The Gifted (3 page)

“We’re not looking for any rider.” Sister Annie grasped Jessamine’s collar even tighter. “And you can’t catch a horse. You know nothing about horses.”

Jessamine patted Sister Annie’s hand. “It will be fine. My granny said animals know when a person is trying to help them. Worry not.” She uncurled the girl’s fingers from her collar and stepped away from the tree.

“If you get hurt, Sister Sophrena will blame me. And what about that gunshot?”

“Engaged in our duty, we have nothing to fear.” Jessamine pulled out one of the Shaker sayings.

“This is not our duty.”

“Did not Mother Ann tell us it is our duty to help any who are in need of help? To do good to all we meet. We can’t run away without seeing if our help is needed.”

“I can,” Sister Annie said even as she edged around the tree to watch Jessamine.

Jessamine didn’t look back again. She kept her eyes on the horse that raised its head and blew air out its nose when it spotted her. But with one of the reins caught in a bush, the horse must have felt tethered.

“Easy, boy.” Jessamine spoke softly as she slowly approached the horse. She had no idea if she had addressed the animal correctly.

Sister Annie was right. She knew nothing about horses. But she had once befriended a young raccoon in the woods with the help of her granny. That had taken food of which she had none now. A few berries might have been helpful. Or an apple. Horses liked apples. She did know that much. She clucked her tongue. She’d heard the brothers make that sound when they hitched the horses to the wagons back in the village.

The horse lifted its head high and watched her with dark brown eyes, but its hooves were still. Jessamine took that as a favorable sign. She held her hand out toward its nose the way her granny had taught her to meet any stray dog that showed up at their cabin. Granny liked dogs and always invited the hounds up on the porch to rest awhile before they went on their way. One old dog had come by nearly every week, but Granny hadn’t claimed ownership of it. Said a dog should be free to come and go as it pleased.

Horses were different. Especially one with a saddle and dangling reins like this brown beauty with flecks of foam dotting its neck. The horse backed away from her hand and pulled its reins loose from the bush, but Jessamine grabbed them out of the air. The horse immediately calmed when it felt the tug of the reins.

“Were you out here all alone?” Jessamine asked softly. “Or did you unseat your rider?”

“You are forgetting the gunshot.” Sister Annie stepped out from behind the tree.

“Nay, I have forgotten nothing. But that could have been far away and nothing to do with this horse.”

“And we could be lined up with our sisters to go into the evening meal, but we are not.” Sister Annie looked ready to cry. “Oh, but how I wish we were. I’m never going berry picking with you again. I don’t care what Sister Sophrena says I must do.”

“I’m sorry, Sister Annie.” Jessamine took her eyes off the horse long enough to throw a glance back at the other girl. “I truly am. Why don’t you go on and start back? I will follow as soon as I make sure no one lies bleeding out in the woods.”

Sister Annie hesitated. “But what if someone is lying bleeding? What do you propose to do about it? Let us both go back to the village and get help. That is the only sensible thing to do. You know Sister Sophrena would never forgive me leaving you and letting you face danger alone. You are her favorite.”

“Nay, that is not the Shaker way. We are not to raise one brother or sister up over another.” She recited the words she’d heard dozens of times.

“Nor are we to run off and get lost in the woods either and yet here we are.” Sister Annie’s voice was a whisper shout.

The horse nickered and jerked up its head, yanking the reins loose from Jessamine. The horse shied away from her and then, as it seemed to get its bearings, started walking back through the trees. It no longer seemed frightened in the least but moved with purpose.

“Wait here,” Jessamine told Sister Annie. She paid no mind to the other girl’s protests as she followed after the horse.

She had been right about the open space between the trees ahead of them. There was a road, but not a well-traveled one. It was no more than a logging trail perhaps made by some of the brethren from the village as they harvested logs from the forest. Certainly it wasn’t a road that would lead to a place like White Oak Springs.

She noted a stump nearly as wide around as a wagon wheel and she looked up, imagining the tree it had once been. A hole had been torn in the forest roof. She shook away the mournful feeling that tried to capture her. The tree had no doubt been turned into a useful building, and nothing or nobody on this earth lived forever. Not this tree. Not her granny. And perhaps not the rider of the horse she was trailing behind.

