The Gifted Read online

  © 2012 by Ann H. Gabhart

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-3817-7

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Page 157—“Come Life, Shaker Life”—Selection of Hymns and Poems; for the use of Believers. By Philos Hamoniae, 1833

  Pages 158, 405 & 431—“Simple Gifts”—Manuscript Hymnals, 1837–47

  Page 389—“Search Ye Your Camps”—New Lebanon Hymns, 1841

  The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.

  To my family—

  a treasured gift and blessing.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  A Note about the Shakers

  Journal Entry

  1

  2

  3

  Journal Entry

  4

  5

  Journal Entry

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Journal Entry

  10

  11

  12

  13

  Journal Entry

  14

  15

  Journal Entry

  16

  17

  18

  19

  Journal Entry

  20

  21

  Journal Entry

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  Letter to Sister Sophrena

  Journal Entry

  27

  Letter to Jassamine

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  Journal Entry

  33

  Journal Entry

  34

  Journal Entry

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Ann H. Gabhart

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  A Note about the Shakers

  American Shakerism originated in England in the eighteenth century. Their leader, a charismatic woman named Ann Lee, was believed by her followers to be the second coming of Christ in female form. After being persecuted for those beliefs in England, she and a small band of followers came to America in 1774 to settle in Watervliet, New York, and there established the first community of the United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing, more commonly known as Shakers. By the middle of the nineteenth century, nineteen Shaker communities were spread throughout the New England states and Kentucky, Ohio, and Indiana.

  The Shaker doctrines of celibacy, communal living, and the belief that perfection could be attained in this life were all based on revelations their Mother Ann claimed to have divinely received. The name Shakers came from the way they worshiped. At times when a member received the “spirit,” he or she would begin shaking all over. These “gifts of the spirit,” along with other spiritual manifestations, were considered by the Shakers to be confirmation of the same direct communication with God they believed their Mother Ann had experienced.

  The Shakers sought a peaceful, simple life by shutting away the “world.” They were as self-sufficient as they could be, raising their own food and making their own clothes from cloth they weaved and their shoes from leather they tanned.

  One of their best-known sayings was “Hands to work. Hearts to God.” They believed work was a very necessary part of worship. So when their communities grew in population and they had many hands to keep busy, they began to sell the products of their enterprise—garden seeds, brooms, hats, potions, and silk kerchiefs, to mention a few. Shaker may be the first commonly known trademark name in America. If it was a Shaker product, it was trusted to be as advertised and a good value for the money. The Shakers were also known to be a peaceful and generous people who never refused help to any in need.

  In Kentucky, the Shaker villages of Pleasant Hill and South Union have been restored and attract many visitors curious about the Shaker lifestyle. These historical sites provide a unique look at the austere beauty of the Shakers’ craftsmanship. The sect’s songs and strange worship echo in the impressive architecture of their buildings. Visitors also learn about the Shakers’ innovative ideas in agriculture and industry that improved life not only in their own communities but also in the “world” they were so determined to shut away.

  Journal Entry

  Harmony Hill Village

  Entered on this 11th day of June in the year 1849

  by Sister Sophrena Prescott

  The Gathering Family sisters picked the last of the strawberries in the patch behind the barn. Only got a paltry 8 gallons and Sister Wilma said some of those were so small they were nigh on impossible to cap. But the late-picking jam will be sweet in any case. The sisters have cooked a plenitude of jam. The brethren will be well supplied for their trading trips. If those people at White Oak Springs don’t buy it all. They eat well there, I am told. Matters not to us who eats our excess jam. We have been blessed with a bountiful harvest of berries and it appears the wild raspberries are bearing an abundant crop.

  Two of the young sisters have gone out into the woods with buckets to gather the raspberries. The thought of raspberry pie for dinner is a pleasant one. But I worry I shouldn’t have given Sister Jessamine permission to go. She will find the berry vines. I have no doubt of that, but will she be entangled by the briars and end with her dress and apron ripped and ruined? Will she remember to bring any berries home in her bucket? Ah, Sister Jessamine, a sweeter little sister one could not have. Yet, she is often the subject of discussion among the elders and eldresses. What will we do with Sister Jessamine?

  Eldress Frieda may take me to task for giving the sister permission to go into the woods, but she has diligently kept to her duties for days without mishap. Plus I did send Sister Annie with her. At eighteen, Sister Annie may be younger than Sister Jessamine by a year, but is as sensible as Sister Jessamine is not. Even so, I worry like an old hen that has lost sight of her little chicks and fears the shadow of a hawk passing over. I haven’t seen the shadow, but I know our Sister Jessamine only too well. I will be peering out the window all the afternoon and not properly paying mind to my task of penning the labels for the jam jars.

