The Gifted Read online

  Tristan didn’t know whether the doctor was making light of the idea of the spirit carrying the music so far or if he was serious. The man was smiling, but it was a different smile as if just being in his meetinghouse had settled some spiritual air on him. Some of that same spiritual air seemed to want to whisper against Tristan. A little shiver of expectation crawled up his back. It was not entirely a good feeling. Something was getting ready to happen in this building, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to have any part in it. But he kept following the Shaker doctor across the open floor even while he had the strange sensation of being watched.

  What was it the beautiful sister had told him in the shadows? That someone was always watching. He shrugged the thought aside. Preachers had been telling their people that since before Christ walked on the earth. Be good. The Lord is watching. Listen to his word and he will take care of you. Tristan had believed that might be so once. Years ago. Before the war had knocked those childish thoughts out of him.

  Now he didn’t know what he believed. It was easier not to think about it. Easier to play a part and not expect too much from the Lord. He wasn’t ready to deny there might be a God, but he was ready to do some serious doubting about whether that God cared whether he lived or died, or what he did each day of his life.

  But what about Jessamine and that other sister, the sensible one, finding you in the woods? The thought whispered through his mind. Put there perhaps by the expectant spirit in this Shaker church house. Tristan pushed aside the thought. Happenstance. Fortunate perhaps, but nothing but mere happenstance.

  Brother Benjamin was talking again. “It would be best for you to sit on these stairs here in the corner.” He was pointing toward a set of three steps leading up to a closed door. “That way there will be little chance you will be squeezed in too tightly or bumped by those of the world on the benches. You need to protect your arm while Sister Lettie’s bandages harden. She told you as much, didn’t she?”

  “She did.” Tristan held up his arm ensconced in the sling Sister Lettie had fashioned for him after she had finished wrapping the dampened bandages around his arm. She’d told him the concoction on the rag strips was merely starch. The same starch the sisters used to keep their collars crisp on their shoulders except thickened until it was near to solid. But she’d warned it would take awhile to dry and harden. Until then he was to be careful not to knock his arm against anything or else they might have to start fresh, pulling the bone back in line.

  Brother Benjamin watched Tristan sit down on the steps and then went back across the floor and out the door. His steps echoed in the still room. Tristan’s feet itched to stand up and follow him. It seemed too odd sitting there on the steps in the empty building.

  And entirely too silent. He didn’t know the last time he’d been in such profound silence. He imagined he would even be able to hear a bug crawling over the threshold or one of the Shaker spirits floating past. Hadn’t Sister Lettie talked about spirits coming down to their meetings? Maybe they were coming early.

  A chill walked up his back. Again he had the feeling of being watched. Perhaps the spirits were eyeing him, wondering about this interloper. This liar. But it wasn’t only the spirits watching. Behind him he heard a creak of wood. Someone was coming down the stairs. He scooted over against the wall to make room for the person to open the door and come into the meeting room.

  But the door didn’t open and the silence fell again. A silence far from empty. It awakened apprehension in his mind, and even with his back to the wall, he had the sensation someone was sneaking up on him. On the field of battle, that had not been an uncommon feeling. Those soldiers with undisciplined trigger fingers were often ready to fire at the wind or a bush rustling even though the captains cautioned against being spooked into firing too soon. Better to save one’s ammunition for when the enemy was more than a rattle in the brush, but a clear danger.

  Tristan had no reason to feel spooked now. He was far from the field of battle and quite safe in this Shaker church house. But the feeling of being watched grew stronger until he could almost hear the in and out breaths of the watcher. He looked at each and every window, but no one was peeking in from outside. He stared at the door on the opposite side of the room to see if perhaps it had opened a crack. Eyes peered back at him from a small opening above the door. A square only large enough for eyes to look out into the room.

