in sales or enjoyment at their eating tables, but the task took little thought.

  Sophrena would have rather been in the Sisters’ workshop making cloth. She had great patience in threading the looms, a tedious process of many days for the larger looms and one that took much concentrated attention since one did not want to tie a thread out of its proper place.

  That’s what she was, she decided. She set another apple on the spike and watched the blade strip off the peeling when Sister Evelyn turned the handle. Out of her proper place. Peeled of the comfort of her simple beliefs and no longer able to feel the unifying peace in her heart. But why?

  Perhaps that question was more to be answered than the question of what she wanted. She had told Eldress Lilith she wanted peace, but was that true? For over twenty-five years she had embraced peace and lived happily in the village. When she thought of it rationally, she saw no reason reaching a milestone of half a century in age should make any difference in that. But she was no longer thinking rationally or simply. Instead she was thinking of Susan’s family and how they must be suffering after her death.

  She did so wish she could send a gift to the young daughter who of necessity was now caring for the family. Perhaps a silk scarf. She would gladly send her own scarf made from silk produced from the villages’ silkworms, but such would not be allowed without permission. She had little trouble imagining Eldress Lilith’s frown if she made such a request.

  But weren’t Believers instructed by Mother Ann to share their plenty with the poor in their neighborhood? Especially with Christmas coming.

  Sophrena let a sigh whisper from her as she bent to gather up more apples from the basket. When had she ever thought so much about Christmas? Surely not since she was a child and found a rag doll on her pillow one Christmas morn.

  A smile awoke in Sophrena’s heart as she remembered the doll’s embroidered mouth and eyes and the mere tacking of threads for a nose. She’d carried that doll with her everywhere she went for years. Visible proof of her mother’s love that was never spoken aloud.

  Life hadn’t been easy for her mother, who stared out at each new day with a dark weariness that did not change with the seasons or the chores. Some days Sophrena and her mother worked side by side in the kitchen for hours without a word passing between them.

  Good practice for her life with the Shakers, Sophrena thought now as she continued loading the apples on the peeler. Unnecessary conversation was discouraged and silence the friend of spiritual peace and dedicated labor. A worker’s mind should be on her tasks. She pulled the slicer down to divide the apple into crisp chunks. As she watched them fall into the catching bucket, the wayward thought crossed her mind to pick up a slice and eat it. What would Sister Evelyn think if she did that? Sophrena shoo
k her head a little and gathered up six more apples for the spike. Had she lost all discipline? And why did tears keep prickling her eyes over the smallest things?

  Her mother had cried. Tears streamed unchecked down her mother’s face when Jerome announced he was joining the Shakers and that Sophrena as his wife would have to go with him. Sophrena hadn’t cried even though she had no desire to leave her family and join the Shakers. At the same time, she thought anything might be better than the life she was leading married to Jerome.

  It had been better.

  Her new sisters embraced her and loved her. She fit in the Shaker dresses. She felt in place. The songs in meeting awakened her spirit and her feet were eager to dance. That had surprised her, but the dance had released something within her, freed her to worship. Her unhappy marriage passed out of her memory. She was no longer the Sophrena of the world. She was Sister Sophrena ready to give her heart to God and her hands to work.

  She was still ready to do the same. Wasn’t she working every day with willing hands? But the Shaker dress no longer fit with comfort. The dark weariness that had weighted down her mother in the world seemed to hover over Sophrena’s shoulders now. Life was sliding past her and the rushing days had somehow stolen her contentment. She should stomp and tell the devil to get behind her. That’s what Eldress Lilith would tell her to do. That was what Sister Edna would point at her and tell her she had not done.

  Another sigh worked up through her. Maybe she needed to ask Brother Kenton for a tonic. Some lemon balm for hysteria. Her heart began beating faster as she imagined Brother Kenton’s face listening to her symptoms and then his hands as he prepared the tonic. Oh dear heavens, where was this shivery feeling coming from at the thought of a brother’s hands?