The Gifted Page 15

  Once when she expressed concern over this lack, Sister Sophrena had assured Jessamine she had no need to worry. “Many very committed Believers have never felt the first quiver of shaking or heard even a whisper of an angel’s message from above.”

  “But shouldn’t they?” Jessamine asked. “If they truly believe in a good and proper way?”

  “Oh no, my sister. While you with your human eyes might see that as a lack in one who believes, our Lord and Mother Ann look with holy eyes. They know all our thoughts and our gifts since the Eternal Father is the one who planted those gifts within us. A gift of weaving or cooking is surely as worthy in holy eyes and as valuable to our family as one of whirling in a burst of abundant spiritual joy.”

  “But what of the gift of imagination? Of words?”

  “Each gift within us can be useful, but such must be properly channeled for the good of the Society and not simply for our own amusement.” When Sister Sophrena noted the disappointment on Jessamine’s face, she had offered more words of encouragement. “You will learn to use your gifts to our good. I know the pull of words to you, so write them in your journal. Record the events of your day. Write of the work we do, for such is a testament of our love for the Lord and our Mother. Such written records confirm our faithfulness and industry and are much to be desired.”

  But she hadn’t wanted to write truth. At least not the truth of ordinary daily events and chores. She wanted to capture the truth in the stories that bubbled up in her imagination from she knew not where. Stories of princes and magical kingdoms. Stories of eagles or ladybugs. She felt little joy in writing down the number of dresses she had ironed or the packets she had filled with an exact number or measure of seeds. Not unless the dress began to sparkle and have ribbons festooned across it like the dress Cinderella wore to the prince’s ball or the seeds in those packets grew beanstalks high into the air where she could climb into a different world. That’s what her imaginings did. Helped her climb into a world where amazing things could happen. A world where a prince might ride into her life as her granny had once promised.

  That wasn’t the world she was in. She was a Believer or near to one. Only a little more than a year away from signing the Covenant. Perhaps when that happened, when she actually made the written promise to abide by the rules forever, then she would be ready to use her gifts in a more proper and fitting way. She would write down the events of the day without the desire to embellish them. She would know the pure love of the Believer and not wonder about the forbidden love of the world. She would not think of how a man’s lips might feel on hers or have trouble keeping her promises to Sister Sophrena. She would be able to withstand the temptations that had her feet lagging to catch sight of Philip Rose before Sister Edna pulled her away from the meetinghouse.

  The man from the world had fastened probing eyes on Jessamine as soon as she’d entered the meetinghouse. In spite of her promises of obedience only moments before, Jessamine had not kept her eyes away from him. Instead she had sneaked many looks his way and once smiled quite brazenly at him while whirling with pretense of being filled with the spirit. She could only hope the watching eyes would believe her smile prompted by her spiritual fervor.

  They would not. Any more than Sister Edna had as her bony fingers pinched Jessamine’s arm each time the sister even imagined Jessamine was allowing her gaze to stray toward the stairs. Jessamine had kept her face turned away from Sister Edna, but she had chanced a couple of peeks up at the eyes in the peepholes. She was never able to read those eyes—whether they were angry or loving or full of the spirit.

  But now as she pretended exhaustion from laboring the dances and stepped up the pathway slowly, she had no trouble at all reading Sister Edna’s eyes. Or Sister Sophrena’s. The good sister was not frowning at her like Sister Edna, but instead wore a look of weariness. Jessamine remembered the tears in her dear sister’s eyes while they talked in the sleeping room before marching out to meeting. Tears put there by Jessamine’s own wayward spirit.

  It seemed no matter how she vowed to correct her behavior, she could not resist the pull of her wondering imagination. She was going to have to work to change her ways, or she might never be free of the scowling Sister Edna beside her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Philip Rose follow the brethren out their door as if he wanted to join in their line but feared he would not be allowed. Jessamine didn’t know whether to hope that he might be drawn to the way of the Believers or to dread the thought. She should wish to see him set his feet on the road to salvation, but the thought of him being her brother gave her no joy.

  When Sister Edna grabbed her elbow and jerked her forward, Jessamine stumbled just to be contrary. Another sin for which she would have to beg forgiveness. But that was why she was still close enough to see the onlooker from the world rush out of the meetinghouse door behind Philip.

  She heard the name the man spoke as plainly as if he had spoken the words directly to her. “Tristan Cooper.”

  She saw Philip hesitate as though the man had roped him with the name and pulled the loop tight. At last Sister Edna’s curiosity was aroused too, and she stopped goading Jessamine to continue on toward the house. Instead she bent her ears toward Philip and the other man as did many of the Believers around them. The man wasn’t very tall but his midsection bulged out roundly. Not a man on friendly terms with much physical labor.

  “Tristan Cooper,” the man repeated. “I thought that was you. What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here?” The man was smiling, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile. More the kind Sister Edna bestowed on Jessamine when she caught her in some wrong. Such occasions seemed to give the sister an odd pleasure.

  Without a hint of an answering smile, Philip turned to face the man. Brother Benjamin stepped out of the line of Believers to go to his side. Another brother, Simon, moved over beside the onlooker from the world. Brother Simon’s face showed naught but serene peace, but he was sturdy and broad across the shoulders—a wall against the threats of the world. The onlooker paid the Shaker brothers no mind. His eyes were tight on Philip.

