The Gifted (27 page)

His mother was valiantly keeping her lips turned up, but she wasn’t happy with his attempt at levity. Laura on the other hand appeared to be very amused if her broad smile was any indication. Mrs. Floyd giggled into her handkerchief while Mrs. Cleveland looked down and began folding her napkin into an ever smaller square. Whether that was to hide her amusement or boredom, Tristan wasn’t sure. He was sure Robert Cleveland was not amused as he stared across the table at Tristan.

The new man smiled politely as he shook his napkin open to spread in his lap. “Shakers. Interesting people. There are several colonies of them in the East, one not far from where I once spent a few years in New York.”

Like a drowning person grabbing for air, Tristan’s mother seized on his words as a way to shift away from Tristan’s time with the Shakers. She smiled across the table at Tristan. “Mr. Brady is a writer. Quite well-known for his books of fiction.”

“Obviously not so well-known if you have to fill your son in on who I am, madam.” The man laughed.

Laura lightly jabbed Brady’s arm with her fingertips. “Oh, Sheldon, those of us who love romantic stories certainly would need no introductions once we heard your name. You have readers spread far and wide.”

“So, Mr. Brady, what have you written?” Tristan asked as servants set bowls heaped with fresh lettuce on the table.

“What hasn’t he written?” Laura jumped in with the answer before the man could speak. “He’s had numerous novels published. My favorite is
Tomorrow’s Promise
.” Laura put her hands together under her chin and sighed. “Such a tragic shipboard romance between two indentured servants coming to America. It was so sad when they were forced to part.”

“Romantic drivel,” Robert Cleveland muttered as he attacked his salad.

With no sign of taking offense, Brady laughed again before he said, “But it pays well, Robert. Extremely well. And the ladies enjoy their romance. You should try a little in your life. I’m sure our sweet Viola would enjoy a rose laid on her pillow at night. Dr. Hargrove would gladly surrender a few blooms from his beautiful gardens for the purpose of romance.”

“Viola can pick her own rose if she wants one.” Cleveland finished off his salad and grabbed a roll.

“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you, Robert?” Brady said.

Mr. Floyd, who had been busily tending to his salad, looked up then and shoved the conversation right back in a direction sure to grieve Tristan’s mother. “Then I guess you’d fit right in with those Shaker people that our boy here was with last week, Robert. I hear they don’t believe in marrying, hard as that is to believe.” He looked toward Tristan. “Is that the truth of it, Tristan?”

“That’s what I was told.” Tristan stuffed half a roll in his mouth so the man wouldn’t expect him to say any more. While he didn’t mind talking about the Shakers, he did have to return to their rooms with his mother later. Besides, it was definitely better if he didn’t let Jessamine’s beautiful eyes surface in his thoughts. Not while he was supposed to be winning over Laura with his charm.

But Mr. Floyd was more than happy to expound on the oddness of the Shakers without Tristan’s encouragement. “I’ve been over there. Seen their houses with their separate doorways for the men and women. Stairways too. Claim to live like brothers and sisters, but I’m wondering.” He waggled his eyebrows up and down. “If you catch my drift.”

Mrs. Floyd giggled again, but then noted Wyneta’s pained expression and put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Now, James, maybe you shouldn’t be talking that way with ladies present.”

“I’m not talking any way. Just telling the truth of it. Isn’t that right, boy?” The man pointed his fork toward Tristan but didn’t give Tristan time to respond. “They dance too. Crazy up and back and whirligig dancing. But there weren’t any of those Shaker women I would be asking to dance. That’s for sure. Plain as a spoon bowl in their caps and aprons.” He held up his spoon to show them before he began stirring sugar into his coffee. “You saw them, Tristan. I’m betting you can vouch for what I’m saying.” This time he pointed his spoon toward Tristan. It dripped coffee on the white tablecloth, but the man either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Dr. Hargrove saved Tristan from having to come up with an answer. He swooped down on their table to stand behind Tristan. “Did I hear somebody here mention our Shaker neighbors?” He smiled at Mr. Floyd.

The man turned his pointing spoon up toward Dr. Hargrove. “I was just telling them here how none of those Shaker women set my feet to tapping. Ugly as homemade sin.”

