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  Tristan sat down next to Laura. The white froth of her skirts spilled over against his legs. “You look lovely,” Tristan said. And she did.

  Her eyes widened a bit as though the last thing she expected to hear from him was a compliment. But she must have heard the same from many admirers. She had been surrounded by several eager men when he’d come down to the hotel lobby to meet her. As his mother reminded him at least ten times a day, he was not the only man at White Oak Springs hoping to find favor in Laura Cleveland’s eyes.

  She looked demurely down at her hands, ungloved as a concession to the heat and the casual setting. “It’s so kind of you to notice.”

  An uncomfortable tick of silence fell over them then before Tristan reminded her to tell him all the events he had missed in the past week.

  “Let’s see.” She looked up and away for a moment before she went on. “We had the midweek ball. Quite the event. And the men had a shooting tournament on Thursday. A few of the ladies played lawn bowls and the men got out their bats and balls and horseshoes. Dr. Hargrove even suggested some of us ladies might enjoy trying to pitch the horseshoes. A few accepted his challenge and tossed a few. The men had great fun over that.”

  “Did you give the horseshoes a try?”

  “Oh no.” Laura let out a trill of laughter. “I was quite content to watch and save my energy for the evening dances. And my nails.” She held her hands out toward him as though to prove her good sense. “I rather fear Sally Jenkins will be unable to go without her gloves for weeks.”

  It would have been the perfect opportunity to take one of her hands. She was practically offering them to him, but the realization came to him too late. “It sounds like a fun week,” he said lamely as she dropped her hands back into her lap. The knock on his head must have made him forget how to be charming.

  “Yes, the people here at the Springs intend for their patrons to have plenty to do.” She stared down at her hands, once more folded demurely on the frothy white material of her skirt. Perhaps realizing she might sound uncaring, she hurried on. “It goes without saying that everyone was quite concerned about you all through the week. Your poor mother was beside herself with worry.” Again she rushed on to claim worry of her own. “As we all were.”

  “What did everyone think?”

  She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “We didn’t know what to think since we had only so recently made your acquaintance. Your mother said it was quite unlike you to simply disappear without a word to her and from what she had told us about you when she was here last season, that did seem true.” She glanced up at him. “You did know she brought your father here to take the waters in hopes of restoring his health after he returned from the fighting in Mexico, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, she wrote me about how Father was feeling better at the time. Then the next news I got was of his death after they returned to Georgia.”

  “Such a trial for you both.” She looked genuinely sad. “So when you didn’t return last week, we were very concerned for her and hoping she would not have to face more sorrow.”

  “How kind of you.” Tristan’s words came out drier than he intended, and her eyes flew up to his face to see if he was mocking her. He pushed a smile across his face in an attempt to assure her of his sincerity.

  “Yes, well.” She managed a practiced smile in return of his. “We did our best since we had no way to guess at what might have befallen you. We even had prayer with your mother. One of my dear friends here, Flodella, she’s the granddaughter of a preacher. I think you met her at the ball last week. Anyway, at first your mother was sure you would be back any minute but after two days passed and then three, we—my friends and I—surrounded your mother in a prayerful circle and Flodella spoke the most devout prayer for your safety and return.”

  “I’ll have to thank her.” From the Shaker prayers to Laura’s and her friends’ prayers, he seemed to have been surrounded by prayers. “Thank all of you.”

  “That’s hardly necessary.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “We’re just overjoyed our prayers were answered.”

  Somehow he wasn’t feeling that joy radiating from her. A moment of silence fell over them before he asked, “So, was the consensus of the ladies that I had ridden away with no regard to my dear mother or that I had perhaps come to a bad end with my body floating in the river?” He was sorry for the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. A lady’s sensibilities were to be respected and talking of bodies floating in the river could easily spin a gently bred lady into the vapors. He had no wish to deal with a fainting woman.

  He was getting ready to offer a profuse apology for his callousness or be ready to fetch smelling salts when he heard what sounded like a giggle. Maybe he was hearing wrong and it was a sob. But no, she pushed her hand over her mouth and faked a cough. He didn’t know whether to pretend he was offended or make a pretense of not being aware of her amusement. What would a charming man do? Perhaps the thought of his body floating in the river was not so distressing to her sensibilities as he’d imagined. A smile worked its way out on his lips.

  She peeked up at him, her hand still over her mouth but with the smile evident in her eyes. “I do apologize, Tristan. It is quite unseemly for me to smile at your question when in fact you were obviously set upon by unsavory characters and in some danger of your life. Might have possibly even come to the end you indicated.”

  “Smile? I think laugh is a more accurate word.” He leaned back on the bench, not upset at all. He looked at her with new eyes. “So I’m guessing there was some conjecture about what might have happened to me. Wagering even, perhaps?”

  “I heard a bit about that possibility among the gentlemen. Certainly not among us ladies.” She fanned her blushing cheeks with her handkerchief.

  “But you did talk about it?” Tristan said.

  “Oh indeed. Talk is, after all, our main pastime.”

