“Rumor has it you think you can, but you should know that I intend to marry Laura Cleveland. Whatever it takes.” Green continued to look out toward the lake as though he were talking about nothing more important than how pleasant the night air felt after the heat of the day.
“Whatever it takes. Strong words,” Tristan said.
“But words you can be sure I mean.” The man slowly turned his eyes from the lake back to Tristan. “I’m a man who gets what he wants. And I want Laura Cleveland.”
Tristan couldn’t keep from smiling at the man’s delusional thinking. “Don’t you think Laura might have something to say about that?”
“Women.” Green threw up his hand as though waving away the thought like a pesky mosquito. “They don’t know what they want. Her father will decide for her and he had about made up his mind in my favor before your mother began talking you up like the second coming. As though riding off to fight in Mexico made you some kind of hero.” His voice carried a tone of ridicule.
“No hero here,” Tristan said evenly. “At least we can agree on that, but I think you’d better cast your eye in some direction other than Laura.”
Green let a smile slip across his face. “Oh, you mean like that writer’s daughter. The Shaker girl. She’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? And so innocent any man probably could lead her down some interesting paths with a few fancy words.”
Tristan curled his good hand up into a fist. The thought of this man even looking at Jessamine was enough to make him want to knock the smile off his face. The man’s smile got wider. It was evident he was doing his best to goad Tristan, but if Tristan had learned nothing else in Mexico, he’d learned not to fight foolish men. Tristan pulled in a slow breath and straightened out his fingers one by one before he said, “I’m sure her father will watch after her.”
“He wasn’t paying much attention last night.” The man’s smile was more of a smirk now. “At least not as much attention as you were.”
“What are you trying to say, Green?” Tristan had no intention of playing games with the man.
“It could be you and your sweet little Shaker girl weren’t having as private a stroll through the garden last evening as you may have thought. And you can be sure I’m a man who doesn’t mind using what he knows if it gets me what I want. If I were you, I’d keep in mind that people who get in Calvin Green’s way tend to get knocked to the side.” He leaned a bit closer to Tristan. “And maybe trampled down into the ground.”
Tristan didn’t back away from the man. “I’ve run straight into cannon fire, Green. So if you’re trying to scare me, you’ve got to know it’s not working.”
Green laughed. “Survived cannon fire and then almost didn’t survive a little ride in the woods.” He poked Tristan’s bandaged arm. “A man never knows when he might stumble into a hole he can’t climb out of.”
“What do you know about that?” Tristan narrowed his eyes on the man.
“I know that the next time there might not be any pretty little Shaker girls around to pull a man out of that hole.”
The man started to turn away, but Tristan grabbed the front of his ruffled shirt in his good hand and yanked him back. “Are you saying you had something to do with shoving me in that hole?”
Green’s eyes flashed open wider as if realizing he might have stumbled into a hole of his own making that was deeper than he expected.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” Dr. Hargrove stepped up behind them. “I see you might be having some disagreement here, but we really can’t allow fisticuffs on the veranda. We must consider the tender sensibilities of our ladies.”
Tristan released his hold on the man reluctantly. Green stepped back and laughed a little, as though making Tristan angry had been his intent and he was pleased with his success.
He smoothed down his shirt as he said, “You’re right, Doctor. Fact is, Mr. Cooper here was doubting the trueness of my aim. I’m sure you could settle that for us.”
Dr. Hargrove smiled along with Green. “Well, I can attest that while Calvin may not be the sharpshooter I am, he does manage to hit the bull’s eye more times than not.” He turned to eye Tristan. “But I don’t think we’ve seen you out at the shooting range, have we, Tristan?”
“I’ve been busy,” Tristan said.
“So you have.” The doctor laughed again. “In fact, I rather thought you’d be busy tonight. I just saw a beautiful lady slipping through the garden. Surprised me to see her so alone.”
“Jessamine?” The name was out before Tristan could stop it.
