The Gifted (6 page)

“A few sips of water will lubricate your tongue.” When the woman smiled, even more wrinkles appeared in her face. She slid her arm behind him to lift his head so he could drink from the glass she offered him.

When he gulped the water greedily, she pulled the glass away. “It is best to take in the water slower. You don’t want to lose it all on your clean bed if it lands too hard in your stomach and rebounds back out.”

She put the glass back to his lips, and he did as she said and let the water trickle into his mouth. It was cool and refreshing. This time she held the glass to his mouth until every drop slid down his throat.

“Thank you,” he said as she lowered his head back down on the pillow.

“So your voice returns,” the woman said as she sat down on a chair pulled up close to the bed. “And what of your name? Has memory of it returned as well?”

“My name?”

“Yea, the young sisters who brought you to the village said you claimed to have no memory of who you are.”

He did remember then. More than the beautiful face surrounded by white. He remembered his confusion of thought and the odd feeling of being completely adrift with no memory of who he was or what he was doing. And the sensible sister talking of gunfire.

“Was I shot?” he asked. He lifted a hand to the bandage above his ear. His other arm was bound to a hard, flat piece of wood.

“Yea, it appears so. You have a bullet crease to the side of your head. An inch to the right and you would be talking to your Maker instead of me.” She kept smiling as if that idea was no reason for concern.

“Who shot me?”

“That might be something you would have more knowledge of than I.” The color of her eyes might be faded and deep wrinkles might be lining her cheeks, but there was no dimming of the mind of the woman staring at him. When he made no answer, she went on. “Our young sisters heard the shot but saw no one but you in the woods. They were quite brave to offer you help.”

“Or foolish,” Tristan said.

“Yea, foolishness is a trait of one of the sisters, but you might be indebted to her foolishness on this occasion. The section of the woods where they found you was far from any sign of civilization. You might have long laid in the woods without their intercession on your behalf.”

“And whoever shot me might have come back to finish the job.”

“So you know someone was trying to harm you?” She leaned forward in her chair as though to better hear him. “That it was not an accident?”

“I remember nothing about it, mistress . . .” He hesitated. “If you’ve told me your name, I don’t remember that either.”

“Or your own?” She fixed her eyes on him again as she awaited his answer.

“Or my own,” he said easily. It had been true out in the woods when he said the same to the sister with the beautiful eyes. His confusion then was real enough. He’d been floating in an unknown sea. But now while his thoughts remained jumbled, he did know his name. Tristan Cooper. But it seemed the better part of wisdom to not claim clarity of mind until he knew more about where he was and what had happened to land him there.

“There was nothing on your person to reveal your name or where you are from,” the old woman said.

“Do you think I could have been set upon by robbers?”

“That is a possibility,” she conceded. “It is wrong of me to question you when you are in such a weakened state. You are in need of nourishment now that you have returned to a conscious state. And Brother Benjamin will want to examine you.”

She pushed herself up from the chair. She wore a white apron over a dark gray dress with a white collar lapped across the front. The same type of collar had covered the bodices of the dresses of the two young women who had brought him here from the woods. He didn’t remember much about the ride once the young woman had managed to clamber up on the horse in front of him. He remembered even less about this place. Nothing but a vision of a large white building that made him wonder about heaven again and then grim men in black who had him more concerned with being carried into the underworld.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had that concern. Such dark dreams tormented him when the fever had overtaken him while he was fighting in Mexico. The army doctor said he expected him to die then. Men on every side of him did surrender to death from the same cause. Not bullets or artillery fire, but fever burning away their lives.

He reached out to grasp the woman’s apron skirt before she could move away from the bed. “Have you forgotten your name too?”

She laughed then. A pleasant sound even with the rumble of age in it. “Nay, I have forgotten little in my lifetime. I am Sister Lettie. For many years, I was the closest person they had to a doctor here in the village, but then Brother Benjamin came among us. An answer to prayer, since age was stealing my stamina to properly tend to the ill among us. Now I watch his healing and sit with the sick as I finish out my time of usefulness.”

