That’s what these strange people called Shakers claimed to do. War against the devil in search of a perfect life. One devoid of sin of any kind. Toward that end they kept the men and women strictly separated. Even to having two front doors in every building that might be entered by both men and women. One door for the sisters and one for the brethren. Sister Lettie assured him it was a good way. One that kept sin from their thresholds.
He had doubts sin was so easy to bar from their houses. Every preacher he’d ever known had expounded at length about the sinfulness of man. Not that Tristan had worried that much about his sinful nature in the last few years. He’d left church behind even before the war. Any remnants of faith he’d carried with him to Mexico were lost on the battlefields. Others beside him had called out to God. Vainly. The shells kept exploding. Men fell and bled out their lives on foreign soil just the same, whether they were faithful believers or the worst rabble-rouser. It mattered not. Nor did prayers keep the fever from felling those standing at the end of the battles. There was no mercy.
He didn’t tell all that to Brother Benjamin, although the man might have listened with patience. The doctor was a big man, thick through the chest and broad across the shoulders, but his hands had the gentleness of a woman as he treated Tristan’s wound.
“It is good that your memory is coming back.” The doctor paused in applying the ointment to Tristan’s head to study his face after he came out with the name. “Philip. Is that a surname or your given name?”
“My given name,” Tristan said and then had no idea what last name to speak. It didn’t seem right to steal poor dead Jeffries entire name.
Brother Benjamin waited a moment before he said, “Has your memory only yielded up the one name?”
Tristan could hear no censure in the Shaker man’s words, but he noted a flicker of distrust in his eyes. Tristan spotted a bottle labeled rosewater behind the doctor’s head and quickly said, “Rose. Philip Rose.”
Brother Benjamin nodded with a smile. “A name is a valuable memory. What else have you remembered?”
“How can I know what I might have forgotten?” Tristan asked.
“You knew you’d forgotten your name.”
“Only because I thought to tell it to the young sisters who rescued me and nothing was there to say.”
“That makes a measure of sense. So perhaps I should ask questions to test your memory for answers.” The doctor leaned forward to finish bandaging Tristan’s head. “You are healing well.”
“That wasn’t much more than a scratch. The arm is the problem.” Tristan held up his splinted arm.
“Temporary only.” Brother Benjamin lifted a chair down from the pegs. “The bones will knit back together soon enough and give you little more trouble.”
Brother Benjamin set the chair next to Tristan’s bed and blew out an easy breath as he settled in it as if Tristan were his only patient. Tristan had no idea whether that was true or not. He’d only been out of the room once after the old sister encouraged him to step out into the doctor’s garden early yesterday morning to fill his lungs with fresh air.
It had been good to be on his feet again and nice to walk through the garden that abounded with all sorts of plants. Some with flowers. Some without. In front of the building a few Shaker people had hurried along the paths through the early morning air with purpose in their steps. The women all wore white collars and aprons over plain dresses the same as Sister Lettie and the young sisters who’d found him in the woods. The men also had their uniform of light-colored shirts and dark pants held up by suspenders. The women’s faces were partially hidden by their bonnets and the men’s eyes shaded by their straw hats.
The people walked singly and without conversation, seemingly intent only on their destinations. They didn’t exactly move past him with haste but with more of a determined, even pace like that of a person setting out on a long journey. While he had stared without polite restraint at them, only one of the Shakers passing the few feet from where he stood gave him more than a bare glance.
That one had been a young girl. For a moment, he thought it might be the young sister from the woods, but when the girl paused on the path to look directly toward him, it was not. A pretty girl, but not the vision of beauty he remembered seeing when he opened his eyes in the woods.
The Shaker girl eyed him so boldly that he raised his hand and called a greeting to her. Her face exploded into a smile as she took a step off the path toward the doctor’s garden. But whatever she was opening her mouth to say was swept away by an older woman rushing forward to put her arm around the girl’s waist and hustle her on along the pathway. Tristan couldn’t hear the woman’s words, but it was plain she was berating the girl.
Sister Lettie informed him later in the day that it would be best if he did not attempt to speak to any of the Shaker sisters. Such contact would be an unnecessary distraction from the sisters’ assigned duties.
Tristan needed a distraction now to turn Brother Benjamin’s piercing eyes away from him before he saw through Tristan’s lies. He wasn’t even sure why he’d pulled the fake name out of the air. Why not admit his real name and where he was from? Why did the idea of the Shakers calling in the county sheriff worry him? He had no reason to fear the law.
Tristan reached up to touch the bandage around his head. Somebody had shot him. He should want to see the sheriff, to bring the culprit to justice. But he had no idea who the culprit was or why anybody would shoot at him. Just thinking about it made his head ache. Had someone really intended to kill him? And if they had, were they simply waiting for him to show his face again to take better aim the next time? But why? That was what he needed to figure out.
