The Outsider (7 page)

When Gabrielle felt the tingling strangeness up her back, she was tempted to fight against it. She often feared giving her mind over to the power of the spirit, but Sister Mercy said she should not try to quench the gifts of the spirit. So she opened herself to the gift and whirled out away from the other singers as the song bubbled up out of her. The other Believers gathered around her. Some of them reached out to touch her in order to share in her gift.

At first she sang the melody in sounds with no words. Gabrielle, who felt as if she were somewhere far away watching someone else sing, was relieved when she heard the joy in the song. Sometimes the songs the spirit gifted her with were sad and troubled, but this melody rang with joy. The spirit was rejoicing in Nathan’s recovery.

Then words were flowing into her mind and out her mouth. “There is joy in the love. The love of our Father. There is joy in our love, one with another.”

Gabrielle lifted her arms upward and dropped to her knees. She sang the same words over and over as other voices began to join hers and some of the dancers went forth in another exercise.

When the song left her, Gabrielle got to her feet and went back to her place among the singers. Sister Mercy came to her and touched her face. The frown was gone from her eyes. “My child, Mother Ann has blessed you with a gift and you in turn have blessed us. You must always give yourself over to the gift and let it come freely through you as it should.”

“Yea, Sister Mercy, I will try,” Gabrielle said even as a great weariness washed over her. The gift did not always bring songs of joy. More often the gift seemed to tear at her with songs or messages of grief. This song had left behind no pain like shards of glass to pierce her heart, but the next one might. “The gift is not always so kind.”

“We cannot choose our gifts, Sister Gabrielle, but we must receive what Mother Ann wills us to receive,” Sister Mercy said sternly. But then her smile returned. “Ye are yet young, my child. Each day your understanding grows and in time you will know. Then thy gift will never be a burden but always welcome.”

There was another song, and Sister Mercy drifted away from her. Gabrielle labored with the others in song until all the brethren and sisters fell to their knees and sang, “Come down heavenly spirit; descend on us like a fire. Burn away our sins and lusts. Keep us pure in thy eyes.”

They sang the verse over and over as they first lifted their arms toward the heavens and then laid their faces to the floor. Then all at once the singing hushed, and as they bowed on the floor, a profound silence filled the meetinghouse.

After several moments, they got to their feet and sang a closing hymn. It wasn’t until Gabrielle turned toward the door that she saw the doctor sitting in the corner. When she looked his way, his eyes were there, waiting.

Sister Mercy was by Gabrielle’s side at once. “He should not be here,” she said.

Gabrielle dropped her eyes to the floor. She wouldn’t let his presence trouble her. As soon as Nathan was better, he’d be gone from their community for good. She would never see him again.

Sister Mercy kept talking beside her. “If he wanted to attend meeting, he should have waited until summer when we have our meetings open to the world. But not he. No, instead he sneaks in where he is not welcome. No doubt to ridicule us by carrying stories of our worship out to those in the world.”

“I’m sure he means no harm, Sister Mercy,” Gabrielle said softly. “He may be ignorant of our rules.”

Sister Mercy’s mouth tightened. “Nor does he wish to learn them.” The frown inched back into her eyes.

“Not everyone can be a Believer,” Gabrielle said.

“Nay. Many choose the pleasures of the lustful world instead of the rewards of eternity. In the next life they will know nothing but grief when the fires of hell burn round them.”

Gabrielle’s eyes shot back over to the doctor. It wasn’t a thought she liked to hear spoken. She didn’t want this man who’d brought turmoil to her mind to know any kind of grief in this world or the next.

7

Brice came near midday on Sunday to see to the boy because he knew it would be the meeting hour for the Shakers. He wanted to see for himself what these people did that had the county so full of gossip. And there was still his promise to Alec Hope, although he had no idea of how to make good on it.