  “And what were the winning suppositions?”

  “A few had you going back to Texas. Julia did so want you to have a pining heart for a señorita there. But most were of the mind that you had escaped to the goldfields.”

  “Escaped?” Tristan raised his eyebrows at her. “Escaped what?”

  “Me, of course.” Laura laughed again. This time she didn’t bother trying to hide her merriment.

  “A man would be extremely foolish to attempt to escape a lady as lovely as you.” It appeared he hadn’t forgotten all his charm while with the simple Shakers.

  “So some might think.” Laura’s smile faded as she looked directly at him.

  He met her gaze and thought he should just go down on one knee right there in front of the bench and offer his devotion and his name. Get it over with. But though their shared laughter had helped him see her as a real person rather than an obligation, he still felt no desire at all to reach out to touch her cheek or feel her lips under the tips of his fingers as he had with the beautiful Jessamine. Nor did she appear to be entertaining the thought of him stealing a kiss. At least with any kind of pleasure. Instead the laughter had given way to a certain grimness, a look that made him wonder if she had even more desire to escape him than he did her. For a moment, he almost considered asking her that.

  But what if he was wrong? What if she was waiting for words of love? Then again, perhaps she’d rather hear he was floating in the river. He had the strange urge to reach up and touch the wound on his head.

  The moment of truth passed as she looked away from him with a reminder of the time. They stood and walked back toward the hotel to prepare for the evening festivities.

  He told himself it was good he hadn’t offered her words of love with no truth in them. Not while the beautiful Jessamine continued to haunt his thoughts. Another few days here with Laura, more strolls around the lake, more smiles, more dances in the moonlight, and perhaps an attraction would flicker to life between them. His memories of Jessamine would fade. Then everything would be fine. His mother would be happy. Laura’s father would b
e happy. He looked over at Laura. Perhaps even Laura would be happy. Happiness would abound.

  15

  Jessamine did not have a good Monday. Normally she embraced the duty of working in the gardens because it seemed good to be part of the miracle of seeds bursting and pushing tendrils up toward the sun. God’s gift to his children, her granny used to tell her when they planted their garden plot. At least those children willing to put their hands to the plow.

  Her granny was akin to the Shakers in that way. She believed the Lord intended a person to work, but not every minute of the day. “The good Lord gave us hands to work, but he also gave us eyes to behold his wonders. I’m thinking he expects us to take the time to ponder on those wonders.”

  Jessamine had always thought Sister Sophrena might lean toward her granny’s way of thinking even if she never came out and said she admired the scent of roses in the air or the busy buzz of bees working through the apple blossoms brightening the orchards. But Jessamine had seen her pause on the paths. She’d seen the look on her face sometimes when she was writing in her journal. Jessamine had peeked at a few lines from that journal from time to time and recognized the thread of joy in the words. Not that the sister would ever speak against the Believers’ way of simple plainness and only seeing beauty in the usefulness of the roses for rosewater or the dance of the bees amid the blossoms because it resulted in honey and apples for the Believers’ tables. She would not. The Believers’ way was her way.

  It was Jessamine’s way too. The village was home. Her roots had grown down into the Shaker soil as surely as the beans she was dropping into the rows would germinate and reach down into the garden soil. She had nowhere else to go. She didn’t even know the name of the prince who had loved her mother and been her natural father. She knew Sister Sophrena’s name. She knew her love.

  It hadn’t been Sister Sophrena’s choice for Jessamine to be shackled in constant supervision punishment with Sister Edna. The Ministry had so ruled. All had to abide by the rules. That had become clear at the end of the Era of Mother’s Work when so many of the young people had neglected their duties to run after angels and visions of all sorts.

  When Jessamine first came among the Believers, it was not at all unusual for some of the young sisters to leap from their chairs in the schoolroom and whirl without restraint. Jessamine often leapt up to join them even though nothing in her spirit commanded her to do so as the other girls claimed. Jessamine simply had itchy feet while they had gifts of the spirit.

  Jessamine had anticipated receiving like gifts. When the gifts didn’t fall from the heavens over her and she was merely beset with tears for the loss of her granny’s voice in her ear, she’d had to fight the ugly stain of envy in her heart for those who did receive the gifts like Sister Betty. A year younger than Jessamine, Sister Betty was so continually gifted with spiritual messages in her dreams that the older sisters often clustered about her bed with lamps and writing instruments to record whatever she might say in her sleep.

  On those nights, Jessamine lay awake watching with great curiosity and that worm of envy. But it wasn’t only Sister Betty who was gifted with special manifestations. Sister Connie, who never seemed the least interested in anything spiritual and could not even form her letters with ease, had sometimes been impelled to take paper and pen and draw elaborate lines and circles.

  So much had been happening then. Every week in meeting, Jessamine was treated to the wildest imaginings as she waited anxiously for her own gifts of the spirit. But she’d never felt the first twinge of a vision. No spirit commanded whirling. None compelled drawing. She heard no gifts of song or angels whispering to her even in her dreams.

