Mellie has sent word her baby boy is healthy and even more important, was born free. She says she named him Nathaniel Adam. A proper name for a free child. If I have done nothing else right in my life, I did right by stealing her out of Selena’s hand. We heard of the battle at Fair Oaks. Another Union victory or so it seemed in the accounts the elder read to us. Were you there?
We pick the roses again for the Shaker rosewater.
As always,
Charlotte
July 7, 1862
Dear Charlotte,
I was at Fair Oaks as you ask in your last letter. It seems I have been at every battle or so my brother, Jake, tells me. He is at turns envious and grateful to have not been in the midst of the battle more than he has. He was at Fair Oaks and survived to fight again. That is all any soldier can wish for in this war. To gain an honorable victory and leave the field of battle with all limbs intact. The scenes around the hospital tents and houses are more than I can bear to draw and more than the readers could bear to see. Severed arms and legs are thrown out in a pile like so much stove wood and the flies come in clouds. Forgive me for putting that picture in front of your eyes. I should mark out those words, but I will not. It is part of war and I know you are one to face the truth.
It was strange to celebrate Independence Day with our nation so disastrously divided, but I hear the Southern troops celebrated the day with as much enthusiasm as those in the North. It is a strange time when Americans are shooting at Americans. Brothers at brothers, friends at friends. Who is the enemy?
Here is a picture of a little drummer boy with an Indiana regiment. The boy can’t be over ten. But he beats the drum in cadence as the regiment marches into battle. He brings to mind Selena’s son whom I met the last time I was at Grayson. Have you met him? He wants to be a whale boat captain. At least he is not marching out to war like this poor child.
We will both walk in the garden again. I am sure of it.
Your friend,
Adam
July 17, 1862
Dear Adam,
We are unsettled here as word has come to our ears that General John Hunt Morgan and his cavalry men are invading the state. They are not an army such as led by General McClellan or General Lee in that they do not line up for battle against an opposing army, but rather raid the countryside and take whatever they want. The Believers are very concerned about losing their horses and wagons to such raiders. There is much talk of hiding the horses should General Morgan’s troops come this far north and the news that comes in seems to indicate they are headed this way leaving a path of destruction behind them.
Your sketch of the young drummer boy brought tears to Sister Martha’s eyes and to mine. Sister Martha still struggles to talk without getting out of breath, but at least she is no worse except when she thinks of the raiders disturbing the peace at Harmony Hill.
It seems strange to think of our gardens of peace being disturbed here, but the elders impress upon us it is a possibility and we should be on guard. I wonder at the condition of the gardens at Grayson. Sister Martha says it would be better if I forget Grayson, but there are some things that are hard to put out of my mind and the garden is one of them. So many things flowered in that garden.
As always,
Charlotte
And so the year passed as the battles grew fiercer and edged nearer to Harmony Hill. There was no peace in Adam’s letters or in Charlotte’s heart. Except in the memory of the garden.
28
As July thunderstorms gave way to August heat, the news of General Morgan and his band of guerillas storming northward through the state toward Harmony Hill stretched the peace in the Shaker village to the breaking point. Rumors of barns and houses burned to the ground and of confiscated horses swept through the countryside like the wind rushing in before a storm. A man-made storm that struck like lightning and left a path of destruction.
At every meeting an elder from the West Family House stood up and prophesied doom for the village at the hands of the guerilla raiders. The Shakers could not defend their property. They had no weapons or any intent to have weapons. Even so, they had no desire to lose their horses or see their crops ruined before harvest. They sent some of the brethren out for news and appealed to their Mother Ann and the Eternal Father to keep the raiders far from their village. But each report that came in indicated the guerillas coming straight toward them.
Charlotte felt the tension that swept through the village, but her worries were more for Grayson. She saw no reason for the raiders to bother the peaceful Shakers, but her father’s house was different. His Union sympathies were no secret.