The horse stopped and nibbled a few blades of grass.

“And so you care no more than that about whoever you lost from your back?” Jessamine spoke aloud as if the horse would understand her words.

The horse lifted its head and looked at her for a moment before turning its attention back to the patch of grass. Jessamine walked past it to search but saw nothing but more trees. The fallen rider must have dusted himself off and gone back to wherever he’d come from, however odd it seemed that he wouldn’t search for his horse first.

She was ready to turn back when she caught sight of a boot up ahead of her. A boot that was connected to a man lying in a deep rut. Jessamine hardly dared breathe as she stepped closer to the man, who was lying much too still. Blood oozed from an angry-looking wound on the side of his head, and his right arm was bent in an unnatural angle.

With relief, she noted his closed eyes. That could be a hopeful sign. Much better than open and staring at nothing except the beyond side of death, she decided as she peered at his chest. Yea, he was definitely breathing, but she couldn’t see the least bit of flutter to his eyelids.

Jessamine had no idea what to do next. Go for help, she supposed, but how without leaving the man there alone? That seemed wrong. She moved another step closer to him. His felt hat had spilled off and dark brown hair tumbled down over his forehead. He could be a prince. Not one she might see after kissing a frog, but one from somewhere across the sea. Handsome and strong. Or at least strong before the fall from his horse. Now helpless as he lay there with his chest rising and falling but showing no other sign of life.

She should do something. Speak to him. Try to bring him back to consciousness. Then he might tell her how she could help him. And whether he was real or just one of the storybook princes her granny used to make up to entertain her. Maybe she was only imagining him there in front of her the way she’d just imagined the tree lifting to the sky a moment ago.

She shut her eyes and opened them again. He was there. Still as stone, but definitely there. She could see dark whiskers beginning to shadow his clean-shaven cheeks. A dark moustache sprouted below his nose, but he had no beard like so many of the brethren at the village. She stooped down beside him and reached out her hand toward his face. She couldn’t remember ever touching a man’s face. Her granny had no use for men other than the old preacher and the princes who populated her stories.

“Dream them up,” her granny would say as she rocked back and forth in the chair on the porch. “That’s the only kind to have truck with, my sweet little Jessamine. You keep that in mind when you get older, child. Don’t be settling for just anybody. Wait for your prince. The good Lord will send one.”

But after she came to the Shakers, Sister Sophrena told her the Lord had changed his mind about men and women finding one another and having families. He’d revealed as much to Mother Ann. She’d taught her followers that being married caused too much conflict in the world and was a sin a person did well to repent of and set aside. The Shakers tamped down on the normal temptations of the flesh by keeping the sisters and brothers always apart with separate doorways and staircases and eating tables. The Ministry feared even a slight brush against one of the opposite sex might plummet a Believer into sin.

So it could be with her touching this man’s cheek. Her hand hovered in the air over him. The warmth of his skin rose up to her and she told herself she should put her hand behind her. What was that Bible verse where the Lord told his followers it was better to chop off one’s hand rather than let it pull one into sin? But what was so sinful about a touch? No one would have to know. She wouldn’t have to admit her sin of curiosity to Sister Sophrena. While the good sister said unconfessed sin was a burden on the soul, so far Jessamine hadn’t felt all that burdened when she kept a lapse of obedience to herself. She rather thought it was a favor to Sister Sophrena not admitting all her wayward thoughts.

For years, the poor woman had tried to get Jessamine to embrace the Shaker way, but Jessamine couldn’t stop her wondering. And her wandering too. She wanted to know. She wanted to see beyond the village. She wanted to imagine. She wanted to make up stories about princes. And it would be good to know exactly how a man’s face might feel under her hand instead of just imagining it.

“Is he dead?”

Jessamine was so startled by the voice she almost fell on top of the man. She caught her balance and jerked back her hand as she scrambled to her feet. With her hand over her heart and a bit out of breath, she turned to stare at Sister Annie on the road behind her. “You startled me, Sister Annie. I didn’t know you followed me.”

