The Gifted (52 page)

He pulled away from her. He had to go after Jessamine. But when he stood up and started toward the door, his head went round and round and his stomach rolled over. He staggered against the wall and his mother rushed to his side to steady him.

“Let me help you back to your bed. Dr. Hargrove says you need rest.”

“I don’t want to lie down.”

“It’s either lie down or fall down.” His mother pushed the truth at him as she guided him through the open door back toward his bed. “Besides, even if you were able, she made her choice. Don’t you think you should honor that?”

He let her help him into the bed then. Her words stabbed through him.
Made her choice.
Jessamine had retreated from the world. She was gone. The pain in his head thumped and the bed kept spinning. Nothing was making sense. He wasn’t sure anything would ever make sense again. Not without Jessamine.

Journal Entry

Harmony Hill Village

Entered on this 28th day of June in the year 1849

by Sister Sophrena Prescott

The temperature is reaching toward 90 today. Very warm for June, but we have been continually blessed with sufficient rain for our gardens and crops. It looks to be a bountiful summer with much reward for our labors.

The sisters who were assigned duty in the sewing rooms have been brought to the preserving houses in order to put up our bountiful vegetable harvest in a timely manner. We have many bushels of string beans that must be prepared for canning or drying. It is not a bad chore as we are able to carry the beans out under our shade trees and work there. Those in the canning house have a more tiresome duty and the eldresses are rotating the duty by the hour so that none of our sisters will overheat in the kitchens.

Our Sister Jessamine has stepped back into our ways willingly. She is not the same sister who left us last week. She came to me early this morn and asked forgiveness for her waywardness, but she seemed reluctant to list her sins. She named pride and vanity, which are so abundant in the world. She spoke of her yearnings to write down the frivolous words that run through her mind. She did not speak of the man from the woods until I asked her about him.

It is obvious she carries some worldly feelings for him in her heart, but I did not try to pry them out. Perhaps I erred in not doing so. If she had shown me a splinter embedded in her finger, I would have insisted it be removed before it festered. So why did I not do the same when I noted this splinter of worldly sin buried deep in her heart? Until it is removed, she will not heal. I must pray for the wisdom and fortitude of purpose to do whatever is best for her.

But her sadness is so deep that my own heart hurts when I look at her. And I wonder. I should strike out those last words. I should not wonder about the feelings of the world. I have been here surrounded by the love of my sisters and brethren too long. I know the peace of a true Believer. But our Sister Jessamine does not. She is longing for something she left behind in the world.

I fear she may never be the sister I knew and loved before she found the stranger in the woods. I seem to be mourning with her even though I know not what I mourn. Eldress Frieda will take me to task for these errant feelings and I will ask forgiveness. Such forgiveness will be needed. I must turn from these feelings and separate myself from our sister’s sadness. Only she can shrug that heavy burden off her shoulders and step back onto the proper path that will bring her happiness. She has put her feet on that path, but she yet looks over her shoulder toward the world. While that is something I will never do, I do seem to be wondering about what it is that draws her gaze.

34

Tristan woke early on Sunday morning. When he sat up, the dizziness and thumping were finally gone from his head. And again, as he had every waking hour since his mother had told him Jessamine had gone back to the Shaker village, he wanted to go after her. But each time his mother’s words stopped him.
She made her choice.

He surely had only dreamed those words of love after the storm swept over them. He hadn’t dreamed his words. He knew he had spoken of his love to her. But he must have only wished like words spoken back to him. She had run from him. From the world. If only he could talk to her one more time. Kiss her lips once more. Then perhaps she’d make a different choice.

The thought went round and round in his head, but as much as he wanted to brush aside his mother’s words, he could not. He did need to honor Jessamine’s choice. She knew her father had left. Her maid told Dr. Hargrove that. So she was aware that Tristan had been freed from his promises and yet she had still run back the Shaker village. Perhaps she felt bound by promises he knew nothing about.

He pulled his bag out from under the bed. He couldn’t keep hiding out in this room, his mind in a fog, not wanting to face the truth. It was time to move on. The lawyer would see to his mother’s welfare. Tristan had been relieved of that duty. In time he might even appreciate that, but now sadness set too heavily on him. He felt adrift. Last week he was ready to give up his own dreams and marry a woman he didn’t love to satisfy his mother’s need for security. To be a dutiful son and gentleman. And why? Out of a sense of duty.

Duty. That was what Jessamine had said about the Shakers. That they had duties. Had she returned to them out of her sense of duty?

He pushed the thought aside as he began laying clothes in his bag. She made her choice. Whatever the reason.

He had to make some choices of his own. He was free to go west now the way he’d planned before his mother interfered. “Strike it rich” stories were still coming in from California. It would be good to be in the wild, seeing new territory, putting out of his mind everything about White Oak Springs. The first day of July would be a good time to begin over. He’d simply wipe away the last few weeks. Forget love.