In spite of her concerns, she didn’t try to contact her father to get news of Grayson. She had written him in June when she turned twenty-one, but had no response. Not even through Selena. Her pride kept her from writing again. Her year of self-imposed servitude in exchange for Aunt Tish had come to an end, but she saw little choice except to stay where she was at Harmony Hill. One day passed into another with little difference except on the rare days a letter came from Adam.
When her eyes feasted on the words he wrote to her, she couldn’t keep from dreaming of one day seeing Adam again. She imagined him desiring her hand on his arm, her lips surrendering to his. The way he never failed to mention gardens in each letter seemed to hint at that, but she could hardly expect him to desert the battlefield to seek her in the Shaker gardens. And so she waited as the fearsome shadow of the war edged closer to Harmony Hill and Grayson and darkened her mind with worry. She waited and she prayed.
At Grayson, she’d taken little time for more than a token childish prayer whispered occasionally at bedtime, sort of the way one might wish upon a star. Not out of any real belief, but simply on the off chance it might help one’s fortunes. Then she’d come to Harmony Hill and become Sister Charlotte who was required to kneel in silent prayer every morning and night and before and after every meal. At first she had merely assumed the posture of prayer while allowing her mind to meander wherever it willed, but then Charlotte had begged the Lord for Mellie’s safety after she left the village.
Something about those prayers had awakened her spirit like spring showers sprouted the seeds in a freshly planted garden. Before she came to the Shakers, she had chased after her own answers as she tried to prove herself worthy. Now she felt the gentle hand of the Lord hovering over her, promising her answers, but even more, promising her love not because she was the senator’s daughter or the heiress to Grayson or even Sister Charlotte, but because she was Charlotte. Simply Charlotte.
And she kept praying. For Aunt Tish. For Sister Martha. For peace. For the soldiers on both sides of the conflict. For Adam. Some of those prayers she let rise from her heart without words, for it was surely wrong to pray for love while she wore the Shaker dress and pretended to live a life where such feelings were deemed sin.
She didn’t pretend so much as to sign the Shaker Covenant after she turned twenty-one in June, even though Sister Martha encouraged her daily to do so. Charlotte knew she stood outside the circle of full belief in their ways. Grayson called to her. Adam called to her. She did not want to stop dreaming of love.
Sister Martha sensed the reason for Charlotte’s divided spirit, but she didn’t condemn her nor try to push her out of the village. Sister Altha showed no such kindness. Even though she had asked for the promise of Charlotte’s labor, she could not seem to accept Charlotte’s service or humble behavior. Instead she kept looking at her with suspicious doubt.
“I don’t know why the Ministry allows Sister Martha to waste her time with you,” she told Charlotte late one afternoon in August when they crossed paths. “It is plain to see you will never walk the Shaker way with commitment. You are only biding your time here. For what purpose, I cannot discern.”
“I perform the duties asked of me.” Charlotte kept her voice quiet. There was naught to be gained by testing her will against that of Sister Altha’s. Even so, she was unable to keep from remi
nding her of how she had kept her word. “I have done the year you asked for Sister Latisha.”
Sister Altha waved her hand in dismissal. “That was of little worth. Where is the land you promised?”
“I will keep my promise. When and if it is mine to give.” Charlotte kept her eyes on the path as she wondered if she dared edge over on the grass to pass around Sister Altha. She was on her way to her room and rest after pushing Sister Martha in her wheeled chair back to the Centre Family House. The humid heat sapped Sister Martha’s energy and she could not walk over a dozen steps without losing her breath.
Charlotte started to step to the side, but Sister Altha shifted over in front of her. The woman glanced around to be sure no one was near enough to hear them before she said, “What of your promise to Mother Ann and the Eternal Father? Do you not want to sign the Covenant as Brother Edwin did? You passed your twenty-first birthday, did you not?”
