The Seeker (25 page)

“Are you sure?” Charlotte asked with doubt in her voice even as she was remembering Gemma’s chatter about somebody drawing the spiral staircases in the visitors’ house. She hadn’t paid attention to the words then. She was too busy shutting everything out, but now they echoed in her brain. She’d said the man from the world had even drawn her likeness.

“Sure as night follows day. We passed right by him. But Sister Cora, she wouldn’t let me say nothin’ to him. More of them rules.”

“Did he know you?”

“He didn’t act like it. It was goin’ on dark and me with the Shaker garb on. Well, it ain’t no wonder he didn’t know me. He only talked to me that one time at the party anyhow. It was Mammy he drew the picture of. She liked that.”

“He drew my picture too.” Charlotte thought of the drawing hidden behind the drawer in the chest. But the face on that paper was the old Charlotte. The lost Charlotte. Not this woebegone Sister Charlotte who followed after the other sisters like a blind sheep and bent her will to theirs.

“He done more than that.” Mellie leaned her head over very close to Charlotte’s face until Charlotte could see her eyes gleaming in the early darkness. “Remember I saw you in the garden ’fore he left, and I already tol’ you a man kisses a woman like that he aims to be back.”

“He can’t be here for me. How would he even know I’m here?” Charlotte tried to ignore the way hope fluttered awake in her heart just at Mellie’s crazy imagining that Adam Wade had come for her.

“Somebody coulda tol’ him. Maybe your papa.”

“Father wouldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t tell anybody. Me being here is not only an embarrassment to him, the general knowledge of it might cost him votes. Think how the opposing party could use it against him. The senator’s daughter running away from home. Dancing like a heathen in church.”

“Not like heathens. Leastways most of the time. Most times they could be right at Grayson dancin’ in the big room,” Mellie said.

“But not for the same reason.”

“For sure. It ain’t to catch a man.” Mellie blew a snort of air out her nose. Silence stretched between them for a moment before she went on. “You can go home, Miss Lottie. The Massah, he won’t stay mad at you once he sees you face-to-face. He’ll be like that daddy in the Bible what runs to meet his wayward boy.” Mellie’s voice was soft, urging.

“There wasn’t a stepmother in that story,” Charlotte said.

“You’s right there,” Mellie agreed, but then her voice softened again. “But he’s loved you longer than he has her.”

Charlotte stared down at the ground as she said, “I can’t go home. At least not yet. I’m not starving. There’s no need for me to look at the pig food with hungry eyes like the prodigal son in that story. There’s plenty of food here. I am safe and well fed.” Charlotte’s ending words were flat, without feeling.

“Then if you don’t want to go home, go find that artist feller. He’s got to be still here. It was nigh dark when I saw him.”

“No.” The word came out sharp and clipped.

“I’s hearin’ a lot in that no, Miss Lottie. I know you good as I knows myself. Maybe better. You in love with that man.”

Charlotte didn’t have to be able to see Mellie’s face to know how she was staring at her with narrowed eyes, seeing straight through her even in the darkness. She didn’t try to argue with Mellie. Not now. Not when her heart was already too bruised to think about love. Instead she grabbed Mellie’s wrist. “You can’t tell him I’m here.”

“You’s right there. I can’t tell him nothin’. Remember. I’m leavin’ with Nate. Soon’s we get through huggin’ and cryin’ our goodbyes.” Mellie put her other hand gently over Charlotte’s. “You’s the one that needs to tell him. You’s the one he’s come for.”

“He’s not here for me. He’s here for his work. To draw the Shakers.” She said the words as firmly as she could, not for Mellie, but to keep hope from spreading its wings and trying to take flight in her own heart. Adam Wade had no plans that included Charlotte. No one did. Not even Mellie.

“Then ask that sour old Sister Altha to let him draw you.” There was a smile in Mellie’s voice. “That ought to get things rollin’ in the right direction.”

“Oh, Mellie, I don’t know what I’ll do without you.” Charlotte pulled her close and breathed in the familiar scent of her hair and skin. “I’m so afraid for you.”