Dr. Hargrove smiled. “Now, Jim, whatever else you might say about them, they did fix up our friend here and send him on back to us.” The doctor clapped Tristan on the shoulder. “And if he wasn’t deluded by their potions, he has a different opinion of some of the Shaker sisters, don’t you, son? Perhaps you should tell them about the beautiful Jessamine.” Dr. Hargrove laughed heartily before he winked toward Laura and went on. “Then again, sitting here beside you, my dear lady, I’m sure he has quite forgotten her beauty.”

Then without waiting for any of them to respond, he was spinning off to entertain another table. Or to make trouble. Tristan’s mother was looking faint once again. Laura kept her eyes on her plate whether to hide a blush of anger or amusement, he had no idea. Mr. Floyd preened a bit from the notice of the Springs’ owner and Mrs. Floyd giggled yet again. An irritating sound coming from a grown woman. The man beside Laura, the famous writer, paused in buttering his roll to look over at Tristan. Robert Cleveland was staring across the table at him too. That was nothing new, but the furrows between his eyes were deeper than before.

“Who is this Jessamine?” Cleveland demanded in his army voice.

Tristan folded his napkin and placed it by his plate. He began to understand why Mrs. Cleveland kept folding and unfolding her napkin as she held down the chair by her husband.

He met Cleveland’s glare without flinching as he answered, “Jessamine was one of the young sisters who happened to be out in the woods searching for wild raspberries. They heard the gunshot and, fortunately for me, were curious enough to investigate.”

“I would have thought they would have run the other direction,” Mrs. Floyd said. “That’s what I would have done. Wouldn’t you, Wyneta? Viola?”

“It would seem to be the sensible thing,” Tristan’s mother murmured as she picked up her coffee and took a sip. “I wonder what our main course will be this evening. They have such delightful food here. I’ve heard that Dr. Hargrove brought a chef over from France.”

Her attempt to steer the conversation away from the Shakers failed. Everybody else at the table was suddenly fascinated by the thought of an attractive Shaker sister. Even the writer had put down his fork and was sitting very still as though he wanted to be sure not to miss a word.

“That was very brave of them,” Laura said. She didn’t sound the least upset or worried about the beautiful Jessamine. She knew her own worth and beauty.

“Or very foolish,” Tristan’s mother said shortly.

Tristan smiled at her. “That’s what the second sister thought. Sister Annie was her name. She wanted to leave me to my chances in the woods.”

“Surely she wanted to help you,” Laura said.

“In a more acceptable way.”

“Acceptable?” Robert Cleveland echoed. “What in heaven’s name does that mean?”

“Acceptable to her community. Apparently, it was quite daring for them to offer help to a stranger of the opposite sex. And against their Shaker rules for them to even be near me. The sister Annie wanted to go fetch some of their brethren, but the one named Jessamine refused to leave me alone since I was injured. They had come a long way through the woods in search of berries, and she said it would be full dark before they made it back to the village. Without a doubt I would have been wandering around lost all through the night since I didn’t even know my name when I came to. The blow to my head when I fell, I suppose. Anyway, the young sister Jessamine caught my horse even though she claimed to have no previous experience with horses.”

“Sounds like an unusual girl,” Sheldon Brady said.

“And beautiful besides.” Laura smiled at Tristan. “With such a lovely name too. Jessamine.”

“What was her last name?” the writer asked. The main course had come. Thick slabs of roast beef with roasted potatoes and carrots. But the man seemed unaware of the food. Instead he was watching Tristan as though his answer had great import.

“I don’t know. Everybody over there was Sister this and Brother that. First names only. They wanted to know my full name once I remembered it, but I never thought to ask theirs.” Tristan smiled at Brady. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly anyway. In a fog from their potions as Dr. Hargrove said.”

The others at the table tired of the subject and let their eyes drift away from Tristan. Tristan’s mother managed to strike up a conversation with the reticent Viola about a volume of poetry they’d both read. Robert Cleveland finally stopped staring at Tristan and attacked his meal with vigor, as did the Floyds. The Shaker curiosity now seemed limited to Sheldon Brady, with Laura paying polite attention since she was seated between the two of them.

“But Jessamine, that is a rather unusual name. Do you know any Jessamines, Laura dear?” Sheldon Brady picked up his knife and fork to cut a bite of meat, but he didn’t put it in his mouth.