“Sister Martha says it is best to feel sure in one’s heart before such a decision is made.” Charlotte answered carefully in the meekest voice she could summon. She had no wish to cross Sister Altha, who could see that she and Dulcie worked nowhere but in the laundry house all through the rest of the summer. That was Charlotte’s most dreaded duty. That and ironing in the heat-filled upper room of the Gathering Family House.
“Your heart does not run after the truth of a Believer, but after Brother Edwin.”
“Nay, that is not true. I have confessed my wrong motives when I followed Brother Edwin here. I have seen how he has embraced your teachings. At Union meeting last week he explained as much. But I yet have much to learn and it would not be right to sign the Covenant until I have a better understanding.”
“Sister Martha fools herself thinking you desire such. Speak the truth. You want to run back to your easy life with servants to fan you and bring your food on silver platters.” Sister Altha’s voice was filled with scorn.
Rather than anger at Sister Altha’s harsh words, Charlotte was surprised to feel a sudden compassion for the woman in front of her. She had rarely seen her with a look of peace or happiness. Instead she always seemed anxious to catch someone doing wrong and had no eye for the good even among these people who professed to seek the good gifts of the spirit each and every day.
For a brief moment, Charlotte thought to reach out and touch Sister Altha’s arm, but she stayed her hand as she answered calmly, “Nay. While it is true I miss many things about my home before I came to Harmony Hill, I count it a blessing to learn the simple gift of laboring with my hands. There is satisfaction in doing a task well. However menial that task might be.”
“I don’t believe you.” Sister Altha narrowed her eyes on Charlotte.
“Why not?” Charlotte sincerely wanted to know as she met the woman’s sour look.
“You have a wrong spirit. That’s easy enough to see.”
“And what of your spirit, Sister Altha?” Charlotte still felt no anger as she kept her voice as gentle and kind as possible. “In all the years you have been here at Harmony Hill, haven’t you ever wanted to seek a gift of kindness instead of one of faultfinding?”
For a moment Charlotte thought Sister Altha might strike her as the sister’s face flushed beet red under her white cap. She seemed at a loss for words at Charlotte’s effrontery.
Charlotte spoke again. “I beg your forgiveness if my words were ill spoken. Or untrue.” She made the last two words a bit of a question.
“You dare to try to give me spiritual lessons. You who cling to your wrong spirit. My spirit is true.” Underneath the fire flashing in the woman’s eyes, Charlotte thought she glimpsed a hint of doubt.
“As you say, Sister Altha. I am surely wrong.” And just as surely to be doing laundry duty for weeks, she thought with an inward groan. She would have to beg Dulcie’s forgiveness for not bridling her tongue.
“Be about your duties and stop wagging your tongue about things of which you know nothing.” Sister Altha pushed past Charlotte and hurried up the path as if she were late for her own duties.
Charlotte watched her for a moment before sighing and going on toward her sleeping room. She would have to confess her unrestrained words to Sister Martha on the morrow.
But the next day, unkind words were the least of the Believers’ concerns after news came that General Morgan’s raiders were in the next county and headed their way. Some of the brethren hurried the best horses into the woods to be hidden out of sight. Others hid away some of their stores while the rest of the Shakers prayed their diligent prayers and went about their assigned duties even as they kept an anxious eye to the south.
Charlotte kept her eye a bit to the southeast as she and Dulcie picked beans in the garden. By the middle of the morning, smoke was rising on the distant southern horizon. Too far for Grayson, Charlotte assured herself. Even so, she wanted to set down her picking bucket and run to Grayson to be sure it and her father were safe, but a year of obedience to the Shaker way kept her pulling the beans from the vines as was her duty. Besides, her father would not want to see her.
By the time the bells called them to their midday meal, new plumes of smoke in the sky showed the advance of the raiders. Charlotte found it almost impossible to sit and silently eat her food in the biting room while the feeling of foreboding grew stronger inside her by the minute. The squeak of the benches as the sisters on one side and the brothers on the far side of the room shifted in their seats indicated she wasn’t the only one feeling uneasy. When she knelt for her moment of prayer after the meal, she prayed for Grayson even as she wondered if the others prayed for Harmony Hill or perhaps some other worry of their worldly homes as she did.