  She couldn’t understand it. It seemed to her that she, able to build castles in the air or dream up talking birds, should be the one chosen for visions. Yet the Shaker gifts of spirit were denied her and given to others who—when they weren’t being beset with visions—could not imagine the first turret on a castle.

  Even so, it had not been a bad time for a child prone to letting her imagination take wing to come among the Believers. While the Shakers never credited any part of their visions to imagination, the continual presence of angels with their strange requests gave Jessamine a ready excuse for any lapse in obedience to the rules. One that Sister Sophrena sometimes doubted, but ever accepted while forgiving Jessamine’s shortcomings.

  But then the messages from beyond became less and less joyful and more and more upsetting. Accusations of impropriety. Of inadequate love. When the instruments of the spirits began voicing upsetting revelations about the elders and eldresses and questioning the Ministry, the leaders began to doubt the revelations were truly from Mother Ann. After a time of unease and questioning, the New Lebanon ministry proclaimed the Era of Manifestations over.

  The spirit drawings were hidden away. The holy mounts covered up and abandoned. All were advised to concentrate on being simple and walking with obedience. Without discipline, the Society could not survive. So Jessamine understood the reason for Sister Edna dogging her every step. She had broken the rules. What the Ministry ordained could not be changed. But that didn’t mean she had to like it or that it wasn’t spoiling her garden duty.

  While Jessamine normally took pleasure in plunging her hands into the silky smoothness of the seeds in her planting bag and drawing them out to drop into the rows, this day it just seemed a chore that caused sweat to run into her eyes and her back to ache. It was almost as if instead of following two steps behind Jessamine, Sister Edna had crawled up on her back to weight her down.

  She warred against the weariness. She thought of the bean vines that would grow. She thought of her granny and how she would pray over the garden before they planted the first seed and after every row was seeded and tamped down.

  She missed her granny even if she had been gone so many years that her face was becoming fuzzy in Jessamine’s memory. She missed the angels even though she had never seen the first one. She missed the man from the world. Tristan Cooper. She longed to say the name aloud, to try it on her tongue, even if only in a whisper, but Sister Edna would hear. Her sharp eyes would probably see if Jessamine so much as silently mouthed the man’s name.

  “Whatever is the matter with you, Sister Jessamine?” Sister Edna said crossly as she stopped covering over the seeds with her hoe and leaned down to pick a bean seed out of the row. “That is the second time in this row you have dropped three beans instead of two as is proper.”

  “Forgive me, Sister Edna. I will try to be more careful.”

  “Your mind is not on your tasks this day, Sister.” Sister Edna straightened and handed Jessamine the bean she’d retrieved from the dirt. “I daresay it is instead drifting to sinful thoughts of that man you brought among us. He proved himself to love the world and to be with no honor, did he not?”

  “Perhaps his mind was confused as he said.” Jessamine studied the bean in her hand.

  “Confused about his name? I think that unlikely.”

  “He gave every appearance of truthfulness when he claimed not to remember the day Sister Annie and I came upon him in the woods.” Jessamine dropped the bean into the row and reached into her seed bag for another to add to it.

  “I have doubts you are the best judge of truthfulness when it appears you have only a passing acquaintance with the truth yourself at times.” Sister Edna’s voice carried scorn. “You and Sister Abigail as well. Pretending a worm upon your collar.”

  “That was not my pretense,” Jessamine said quietly as she continued to place the bean seeds in the row. She was careful to do it properly.

  “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if the two of you hatched the plan to cause me concern.”

  “Nay, I would not want to cause you distress, Sister Edna.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly caused poor Sister Sophrena enough problems.” Sister Edna tamped down the dirt with extra vigor. “Promising obedience and then running straight to make cow eyes at that liar. And don’t think I
didn’t see you sneaking looks at him during meeting. Did you think the Ministry would not be watching? They always watch.”

  “Yea.” Jessamine knew nothing but to agree with her. Everything the woman said held truth. She felt more and more pressed down until she wondered that her feet weren’t sinking to her ankles in the soft dirt. “Yea, you are right. I have much reason to repent.”

  “It is good that you understand your need to change. You should count your blessings that the Ministry has given you this opportunity to mend your ways and step back from the miry pits of sin that trap so many of the world.”

  Jessamine turned to look at Sister Edna as she efficiently pulled the dirt over the seeds and tamped it down. “Have you never wondered about the world, Sister Edna? What their way is like?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but she could not seem to hold her words back.

  “Nay.” The woman’s brows tightened in a frown. “I have breathed of the rotten air of the world and care not to do so ever again.”

  “Were you brought here as a child like I was?”

  Jessamine was suddenly curious about this sister who seemed more concerned with faultfinding than lifting up. One of Mother Ann’s precepts came to mind about how it was as much a duty to commend a person for doing well as to reprove that person for doing ill. That was certainly not something she was going to quote to Sister Edna nor was it something Sister Edna gave any indication of practicing. Kind words rarely tumbled from her mouth. Gladness didn’t appear to be one of Sister Edna’s gifts.