Every time he saw the young sister she almost ran from his sight, and each time he saw her he was less sure he wanted to get involved. He’d been closed off to hurt too long to give this young sister, who was little more than a child, the chance to make him vulnerable again. But he did owe Hope and he had promised. Not to bring her away from the Shakers, but at least to talk to her. Even that much wasn’t going to be easily accomplished.

He’d already been to see the boy when the meeting bell began to clang. Brice stepped up beside one of the buildings to watch the Shakers come together in the thin winter sunshine. He’d heard them singing on the nights he’d stayed with the boy, but then they’d just been an oddity. Now he was trying to understand them and why they had decided to close themselves away from the world and to deny all that was natural between a man and a woman.

He picked out the young sister easily in spite of the fact that all the women were dressed so alike. Every time his eyes touched her, he knew her at once. She was walking in the middle of a group of little girls, and her voice rose up strong and pure as she led her group in a song.

A movement in a window of the house he’d just come from caught Brice’s eye. Nathan was peering out the window. Out in the pathway, Elder Caleb had also caught sight of the boy’s face staring down at them. Perhaps the elder would believe Nathan had pulled himself to the window through his pain because of his devotion to the Shakers. It would go better for the boy while he was healing if the elder thought that, even if it wasn’t true. Brice knew what drew the boy even before he followed the boy’s gaze to the young sister.

In a straight orderly line the women and men entered the meetinghouse by separate doors. The song changed, and then all was quiet. Brice walked over to the meetinghouse and stood close to the door. He didn’t want to intrude on their meeting, but he couldn’t see what it would hurt for him to listen from outside the building.

Inside the elder was talking, and to Brice it sounded as though he was preaching as any other preacher was wont to do. Brice hadn’t been inside a church since Jemma had died. Jemma had set great store by churches and preachers, and because he loved her, he had put on his good clothes and gone into the church house with her.

Bitterness rose inside him as he wondered for the thousandth time what good it had done her. She’d been yanked away in her youth, stolen from him. A preacher had come while Jemma had been on her deathbed and told them the Lord must have had need of an extra-special angel in heaven. Either that or the punishment for some sin was being visited upon her.

Brice had wanted to smash the preacher in the face to keep any more words from coming out of his mouth. With his hands clenched in fists, Brice had stood up and stalked outside. Jemma’s father followed him out where he handed him the axe and pointed to the woodpile. Then he said, “It does no good to be angry at the preacher.”

“But do you believe what he said?” Brice asked.

“I’m not a man called of God,” his father-in-law said sadly. “The workings of the Lord are too mysterious for a mere mortal such as I. We can only pray for understanding.”

“To understand what? That the Lord has no mercy?”

“It does no good to be angry at the Lord either, son. Fevers come. All we can do is treat the fevers as best we can and lean on the Lord whatever happens.”

Brice hadn’t wanted to lean on the Lord. He’d wanted to defeat the fever that was stealing his young wife. But all he’d been able to defeat that afternoon was the pile of wood that he split for the stove. Later that night he held Jemma’s hands as tightly as he could, but he couldn’t keep death from claiming her. And he was angry. In the months that followed, he pushed that anger into a hard ball inside him and any time some thought of the Lord came to mind, he pulled that ball out and knocked such thoughts aside.

He had no use for any show of religion. Maybe there was a God. But if there was, he didn’t care one whit what happened to his people down here on earth. So what difference did it make how people decided to worship him? If the Shakers wanted to roll around in convulsions on the floor, they’d probably have as much chance of catching the Lord’s favor as anybody else.

Brice was ready to turn away and leave them to their praying when the young sister’s clear voice carried out to him. He stood silent while she led the others in one song after another as the sound of movement came from within the building. He had no right to enter, but he slipped inside anyway.

The men and women were marching back and forth in a sort of shuffle dance with a precision of movement. The young sister stood to the side, singing. A sudden scream from among the dancers made Brice jump. The Shakers began shouting, stomping, and jumping about until the building vibrated with their fury. Brice shrank back against the wall, afraid he was the cause of such a violent outpouring of feeling, but when no eyes touched on him there in his corner, it was obvious none of the Shakers even realized he was there. They were too intent on their dancing.