“Don’t you be scared for me. You done give me a chance. You give me my papers. They say up north a black face don’t have to be turned down to the ground all the time. That a person like me can be hired out and collect her own pay. Nate and me, we’ll be all right. The Union army ain’t signin’ Negroes up to fight, but they’s usin’ them to build bridges and roads. He hears tell that them Yankees ain’t all that worried about whether a man has papers. Not so long as he has a strong back.”

“I’ll pray for you,” Charlotte said and she meant it. She’d have a purpose now when she knelt to pray as the Shakers demanded. She reluctantly stepped back from Mellie.

“And me for you.” Then in the darkness Charlotte saw Mellie’s teeth shine as her smile spread across her face. “That you and that artist gentlemen will meet up in some more gardens. Maybe he’ll ask you home to walk in his garden.”

“I don’t think he even has a home.”

“You don’t have to have walls and a roof, Miss Lottie. Where the most of your heart is, that’s where home can be.” Mellie touched Charlotte’s cheek. “Mine’s with Nate, but I’ll be leavin’ a chunk of it here with you.” She pulled her hand away as she turned to go. She stopped before she went two steps and turned back. With tears in her voice, she said, “When you go home to Grayson and see Mammy agin, you tell her I’m takin’ her love ever’ bit with me.”

And then she was gone. Melting away in the darkness. Charlotte stood very still staring after her. She could just make out Mellie, and then another figure rose up out of the grass and joined her before the two disappeared into the trees beyond the village houses. Charlotte watched the spot for a long time before she finally looked up at the dark sky and was glad for the clouds that covered the stars and moon. “Keep it dark, dear Lord, and lead her steps safely over the river.”

No prayer had ever risen more sincerely from her heart. She stepped back up on the pathway and positioned her cap over her hair. She would not think about her father or Grayson. She would not think about Adam Wade somewhere in the village. He had not come to Harmony Hill seeking her. If he saw her in the Shaker dress, he would laugh at her foolishness. It was all a game with Adam. A game he had won with the kiss he had stolen from her before he left. He would have no interest in playing another round. She could not let him see her here.

She mashed her lips together tightly so that she wouldn’t recall the softness of his lips on hers. She would not allow her mind to run after him. She would not allow her heart to yearn for his touch. Mellie was wrong. She wasn’t in love with him. It had been a game to her too. A silly game she had no chance of winning any more than she’d had any chance of pulling Edwin away from the Shakers. She had gravely underestimated Edwin’s need for spiritual peace and order in his life.

And now she would continue down the path she had chosen perhaps without proper thought, but even so her feet were upon it. If she was going to forget about Charlotte Mayda Vance and become simply Sister Charlotte seeking the gifts of simplicity and peaceful harmony, then she would do it the best she could. She would dwell on obedience and prayer the way Sister Altha told her to. She would learn to work. She would let more sincere prayers rise from her soul. And she would be safe and well fed.

The next morning, she filed out of her room with all the other sisters when the village bell rang to summon them to meeting. She didn’t sing loudly, but she did add her voice to the gathering song. She went into the meetinghouse determined to be a proper novitiate. She had not expected to see Adam Wade on a bench just inside the door. He had his sketchbook open, drawing feverishly. She turned her head away before he could look up and see her face.

The Shaker mother must have taken pity on her at that moment and moved Sister Martha up beside her instead of Sister Altha. She took hold of Sister Martha’s arm and whispered, “I feel sick, Sister Martha. I fear I might lose my breakfast. Please may I return to my room?”

“My dear sister, you are pale as a sheet.” Sister Martha’s wrinkled face looked concerned. “Lean on me and I will take you across to the infirmary.”

Charlotte peeked out of the corner of her eyes. Adam had raised his head and was looking her way. She couldn’t let him recognize her. She couldn’t. He would think she had lost her mind. And he wouldn’t be too wrong. A tremble chased through her as she tugged her cap down to cover her face.

Sister Martha patted her arm. “There, there, child. Calm yourself. We will find some medicine to ease your stomach.” Charlotte attempted a weak smile toward the old woman as they caused a disruption in the orderly stream of sisters coming in the door and pushed past them out into the open air, but she doubted there was medicine for what ailed her. Her heart was pounding at the thought of the artist in the room behind her. If only he had come for her.