Laura took a tiny nibble of her potato as she considered his question. “There was a Jasmine at the finishing school in South Carolina. A lovely girl. She married last year, I believe.”

“Well, I hope,” Brady said as he finally took a bite.

“That is the only way to wed, I’m told.” Laura peeked across the table at her father, who continued to give all his attention to his meal.

Brady smiled at her and her smile in return looked very genuine and not the polite turn up of lips she often sent Tristan’s way. But then this man was an old friend of the family and famous enough—in spite of the fact Tristan had never heard of him—that she seemed a bit star struck.

Brady turned his smile on Tristan. “And I am absolutely certain our lovely Laura is making the memory of this Jessamine dim in your memory, Tristan, but what did she look like? If you don’t mind sharing.”

Tristan felt his mother’s eyes poking him from across the table. But the man asked and Dr. Hargrove had already spilled the beans about him thinking the girl was pretty. Not pretty. Beautiful. He could see no choice except to answer. With a smile toward Laura first. “She looked nothing like our lovely Laura. Her hair was very blonde. At least what I could see peeking out from her cap. The women there keep their hair covered. And her eyes were blue.”

“There are many shades of blue,” Brady said.

“Blue is blue,” Robert Cleveland said without looking up from cutting his meat.

“Oh no, Robert. Not if you are writing romantic stories. There’s midnight blue and then the faded blue of a garment washed a hundred times.”

“And the blue of a summer sky,” Laura put in. “Or those flowers that grow in the wild along the pathways.”

“Cornflowers,” Mrs. Cleveland spoke up.

“Yes, Mother. Those are the very ones I was trying to remember. Thank you.” Laura smiled sweetly across the table toward her mother. The woman’s face softened with affection before she turned her attention back to Tristan’s mother and Mrs. Floyd, who were making plans for the following day.

Sheldon Brady’s smile disappeared as he put down his fork and stared off toward the far wall of the dining area as though seeing something in the air none of the rest of them could see. “I once knew a girl like that.”

“Why, Mr. Brady, you sound decidedly pensive,” Laura said. “Who was this girl who makes you forget your meal and your table companions as well?”

“Her name was Issandra and she was very beautiful. With cornflower blue eyes.”

Mrs. Floyd put her fingers over her lips as another of her grating giggles escaped her mouth. “He must have been in love with her,” she said in a stage whisper.

Brady’s eyes came back to the table. “I was, Mrs. Floyd. I most definitely was. She was my wife.”

“I didn’t know you’d ever been married.” Laura looked surprised.

“That was the only time. For one year and three months. She died of fever after the birth of our daughter.” He bent his head as though the memory of his wife’s death still filled him with sorrow.

“How tragic to lose your wife and daughter that way.” His mother’s voice was so sad Tristan knew she was remembering his sister’s death in childbirth.

“I didn’t lose the daughter. At least not to death.” He looked up then as he explained. “Her name was Jessamine. A romantic name that called forth the memory of the South Carolina garden where I met her mother. The yellow jessamine was filling the air with its intoxicating scent that evening. Her mother spoke her name before she died. And even as I held my tiny infant daughter, I could see the imprint of her mother on her face.”

“Didn’t know you were a father, Sheldon,” Robert Cleveland said before he sopped up the last of the beef juices with his bread.

“I don’t suppose I was much of one. It was all so long ago.”

“Where is she now?” Laura asked.

“I don’t know. If she still lives, she would be twenty this year. I’ve heard nothing from her for years.” He sounded more resigned than sad.

Tristan looked at the man. Could the young Shaker sister actually be this man’s long lost daughter? He tried, but he could see no family resemblance to the beautiful Jessamine in Brady’s face.

Silence fell over their table as if no one knew what to say next. Then Viola Cleveland surprised Tristan by being the one to lean forward toward Brady and speak as though they were the only two at the table. “Did you never try to go back? To see her?”

“I gave that choice to her in a letter before I left her with my grandmother. She promised to give Jessamine the letter when she turned twelve and let her make the decision as to whether she wanted me to ride back into her life. I thought she would be old enough to go with me then on whatever journeys my wanderlust took me. When I didn’t hear from her the year she would have turned twelve, I assumed she had no desire to change her life.”