A few hours later, General Morgan and his soldiers rode into the village carrying the smell of smoke with them, but they held no lit torches. The Shaker elders were quick to offer food for the soldiers and water and grain for their horses with the unspoken hope that with their bellies full they might ride on without doing damage to the village. Even more the Believers never turned away the hungry. It was their duty to be generous and share the bounty of their labor as Mother Ann’s teachings demanded, but they’d never had the hungry show up on their doorsteps in such number.
Charlotte and Dulcie were summoned to the kitchen to help prepare the food for the tables the brethren set 327 up out in the open for the soldiers. Charlotte was slicing bread when Edwin appeared at the kitchen door. She knew as soon as she heard him speak her name that he brought bad news.
“Sister Charlotte. Elder Logan has given me permission to speak to you.”
Charlotte looked over at Sister Altha who was overseeing the food preparation in the Gathering Family kitchen. It mattered not whether she received permission. She would still go hear what Edwin had come to tell her, but out of habit, she sought consent. Sister Altha nodded her head once.
Aunt Tish paused in rolling out pie crusts at the work table to reach out to squeeze Charlotte’s arm with a flour-covered hand as though to give her courage. Charlotte carefully placed the bread knife on the cutting board before she turned toward the door. She moved across the floor as though pushing her feet through a fast-moving stream.
Once she was face-to-face with Edwin, he hesitated and Charlotte wanted to grab him as she had many times when they were children to shake the words out of him. Instead she moistened her lips and said, “Say what you have come to say.”
He pushed the words out all in a rush. “Grayson’s burning. Harlan Fulton told me. He says they just came from there. That it is as much as your father deserves for speaking against the Confederate States.”
Charlotte remembered Harlan Fulton. He was the hothead nephew of one of her father’s fiercest opponents in the county. She’d seen him get into fisticuffs over something no more serious than a spilled glass of lemonade. “Can you believe him?” she asked now.
“Yea,” Edwin said. “The smoke rises from the right direction.”
Charlotte stepped out of the kitchen but the building blocked
her view to the southeast. Even so, smoke hung in the air. It seemed impossible to think that smoke might be from her burning home. Her beloved Grayson. She stared back at Edwin. “And Father? Was he there?”
“He was.” Again Edwin looked reluctant to speak. “You might want to go to him. Harlan says he’s in a bad way.”
“Did they shoot him?” She was surprised at how calmly she asked the words, as if she were doing no more than inquiring after a horse with a broken leg. She wasn’t letting herself feel.
“Nay. Harlan claims some among them wanted to, but it turned out there was no need. The senator climbed out a window onto the roof to hide from the raiders but they saw him. He was coming back inside at gunpoint when Harlan says he must have suffered a heart attack.”
“Is he dead?” Again the icy calmness in her voice.
“Nay. Not when they rode away. That is why I came to tell you. So you can go to him. To tell him goodbye if you so desire.”
“Selena is with him.”
“Nay. Harlan says she hardly looked toward him when they carried him out of the house. He said she seemed more worried about what yet remained within the house.”
“Perhaps her son,” Charlotte said.
“Perhaps.” Edwin shrugged as if it was of no matter and of truth it was not. “Elder Logan let me bring you a horse.”
“I thought they were all hidden.”
Edwin looked quickly over his shoulder to be sure none of the soldiers were near enough to hear her words. “Not all,” he whispered.
Charlotte looked up at Sister Altha, who had come to the kitchen door. Her face was set in harsh lines, but it had been so ever since they had begun to prepare the food for the guerilla raiders. It did not change as she said, “It might not be safe for a sister alone among these . . .” She waved her hand as if unable to come up with a proper word of disdain before she finished. “These ruffians who claim to be soldiers but merely loot and burn.”
The Seeker Page 27