  Slowly he shifted to look up above the door behind him. The same kind of opening was there. He couldn’t see if anyone was looking through it from where he was sitting directly below the peephole, but he didn’t have to see the eyes to know they were there. Someone was on the steps on the other side of the door. Right behind him. Standing there silent and waiting. But for what? What did the watchers hope to see him do?

  He thought about standing up and walking out the door. He had no real reason to stay and watch their worship. Nothing but the curiosity that Brother Benjamin had said was his gift. And to see the beautiful sister once more before he rode away from here forever. One more look before he pushed her away from his thoughts and returned to his world. And Laura Cleveland.

  Marriage to Laura wouldn’t be so awful. He could work in the buggy company. Maybe his curious mind could come up with an even better buggy than his great-grandfather’s design. He could draw plans for his and Laura’s own house. Or build tree houses for his sons and daughters. He wouldn’t have to quit living because he married Laura. It would, as his mother kept telling him, simply open up paths into a new life.

  But first he’d feast his eyes on Jessamine one more time. Talk to her if he had the opportunity. He didn’t care if eyes were watching or not. He wanted to stand up and tell them so. But instead he ignored the eyes. In Mexico, he had withstood much worse than eyes pinning him to this step. If he could charge into artillery fire, he could surely bear up under the scrutiny of a preacher person or two.

  Even so, he was glad when the bell began tolling the hour, and outside he heard the sound of singing as the Shaker believers began marching toward the meetinghouse. He could see one line of them coming down from the east of the village through the open windows. The visitors from the world hurried into the building ahead of the Shakers to jockey for the best seats. Tristan could almost feel the peephole eyes shifting from him to the new disturbances in the building, even as the visitors were settling their eyes on him.

  Tristan kept his head down and watched the people out of the corners of his eyes. He had no reason to worry anyone there would know who he was. He had only been at White Oak Springs a short week before whatever had happened in the woods landed him in the Shaker village. Hardly enough time to make acquaintances with anyone in the area.

  Nevertheless, he was relieved when the Shaker men and women streaming into the meetinghouse doors grabbed the attention of the onlookers. Outside the singing continued, but each Shaker fell silent as they stepped into the building. Anticipation charged the air as the men marched to the benches on the side of the room where Tristan sat and the women filed to the benches on the other side. They stood until every Shaker had come into the building. Then at a signal Tristan did not catch, they all sat at the same exact time and waited in silence for perhaps another signal to begin their worship.

  The world visitors must have been cautioned to remain quiet, because they made no noise either, other than a shuffle here and there as this or that person shifted to get a better view. The onlookers in the building were mostly men, but through the windows, Tristan could see families settling on blankets with their baskets of food just as Brother Benjamin had said. A day for picnics. Those at White Oak Springs would be doing the same.

  He and Laura had shared a picnic the Sunday before as they sat by the spring pool and listened to the White Oak band play and sing love songs. It was to have been a romantic time, a time when Tristan was supposed to begin making his affection for Laura known. In actuality the ants had invaded their food and a bee so determinedly buzzed Laura’s head that they deserted t
heir blanket and food and retreated to the hotel porch. There Laura claimed a headache and retired to her room before he could offer up the first affectionate word. Much to the dismay of Tristan’s mother.

  Tristan let his eyes slide to the beautiful Jessamine. Ants and bees wouldn’t spoil a picnic with her. His eyes had been drawn to her the instant she stepped through the door. As if she felt the same draw, she’d looked toward him and then quickly away. An older woman beside her frowned and nudged her toward the benches. Now Jessamine was studying her hands folded in her lap, but he had the feeling she was only too aware of his eyes on her. The sister beside her didn’t have the same timidity. She sent him such a forbidding look he almost expected her to stand and demand he be removed from the gathering.