The young sister moved among the others as the violence of the dance lessened and once again the men and women were shuffling about in an orderly manner. All at once she drew away from the rest of the dancers. For a minute her face darkened, but then she looked up to the ceiling and began to sing. Now her face almost glowed, and the other Shakers ceased their movements and gathered around her. Some of them reached out to touch her.

At first her song had no words, but its lilting melody sent a shiver down Brice’s spine. He recognized the joy in the song even before she began singing the words. What was it Hope had told him? That she sang to the butterflies. This could have been such a song. It might have been more fittingly sung in a sun-spotted meadow than here among these odd people.

As he watched her, long-forgotten feelings stirred to life inside him. She looked so pure and innocent, and in spite of himself, he wanted to treasure and protect that innocence. At the same time he wanted to wrap his arms around her and feel her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. He wanted to breathe in the scent of her hair and skin. He wanted to make her his in every way a woman could be joined with a man.

He pulled himself up short and tried to clamp down on the feelings rising inside him. He tried to shove them back into the dead place inside him where he kept his memories of Jemma. He did not want to feel. Not this. But the feelings would not be controlled. They billowed out and filled every corner of his soul.

They would bring him pain. Loving the young sister would be sure to carry with it pain. He stared at her and knew the truth of that in his heart, but it was a pain he’d have to bear because the love was there already. It couldn’t be denied. But could he allow his love to bring her pain?

He barely heard the rest of the songs as the Shakers finished out their service. He kept his eyes fixed on the young sister and waited for her to look his way. It wasn’t until they were leaving the meeting that her eyes came to him. Then in the brief moment before she looked down, he imagined he saw a bit of welcome for him in her eyes.

But the old sister was beside her, and Gabrielle had her eyes locked on the floor while the old sister’s eyes burned into him. Brice paid her no mind and kept his eyes on Gabrielle’s face. So when her eyes darted back to his, he was ready to capture them. She wouldn’t let him as she hurried out of the meetinghouse.

Brice followed the Shaker men out the men’s door. Then he hurried to catch up with Gabrielle before she could disappear into one of the buildings and be lost to him. He would talk to her in spite of the old sister glued to her side.

“Gabrielle, I need to speak with you.” He reached to touch her arm.

Sister Mercy stepped between them. “Nay, you will not disturb Sister Gabrielle. Ye are here for no good except to bring strife to our community.”

“I only wish to talk to the young sister.” Brice searched for words to say that would make Gabrielle look at him. “I have a message for her.”

“She needs no messages from the world.”

“It is from one of her family.”

Sister Mercy’s eyes narrowed on him. “She has no family in the world. Her family is here. She has no other except the Believers, as it is with all of us.”

“And the young sister, does she not have a voice to speak for herself?” Brice pushed his voice past the old sister to Gabrielle. “Gabrielle, do you say the same?”

Her eyes came up from the ground and touched first Sister Mercy, who nodded the barest bit. Then she looked at Brice. Her blue eyes were dark as the midnight sky. “It is as Sister Mercy says. The brethren and sisters are my family.”

“And is that the way you want it?” Brice asked softly.

Gabrielle started to answer, but the old sister jumped in front of her words. “You have heard what you came to hear. Now leave us be.”

“What are you so afraid of, Sister?” Brice spoke to the old sister, but his eyes never left Gabrielle. “My words carry no evil.”

Gabrielle’s eyes came up again, but they touched his for only a second. Then she began walking swiftly away from him while the old sister stayed to have the last word. “Evil comes in many shapes and sizes. Those are wise who can recognize it as such.”

Brice paid her words little mind as he watched Gabrielle. She was running from him. He looked back at the old sister as he said, “Am I evil for the young sister?”

The old sister’s face darkened and her head moved in the barest nod. “It is not my place to judge ye.”

