“Boots in the stirrups help,” he said even as he wobbled to the side a bit. She grabbed hold of his waistcoat to steady him, but it was more than obvious that if he continued to fall, she would have to turn him loose or be subject to following him to the ground.
“I think it might work better if you move in front of me,” he said. “That way I can hang onto you and conquer the dizziness, and you can hold onto the pommel of the saddle or my good horse’s mane. Your sensible sister can lead us along toward your village.”
Jessamine slid awkwardly off the horse but managed to land on her feet. It was easier climbing back on with the man helping her with his good arm. He scooted back in the saddle to make room, but there was no air between them. She was the same as sitting in his lap.
Sister Annie looked at her with eyes wide as saucers and a red blush warming her cheeks. “Are you sure you can ride thus, Sister Jessamine?”
Jessamine had no problem reading her thoughts. More sin to confess. “Yea, I think I am too tightly wedged into the saddle to fall off.”
“Your falling off was not my chief concern.” She raised her eyebrows at Jessamine.
“Yea, but our injured brother falling off is our chief concern. This does seem to be the best way.”
“Brother. Am I your brother?” The man wrapped his good arm around Jessamine and leaned against her back.
“All men are our brothers,” Jessamine said.
“That sounds like Bible talk. But I think I would much prefer you not be my sister.”
Jessamine didn’t know what to say to that, so she ignored his words and pointed Sister Annie in the direction of the village. She was relieved when the man said no more. She had enough confusion running through her mind from the feel of his body against her without the addition of words with uncertain meaning. As they made their way slowly through the trees, she told herself she was nothing more than a post the man was clinging to for support.
His body leaned more heavily against hers and she thought he might be losing consciousness. She sat strong and steady even after her shoulders began to ache under his weight. They would soon be in the village where she could give over the burden of the man to the brethren. She would seek out Sister Sophrena and confess the sin of touching the man. But she wouldn’t feel remorse even if Sister Sophrena told her she should. And she wouldn’t forget. The prince of her imagination had become a man of flesh and muscle and bone.
Then Sister Annie’s words from earlier whispered back through Jessamine’s mind. This man of the world is no prince.
Journal Entry
Harmony Hill Village
Entered on this 12th day of June in the year 1849
by Sister Sophrena Prescott
My fears about allowing Sister Jessamine to go searching for raspberry vines in the woods turned out to be well founded. She and Sister Annie brought no berries home in their buckets. But they did bring back something. At near dark when I had all but given up on them and was ready to seek out Elder Joseph to see what would be best to do to find our lost sisters, they appeared out of the gloaming.
At first I thought it might be no more than a vision brought on by my worry. Sister Annie leading a horse when I know her fear of the large animals and Sister Jessamine astride that very horse with a man of the world wrapped as close to her as the shuck on an ear of corn. He was slumped, his head resting on her shoulder. It was plain to see by her pale face that his weight was a burden she struggled to bear as she leaned a bit forward over the horse’s neck to give the man better support. Her skirts were bunched up as she sat astride the horse with no way to maintain any sort of proper modesty.
I went out to meet them. I thought it best to hear at least part of their story before raising the cry for help. Sister Annie’s tears began spurting as soon as she saw me. Her cap was sitting askew and words begging forgiveness spilled out of her mouth. I touched her face and bade her be silent as I looked up at Sister Jessamine.
“He is injured,” she said. “His head and his arm. We knew naught else to do but bring him here. He cannot remember where he lives. Or even his name.”
She wore none of the ready guilt on her face like that showing so clearly on Sister Annie’s. Instead her eyes challenged me to find wrong in what she was doing. Not the first time I’ve seen that look in our sister’s eyes. She often stumbles over the tried-and-true rules handed down by the Ministry. Nay, more than stumbles. She does her best to step over them or run around them without consideration of how those very rules are what make our village and every village of Believers veritable paradises on earth.
I took the reins and sent Sister Annie for help as there were no other brothers or sisters on the road or pathways. All were in the upper rooms practicing their worship songs. I could hear the voices drifting down to where we stood on the road. In my worry, I had deliberately chosen to neglect my duty of gathering with my family. As it turned out, my concern for my little sisters was not alleviated by the sight of them coming home. New concerns surfaced.
The man raised his head to peer down at me, but the movement must have made him ill for he began retching. If I had not stepped back quickly, my dress would have been quite ruined. Not that such would matter. Dresses can be laundered. Sister Jessamine grasped his arm that was about her waist and somehow they managed to stay on the horse in spite of his heaves. The man mumbled something I could not properly hear but that might have been an apology for his sickness. Sister Jessamine kept her firm hold on his arm, and he dropped his head back on her shoulder as if it were a welcome respite.
When he seemed settled, I led the horse forward to a fresh spot on the road. It was a relief to see the brethren hurrying from the house and then Brother Benjamin was there directing us to the infirmary in the Centre House before the brethren tried to lift the stranger from the horse. Once in front of the building, the men took him down gently although he seemed to turn loose of Sister Jessamine with some reluctance. His left arm was bound to his chest by strips from her apron that were stained with blood.
Her collar too bore the evidence of the man’s blood. So even though I had many questions, I chose to wait to ask them until this day. I thought it better to send the young sisters to their rooms to clean themselves before the retiring bell rang and let confession of their wrongs wait for the morrow.
Sister Annie was waiting for me at first light. She told me in detail all that happened with no hesitation. Sister Jessamine will come to me later today to make her own confessions. She will tell a different story, but one that will seem as true to her. Her mind thinks differently. In spite of being with us for so many years, I fear that inside she remains the child who ran so free in her natural grandmother’s woods and knew nothing of the real world. All was a lark to her until the grandmother’s death. She still knows little of the world. For since that time she has lived among us where peace reigns and the evils of the world are shut away. Sometimes I think it might have been better if she had experienced more of the wickedness of the world as our Sister Annie has. Then she might feel more readiness to accept the Shaker way and mash down the curiosity that continually trips her up. We shall see what she has to say for herself.
The man they brought into the village remains a mystery. He claims to not know his name. Brother Benjamin reports that possible with a head injury. It appears he was shot and the bullet grazed the side of his head. Brother Benjamin says the lapse of memory was not caused by the bullet wound, but rather a blow to the back of the head. Brother Benjamin has set the man’s arm and dressed his wound, but says only the Eternal Father knows if or when the man might come to his senses. If we are unable to determine from whence he comes, Elder Joseph will send for the town’s sheriff. The gunshot wound is a worry. We have no desire to harbor a fugitive from the law.
4
Tristan Cooper had no idea where he was when he opened his eyes to see a wrinkled face peering down at him. Her white cap and collar pulled up a memory of beautiful blue eyes gazing down at hi
m, but whatever beauty might have once shone in this woman’s face had long since surrendered to age.
Perhaps he had done no more than dreamed the other face. The very memory seemed to be drifting in the fog of his mind, untethered to any actual happening.
“Hello, young brother. Are you ready to return to the land of the living?” There was kindness in the old woman’s voice.
Brother. His lips tried to form the word to speak it aloud, but his mouth was too dry, and the sound he uttered made no sense even to his own ears. But her addressing him as brother brought the memory of the striking blue eyes sharper. It had not been a dream. One with those eyes had found him in the woods. They had ridden his horse to her village. Her name. She told him her name, but it hid in the murkiness of his mind. He could not call it forth.
He wondered if this woman leaning over him now could be her grandmother. Or great-grandmother. She looked ancient, and though the blue of her eyes was faded like the blue of a cloth washed and hung in the sun to dry on too many days, they might have once been the vivid blue of the girl’s eyes.
“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 s
tate 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.”
The Gifted Page 4