The Gifted (16 page)

“And I’m the string.”

“We’ve been through this a dozen times, Tristan. You have to marry someone and I know Laura will make you very happy. Think of the children you will have.” She looked away from him out the window as if she could see something he could not. “Sons named Cleveland and Whitley. Can’t you almost see them out on the lawn, climbing trees, carrying on the proud Cooper name?”

He turned and let his eyes follow her gaze through the double windows to the green lawn spreading away from the house. But he wasn’t seeing children. He was seeing the road leading away. A road he could not take. He was all his mother had left. A man could not disavow his family, and so he had accompanied his mother to White Oak Springs. To mine the Cleveland family gold.

Yet here he was, sequestered in this Shaker village, pretending to be someone he was not while innocent blue eyes haunted his thoughts.

The rising bell pulled him from sleep before dawn on Sunday. The Shakers were early risers. Sister Lettie had told him there was much work to be done in the village and no time to waste in accomplishing the necessary tasks set before them. Time was something to be treasured and used wisely. That was something he had not always done before he joined the army and was so plainly confronted with the possibility of time coming to an end for him. Now he could see the wisdom of the old sister’s words. So when the bell rang, he sat up and faced the day himself even if he had no necessary tasks. At least none in this village.

He put on the plain, sturdy clothes the Shakers had given him. Sister Lettie had split the sleeve of the shirt so he could pull it over his injured arm. It was awkward but he managed. The arm ached but the pain was not unbearable. He flexed his fingers. They felt stiff and swollen, but at least they moved. At least he could still move. He had another day, even if he didn’t know what the day might bring.

His stomach growled, but he ignored its complaints. If this day was like the others he’d been in the village, it would be awhile before Sister Lettie brought him breakfast. She said every villager had duties to perform before the morning meal so that those in the kitchens were not working while others lolled in bed. All were servants in the community. None to be served, but all to serve.

In time, there would be breakfast and good food if the meal followed the way of the previous days. Nothing like the food they’d had in the army. Hardtack and whatever could be gathered from the countryside. The land ravaged by war and picked clean by too many hungry men yielded up little. A scrawny jackrabbit. A rattlesnake at times.

The dawning light filtered through the window and pulled him out into the garden to lean against the wall where he’d talked to Jessamine. Away from the pathways, it was unlikely he’d be noticed in the gray morning light. He didn’t want to cause more problems. While he might like to stand in the shadows with Jessamine once more, it would not be wise to bother her. Not only because he’d be breaking the Shaker rules, but because the memory of her eyes was so unsettling to him.

The sky began to lighten and blush pink before fingers of golden light brightened the day. As the sun reached down toward him, Tristan decided to be Philip Rose one more day. Sister Lettie had said they opened their meetinghouse doors to those of the world on Sunday mornings.

“It is hoped that our spiritual labor will convince those of the world who come with curiosity of our worship to choose the way of salvation and seek the gift of simple purity among us,” she explained. That was before he had broken the rules by stepping out of the garden to talk to the beautiful Jessamine. He didn’t know what she might be ready to say to him now.

But later, when she brought his morning meal, she seemed no different. Even so, Tristan felt the need to make an apology.

“Forgive me for ignoring your rules,” Tristan told her as she arranged his breakfast on the table beside his bed. “It didn’t seem that wrong to thank the young sister for helping me in the woods. To my way of thinking, it seemed more wrong not to do so. As you told me, I might have died without the help of her and the other sister.”

“Were you seeking Sister Annie out to thank her as well?” Sister Lettie fixed her eyes on him.

“I didn’t see her passing by the garden.”

Sister Lettie’s smile set off a whole new set of wrinkles. “I hear truth in your words, Brother Philip. Our Sister Annie would not set her feet on a wayward path that would lead her past the good doctor’s garden. Sister Jessamine did allow her feet to stray and now must pay the cost.”

“Cost?” Tristan peered up from his eggs at Sister Lettie. “I did not mean to cause trouble for her.”