A flicker of a frown chased across the doctor’s face while Green’s smile got wider. “No, no. I think our young Shaker sister is a bit overwhelmed by our world here at the Springs. I spotted her father escorting her back to her room some time ago. I was speaking of Laura.”
Now it was Tristan’s turn to frown. “Laura? She told me she was retiring early.”
“Then perhaps I was mistaken,” the doctor said. “I only caught a glimpse and it may have been another of our fair ladies slipping out to the garden to shake free of her chaperone. Could be I didn’t see a thing.” Dr. Hargrove was smiling again. “Yes, I think my eyesight must have been faulty. I didn’t see a thing. Such a blind eye serves me well here at the Springs. You can be sure of that.”
“That blind eye doesn’t bother you when you’re shooting?” Tristan said, hoping to change the direction of the conversation. He had no doubt the doctor had seen Laura in the garden. Perhaps just taking the air before she turned in for the night. Or perhaps her true love wasn’t far away in Boston after all. But the last thing she needed was for Calvin Green to be tracking her down in the gardens.
“Not at all. A man doesn’t need to see to hit the target. Just point.” Dr. Hargrove slapped Tristan on the back and then squeezed Green’s upper arm. “So we’ll settle this dispute between the two of you soon enough out on the shooting range tomorrow. It will be a good amusement to fill the afternoon hours.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a pistol. I brought my father’s with me, but whoever waylaid me in the woods must have stolen it.” Tristan stared straight at Green to see if he showed any sign of guilt.
The man didn’t blink an eye as he said, “What a shame, but I’m sure Dr. Hargrove can supply you with a firearm if you’re not too crippled up to give shooting a try.”
“I have one good hand.” Tristan held it up in hopes the man would remember that hand wrapped around his shirt.
“And a good thing to learn true aim with whichever hand is available, I would say. I’m sure you learned that well enough in Mexico, Tristan,” Dr. Hargrove said.
“War can teach you many things. Some you’d rather not learn,” Tristan said.
“True enough.” Dr. Hargrove turned suddenly away from Tristan to stare out at the night sky. “Was that thunder I heard?”
Light flickered on the horizon followed by a distant rumble. Green looked from it to Tristan and the doctor. “A storm may be brewing.”
If Dr. Hargrove caught the double meaning, he ignored it as he shook his head. “No need to worry about storms until they are over our heads, I don’t suppose. And I’m still seeing stars up there now. So let’s leave our worries behind, gentlemen, and enjoy the evening. Our ladies have come here eager for a little social interchange and we don’t want to disappoint our ladies.”
“I thought they came for the waters,” Tristan said. “To cure whatever ailed them.”
“To be sure, but that’s mostly us older folks. You young ones are seeking a different tonic. The tonic of love.” Dr. Hargrove lifted his eyebrows as he looked first at Tristan and then Green. “I’m wagering that’s what the two of you are after, and it’s a good chance you’ll both be drinking deeply of that tonic before you leave here. Now come along. The servants are bringing out ice cream.”
Dr. Hargrove hooked his arm around Green and turned him back toward the hotel. Lines were already forming to get a taste of the sweet treat frozen in churns using ice harves
ted last winter and preserved in icehouses dug into the ground. When Tristan thought about the heat of the day and the months since ice would have covered the lake, it seemed impossible. As impossible as him being able to drink of that tonic of love to enliven his heart.
Perhaps the Shakers were right to shut the temptations of love from their midst. To think only of giving their hearts to God. Hands to work. Hearts to God. That’s what Sister Lettie had told him as if it were so simple anyone could do it. Simple. What else had she said? That it was a gift to be simple. The Shakers had sung a song with those words at their meeting. ’Tis the gift to be simple. ’Tis the gift to be free.
But he wasn’t free and nothing seemed simple. He’d turned his back on God in Mexico. Now he was turning his back on love.
