by T E. D Klein
'Make the choosing, round about,
Choose the one and draw her out.
First her willing hand you take,
Then the Cleansing she will make.'
As they sang, they began turning slowly around Sarr, watching him intently. They had circled three times and had finished three complete choruses of the song when suddenly Sarr's hand shot out and tapped one of them, a thin young blond girl, on the shoulder.
'Eve Buckhalter,' someone called.
'Draw her out!'
It was Joram Sturtevant who'd spoken. He was standing straight and tall on the back steps of the farmhouse, still grim-faced from the encounter and careful, it seemed, not to glance in Freirs' direction. Freirs assumed that, by this time, he'd settled the matter with his wife, for she was no longer in the car. Perhaps he was even ashamed now of having gotten so hot under the collar.
The Buckhalter girl was led outside the ring, where a woman
Freirs didn't recognize handed her a small white feather. Grinning broadly, she stood waiting, awkward as all teenagers but clearly pleased at the attention.
'She will lead the Cleansing of the barn,' called Sturtevant. 'Now choose for the house.'
Once more the girls in the ring began revolving, raising their voices in song. They had sung for three more revolutions of the circle when Sarr's hand shot out again, touching another girl, this time just below her breast, which made her squeal.
'Sarah Lindt,' Brother Joram called. 'Draw her out!'
It was Rupert's daughter; Freirs studied her closely as she was led from the circle, recognizing the wide face and snub nose. He felt even more certain now that she had been the girl in the truck.
Sarr, his task completed, had returned to Deborah's side, while in the center of the yard two women – the girls' mothers, he guessed, recognizing the woman he'd seen arrive with Lindt – proceeded to twine corn leaves in their daughters' hair. The leaves in place, the pair of girls, each grasping a white feather, were led before the group, where they stood waiting nervously. The second girl, young Sarah, he saw, looked very nervous.
Sturtevant, on the back steps, raised his hand. Turning to the girls, the congregation murmured an invocation:
'May the Lord be with you as you carry out your holy task.'
'They're the ones who'll cleanse the buildings,' whispered Poroth, his arm around his wife. He looked pleased, though Deborah's face was blank. 'They're robed in innocence, you see, and are fit for such holy work.'
'Oh, so that's the object,' said Freirs. 'Yes, I guess it makes sense.' Virgins, he said to himself, as, in silence, the Buckhalter girl began walking past the company toward the barn while the Lindt girl proceeded toward the house.
For all the awkwardness of it – the round self-conscious teen-aged shoulders and the determinedly stately pace, the silly white feathers and the corn leaves in their hair – it was a curiously solemn moment. He scanned the assembled crowd. Parents were nodding and murmuring silent prayers; Poroth was gazing at the two girls like a proud papa at graduation. Only one face made Freirs pause: that of Poroth's mother. For the first time that he could remember, the woman looked surprised and uneasy. Freirs followed her gaze. She was staring hard at the Lindt girl as the latter walked slowly toward the house, her girlish face grave, eyes directly before her, clutching the white feather as reverently as if it had been plucked from an angel wing.
'What's troubling your mother?' whispered Freirs.
'Sshh!' said Poroth, not looking at him. He did, however, turn to look at the woman, and, seeing her expression, his own face grew puzzled.
All this time the Lindt girl had been advancing slowly toward the house past the rows of assembled men and women. Suddenly Freirs saw her pause and, for the briefest moment, gaze wide-eyed with terror and misery at a white-faced young man who stood in the midst of the crowd. It was him once again, the one from the truck; Freirs had no doubt of it now. For an instant the young man returned the girl's gaze; then he looked guiltily away.
The eye contact between the two teenagers had been brief, and only someone who'd been watching for it could possibly have noticed. But it had lasted long enough for Freirs to see the look that passed between them, and he almost burst out laughing. Hah! he thought, she's not really a virgin! And the only ones who know it are her, the boy, and me! Scanning the crowd again, he saw the shock on the face of Sarr's mother. And maybe, he added, Mrs Poroth.
No one else had seen. Sarah Lindt continued moving toward the house, Eve Buckhalter toward the barn. At last the two disappeared into the buildings, the Lindt girl hesitating a moment before entering, and there was an audible sigh from the assembled Brethren. As if suddenly released from a spell, they broke ranks and milled around the yard while Freirs and Poroth looked on, the crowd eventually spreading over the lawn so that each person was left standing before a small clump of household objects.
'What's going on?' whispered Freirs.