  1

  “Sister Jessamine, where on earth are you taking us?” Sister Annie asked as she held on to her cap while ducking under a low-hanging branch.

  Jessamine didn’t slow her walk as she glanced back at Sister Annie. She liked Sister Annie. She really did. But oh, to be alone in the woods and not always encumbered with a sister to slow her down. She wanted to run free. To swing on a vine if she took the notion. To sit and lean back against a tree trunk and dream up stories about the birds above her h
ead. None of that would be considered proper behavior for a Shaker sister, and Sister Annie did so want to be a proper Shaker. She’d be sure to confess anything she thought improper to Sister Sophrena, no matter which of them committed the supposed sin.

  “The best berries are up ahead,” Jessamine said. “I can smell them.”

  “You’re not smelling raspberries. That isn’t possible,” Sister Annie said even as she stopped and lifted her nose a bit to sniff the air.

  Jessamine bit the inside of her lip to hide her smile. “My granny could smell squirrels in the trees.”

  Sister Annie’s groan plainly carried up to Jessamine in spite of the rustle of last fall’s leaves underfoot. “Is there anything your granny could not do?”

  “Stay alive.” Jessamine muttered the words under her breath. She didn’t want Sister Annie to be reporting them.

  After all, it had been almost ten years since her granny failed to keep breathing and the old preacher carried Jessamine to the Shaker village. Not bad years. She wouldn’t want her Shaker family to think she was ungrateful for the food and shelter they’d given her. Given her druthers, she would have stayed in the cabin in the woods, but a child of ten is rarely given her druthers. Or a girl of near twenty either for that matter. Duties and responsibilities went along with that food on the table and roof over her head.

  There were no perfect places this side of heaven. That was something her granny used to tell her, although in Jessamine’s mind their cabin in the middle of the woods seemed perfect enough. Of course her granny never said the first thing about the Shakers. She might not have heard about how they aimed to make a perfect place on earth to match the perfection of heaven. A place with no sin of any kind. A place where all lived as brothers and sisters. A place where a girl couldn’t run off to the woods on her own to pick a handful of raspberries and pop them every one in her mouth. At least not without feeling a little guilty about how she might be depriving her sisters and brothers back at the village of a tasty pie.

  So far she hadn’t found that first handful of raspberries to eat or to put in her pail. And she wasn’t being exactly truthful saying she could smell raspberries. She only said that so Sister Annie would keep walking deeper into the woods. The girl’s flushed face gave every indication she was ready to turn back. A frown was thundering across her forehead and her mouth was screwed up into a knot not much bigger than an acorn. Any minute now she was going to plant her feet on the path and refuse to go a step farther. And they had to be close to White Oak Springs. They had to be. All Jessamine wanted was a glimpse of the place.

  One of the new sisters had built such a word picture inside Jessamine’s head of the hotel at White Oak Springs that Jessamine thought it must be a palace set down in the middle of a flower-filled oasis. This sister claimed that in the heat of the day beautiful girls walked across grassy yards with fine parasols to keep the sun off their faces while young men from all around the country sought their favor.

  The new sister, who was going on seventeen, sighed with longing as she whispered these stories to Jessamine in the dead of the night with no other ears listening. When Jessamine told her it sounded like the fairy tales her granny used to tell her, Sister Abigail insisted these fairy tales were true. Her stories brought up such fanciful images to Jessamine that she had been overcome with the desire to witness this sight herself. To know if such a fairy-tale place could be true. Parasols instead of caps. Hair curled and held up with jeweled combs instead of stuck forever out of sight.

  Jessamine touched her cap and had the errant thought to yank it off and fling it up in a tree for a squirrel to line his nest. But she did not. Instead she carefully tucked a loose strand of her honey blonde hair out of sight. She didn’t really want to be wayward. She merely wanted to see with her own eyes what Sister Abigail had described. Surely there was no sin in simply looking.

  White Oak Springs was real. She knew that. The Shakers sold their products to the people there. Springs of water were reputed to bubble up out of the ground with a foul odor, but those who came to the springs held to the notion that taking the water cured a myriad of ailments and revived the health. Sister Sophrena waved that off as ridiculous when Jessamine asked her if such was actually possible. But Jessamine’s curiosity was aroused. She had carried many buckets of water from a spring to her granny’s cabin, but the water had been naught but water. Cool and pleasant for a truth with a joyful song as it trickled out of the rocks, but all it had ever seemed to cure was thirst.

  Sister Abigail claimed the Springs were to the west or maybe the south. Then she had pointed due north. The sister completely lacked a sense of direction, but Jessamine had teased a few bits of information from other sisters as they fashioned hats and neckerchiefs that might be taken to the Springs to sell. She was sure she and Sister Annie were going in the right direction, but she had no clue as to how far away it might be. Perhaps too far for Sister Annie’s patience. Especially with no berries to show for their long walk.

