The Gifted by Ann H. Gabhart Page A

more than a cardboard cutout. She was every inch a charming woman with the clout of a rich father who did, as Tristan’s mother had said, like him. Robert Cleveland was new rich, which explained his eagerness to have Tristan court his daughter. Money could buy a lot, but not a welcome place in the established circle of Atlanta society. Tristan was already established there even with the misfortune that had hit the Cooper family in the last few months. Name was important in Atlanta. Much more important than money. Mr. Cleveland hoped to have an abundance of both by arranging a suitably advantageous marriage for his only daughter.
    At twenty she had already given her father reason for despair by refusing suitors, or so Tristan’s mother told him. Mr. Cleveland wouldn’t look fondly on a suitor turning the tables on his daughter. Perhaps that was why Tristan was in the woods. Perhaps he was running away.

5

    “But Sister Sophrena, aren’t we instructed to help those in need?” Jessamine looked across the small desk at the older sister and hurried out more words before she could answer. “Do all the good we can all the time we can.”
    Sister Sophrena peered at Jessamine over round spectacles perched on her nose. She didn’t look exactly angry. Sister Sophrena was never brought low by unreasonable anger, but she did look distinctly perturbed. Although Jessamine had grown quite familiar with that look over the years, she nevertheless had to call up a considerable amount of self-control to keep from shifting uneasily in her chair.
    She wasn’t afraid of Sister Sophrena. She would do Jessamine no harm. She loved her. Jessamine knew that, but what made her want to squirm under the sister’s steady stare was the feeling that she wasn’t measuring up. She wasn’t being a proper Shaker sister. She was disappointing Sister Sophrena. Yet again.
    Jessamine wanted to blurt out that she was sorry, but it was as much a sin to lie as it was to be disobedient. She wasn’t sorry she had led Sister Annie so far into the woods on the pretense of finding berries. She wasn’t sorry she had helped the man. She wasn’t even sorry she had let her hand explore the feel of his cheek. Her own cheeks warmed at the thought and she hoped Sister Sophrena would think it was shame reddening her face.
    “I assume you are meaning to say do all the good you can in all the ways you can, as often as you can to all the people you can.” Sister Sophrena breathed out a small sigh as she removed her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s best to repeat Mother Ann’s precepts with accuracy.”
    “Yea, you are right. It would be wrong to allow someone to get a wrong idea because of my careless memory.” Jessamine seized on this to move away from the worrisome topic of her sins. “I can recall many of those I learned in school from Sister Josephine word for word. Like this one. None preaches better than the ant and it says nothing.”
    Sister Sophrena twisted her mouth to the side but was unable to hide the smile sneaking into her eyes. “Are you trying to tell me something, Sister Jessamine? Would you prefer I said nothing?”
    “Nay, Sister Sophrena.” Now Jessamine’s face burned even redder. She had a way of continually speaking the wrong thing to land her in an even bigger hole. “I am ever ready to listen to your instruction.”
    Sister Sophrena’s smile disappeared as she held the spectacle handles in her hand and tapped the frames against the table. “But are you ready to heed it, my little sister? That is the question.”
    “I am ready to try,” Jessamine said in a small voice.
    “As you have been ready to try so many times before.”
    “Yea.” Jessamine stared down at her hands clutched together in her lap. She did try. Really, she did, but then something would happen to send her down a wayward path. Like Sister Abigail’s tales of parasols. Jessamine hadn’t mentioned that to Sister Sophrena, but Sister Annie