She had chosen. So he would do the same. Choose to begin again. He would not forget his beautiful Jessamine. She would go with him in his memory and in his heart. He would remember how she’d looked, searching for him in the water while he was drowning. He’d seen her with more than his eyes as he’d floated above the water. Perhaps that was when he’d imagined the words of love because he’d felt that love. It was her love that had pulled him back to life when the light had faded and darkness had wanted to take him.

He would remember that love and the light. Scraps of Bible verses surfaced from some deep well of memory.
I am come a light into the world. And the light shineth in the darkness.
He would not step back into that darkness ever again.

He was about to fasten his case when he heard a soft knock on his door. When he didn’t answer right away, the knock came again. This time stronger and more determined. Not his mother, for she would not knock from the hallway. Perhaps the lawyer or Dr. Hargrove. That would be good. He would be spared the chore of finding suitable words to pen a note to his mother.

When he opened the door, Viola Cleveland had her hand up ready to knock yet again. “Oh good. I was concerned you might be too deeply asleep to hear me and I did so want to speak to you before we left.”

“You’re leaving?”

Tristan could not imagine why she had come to talk to him. It certainly wouldn’t be proper to invite her in. But she didn’t appear to be worried about her reputation as she stepped past him and into the room.

“Please shut the door,” she said. “Unless you are worried about propriety.”

“I think that is your worry, madam, and not mine.”

When she waved a hand in dismissal, Tristan shut the door and offered her the only chair in the room. As she perched on the chair, he awkwardly leaned back against the bed and waited for her to reveal the purpose of her visit. Laura had been right about her mother. She was far from the timid creature he had assumed she might be on their first meeting. Sitting there with her eyes leveled on him, she reminded him of his mother but without the pose of Southern charm.

She didn’t bother with polite chitchat as her eyes went to his open case on the bed. “You are going after her?” It was half inquiry, half command.

“After who? Laura?” He shifted uneasily against the bed. Surely she didn’t expect that.

“No, of course not. Laura finally came to her senses. Thank goodness. Saved me a good deal of grief in going against Robert.” She pierced him with a steady stare. “I am quite aware you had little interest in Laura. The two of you were making a deal as if love were no more than a piece of cloth that could be measured and bought and made into a serviceable coat.”

“I liked Laura.”

“More reason than ever not to deny her a chance to be loved.” She got to her feet and stepped over in front of Tristan to poke her finger into his chest. “Jessamine. I’m talking about Jessamine. Any fool could see the two of you were in love. Don’t run from that. Grab it with both hands. It’s not a gift given to every person.”

“She made her choice to return to the Shakers. I have to honor that.” The words seemed even sadder when spoken aloud.

“Men. Southern men in particular.” She blew out an irritated breath of air. “Gentlemen to the core but with such blinders on you can only see straight ahead to what you’ve been told is your duty to family, God, and country. Injustice can bubble and boil all around you, but if it’s the way it’s always been, then you can’t see it.”

He looked at her with a puzzled frown. “I did no injustice to Jessamine.”

“Do forgive me. I do not do well in the South. Being in such familiar contact with the institution of slavery upsets me greatly.” She shut her eyes a brief moment as she pulled in a calming breath. “And you could be right that you have done no injustice to Jessamine and then again, you may be very wrong.”

“She is the one who left. Not me.”

“She left because she thought you were marrying Laura. I spoke with her maid. It was very evident to her that Jessamine is much in love with you and in deep sadness at the thought of you marrying another.” Her eyes narrowed on him. “I heard Jessamine speak those words myself and saw the sorrow they brought her. The thought of you wedding Laura.”

“I did tell her that,” Tristan said. “But I was going to tell her differently. Even before I knew Laura left, I was going to tell her differently.”

“She had no way of knowing that.”

“She knew her father left with Laura.”

“That is where you are wrong.” Mrs. Cleveland pinned him with her eyes. “She did not. She left before the morning meal. She only had her father’s letter. The maid showed it to me. The silly man wrapped his leaving in such pretty words, his note told her nothing other than that she should trust him and wait for love to come grab her. I’m sure that is what he thought would happen when he spirited Laura away in the night. Poor Sheldon. He has written so many romantic novels he must have forgotten the art of clear communication. I fear he will be distraught when he finds his words sent Jessamine running back to the Shakers.”

Tristan didn’t know what to say.

The woman’s face softened and her eyes were suddenly sad. “As distraught as you were. As you are.”

“I love her.” The simple words rose from deep inside him.

“I know you do.” She touched his arm. “Go after her. It’s not too late. It is never too late for love. Even your mother is discovering that.”

“Do you love Mr. Cleveland?” He didn’t know why he asked the question, but he did want to know her answer.

“I do. It surprises me every time I realize it.” She laughed. “I can’t live with him every day of the year, but I do love him. It’s good we have two houses.”

Tristan stared at her as hope began to awaken inside him. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I am not the one who needs to hear your words.” She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a tight roll of bills. “Here, you may need this.”