Nothing about that returned to his memory. His name came back. He remembered his mother’s plans and Laura offering him her cheek for a lukewarm kiss after the dance on Saturday. He shifted on the hard, narrow bed and met Brother Benjamin’s steady gaze. Lying about his name wasn’t doing the kind Shakers any harm. Tristan simply wanted to hide here among these peaceful people a few days while he got things straight in his mind. Even if the wound turned out to be from a random bullet, he still had a dilemma. Propose to a woman he didn’t love or run away and desert his mother with nothing except a ledger full of debts?
If he joined the Shakers, that dilemma would disappear. No marrying allowed in this village, or so the old sister told him. Perhaps that’s what he should do. Just become Philip Rose, a new brother in the village. His mother could even join him here and then all their problems would be solved. At the thought of his mother wearing the somber dresses with a bonnet covering her elaborately coiffed hair, he almost laughed. Simple living was not his mother’s style.
Nor his. Before Mexico, his life was one big round of socials and parties in between university sessions where he was simply marking time before going to work in the family business. His Grandfather Whitley had made a fortune in the buggy business, and just as his father had taken over for his father-in-law, Tristan was expected to step into his father’s shoes to keep the company going. Business was good. The Whitley buggy could be spotted on most any city street in the south. Selling buggies wasn’t the problem. The problem was selling enough buggies to make up for the speculative investing his father had done in various friends’ shaky endeavors. That lost capital had endangered the family’s fortune to the point Tristan’s mother was ready to barter her son for a fresh influx of security.
Not exactly how he might wish his future. But some things a person couldn’t escape. Duty to family was one of those things. It was his duty to step up to save the honor of the family name. To become a gentleman businessman. To pass the family wealth down to the next generation. He could not give in to the desire to do something more exciting than making deals to sell more buggies while smoking cigars in a gentleman’s club. Something more than charming the richest girl to accept his proposal and maintain his mother’s social standing.
He didn’t know exactly what that would be. P
rior to the war, he’d been happy enough to drift along waiting for his purpose in life to find him. The war had changed that. Made him want to grab hold of life and get good out of every minute.
Before his mother sent him news of his father’s death, he was considering going west to be part of the new frontier in California. Nothing his grandparents and parents had done in Georgia would matter. He’d be judged solely on his own merits. It might be good to see the spoils of the war. To explore and wonder and build.
But those thoughts were no more than a dream that would never come true. A man in his position had responsibilities. His mother told him as much. His father’s lawyers told him as much. Laura’s father would tell him as much. A man could not play at exploring all his days. There came a time of reckoning and it would be well for him to remember that.
Unless he became a Shaker like the man quietly waiting for Tristan to admit to his past. Even thinking that as a joke was crazy, but then as he stared at Brother Benjamin, it suddenly didn’t seem all that much worse than the future waiting for him back at White Oak Springs.
Tristan didn’t want to think about that. So instead of waiting for the doctor to voice his questions, he asked one of him. “Were you a doctor before you came here?”
“Yea. I have only been in the village five years.” Brother Benjamin didn’t seem to mind the question. He sat straight in the chair with his hands spread out flat on his knees. A portrait of calm.
Tristan wondered if he could come up with any question that could upset that calm. “What made you decide to come live here?”
“I originally joined with a village in the east. But they had need for a doctor here at Harmony Hill, and I wanted to use my healing gifts where they were most needed. So when the Ministry asked me to come west, I was pleased to comply with their directive.”
“Did you have family in the east?” It sounded very desirable to simply leave family and responsibilities behind, but at the same time, difficult to actually do.
“My worldly wife came into the Society with me. We embraced our new life fully. She with as much zeal as I. Our fondness for one another easily changed into the filial love that is so strong amongst all the Believers. The last time I heard news of Sister Eleanor, she was settled and peacefully so with the New Lebanon Society.”
“What about your children? Did they join up as well?”
“Our children were of the age to make their own decisions. Two followed us into the Society, but one of those did not endure. He left for the tribulations of the world.” A frown flickered across the doctor’s face, but could not seem to make enough of an impression in the man’s peaceful demeanor to linger there. “I continue to hope for him to see the error of his ways and seek salvation again, but not all are suited to the Shaker way.”
“Do you think I would be? Suited to your ways?” Tristan asked, even though he had no serious interest in withdrawing so completely from the world. At least not forever.
The doctor smiled. “That is something each person must determine for himself. Those who have interest in learning more about our ways are always welcome to come live among us for a time.”
“You don’t have to sign any papers? Pay for your keep? You can just come?”
“I thought I was to ask questions of you and now here you are the one with questions spilling out. Sister Lettie has told me of your inquiring mind. So let me try to explain.” Brother Benjamin paused as though to marshal his thoughts. “Those who choose to stay among us do sign a Covenant of Belief, but not until they are sure of their course. The Covenant is simply an agreement to abide by the rules established by the Ministry that helps our communities maintain peace and unity of purpose. Those who join our Society agree to turn over their property to the ownership of all, confess their sins, and embrace celibacy.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Brother Benjamin’s smile disappeared. “That is a question that has bedeviled man for centuries. A question doctors such as myself have been trying to answer in a thousand different ways. Why do fevers carry off one person and hardly bother another? Why does the heavenly Father let us discover the cure for some diseases and hide the cure for others? Why is man so intent on the destruction of peace even to the sacrifice of life? Why are there so many ways to die?”