“You did not. She found the trouble on her own. That is true with every person, all the way back to the Garden of Eden. As much as we try to shift the blame to another as Adam and Eve did, the choice always ends up to be our own. We can give in to our sinful nature or walk a purer path and overcome the temptation strewn in our way.”

Tristan stared at his food with a sudden lack of appetite. “What will be done to her?”

“You needn’t look so worried, my brother. We do not mistreat our brothers and sisters. She will merely be encouraged with loving attention to pay closer mind to the rules.”

“How?” He couldn’t imagine what punishments these people might use. Would she be locked away to give her time to consider her wrongs? Or set to some unpleasant chore to castigate her straying feet?

“She will be watched. That is all. Until such a time as she can earn back the trust of her brethren and sisters. Obedience to the rules is necessary as you will find if you stay among us.”

“Watched? That doesn’t sound too bad,” he said with some relief.

In the shadows the day before, Jessamine had told him someone was always watching. So her situation wouldn’t be that much different now. Come morning, he’d be gone. She could go back to her life, and he would go back to his. That was as it had to be, but he couldn’t help wishing the bell on top of the house had held off ringing for another moment when they had stood in the shadows together. A kiss would have been a sweet memory to carry away with him.

Perhaps it was better that it hadn’t happened. Better that he could only imagine her lips yielding to his. To even speak to him was sin here in her world. To even think of her was impossible in his world. His future was tied to Laura Cleveland. He had no future with a beautiful Shaker girl.

“It is not allowed to let good food go to waste.” Sister Lettie’s words brought him away from his thoughts. “Your strength will return much faster if you feed your body.”

“I will never be able to repay your kindness.” He finished off the eggs and biscuit on his plate.

“Kindness levies no fees. Believers are to do all the good they can to everyone they meet. You were in need of help. We were able to give aid to you out of the blessings the Eternal Father has given us. Our Mother Ann passed down the sure truth that we must ever depend on the giver of every good gift.” She took his plate but continued to watch him. “It is our duty to use whatever gifts we’re given to be of service.”

“Your gift of healing?”

“Yea. And my gift to listen without judgment. Not all can do that.” Her eyes probed his. “What of you, my brother? Have you ever thought to use your gifts for the good of your brethren and the Lord?”

“I have no such gifts.” Tristan looked away from her. A tutor once told him he had a gift for drawing, but his father was uncomfortable with the idea of an artist son. Even one who liked most to draw buildings or outlandish inventions. His father sent the man on his way and threw out the sketching pens. Days later, Tristan had a new tutor and his first gun with orders to learn to shoot. He’d become an expert marksman. His father said he was gifted with steady hands and a good eye.

When he looked up, Sister Lettie was still watching him, so he added, “Nothing the Lord would want to use at any rate.” There was no gift in killing.

“How very wrong you are. All are given abilities and gifts. To use one’s hands in work is a gift to be treasured, and who among us can’t do some kind of work? As long as it is honest labor, then the Lord is honored by the performance of such. No labor is more to be admired than another, for God is in all our work.”

She set the plate aside and came back to run her hands up and down his fractured arm. “Brother Benjamin says you are ready for a new wrapping. We can talk of work while I do that necessary task.” She scooted the small table he’d just been eating from closer to Tristan and positioned his arm on it before she took a small pair of scissors from her pocket. After she snipped through the ties, she began to unwrap the bandages on his arm, with great care. She looked up at him for a moment as she said, “I would think a man of your age would have done some work.”

“Only schoolwork before the army. Training for war does not seem a proper gift to offer to the Lord.”

“We can agree to that.” Sister Lettie turned her attention back to removing the bandages from his arm. “We as Believers do not hold with war except the war against sin. Our testimony is for peace now and always. No Christian can use carnal weapons or fight. We oppose wars of households and wars of nations.”

Tristan frowned a little as he thought about her words. “But what if someone comes into your village to do you harm or to steal from you? How do you defend yourselves?”