  Other people from the world filed out of the meetinghouse to cluster behind the two men. The Believers stood on one side waiting to hear Philip speak some sort of answer to the man while the world people on the other side appeared to be pleased to have an added attraction to their morning’s amusement. A few of those under the trees got to their feet and edged closer to better see what might be happening.

  “Do I know you?” Philip said.

  The man wasn’t put off by Philip’s question. “I think you should. We ate at the same dining table over at White Oak Springs last Sunday. Lenwood Patrick’s my name.” The man started to extend his hand toward Philip, but seemed to think better of it and dropped his arm back to his side. “Then again, it could be your eyes were so full of that beautiful Cleveland lass, you weren’t seeing anybody but her that day.” The man’s smile spread wider.

  White Oak Springs. Philip was from White Oak Springs. Perhaps Sister Annie was wrong. Perhaps he was a prince. A prince by a different name than the one he claimed. What had the man called him? Tristan Cooper.

  Brother Benjamin spoke up. “You must have Mr. Rose confused with someone else.”

  “Mr. Rose? Somebody’s confused, but not me. I never forget a face.” The man’s smile became more of a scowl as he looked at Brother Benjamin. “And I have plenty of others who can vouch that this is the man I supped with last Sunday. Tristan Cooper. Including his own mother. The poor woman has been quite beside herself.” He looked back at Philip, eyeing the sling holding his arm and the bandage on his head. “What happened to you anyway?”

  “I fell off my horse.” Philip lifted his arm in the sling away from his body toward the man. “Broke my arm. These good people have been doctoring me.”

  “Well, it’s a known fact these Shaker folk know their medicine potions, so I’m guessing there are worse places you could have landed. I�
��ve swallowed a few of their elixirs over at the Springs from time to time myself.” He stared at Philip a long second before he went on. “None of them ever had me forgetting who I was though.”

  Philip simply stared back at the man without speaking. Would a knock on the head make him forget his name and then remember it as something it wasn’t? Such seemed doubtful, but the thought that Philip Rose might be a concocted name didn’t upset Jessamine. In fact, if Sister Edna hadn’t been so close to her that the woman’s breath was almost warming Jessamine’s ear, she would have laughed. She supposed she shouldn’t celebrate falsehood if indeed Philip was merely lying and not delusional because of the wound to his head. Whatever the reason, he had chosen to be someone else. Something Jessamine often considered. That worm into a butterfly. A stranger into a prince.

  Perhaps he was as unsure of his identity as she was of hers. But no. The short round man had said Philip had a mother worried about him. Or she supposed it was Tristan who had the mother worried about him. Philip had deserted his identity. And not only his identity but also his family and the beautiful girl who waited for him at White Oak Springs. He had no doubt stood in the White Oak Springs shadows and traced that girl’s lips. Probably had done more than trace them. No bell would have spoiled their moments.

  An unknown feeling crawled through Jessamine. She wasn’t exactly angry or sad but something in between. Not a pleasant feeling but rather one that poked her and made her uneasy. She stared at the man she and Sister Annie had rescued in the woods and waited for what he might say next. But it wasn’t his words that were upsetting her peace. It was the thought of that other girl in the shadows with him. That girl would know what a kiss was like.

  Tristan stared at the man in front of him and tried to hide his dismay. A liar was always found out. His father had told him that many times. Right before he told him that if a man lied, it should be for a reasonable cause. His father respected the truth—unless telling it might not be useful in obtaining his ends. While Tristan had never known his father to lie outright to him or his mother, he had no doubt the man bent the truth when it suited his purposes. Was that what Tristan had been doing? Bending the truth for his own purposes? But using a false name was more than bending the truth. Now he had been found out in a most public way.

  He’d planned to ride away with the good doctor and Sister Lettie none the wiser about his subterfuge. He didn’t like seeing the grim set of Brother Benjamin’s mouth as he waited for Tristan to say something. Tristan didn’t know why it mattered what these odd people thought of him. He’d likely never see any of them again. Even the beautiful Jessamine.

  The week among the Shakers had been interesting, but nothing that was going to change his life. He might wish he could raise his hands toward the ceiling and call down something spiritual to embrace as they did, but he couldn’t imagine whirling and marching back and forth with visions of worship. His turns and whirls on a dance floor would be with a partner. His time in churches an expected duty in order to set the proper example for his children. Children he must have to carry on the Cooper name.

  A name he might as well admit to there in the midst of the Shakers, but he did not. Instead he looked at the short, round man in front of him and held his hand out toward him. “Mr. Patrick, it’s good to meet you, but I regret to say you must have me confused with another.” What was one more lie even if everyone in hearing distance knew the words he spoke carried no truth. It seemed easier to carry on the farce than to own up to his name.