“What is this place?” Tristan asked. “You wear the same type dress as the girls who found me in the woods and they called each other sister as well. While I can imagine the two of them sisters, you appear too old to be a sister to them.”

“We are all sisters and brothers here. You are in the village of Harmony Hill. Have you heard of the Believers in the Second Appearing of Christ, more commonly called the Shakers among those of the world?”

“Shakers?” Tristan tried to think.

“You might have seen our seeds or used our potions. Our trading brothers carry our products far and wide.”

“I guess I haven’t had much need of seeds. Or potions up until now.” Tristan put his hand up to his head. It was beginning to ache and he had to fight the desire to close his eyes and sink back down on the pillow instead of seeking answers.

“If the Shaker name does not bring forth some memory, then I daresay you are not from any of the parts nearby.”

“I could have simply been riding through.”

“That could be,” Sister Lettie agreed with a smile. “If so, you have been forced into a delay of your trip, but have no fear. Elder Joseph will send word to the sheriff that you are here. He will know if your people are searching for you. We were simply waiting for you to come to consciousness to see if you remembered who you were.”

“And now I don’t.”

“Now you don’t, but your memory will no doubt return,” Sister Lettie said. “You are young and in fine health. That will work in your favor.”

“How long have I been here?”

“This is the second day. Brother Benjamin determined sleep would best serve you. His draughts gave you healing rest.”

“Two days.” He tried to remember, but there was nothing after the vision of the white building rising before his eyes and the men coming for him. Only a black void. “Was I out of my head the whole time?”

“Not exactly out of your head. More in a state of sleep. Brought on by Brother Benjamin’s medicine. Fear not. He will explain more when he comes to examine you.”

“Why do you think I am fearful?”

“The way you hold to me.” She glanced down at his hand gripping her apron.

He turned loose as he murmured, “Forgive me. I do feel odd. I wouldn’t say exactly afraid. More unsettled not knowing where I am.”

“Or who you are?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Or who I am,” he agreed. He had the feeling she knew he wasn’t being truthful. To take her mind from that, he asked, “Can I see the young sisters who brought me here?”

“Nay, that would not be allowed. They did their duty in helping one in need, but the Ministry would not give permission for them to have improper intercourse with one of the world. Such might lead to sinful thinking.”

“I’m talking to you.”

She laughed again. “But I am old. And a person of medical abilities. The Ministry doesn’t concern themselves with requiring me to follow all the rules to the letter. In the infirmary we must attend to the needs of our patients. That is the first rule. To heal.”

“I only wanted to thank them.”

“I will convey your thanks by the proper channels to Sisters Jessamine and Annie.”

“Yes, Jessamine.” With the name, her face floated in front of his eyes again. “Was she as beautiful as I remember?”

“Our Sister Jessamine is very fair of face. Another perfectly sound reason to not put either of you in temptation’s pathway. She is learning to be a proper Believer and you will recover your memory and be on about your life. Unless you decide to listen to the true way of the Believers and throw your lot in with us.”

He put his hand to his head. “I know nothing about your ways.”

“True enough, and I have let you talk much too long. I can see that your head is thumping again.” She refilled the glass with water from a pitcher and stirred in some powders. “This will help.”

He drank without protest. She left him alone then. He heard the door shut behind her. He heard no lock turn and thought to follow her out of the room to see the place he was in. But when he tried to sit up, the room began spinning. So instead he lay back on the pillow and wondered how long he could manage to hide here.

He didn’t know who had shot at him or why. Had it been done in calculated anger or by chance? He forced himself to concentrate on what might have happened in the woods but accomplished nothing more than making his head pound even more fiercely. Whatever memory he had of that had been wiped away by the path of the bullet or perhaps the bang to the head. He gingerly felt the back of his head and winced when he touched a swelling there.