“We depend on God and Mother Ann to defend us. It is not our way to resort to violence.” She kept her eyes on the bandages she was removing as she explained. “If something is taken from us, then we will pray for the person who had such pressing need for it that he would break one of God’s commandments to take it. When we finish our prayers, we go to work to replace it.”

“But what if they threaten to physically harm you? A man should be able to defend himself against injury.” Tristan couldn’t imagine anyone thinking differently.

“Yea, that is the thinking of the world. And some of our brothers on their trading trips have been set upon by thieves intent on harm at times.”

“As I was in the woods.” Tristan grimaced as the sister lifted his arm, not so much because of the pain but because of the way the bone grated inside his arm. An unnatural, unpleasant sound that attacked his wholeness.

Sister Lettie glanced up at him. “Do you need one of the doctor’s draughts?”

“No, that might make me sleepy. I wouldn’t want to sleep through your time of worship.”

“Are you a churchgoer in the world?” she asked as she turned back to her work.

“I was before I went to the war. That changed everything.”

“It may have changed you, but the Eternal Father and his truths never change.” Her voice held no hint of doubt, nor did her eyes when she looked up at him.

“You say that, but other men of God preach different messages.” He hesitated, but Sister Lettie never seemed upset by anything he said. So he went on. “You Shaker people here have a different belief than any I’ve ever heard before.”

“Yea. The truth shown to our Mother Ann through many visions and dreams.” Her words were as sure as her hands as she positioned her scissors between Tristan’s skin and the bandage to make another snip.

“But other preachers say they have been shown the truth as well through the Word of God and prayer.”

“So they do. That is why we each must pick up whatever cross we’re given and follow with faith. Each must decide his or her own way.”

Sister Lettie pulled the last of the bandage away from his skin and carefully lowered his arm to the table before feeling along the bone. He did his best not to flinch.

As she gently washed his arm that was black with bruises, she said, “It is good to see how the young can begin to heal so quickly. You will be as strong as ever in a few weeks, but now let us be sure to keep your arm straight. A crooked arm can be a burden.”

“The bone feels like it’s moving.”

“Yea, you will need to keep it immobile for several more weeks, but the wrappings I will put on today will make it easier for you to move around and care for yourself.” She stood up and began mixing a whitish powder into some water in the basin. She looked over her shoulder. “Perhaps even join in the exercise of our songs. We will trust you to abide by the rules and not accost any of the sisters. Not even those you think are in need of your gratitude.”

“Do you dance, Sister Lettie?”

“I have danced and whirled.” She raised one hand up and did a half turn before she picked up the bowl and a roll of bandage strips to come back to the table. “But now I am old and must be content to watch most of the exercises. I can still stomp out the devil and labor the sweeping song to rid my life of sin.”

“I can’t imagine you having sin.”

“All sin, my brother. All.” She pushed some of the cloth strips down into the thick mixture in the bowl. When they were soaked, she lifted them out and deftly began wrapping the cloth pieces around his arm. “Our choice is whether to confess that sin and begin to strive toward the goal of a purer life. One where the gifts we have been given, those that do honor to the Eternal Father, rise within us and spill out to the good of our brethren and sisters.” She pointed toward him. “And you do have useful gifts. The simple gifts are the best. Those of dedicated labor and love. I look at you and I see potential.”

“Potential for what?” he asked.

“Ah, that is what you must discover. With prayer and meditation. I see your confusion. The way you hide the truth not only from me but from yourself. But you must know that nothing can be hidden from the Lord.”

“The Lord is the one who seems hidden to me.” Tristan saw no reason not to be truthful.

“Nay, my brother. The Lord does not hide from us. He is ever there. Now and forever.” She stared at him a long moment before she went on. “Nay, he is not the one hiding.” She laid thin strips of wood on each side of his arm and wrapped more of the cloth soaked in her potion around his arm to hold the splints in place.

He thought to tell her that she had not seen the things that he had seen. That she hadn’t heard the sick and dying crying out for mercy and finding none. But then what did he know of what she had seen? It was certain she was seeing him too clearly. Much too clearly. But after this day, he wouldn’t be hiding any longer. At least not from what must be done.