The Seeker

by Ann H. Gabhart

  Sister Martha said it was best to shut away such wondering. Not about Adam. Charlotte saw no need to confess her wayward thoughts about him. But she did sometimes speak of her wish to see Grayson again.

  “It’s best for our spirits to look forward rather than back,” Sister Martha instructed her at those times. “We cannot change what has been done, although we can beg Mother Ann’s forgiveness for our sins, but we can change how we live in the days ahead. Our minds must engage in proper thinking. Mother Ann teaches that our thoughts are character molds. They shape language and action. So with proper thoughts you can come to know peace here at Harmony Hill.”

  Charlotte pretended to believe her. Sometimes she even pretended to herself, and when she and Dulcie were assigned to the duty of gathering rose petals to make the Shakers’ rose water to sell to those of the world, the pretense was not so hard. She liked being out in the sun among the roses that brought to mind memories of her mother, who had loved roses above all other flowers. Her mother was every inch a complete lady.

  Charlotte smiled when she thought of how distressed her mother would surely be if she could see Charlotte in bonnet and apron, cutting the roses and then stripping the petals from the stem. She didn’t know which would upset her mother the most—Charlotte working like a common servant or the destruction of the roses. The rose petals were to be stripped at once to keep the sisters from the temptation of keeping one of the roses intact to sinfully enjoy its beauty by placing it in a vase. To Charlotte it seemed more of a sin to deny themselves the beauty of the roses so freely given by the Lord. So now and again she stole a moment to admire a bloom she had plucked from the bushes before she tore off the soft petals and let them drift down into her basket.

  When Dulcie noticed her lifting a pink rose close to her face to catch its sweet fragrance, she warned her. “We are not to smell the roses, Sister Charlotte. It slows the progress of filling our baskets.”

  “But the fragrance brings peace to my spirit, and aren’t we all to seek such peace?”

  “Sister Altha would tell you such peace is found through prayer and laboring of our songs in meeting. Not in shirking the proper performance of your duties.”

  “And what do you say, Sister Dulcie? Do you not want to bury your nose in one of the roses and let the fragrance fill your head?” Charlotte ran her finger across the velvety petals of the perfectly shaped rose she held.

  Dulcie looked at the rose in her own hand, then laughed softly as she stripped off its petals before reaching for another bloom. “I have been with the Believers long enough to know that if I stuck my nose in one of the blooms to revel in its scent, an angry bee would be deep among the petals ready to sting me for my waywardness.”

  “Yea, Sister Dulcie, but would not the bee sting our fingers as well when we pull off the petals?” Charlotte asked with a smile.

  “Better a stung finger than a stung nose.”

  “But we work with our fingers and not our noses.”

  Dulcie looked up from her work with a hint of exasperation on her face. “You are being purposely contrary this day, Sister Charlotte.”

  “Yea, you are right.” Charlotte pulled the petals from the rose. “I will confess my contrariness to Sister Martha and beg your pardon.”

  “You know my pardon is always readily given.” Dulcie seemed to struggle to keep her face solemn as the Shakers preferred while they were engaged in their work duties before she went on. “But what you have to remember is that I must confess my wrongs to Sister Altha. If you would like to trade confessors, your Sister Martha for mine, then I will sniff the roses and you can worry about the bee stinging your nose.” “I think that is a trade I’d best not make until I become a more dedicated sister.”

  Dulcie stood up. She glanced around quickly to see if anyone was nearby. Then she looked straight at Charlotte across the rosebush and asked, “And do you plan to become a dedicated sister?”

  “I have stopped making plans.” Charlotte turned her eyes away from Dulcie back to the roses. She picked off a bud just beginning to unfurl and stripped its petals without hesitation. Then she looked back at Dulcie, who was no longer watching her but staring away down the row of roses to where some of the little girls were gathering the baskets of petals. “And what of your plans, Sister Dulcie?”

  She didn’t answer Charlotte. Instead she said, “A wise decision, my sister. Many plans are better not made, for they do naught but tear holes in your heart.”

  “They will call you mother again,” Charlotte offered softly.

  Dulcie didn’t acknowledge her words. Instead she said, “Work time is wasted in idle chatter, Sister Charlotte.” She brushed the tears sliding down her cheeks away with an impatient hand as she bent her head back to her task. “There are many rose petals yet to gather.”

  Later that day, during their rest time after the evening meal, Charlotte did confess her contrariness to Sister Martha, but the old sister barely listened.

  “As long as you realize you did wrong, my sister, and vow to do better on the morrow.” She waved away Charlotte’s words as if she thought her wrong was of such little consequence it was hardly worth notice.

  “Yea, Sister. I vow to be kinder to my sisters tomorrow and more diligent in my duties.”

  “Such an attitude will serve you well,” Sister Martha said by rote. Then she pulled a bulky envelope out from under her apron. “You have a letter.” Her faded blue eyes sparkled as if she were presenting Charlotte with a prize.

  Charlotte kept her hands in her lap. She had no desire to read more words of censure from her father. Nor did she want to allow hope that they might be happier words spring up in her heart only to have such hopes trampled by whatever words were on the paper Sister Martha was holding toward her. “Must I read it?” Charlotte asked.