As she let the old sister lead her across to the large stone building, Charlotte looked over her shoulder at the last of the sisters going in the meetinghouse. She tried to tell herself she was glad she’d escaped without Adam seeing her. She was. She couldn’t have borne his laughter. Yet each step away from the meetinghouse took more effort as her heart yearned to once more stand in front of him, gaze into his blue gray eyes, and hear his voice in her ears.

With a start, Charlotte realized Mellie was right. Charlotte had allowed herself to fall in love with Adam Wade. Oh dear heavenly Father. She had done nothing right for weeks.

21

By the time the big bell sounded to summon the Shakers to worship, Elder Logan had already ushered Adam inside the meetinghouse and to a bench just inside the doors. Adam would have preferred the opposite side of the large open room to get a better view of the Shakers’ faces as they came in, but he didn’t complain as he settled on the bench with his sketchpad to wait. There would be plenty of faces and scenes to capture from any direction.

His fingers had been tingling with the anticipation of sketching something new and different ever since the elder had informed Adam after breakfast that he would be allowed to do illustrations of their worship experience.

“As long as you behave respectfully,” the old man had added.

Adam didn’t plan to be anything but respectful. At least outwardly. His inward thoughts were between him and the good Lord. Not that he expected the Lord to pay much attention to anything he thought. The Lord would be more than occupied with listening to the prayers his faithful worshipers all across the country would be sending up to him on this Sunday morning or maybe watching these Shakers dance their worship to him.

Adam hadn’t expected the Shakers to start singing before they were inside the building, but minutes after the bell rang, one voice began and others joined in, the sound growing stronger by the minute. The Shakers’ voices lifted into the air, alerting the Lord that they were coming. It was a sound of holiness. A sound of deep commitment. Something he’d never felt except to his art. But as he listened, chills walked up and down his spine.

Then as each Shaker stepped through the door into the meetinghouse—the men through one door and the women through another—he or she fell silent. Inside there was only the sound of soft-soled shoes moving across the wooden floor to the benches while outside the song went on.

Adam searched through the faces. Not because he expected to know any of the Shakers, but because he wanted to understand these people as he sketched them. Why had they chosen to abstain from the normal impulses of life to dedicate themselves to worship and working in this cloistered community? He supposed he was dedicated to work. He’d given up most of the usual pursuits of a man his age and instead lived in pursuit of his next picture. But that work was for him. It wasn’t worship, as Elder Logan claimed the Shakers’ work to be.

So many people. Many more than he had expected. He’d seen them on the pathways, but it seemed different when they all filed into the building. He spotted Edwin Gilbey. So the man had done as he said and come to live in the village. He saw the young sister, Gemma, and mentally reviewed his sketch of her to be sure he’d done justice to her beautiful face. He let his eyes dwell extra long on the few black faces under the caps all the sisters wore, but he didn’t see the black sister who’d tried to talk to him on the pathway the night before. Or perhaps he simply didn’t recognize her in the light of the day.

But there was the older sister who had hurried the two of them past him. Her face, so stern and unyielding the night before, now looked troubled as she glanced to the left and right as though searching for someone. Perhaps the same sister his eyes were seeking. The one who thought he might be at Harmony Hill to carry someone away from the Shakers’ paradise. When the woman caught him watching her, she glared at him without welcome before going on across the room to take her place on the benches.

Adam pushed aside the distraction of his curiosity about the missing black sister to start drawing the Shakers spilling into the meetinghouse. A disturbance at the sisters’ door pulled his attention away from his sketch as one of the sisters abruptly turned to go the opposite direction. Not a usual occurrence if the frowns that darkened the other sisters’ faces were any indication as she pushed between them back toward the door. An ancient-looking Shaker sister took hold of the younger one’s elbow and joined the rebel Shaker sister moving against the flow of women entering the meetinghouse.

He wondered at first if the younger one might be the Negro sister he had been watching for, but then she reached up to pull her cap down and her hand was white as a lily. Not the hand of a working woman, but the hand of a lady. He kept his eyes on the top of her cap as she and the old sister managed to make it past the line of inflowing sisters to the door. Something about her tickled his memory.