  He didn’t want that so he looked down at his uninjured hand resting in his own lap. But after a few seconds he sneaked another peek over at Jessamine and caught her eyes on him. She looked worried, the fresh joy in her face when they’d met in the garden gone or at least cloaked. How could he feel such an unspoken connection to a girl he barely knew? He ran his thumb over the tips of his fingers and remembered how her lips had felt as he’d traced them. Soft and ready, even if forbidden. Across the room, she moistened her lips with her tongue and a blush rose in her cheeks as if she were divining his thoughts.

  She bent her head as one of the Shaker men stood and stepped into the open area between the benches and introduced himself as Elder Joseph. The same quiet dignity that hovered around Brother Benjamin seemed to wrap around the elder as he spoke words of welcome to the visitors. To Tristan’s relief, he made no mention of him. After instructing the visitors not to interfere with the worship dances, he invited all to watch and listen with eyes and ears receptive to the spirit that would come down from heaven when they labored their songs.

  The anticipation in the room increased until the air fairly tingled as though lightning was playing through the room. The lightning of the spirit. Tristan took another look toward Jessamine, but she was watching the elder, as were all the Shakers. Quiet, waiting, ready. The old brother stepped to the side of the room, and again moving as one, the Shaker men and women stood and began lifting the benches to carry them out of the way. A hush fell over them as the men and women lined up across from one another. Even the visitors on the benches seemed to be holding their breath in expectation.

  A woman’s voice rang out, pure and true, singing about Shaker life. Other voices joined in and the men and women began marching toward one another as the song filled the air.

  Come life, Shaker life! Come life eternal!

  Shake, shake out of me all that is carnal.

  I’ll take nimble steps, I’ll be a David,

  I’ll show Michael twice how he behaved!

  I’ll take nimble steps, I’ll be a David,

  I’ll show Michael twice how he behaved!

  “See, I told you,” one of the visitors whispered loudly. “They’re going to dance together.”

  But the Shakers didn’t touch or join hands. They passed in lines, walking briskly. Then they sang the song over again and this time they stood still and began shaking their hands. For some among them, it was as if shaking their hands set free the shaking motion to climb through their arms to their shoulders and heads and then it sank down through them until every inch of their bodies was quivering. The singing got livelier and louder, and just when the same words repeated over and over had worn a groove in Tristan’s mind, the tune changed and so did the steps. A new burst of energy showered down on the dancers. Rows of the men and women marched in and out and even formed circles. But so practiced were their moves that no bad steps ruined the symmetry of their dance.

  All at once like well-trained parade horses, the Shakers stopped moving and stomped down their feet. The noise startled many among the visitors, and one lady let out a frightened squeal before she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  The order of the dance seemed to be completely lost as the men and women began stomping and pushing down with their hands as they shouted about chasing away the devil. Some began whirling. Some raised their hands to the heavens and began jabbering nonsense. Some continued to sing, but the sounds weren’t words Tristan could understand. He didn’t know what to think as he stared at them in wonder.

  Brother Benjamin was stomping like all the rest. Sister Lettie stood with her hands lifted and a serene look on her face in the midst of the bedlam. Beautiful Jessamine whirled past him. But she was not lost in the spirit, for when she got close to him, she smiled. Directly at him. He wondered what the Shakers would do if he stood up from his appointed place and went out on the dancing floor to follow after the girl. He could almost feel his hand in hers as she led him through the dance. He could imagine her laughter. His feet itched to make his imagining true, but he stayed where he was and only followed her with his eyes. He’d promised Sister Lettie and Brother Benjamin not to interfere with their worship.

  As suddenly as the free-spirited dancing began, it stopped, and one of the singers began a new song.

  ’Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free.

  ’Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

  And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

  ’Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

  When true simplicity is gain’d,

  To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d.

  To turn, turn will be our delight.

  ’Till by turning, turning we come round right.

  Again the dancers began their measured steps interspersed with turns and bows as the singers sang. Tristan kept his eyes on Jessamine as she wound through the lines of dancers, her feet light, her movements in time to the melody. There was a freedom about her, a grace that seemed different from the others. As though she were dancing for the joy of the movement and not necessarily in fervent pursuit of the spirit. Or perhaps he just imagined that because he didn’t want her to be one with these odd people.