Brice’s voice hardened. “I’m not so kind. I’m not the one who wishes evil for Gabrielle. It’s you. You and your kind who have her locked here in this place. If you cared for her, you’d allow her to choose whatever life she desires.”

The old sister held her hands out palms down and began pushing them down in front of her. She stomped her feet and said, “Get thee from me, Satan!”

Brice turned away in disgust. Not with her, but with himself for allowing his anger to make him say more than he should have. After this, he’d never get past her to talk to Gabrielle. Yet he had to find a way. He had Hope’s message to give her. But that wasn’t all. Now he had his own message. He wanted her to be free to sing to the butterflies again. Free to love him if that was her choice.

When he got back to his cabin, Alec Hope was waiting as he’d been every day when Brice returned from the Shaker village. The man watched Brice unsaddle his horse before he said, “No luck, eh, Doc?”

Brice wished the man somewhere else. Anywhere else but standing there staring at him with those faded mirror images of Gabrielle’s eyes. Brice needed time to think. Time to shut Gabrielle’s face and eyes from his thoughts and bury those long-hidden feelings back into the deep recess of his mind. Mostly he needed time to let his anger at the old sister evaporate. After years of clamping down on his emotions, he’d managed to blow out all the stops in one day.

Brice slapped his horse’s rump and closed him in the pen. As he tromped through the door, he stubbed his toe on a piece of wayward firewood. With a yell he picked it up and slung it out the door.

Hope jumped out of the way with a knowing smile on his lips. Brice was curling his hands into fists to knock the smile off the man’s face when Hope reached toward the knife in his belt. “You don’t want to be fighting an ornery old dog like me.” His voice was soft but with an edge of warning.

“Then stop standing there grinning like an idiot.” Brice stomped on into the cabin and poured himself a cup of the coffee Hope had made.

Hope waited until Brice drank down the whole cup before he said, “I’m guessing they didn’t let you talk to my girl.”

“They didn’t let me.”

“But you talked to her anyway?”

“I talked at her.” Brice sat down and stared at his empty coffee cup.

“Well, what happened?”

“Nothing happened. That’s what.” Brice got up and paced around the room. Then he got his mortar and pestle and began grinding some medicine. He could think best with his hands busy, and the precision of his movements might calm his mind. He didn’t even look up as he said, “I wish I’d never seen your girl, Hope.”

Hope sat down at the table and slowly filled his pipe with tobacco. After he lit it with a taper from the fire, he looked over at Brice. “They tell me my girl is pretty.”

“Pretty is a shiny stone you pick up out of a creek. Your girl is beauty.” Brice echoed the young brother’s description of Gabrielle.

Hope’s eyes sharpened on him, but he only said, “Did you tell her what I said? Did you tell her I was here?”

“You don’t understand, Hope. They won’t let me talk to her. Not face-to-face like we are.”

“It don’t seem likely they could keep you from it, Doc. From looking at you, I’d say it’d be hard to keep you from doing whatever you set your mind to.”

Brice poured the powders out of the mortar into a cloth bag. His anger was ebbing away. “I suppose I could fight with the best of them, but the Shakers don’t believe in fighting of any kind. And I won’t be starting in on old women.” He began grinding a new bit of powder. Then he let his hands fall still a moment. “They’ve got the young sister protected. There’s this old sister who watches her like a hawk. One look from her is enough to send Gabrielle running from me.”

“Martha? My wife, Martha?”

“I don’t know about your wife. But I think families are usually parted, and this old woman’s name is Mercy, best I recall. She was quick to tell me that your girl didn’t have any family on the outside of the village, that her family was the whole community of Believers.”

“All brothers and sisters.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Hope shook his head. “I’ve never been a religious man, Doc. Been to a few camp meetings out of curiosity and seen some pretty strange carrying-ons, but I never heard of nothing stranger than this one. And to think my girl with my blood flowing through her is part of it. I reckon you can’t get much curiouser than that.”