“I didn’t want to. Believe me. But we are sisters and if there’s danger, it’s my duty to share it with you.”

Jessamine turned back to the man on the ground. “I don’t think he is a danger to us.”

“Perhaps not in his current state, but what about the gunshot? You keep forgetting that there was gunfire.” Sister Annie leaned forward to peer around Jessamine toward the man. “Does he have a gun?”

Jessamine let her eyes sweep down the man’s slender body. He wore a coat something like the brothers wore to meeting, but of a richer-looking cloth, and his shirt was very white. The coat lay open to reveal a regular belt around the waist of his dark trousers. “No gun that I can see.”

“Well, somebody had one. If not him, then somebody else.” Sister Annie looked around. Her voice trembled as she went on in almost a whisper. “Somebody who could be watching us right now. May our Eternal Father protect us.”

“Do you think he was shot?” Jessamine knelt down beside the man again. She thought of pulling her handkerchief out of her apron pocket to wipe away the blood on the side of his face. That could not be sinful even in Sister Annie’s eyes. “We have to help him.”

Sister Annie surprised her by agreeing. “Yea, but how?”

“You can go to the village and get help while I wait here with him.”

“Nay. I won’t leave you alone with a man of the world, and besides, I would get lost a dozen times trying to get back to the village. That would be no help to him or us either. By the time the elders sent out people to search for us, the man might be dead.”

Jessamine’s heart jumped up in her throat. “We can’t let him die.”

“God holds the number of our days.”

“But I don’t want him to die.” Jessamine kept her eyes on the man’s face.

“You don’t even know him, Sister Jessamine. You are only imagining one of those stories in your head that get you into nothing but troubling fixes.” Sister Annie’s voice was cross again. “It would be best for you to rein in such thoughts before you fall into sin. This man is not one of the princes in the fairy tales your grandmother told you.”

“Yea, Sister Annie. You are right, but even so, we must help him. We must take him back to the village where Brother Benjamin can treat him for his injuries.”

“That might be a proper plan, but how?”

“Perhaps on his horse,” Jessamine suggested. The horse might still be nearby.

“The man’s arm appears to be broken. He could have other bones broken as well. Even if we were strong enough to do so, we might make his injuries worse putting him on a horse.”

“Well, if we can’t move him and we can’t leave him, what can we do?” Jessamine looked at his face with the blood trickling down toward his ear from the angry gash on his head. She did take out her handkerchief then and dabbed it against the wound. She waited to see if Sister Annie would condemn her actions, but when she did not, Jessamine reached out with her other hand to take hold of the handkerchief.

With great care to make her movement look totally unplanned, she gingerly laid her hand down on the man’s cheek. The emerging whiskers were prickly under her fingers. She forgot about Sister Annie watching her and ran her fingers up his cheek toward his eye. There his skin was smooth and his lashes soft as downy feathers. Quite without thinking she dropped the handkerchief and touched her own eyelashes with her other hand. His felt much the same as hers.

“Whatever are you doing, Sister Jessamine?”

“Just wiping the blood from the gash on his head,” she said quickly.

“I might be more apt to believe that if the handkerchief were in your hand instead of forgotten on the ground.”

A flush rose up into Jessamine’s cheeks as she snatched up the handkerchief and began dabbing at the bloody gash again. “Forgive me, Sister. But I had never touched a man’s face before. I have continually wondered about their whiskers. How they might feel.”

“Sister Sophrena often says your curiosity may be the death of you, but whether or not that is true, I am beginning to fear it will be the death of me.” Sister Annie let out a long sigh. “And we are not one iota nearer a solution to our dilemma than we were. We have no choice. We must leave him here and go back to the village. Elder Joseph will know what to do.”

“I suppose you are right.”

Reluctantly Jessamine lifted her hand away from the man’s face and started to stand. But before she could get to her feet, the man’s eyes popped open and he grabbed her wrist. She sucked in a startled breath as Sister Annie let out a frightened yelp behind her. She jerked to free herself, but the man’s grip was strong. She was caught as surely as a rabbit in a snare. So she went still and stared down into eyes the brown of butternut.