  Sister Martha’s eyes softened in understanding. “This is not like the other letter.” She reached to take one of Charlotte’s 259 hands and turn it over so she could place the envelope on it. Her eyes brightened again. “This is from that artist who put our stairways in Harper’s Weekly as he promised he would. It was a very fine drawing and the illustration of our dance was done with respect instead of ridicule. So often that is not the case when those of the world report on our worship.”

  “Yea, I saw the newspaper.” Charlotte stared at her name on the envelope.

  “He claims he was acquainted with you in the world. Is that true? You didn’t speak of it while he was here.” Sister Martha was watching her very closely.

  “I did not think it important.” Charlotte tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. How could just looking at how Adam Wade’s hand shaped the letters of her name make her heart want to jump out of her chest? She pulled in a steadying breath. “How did he know I was here?”

  “That is an interesting question.” Sister Martha’s eyes were boring into Charlotte now, seeing more than Charlotte wished her to see. “Perhaps if you choose to look at what he sent you, then you will know the answer.”

  When Charlotte still made no move to pull the letter out of the envelope, Sister Martha went on in a kind voice. “The Ministry has already looked at it as they do all letters. He sent nothing evil.”

  “But shouldn’t I shut it away as part of the world?” Charlotte said.

  “If that is what you wish. I will take the letter away and the Ministry will decide if it should be returned to the one who sent it.” Sister Martha reached toward the letter.

  Charlotte pulled it back from her fingers. “Nay, it might be best if I read it rather than imagine what it might say.”

  “That could be wise.” Sister Martha sat back and looked pleased. Whatever was in the envelope seemed to be of no mystery to her. “But you may be surprised.”

  “I am already surprised. Just holding it.”

  Charlotte pulled in a slow breath as she took the paper from the envelope. It was thick, the same sort of paper as that with the sketch of her face, hidden in the bureau behind Sister Marth
a. Charlotte unfolded the paper. It was a sketch of her running out of the meetinghouse on the day Adam was in the village.

  Sister Martha actually chuckled. “Now I understand your illness that morning, my sister.”

  “I did not wish him to see me.” Charlotte stared at the drawing. Alone it revealed nothing of whether Adam knew whom he was sketching. Adam made many sketches. However, in an envelope bearing her name, it revealed a great deal.

  “It appears that he did in spite of your hasty departure.” Her smile disappeared. “How well are you and Mr. Wade acquainted?”

  “Hardly at all. He was at Grayson for a week or so doing a portrait of my father’s wife. He left when word came of the shelling of Fort Sumter. As an illustrator he was needed in Washington to report on the decisions being made there.”

  Sister Martha sighed as she shook her head. “And such sorrowful decisions for our country, I regret to say.” Then she seemed to push aside worries of the impending war as she pointed toward the envelope. “There is more.”

  Charlotte pulled out a scrap of paper obviously torn from Adam’s sketching pad and heard his voice in her ear as she read the words he’d written.

  I can’t believe this is you, Charlotte, but then when I look at it, I can’t believe it is not. If it is and you’re reading this, write to me and tell me the story behind the picture. It has me puzzled. On a side note, M is working for my sister in Boston. N is running errands for a captain in one of the Union regiments. Both are safe. The Potomac Army is equipping to march on Richmond. Some think that will squash the rebellion. I am not so hopeful. Relieved you are not in Virginia. M told me that and nothing more so she did not break her promise to you. It is only the picture that makes me imagine you in Shaker blue. Am I imagining right?

  Adam

  Charlotte read through the letter again, letting her eyes linger on the welcome news about Mellie. She had no idea how he knew about Mellie or how she had ended up in Boston with his sister, but she had no doubt that was who the M in his letter meant. It was an answer to prayer and worth any laughter she might imagine between the lines of his letter. She folded the drawing and the letter and placed them back in the envelope.

  Sister Martha seemed to be waiting for her to speak, but when she did not, the old sister asked, “Will you write to him to relieve his puzzlement?”

  “Nay, I think not.” He would expect answers from the Charlotte of Grayson, and that Charlotte was lost.

  Sister Martha watched her quietly for a long time. At last she said, “I fear your heart runs after him.”

  “Nay, such is not allowed.” Charlotte said the expected words. A Shaker sister denied any such feelings of the heart.

  “My dear child,” Sister Martha said kindly as she reached over to lay her wrinkled hand on Charlotte’s arm. “I have been a Shaker for over fifty years. I was one of the first to come together with this Society here at Harmony Hill, and I have seen many Shaker sisters come and many go. My own dear daughter of the world was one such who went. All because her heart chased after an outsider. I didn’t understand it then, but the years have given me more wisdom. The Shaker way is a hard path for some to walk.”

  “Do you think I should step away from it?” Charlotte looked up to meet her eyes.

  “I think that is something only you can decide.”

  “Sister Altha would warn me about eternal damnation.”