Jessamine Brady
White Oak Springs
June 23, 1849
Dear Jessamine,
Oh, how I regret not being able to write, Sister Jessamine, but you gave up such an address when you went to the world. We can no longer claim you as our beloved sister, but we do so desire to continue to do so. We write this to you in hopes you will see the error of your ways and return to our family where you will be loved in a godly manner, in the way spoken of by the Christ, without the sin of matrimony and worldly family units that seems to be beckoning to you.
I know you were taught these truths for we often spoke of the reasons for our commitment to the peaceful life of living in brotherly and sisterly love. Think on the words of Jesus as written in Luke 20:34–35. “Jesus answering said unto them, The children of this world marry, and are given in marriage: but they which shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world, and the resurrection from the dead, neither marry, nor are given in marriage.”
So, if we are to bring down heaven here into our village and attain the perfect life, we must embrace the ways of living that will be in the age to come for us. We have heaven here the same as heaven there. Such is the promised blessing of a committed and faithful Believer. The sort of Believer you were becoming before temptation led your feet astray.
But we are a forgiving people. Keep that truth close to your thoughts in the days ahead as you confront the dangers of the world. We will labor a dance for you, dear Jessamine, in hopes you will not be conquered by the world and that your feet will once more seek the way of truth and salvation and return you to our village. Be assured such a reunion would shower great joy down on all of us, your former sisters and brothers.
Eldress Frieda tells me also to relay the message from the Ministry that if you do return to us with a humble and loving spirit, they will end the order of constant supervision. They will know by your return that you have regretted your wrongs and are ready to step forward along the right way of discipline and duty to give your hands to work and your heart to God.
Your loving former sister,
Sophrena Prescott
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Sister Sophrena’s letter brought tears to Jessamine’s eyes and doubts to her heart. Perhaps she had sinned by leaving Harmony Hill. Perhaps she had given up her sure salvation. It did seem the world was a hard place with many questions that had no answers.
“I can give you the answers you need,” Abigail told Jessamine when she spoke that worry aloud on Monday afternoon. Abigail had brought her the letter from Sister Sophrena, delivered that morning by Brother Hector along with a few baskets of freshly picked cucumbers and a crate of strawberry jam. “You are free of those who would wrap you in chains and tell you what to believe. You need to stay free of those who would deny you happiness. And if you’re worried about your soul, I can assure you the Bible does not only reveal answers to those Shakers. People got married plenty of times in the Bible and received the Lord’s blessing.”
Jessamine looked down at the letter in her hand as Abigail began arranging Jessamine’s hair for the dance that night. Her father said it was the most elaborate dance of the season and all the ladies would be decked out in their finest. The promised ball gown from Mrs. Browning now hung on a hanger hooked over the top board of the wardrobe. A beautiful creation of blue silk and white lace and ribbons.
The same blue as her Shaker dress folded and hidden in the bottom of the wardrobe. Neither her father, Mrs. Browning, or Abigail seemed to note that truth. Instead they only spoke of the blue being the color of Jessamine’s eyes, as though that remarkable occurrence gave the dress greater value. And yet the Shaker dress also was the color of Jessamine’s eyes, and as far as she could remember no one had ever spoken of that. Not even the stranger from the world she had carried back to the village on his horse. Not even Tristan Cooper.
Jessamine held in a sigh. Why did her every thought circle around to Tristan Cooper? The prince who loved another. Even Abigail knew that to be true. That he was in love with the girl named Laura who knew how to be a princess. Who had been trained to walk right and sit right and eat with the proper fork. Things that Jessamine didn’t know. Or even care to know. What was the need in a different fork for different foods? All went into the mouth and utensils were easily enough licked clean.
So much in this world seemed no more than foolishness. Even the parasols she had once so wondered about that she had led Sister Annie on a fools’ errand into the woods. The frilly things barely afforded the first bit of shade and required a hand to hold them over one’s head. Better to wear a bonnet to keep the sun off one’s face so one’s hands could be free to hold a pen and book of paper.