  “You’re going to get us so lost not even Elder Joseph will be able to find us, Sister Jessamine.” Sister Annie stopped walking.

  “We’re not lost, Sister Annie. I promise.” Jessamine looked back at her. “I have a keen sense of direction and will have no problem at all finding our way back to the village.”

  “I guess you can smell your way.” Sister Annie jerked her handkerchief out of her apron pocket to wipe the sweat from her broad forehead. The poor girl’s hair was straggling down out of her cap and her face was red, and not all from the heat, as she glared at Jessamine. “I don’t know why Sister Sophrena insisted I come with you. She knows I hate traipsing after you in the woods.”

  “She knows you’ll come back.” Jessamine reluctantly turned to walk back to Annie.

  “Yea, where else would we go? The village is our home, and I think we should begin in that direction right away. It’s obvious you have no more idea where a berry patch is than I do.” Annie held up her empty pail. “We have yet to pick the first berry. Sister Sophrena will not be pleased to see us return with empty buckets after being gone so many hours.”

  “A good patch is just up ahead.” Jessamine looked back at the faint trace of a path she’d been following. Through the trees she thought she could catch sight of more light. That had to mean a road or some kind of clearing. Perhaps the grounds of the Springs itself. She imagined the colors of the parasols spinning overtop the pretty girls’ heads. Or perhaps they would be bright white just like the caps she and Sister Annie wore. “Only a little farther.”

  Sister Annie grabbed Jessamine’s arm as she started to turn away. “I’m not going another step away from the village. Not one step.”

  “Then perhaps you can rest here while I go find the berries.” Jessamine flashed her best smile at Sister Annie, but it did nothing to make the other girl’s frown fade or to get her to loosen her grip on Jessamine’s sleeve.

  “Nay, we are both turning back. We can find a different path back through the woods and perhaps find a few cups of berries to prove we were using our time wisely instead of doing no more than ruining our dresses.”

  Jessamine looked behind her. The light through the trees seemed even brighter and more inviting. She could be that close to seeing those parasols and ruffled dresses, to gazing out on a real, live fairy tale. She wasn’t exactly yearning to be part of it. She just wanted to see it. The thought of the parasols pulled at her like an invisible thread.

  The very word entranced her. Parasols. She thought of telling Sister Annie that. Letting the word roll off her tongue and then making up a story about a frog making his home under a parasol caught by the wind and blown into the woods. A beautiful princess would discover the parasol and find the frog. One kiss and they’d live happily ever after. And the princess would love parasols and the frog-turned-prince would nearly croak every time he saw one.

  “Whatever are you smiling about, Sister Jessamine? This is no time for smiles and frivolity. We are lost in the wood
s.”

  “Nay, Sister Annie. We’re not lost.” Jessamine swallowed her smile.

  “Well, perhaps not, but we aren’t where we should be. It could be we have strayed off our Shaker property.”

  “That could be,” Jessamine agreed. The Shakers owned many acres, but they had been walking a good way. “Why don’t we go on a little ways? I think there may be a road up ahead where walking will be easier.”

  “A road!” Sister Annie’s eyes flew open wide as she glanced around. “You think we are that near those of the world? Oh, my heavenly days, Sister Jessamine. What possessed you to lead us into the world? What will we do if we meet some worldly man intent on sin?”

  “Men in the world can’t be that different from the brothers we see each day.” Jessamine tried to make her words sound sure. In fact she had no idea what men were like in the world. Before coming to the Shakers, the only man she’d spoken one word to was the old preacher who had shown up now and again at her granny’s cabin toting provisions. Sugar, flour, some pieces of cloth and thread, a tin of coffee beans.

  “You live in a storybook land, my sister,” Sister Annie said. “Men of the world have not the love our brethren back at the village have. Or the peaceful hearts. They see something they want. They take it. You have been long with the Believers and so have an innocent mind, but I have only been here in the peace of the village a short while. I know what those of the world are like. I am not long from their sinful ways.”

  “Surely not all men are thus,” Jessamine said.

  “Not all, but who can know which sort of man we might stumble upon here in this wild place with no recourse but flight.” Sister Annie’s eyes narrowed on Jessamine. “You truly have no idea of how a girl with your looks might tempt the devil to rise in a man. Eyes the blue of cornflowers and straw-colored hair. ”

  Sister Annie’s words put warmth in Jessamine’s cheeks that the walk had not. “It is not the beauty on the outside that matters, but that on the inside.” Even her granny had told her that before she came to live with the Shakers. Now Sister Sophrena told her the same over and over.