He’d seen men in the war in Mexico lose rational thought with the guns blazing around them. He had not. Instead everything had been clearer and emblazoned on his memory with the prospect of death stalking him with each boom of the artillery or gunfire, but he was no longer on a battlefield. Nor did he have any reason to think someone had a desire to shoot him. It was surely no more than an accident or the random misfortune of being set upon by a highwayman robber. As far as he knew, he had no avowed enemies anxious to waylay him in the woods.

Even so, until he knew that for a certainty, it might be best to take advantage of these Shaker people’s kindness. Besides, the fact he had a bullet crease in his head wasn’t the only reason he hadn’t admitted to his name. Laura Cleveland. She was the reason. She and his mother.

His mother had met Laura the summer before at one of the popular Kentucky springs where the waters were touted to cure everything from rheumatism to melancholy. Or spinsterhood.

Not that Laura had much chance of turning into a spinster. She was a lovely girl from a fine family. As Tristan’s mother continually reminded him, Laura would make someone a wonderful wife, but so far Tristan had no desire for that someone to be him. She had a way of twisting her mouth into an unflattering bow, and something about her eyes bothered him.

When he made the mistake of sharing those thoughts with his mother, she got that look he spent most of his childhood trying to avoid.

“There is nothing at all wrong with Laura Cleveland’s eyes,” she said and, after a moment’s hesitation to recall the color, added, “A refreshing pale blue, aren’t they?”

“Very pale. More gray than blue,” Tristan said. The gray of an overcast sky in the winter.

His mother’s brown eyes had darkened and flashed with anger. “You are in no position to reject such a favorable match as Laura Cleveland because of the color of her eyes.”

Tristan hadn’t backed down. Not then. “It’s not the color of her eyes. It’s the lack of interest I see in them. I do not make her pulse quicken. Nor does she mine.”

Her mouth turned up in a grim smile. “Good heavens, Tristan, I would have thought your time with the army would have divested you of such youthful romantic ideas.”

“I have no wish to tie myself to someone I don’t love or who doesn’t love me.”

“Love.” His mother waved her hand through the air as though dismissing the word. “The kind you’re talking about is no more than a whisper in the wind that passes through and leaves behind nothing of real worth. Best to look straight at the reality of one’s prospects.”

“Is that what you did with Father? Made a coldhearted decision to wed and bear him children without the first consideration of love?”

The flicker of pain that crossed her face made Tristan sorry he had allowed her to goad him into unkind words. His father had gone to war with him and carried home to Georgia the fever that had nearly killed Tristan. His father had not been strong enough to fight it off. He’d been dead nearly a year.

Her voice softened as she answered him. “Love can grow between two people if they go into a union with a proper attitude. Our parents favored our marriage and it was advantageous to both of us. For one, you were a result of that union.” She reached over and put her hand on his cheek with affection. “You and Laura will make a lovely couple.”

“I don’t think—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Every trace of softness left her face as she cut off his words. “Sometimes you think too much, Tristan. But if you want to think, then think on this. Your father neglected his business when he went off to fight the Mexicans and came home too ill to have any thought of the future. We are in danger of losing everything.” She stared up at him to be sure he understood her words. “Everything. Do you understand that? Our home. Our position in Atlanta society. Everything.”

He wanted to tell her he cared nothing about any of that, but she was his mother. As her only son, it was his duty to take care of her. She had lost so much in the last two years. Her husband. Her daughter to childbirth fever and the highly anticipated grandchild with her. There had been a few times since he’d returned home that he feared she might be losing her sanity. And other times he thought it likely he might lose his if he didn’t get away from her demands. Or give in to them.

And so he had agreed to spend the month at White Oak Springs. Courting Laura Cleveland. Perhaps that would give him time to find another way or to become more appreciative of Laura’s charms and she of his.

He did push a warning at his mother. “You should be aware that Miss Cleveland has given absolutely no indication that my court is welcome. She may already have a beau.”