The pen and the paper. The free flow of ink. No foolishness there. She had been carried along on a river of words ever since her hand had taken hold of the pen and even now sitting there with Abigail combing and tugging on her hair, her hand itched to pick up the pen and take the stopper out of her pot of ink.
When her father had peeked over her shoulder at her many filled pages, he had laughed aloud, but he had not read them. Not yet. He said that in the beginning the words should be hers and hers alone. That was so she could write whatever came to mind without worrying about them being proper words acceptable to other eyes. Even his.
He understood the feel of words pent up inside and how holding a pen had broken open a dam inside her to allow out such a rush of ink. He understood, but Sister Sophrena would not. Jessamine stared down at the letter in her hand again. They had labored a dance for her at meeting in hopes she would return to them. Return to her salvation.
She shouldn’t have written to Sister Sophrena. The sister knew her too well and had clearly seen the confusion of thought behind Jessamine’s words. And yet, even with Sister Sophrena’s letter pulling at her heart, she had no idea of turning from the world. She had so much more to see. So many more words to write. Plus her eyes longed for more sights of Tristan Cooper.
She had seen him strolling around the lake with the princess. She had seen him dancing attendance on Laura at the eating table. She knew there was no hope. Abigail had told her the gossip in the servants’ quarters revealed a proposal was in the offing. Maybe this very evening.
When Jessamine was unable to hide the way those words stabbed her heart, Abigail had hugged her shoulders and said, “It won’t be anything to do with you. The man could love you. He probably does love you, but marriages among the rich are made more often for money or position than love. Thank goodness, the same is not true for me. A poor girl like me and a poor boy like Jimmy can marry for love as they have nothing to lose and all to gain in their hearts.”
“It doesn’t matter to me what he does. I barely know the man.” Jessamine tried to cover up her distress.
“Know him well or not, I’m thinking love has taken root in your heart for him.” Abigail pushed the truth at her.
Jessamine was unable to deny the girl’s words, but she did not have to give in to them. Instead she had lifted her chin and declared, “Then I will pluck it out like the useless weed it is.”
But Jessamine had made no attempt to pull the weed of unrequited love from her heart, even though Abigail had confirmed her uneasy fears
that she had been sinfully wayward to allow the man to kiss her. She had wondered about the feeling of forbidden love so long that she wanted to cling to it a bit longer even if the roots did grow and make the pulling out of it more painful.
She had at least been sensible enough to stay out of his path. She stayed buried in her book of paper during the days and only saw him at the dinner table because she couldn’t reveal to her father any reason for avoiding the evening meals.
She would see Tristan again that night and her heart skipped a couple of beats at the thought. She did so wish the two of them might walk out into the garden again. The thought shamed her and she ran her eyes back over the words in Sister Sophrena’s letter that spoke of the sin of worldly love. Then her eyes skimmed down to the offer of forgiveness. The sister was holding out a hand to beckon her home. Jessamine felt the pull of that hand, but the pull of the world remained stronger.
This time Jessamine didn’t hide her sigh as she folded the letter to hide the sight of Sister Sophrena’s handwriting.
Abigail stopped combing to peer at Jessamine’s face in the mirror. “Now don’t you let that ancient old sister’s words spoil your night.”
“She’s not that old,” Jessamine said. “Not even forty. Eldress Frieda, she has more claim to ancient.”
“There are all kinds of ways of being old. A person can be our age and be old in spirit. Those sisters over there try to make everybody old in spirit. What with their rules and duties.” Abigail made a face.
“But shouldn’t that be good? To be old in the spirit. To know what you believe.” Jesamine looked away from Abigail’s reflection in the mirror to stare down at the folded sheet of paper. She used to know what she believed.
Abigail poked Jessamine’s shoulder with the comb. “You know what you believe. I’m not doubting for the first minute that you have the love of the Lord right there in your heart. Now, don’t you?”
“Yea, I do love the Lord. I’ve never doubted that.” Jessamine fingered the letter and thought of Sister Sophrena waiting to welcome her home. Home. That’s what she no longer knew. Where was home?
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