Free The Gifted by Ann H. Gabhart Page B

they could soak among the rose petals longer.”
    Jessamine ran her fingers through the rose petals in her basket. She wondered how it would feel to lay back in a warm bath with the fragrance of roses rising around her while someone carried water to the tub. Not a proper Shaker thought. Color rose in her cheeks as she looked around to see if any of the sisters had somehow divined her slip into vanity.
    She had promised Sister Sophrena she wouldn’t let her thoughts stray down wayward paths and here she was letting them do that very thing.
    “That would not be the Shaker way,” Jessamine said. “It would be good to keep our minds on our tasks and put our hands to work. It’s unwise to tempt our thoughts with worldly ways.”
    “But wouldn’t it be wonderful to be one of those young ladies who never have anything to do but listen to music and dance in the moonlight?” Sister Abigail lightly stroked her cheek with one of the roses.
    “We have music and dancing.” Jessamine tried to block Sister Abigail’s words from her imagination, but dancing in moonlight wormed into her mind.
    “Not the way they do. Being held in handsome young men’s arms. Kissing in the shadows.”
    “It’s not fitting to allow our minds to dwell on sinful things of the world.” Jessamine pushed an echo of Sister Annie’s firmness in her voice.
    It was one thing to be curious about parasols and rosewater baths. It was quite another to let her mind chase after the thought of kissing. Her grandmother had kissed her, dry lips touching her cheek as she pulled the quilt up over Jessamine each night. Right after she’d ended one of her fairy-tale stories. The prince and princess always kissed before they went back to the castle to live happily ever after. In Jessamine’s mind, sparkles of happiness had flashed at the first mention of the kiss. Like the glittering dust from a shooting star drifting down around them.
    Sister Abigail did turn back to the roses and wasted no time in stripping off the petals as if she’d been harvesting roses every bit as long as Jessamine. But she wasn’t silenced by Jessamine’s firm words as she lowered her voice to ask, “Have you never thought of how it might feel to be kissed, Sister Jessamine?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead she smiled slightly as she peered over the roses at Jessamine. “It will do no good for you to deny that you have. The stain of truth is on your cheeks.”
    “I know nothing about kissing.” Jessamine barely spoke the words above a whisper. It would not do for Sister Annie or any of the other sisters to hear them speaking of kisses. “A Believer doesn’t allow such worldly thoughts to distract her from her duties.”
    “Perhaps a Believer like Sister Annie.” Sister Abigail looked up the row at the other sister and lowered her voice even more. “A staid and common Believer. One who has no imagination for romance.”
    Jessamine tried to rein in her imagination. She had promised Sister Sophrena. “Mother Ann teaches us that our thoughts are character molds. They shape language and action. So it is best if we think on things of the spirit or our duties. Idle imagining of worldly things such as kissing can do nothing but sink us into trouble.”
    Sister Abigail laughed softly. “You certainly speak the truth there. Many a girl has been brought low by kissing when she allowed the wrong man too many kisses. Trust me. I saw much when I was working at the Springs last summer. Some good things. Some not. I even admit to letting myself be pulled back into the shadows a few times myself.”
    “Sister Abigail!” Jessamine stared at her.
    “You don’t have to sound so shocked. No harm came from it. He was only a year or so older than me. He worked with the horses and would often wait for me beside the pathways to the springs.” Sister Abigail sighed as she lifted one of the rose blossoms to her nose again. “His lips were very soft.”
    “Why did you come among the