  More songs and dances followed. They swept with imaginary brooms and sang songs in childish babble. Suddenly they all dropped to their knees and lifted their hands toward the heavens as they sang a prayerful song. Then once the prayer words were sung, they bowed their heads to the ground and stared at the floor while silence filled the room. Here and there a visitor shuffled his feet or coughed, but absolutely no sound came from the assembled Shakers as they continued to stare down at the floor.

  Something powerful about the silence sent a chill down Tristan’s back. It was the feeling on the battlefield right before the charge was sounded. That moment when a man was facing his mortality, seeking courage, wanting to extend the moment and at the same time to hear the charge order and simply get it over with. He wondered what the Shakers were thinking as they knelt together. Was it some sort of peaceful serenity? Gratitude for the perfect life they aimed to find? Perhaps sorrow for their wrongs? Or for what they’d given up to live a life of worship with no freedom to reach for love as the world knew it?

  But then some in the world didn’t have that freedom either. Love had to be sacrificed for practical purposes. It was good when a man and woman married for convenience and discovered love in the process the way his mother and father had, but love wasn’t always so easily ordered to suit a family’s needs. In fact sometimes love wasn’t ordered at all. It just happened.

  Tristan’s eyes settled on Jessamine. Her head was bent like all the others, a position of silent repose. Prayerful. Committed. Dedicated. Even if there was no Laura, he had no future with the beautiful sister. She was one with these odd people. A people who believed romantic love and marriage a sin.

  He shifted uneasily on the steps as the silence continued. He wanted to go pull her up to stare into her eyes and ask what she believed. But that was foolish. He barely knew the girl. Love didn’t happen in a flash. At least not lasting love. That kind of love needed time to grow like a fruit tree pushing down roots and reaching branches to the sun until it could bear
fruit.

  Then as suddenly as the Shakers had fallen to their knees in silence, they rose to their feet and began forming lines to leave the meetinghouse. Tristan also stood. He didn’t know if he was supposed to follow them out, but he couldn’t bear another minute inside the building. Let the onlookers think he was one of them. He didn’t care.

  He lagged a little behind the Shaker men as they silently exited the building. He was outside and down the steps when one of the visitors chased after him, calling out, “Tristan Cooper!”

  Tristan made the mistake of letting his step hesitate at the sound of his name. He should have kept walking, pretended no recognition.

  The man grabbed his good arm and swung him around. “I thought that was you. What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here?”

  13

  Jessamine lagged behind the other sisters on the way out of the meetinghouse in spite of Sister Edna’s annoyed looks her way. Sister Edna couldn’t tell her to hurry because the spirits had ended the meeting with silence. When that happened, the Believers were to continue in silence as they returned to their houses. There, they would contemplate the spiritual gifts of the meeting before the bell rang for the midday meal. The food would be simple, prepared in advance, and eaten in yet more silence.

  But Jessamine wasn’t in any hurry to get to her room. Instead she moved as slowly as possible while peering around at the people from the world. She wanted to see how they were dressed and what foods they spread on their blankets as they sat under the shade trees and attuned their ears to the Believers’ songs.

  It wasn’t only her wondering about those from the world outside the meetinghouse that made her steps lag. She greatly desired to catch yet another sight of Philip Rose. He had been in the meetinghouse, taking in all that happened from where he was seated directly below one set of the watching eyes. She had never before seen anyone allowed to sit on those steps to the door to the Ministry’s rooms. Never. That had to mean the Ministry favored this man more than most from the world. Had they given him this special vantage point in hopes he would see and note the spirit falling so abundantly down on the Believers? Perhaps even open up to it? Not that Jessamine had ever been overtaken by the spirit the way many of her brothers and sisters were each and every time they went forth to labor the songs.