  Lenwood Patrick hesitantly took Tristan’s hand with a look of consternation. Tristan did remember the man from their shared dinner. He was a northerner who talked nonstop of his many triumphs in business. Tristan had paid little attention to his chatter other than being amused at how the man seemed so intent on impressing his mother. Something that bragging of his riches had certainly not done. In Tristan’s mother’s eyes, a man of means had no reason to flaunt those means. Back in her room she had lifted her nose and disdainfully called the man a Yankee. That was the very worst thing his mother could ever say about any man.

  Now the man’s grip on Tristan’s hand tightened until Tristan wondered if he was trying to physically pull the truth from him. “I’m not the one confused.”

  Tristan stared the Yankee in the eye with not the least sign of recognition and smiled. “I’ve heard it said that every man has a double somewhere. You must have met mine.” He pulled his hand free.

  The man peered at Tristan through narrowed eyes that were not much more than slits in his fleshy face. “You can pretend what you want. But we both know who you are. Your mother will be quite relieved to hear that you are safe. And so nearby. Rumors were floating about that perhaps you had headed out to the goldfields in California.”

  “You should be careful not to spread rumors on your own,” Tristan said softly. “Good day, Mr. Patrick.” He turned and began walking away with Brother Benjamin matching his every step. The other Shakers also began moving away. Tristan chanced a glance toward Jessamine. What would she think of a liar? She looked a bit mystified, but he saw none of the condemnation on her face that was so evident on the frowning face of the sister beside her.

  “Your lovely Laura Cleveland has not been happy,” Patrick called after him. “But there is no shortage of gentlemen ready to step up to help her forget her tears.”

  Tristan kept walking. He doubted seriously if Laura had shed one tear over his disappearance unless it was simply as an act to gain sympathy. Tristan almost smiled. Perhaps this escapade of his would be the last straw for Laura and she would throw him over with not a second’s thought. He could hope so at any rate. It would be good to be free of his mother’s expectations. Free to actually chase off after California gold if he wanted. Free to find love.

  He let his eyes slide back over to Jessamine. The pinched-faced older sister had a grip on the young woman’s arm that looked tight enough to leave bruises. Yet the young sister was paying her no mind as she stared straight at him. The mystified look was gone, replaced by a worried, almost sad look as if she knew this might be the last time their eyes ever met. He had the incredible feeling that if he held his hand out toward her, she would jerk away from the woman beside her and come to him. His hand tingled with the desire to reach out to her.

  He clamped down on the foolish thought. He barely knew the girl. She was beautiful. There was no denying that. Her spirit almost sparkled. Nor could he deny that something about her spoke to him. Had done so since his first sight of her in the woods when he thought he might be dead and looking at an angel. But he couldn’t love her. Not so quickly. Not without more time. Time they didn’t have.

  He flexed his hand and kept it at his side. The older sister leaned close to whisper something in Jessamine’s ear that made the girl look down immediately and turn away. Tristan kept walking beside Brother Benjamin, who said not a word until they climbed the stairs and returned to the sickroom.

  Then he looked straight at Tristan and said, “The man from the world spoke truth.”

  Tristan didn’t shy away from Brother Benjamin’s eyes. “He did. My name is Tristan Cooper. Not Philip Rose.”

  Brother Benjamin was silent a moment as he considered Tristan’s words. He looked more disappointed than angry. The silence built until it was nearly as profound as the silence that had fallen over the Shaker worshipers at the end of their meeting. Tristan stood up under the doctor’s searching look even as he fished around for words to beg forgiveness for his lies. But nothing he thought of seemed right to say.

  “What was the reason for your lie?” Brother Benjamin finally asked with a perplexed frown. “We cared not what your name might be.”

  “I don’t know,” Tristan said.

  The doctor’s voice was calm as he said, “I sense that is another lie, my brother. That is the way with lies. One leads to another until truth is lost in the high grass of so many untruths.”

  “It’s not entirely a lie.” Tristan let out a long br
eath. “I honestly didn’t know who I was when the two sisters found me in the woods and then when I found out I was shot, I had no idea why or who might have done that. I feared going back to my other life until I could remember what might have happened in the woods.”

  “And have you remembered now?”

  “No. That day is lost to me, but other memories are not.” Tristan paused and wondered just how honest to be with the doctor. “I think I was hiding from my future.”

  “Is it a future you fear?” Brother Benjamin sounded more kindly with each question.

  “I’m not sure fear is the right word, but it is one that I move toward with some reluctance. I thought perhaps a few days in your peaceful village would help me see things more clearly.”

  “Sister Lettie supposed you were struggling with some demon. She knew not whether it was something without that threatened you or something within. She has offered many prayers for you.”

  Sister Lettie had known he lied all along, but had treated him with great kindness. Had even prayed for him. A lump jumped up in his throat. He swallowed hard and told himself it was foolish to feel tears pushing at his eyes. Sister Lettie probably prayed for everybody she came in contact with. It was what these people did. Danced and shook and prayed.

  Brother Benjamin touched Tristan’s shoulder. “While we respect the truth, we don’t condemn those who stumble. With confession, you can come around right and find the peace you lack if you stay here with us.”

  Tristan looked at the brother’s face and was tempted. Another week among these kind people. Another week of peace. More chances to see the beautiful Jessamine. But that would be another week of lies and he had lied enough to those who had cared for him without any real reason to do so.