Tristan stared at the doctor, not sure what to say.
The man’s smile returned. “But none of those are the question you asked, are they? I’m thinking you simply want to know why marriage is forbidden in our midst.”
“I used to go to church. I never heard any preacher speak against getting married. Most seemed taken with the idea of joining people in holy matrimony.”
“Our Mother Ann received a different vision. God revealed a new plan for peace and right living to her. Individual families carry too much of a burden and cause stress that pulls one away from worship of the Lord. Christ did not marry. We are to allow the Christ spirit to dwell within us and to love all with equal caring and not focus our love on the few who might share a similar name.”
“But . . .”
Brother Benjamin reached over and touched Tristan’s arms. “Perhaps that idea disturbs you because you have a wife in the world worried about what has happened to you.”
“No,” Tristan said quickly and then backed from his fast denial. “At least I’m fairly certain I do not. I think that is something I would remember.”
“So is your name.” The doctor sat back in his chair and studied him. “Do you remember where you’re from?”
“Texas.” He didn’t know why he lied about that. Georgia would have been just as distant to this little village.
Brother Benjamin lifted his eyebrows a bit in surprise. “A ways from home then. Why are you in Kentucky? Relatives here? Business?”
Tristan frowned and shut his eyes as though concentrating on remembering. He had no idea what reason to give. That was the trouble with lies. One kept leading to another. He wasn’t a good liar. Had never been good at inventing the truth. Although if his situation with Laura Cleveland was any indication, he was getting more practiced at it. His every attention to her had been a lie.
“I don’t know,” Tristan finally said. It wasn’t totally a lie. He didn’t know why he’d been riding through the woods. Everything about that day before he saw those beautiful blue eyes staring down at him were a dark cauldron of forgetfulness.
“You have made a good beginning. Let your mind rest again now.” Brother Benjamin leaned forward to pat Tristan’s arm before he stood up. “And if you do decide to learn more about our ways, you will be welcome among us, Brother Philip. The way of salvation is open to all who will accept it.”
“I am curious about your ways. Your quest for peace and harmony among your brothers and sisters.” Tristan felt guilty about lying to this good man, but he wouldn’t be among them for long. A few days of lies. Harmless lies. He pushed himself up off the bed. “Is it all right if I go walk in your garden again? Sister Lettie said the good air might help clear my head.”
“There are those who claim poisons ride in the air ready to slay us with sickness, but Sister Lettie is right about the air in a garden. It surely carries as much healing power as any of the roots I grind.” He hung his chair upside down on the wall pegs. “We will talk more on the morrow.”
It was good to feel the strength returning to his legs as he walked through the doctor’s garden. Sister Lettie had told him that each plant there had a healing purpose. But as the sun began to sink toward the western horizon, Tristan thought their healing purpose was more than the roots and berries or leaves. He remembered their backyard garden in Atlanta with the vibrant azalea blooms in the spring to the fragrant camellias in November. But he’d never dug the hole for the first planting in it. They had servants for that.
This garden was different. Subdued in comparison to the ones he’d known in the south or even to those at White Oak Springs. Here, some of the blooms were hardly to be noticed and instead, the greenery was lush
and full. Yet it was orderly. Even the rose gardens he could see in a field behind the white stone house were orderly. Rows upon rows stretching away but with few blooms. Sister Lettie said that was because the petals were picked for the rosewater that had loaned him his name.
Tristan pulled a small dark-green leaf off a bush and rubbed it between his fingers, releasing its minty scent. He wondered if the mint healed anything or perhaps it was only used to soften the bitter taste of some of the doctor’s tonics. He had no doubt it had a purpose.
Everything in this village seemed to have a purpose. Everything but him. He’d thought to find a purpose when he went to war, but the battles did no more than demonstrate there was no purpose to life if it could be given up so easily and for so little gain. While he had made it through the battles and fought off the fever, his survival seemed due merely to chance, nothing more.
His mother would say he had a purpose. To keep her in rubies and feathers. To marry Laura Cleveland and produce the next generation of Coopers who might have no purpose except to do the same. Tristan wanted more. He wanted to have a reason to step out on the paths of life and walk with determined step like the odd Shaker people passing by the doctor’s garden with eyes downcast, thinking only of their purpose.
What had Sister Lettie told him? That they worshiped through their work. Tristan didn’t know about the worshiping. But purposeful work—something to do that mattered—that sounded worth pursuing. Even if it was nothing more than making a better buggy the way his grandfather Whitley had done. Doing something besides dancing attendance on a woman he didn’t love to satisfy a woman he’d never been able to please.
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