  “Such is a concern in any life,” Sister Martha said so softly Charlotte could barely hear her words. “I worried for many years about such a fate for my daughter in the world, but one day the Lord delivered me from those worries. While Sister Altha often tells me I should be sterner with the young sisters in our Society, I have come to believe that each must find her own path to the Lord. Sometimes that path leads through our village just as yours has, and when that happens, then it is good to tarry here until you are sure of your true way.”

  “But I see no way.” There was despair in Charlotte’s voice.

  “You will. There is a reason your feet have been set on our path. Perhaps you will decide our way is good. We feel much love one for another here in this place. The laboring of our songs brings joy down to us. We give our hands to work and our hearts to God. It is a good way. A way of much peace for those whose feet are firmly set upon our path.”

  “As yours are,” Charlotte said.

  “Yea, as mine are.” Sister Martha smiled and patted Charlotte’s arm before she stood up. “The Ministry would like you to correspond with Mr. Wade, for they feel he will send firsthand news of the conflict he warns is about to take place. The elders and eldresses are much interested in knowing the movement of the troops in case there is some way to buttress our villages from disasters that might come upon us due to the war. But if you choose not to, I can write in your stead and not reveal that you are among us.”

  Charlotte ran her fingers across the writing of her name on the envelope in her lap. “Nay, I will write.”

  “The Ministry will, of course, read whatever you write before it is posted,” Sister Martha warned.

  “That will cause no concern.” Whatever words she decided to write would reveal nothing of her heart, even though Sister Martha did speak the truth when she said Charlotte’s heart ran after him.

  “Very good. You will be supplied with paper and ink.” Sister Martha was obviously pleased with Charlotte’s decision.

  For two days, Charlotte mulled over what she might write to Adam. In the end, she kept her letter short and to the point.

  Dear Adam,

  Thank you for your letter. I have lost my place at Grayson, so I am here at Harmony Hill. The Believers have received me among them with great kindness. Mellie was here with me, but she had no desire to stay. I am much relieved to know she is safe although now I am the one puzzled as to how Mellie ended up in Boston with your sister.

  It seems there are puzzles all around. Some more terrible than others like the prospect of sister states taking up arms against one another. Such a thought saddens me. Saddens all of us here at Harmony Hill and worries us as well. If you have the time or opportunity, we would count it a boon if you would share with us the progress of the war or the possibility of peace from your front row seat to the conflict.

  My sisters and brothers send their kind regards and wish me to tell you their gratitude for your proper depiction of their village in Harper’s Weekly. They have hopes your pictures might bring converts into the village.

  Charlotte

  Three days after the letter was posted, Sister Martha came to find her in the rose garden to tell her she had a visitor. In spite of Charlotte’s best efforts, her heart bounded up in her throat at the thought that it might be Adam Wade. Come for her.

  24

  Of course it wasn’t Adam. Her letter answering his would not even have reached him yet, much less given him time to make his way back to Harmony Hill. Besides, she had no reason to imagine him coming back to the Shaker village just because he knew she was there. The words in his letter had been curious. Nothing more. In answer she had been careful to allow no words to spill out of her pen onto the stationery that might encourage him to think she desired his return.

  Nor was it her father come in answer to her prayers to mend the rift between them. Instead Perkins, Grayson’s overseer, perched uncomfortably on the Shaker chair in the small, bare room in the Trustee’s House, twisting his felt hat between his hands until it had little chance of ever regaining its original shape. She could not have been more surprised if President Lincoln had been sitting there waiting to speak to her.

  The chair legs scraped against the wooden floor as Perkins jumped up when Sister Altha led Charlotte into the room. Sister Martha trailed behind them. Even though he had obviously come seeking Charlotte, he seemed just as shocked to see her as she was to see him.

  He took in her Shaker dress and cap. “They told me that letter you sent came from over here, but I thought they had to be wrong. Charles Vance’s daughter a Shaker? I
couldn’t believe it.”

  Charlotte had no answer for that as she stared at Perkins and wondered why he was there. Unless it was to deliver a message from her father. She didn’t know whether to hope for that or dread the words he might say. The way the man kept staring at her made her uneasy.

  She’d rarely spoken to the man at Grayson. If some message needed to be relayed to him in her father’s absence, Gibson took care of it. She had no real reason to avoid him. Perkins had never said the first wrong word to her. The corners of his thin lips always lifted in what passed for a smile any time he greeted her, but when she was a child, just the sight of him striding up the steps into the house to speak to her father was enough to send her running to hide her face in Aunt Tish’s apron. Aunt Tish would stroke Charlotte’s head and murmur that she had no reason to fear Perkins, but Charlotte had felt the tremble in Aunt Tish’s hand when she spoke the overseer’s name.

  That tremble kept Charlotte’s fear alive, and then when she grew old enough to know what Perkins did for her father at Grayson, her fear was replaced with uneasy revulsion. Someone had to see that the slaves worked, her father told her. He said slaves were like children who must be disciplined when they didn’t do as they were told. Sometimes the punishments had to be harsh, but a young lady like Charlotte had no need to dwell upon those realities of plantation life. Such thinking could damage a young lady’s delicate mind the same as too much education. So it was best for her to remember that some things were the bailiwick of men and that she should concentrate on thoughts and occupations more becoming a lady such as reading poetry or doing needlework.