Sarr, too, seemed more relaxed. 'Well, the girls are inside now. Sarah will go through every room of the house, from attic to cellar, blessing each room with a prayer, and Eve will do the same with the barn. Meanwhile, the others are going to bless our possessions out here. Deborah and I aren't allowed to participate.'
The blessing he'd spoken of had already begun, Freirs saw; Brethren with waving hands were making signs and passes in the air, murmuring strings of prayers like people at some ancient bazaar.
"This does my heart real good,' said Sarr, taking it all in.
Obviously size didn't matter. Freirs saw a little boy who looked all of seven standing solemnly before the grandfather clock, which dwarfed him, while hulking Rupert Lindt, his younger daughter in the house, stood mumbling a prayer over several lanterns and a rolled-up rug. Corah Geisel stood before a table piled high with jugs and jars and bowls; nearby stood her husband, blessing two of the implements from the barn, a broken plow and a rusted vehicle with wicked-looking prongs around the wheels. Brother Joram gravely blessed the pickup truck, whose cab, Sarr had said, still smelled of decay. Freirs wondered if the smell would disappear now.
Watching Geisel at his prayers, he realized that an item had been overlooked. He slipped into the outbuilding and emerged with Poroth's shiny little sickle, which had been lying on his night table. 'I wouldn't want anything to escape your blessing, Matthew!' he said, tossing the sickle on the ground beside the plow. The old man nodded distractedly and continued praying.
At last Eve Buckhalter appeared in the doorway of the barn. Sticking the white feather like a talisman into a chink in the wood by her head, she gazed around her, smiling. Moments later Sarah Lindt appeared and forced a smile too, though she looked somewhat drawn and pale. Pausing at the back door, she struggled for a moment and finally managed to fit the white feather into a crack in the wood. She descended the back steps to a host of smiling faces; the praying had stopped. The Cleansing was completed.
'Brothers, Sisters,' said Poroth solemnly, climbing onto the porch, 'I thank you all for the service you've performed and the kindness you've done me and Deborah. Now let us thank the Lord for allowing us all to be here together.'
He bowed his head; they all prayed silently for more than a minute. Freirs bowed his head, too, but only briefly; looking around, he saw that all other heads were bowed. Deborah was gazing at her feet, seemingly either deep in thought or not thinking at all. Sarr's eyes were shut tight, as if with profound concentration. Joram glared severely at his clasped hands, obviously with weighty matters on his mind. But Sarr's mother was staring intently at Deborah.
Moments later Joram raised his head. 'Amen,' he said.
There was a further easing of tension, a loosening of posture. A faint breeze had sprung up, tempering the force of the afternoon sun. Across the dome of sky a white half-moon hung just over the horizon like a smoke wisp. One by one, as if a film had been reversed, the Brethren picked up the objects on the lawn and carried them back inside. The bed and bureau were hauled up to the Poroths' be
droom; the truck was rolled into the barn.
Freirs checked his watch. It was just after one p.m. Deborah was standing silently on the porch. Sarr was supervising the moving in, pointing out where objects were to go, but was obviously not worrying much about exactness. "Tis fine, 'tis fine,' he was saying, as the women replaced the dishes in the cupboards. 'Deborah and I can arrange it all later.'
'Are you going to have to feed all these people?' asked Freirs, during a moment when the other was not distracted.
'No, thank the Lord.' Poroth smiled. 'We Brethren know how to control our hungers.'
'It's clear you do,' said Freirs, but he was thinking of the Lindt girl.
People, as he spoke, were beginning to leave: making their goodbyes, blessing one another, and drifting off up the road in little groups or, more frequently, piling into cars parked near the front of the house. On their way out, many of the Brethren stopped to thank Poroth and wish him well.
'I think the Cleansing went splendidly,' said Abram Sturtevant, a dutiful brother, 'and I know Joram thinks so as well.' In fact, the later and his family had been among the first to depart.
'I just hope it proves a help to us all,' said Amos Reid. And old Jacob van Meer stopped to offer wishes from himself and his wife that Deborah, who had long since retired to her room, would make a speedy recovery.
Moments later Freirs saw Poroth talking in urgent whispers to his mother. The farmer looked annoyed. 'I will,' he kept saying. 'Don't worry, I'll be there.' At last the woman left, but Freirs could see she was dissatisfied and troubled.
The Geisels appeared reluctant to go. 'Please,' said Poroth, 'stay and share our Sunday meal. We'd like you to, Deborah and I.'
Corah Geisel elected to stay, but it was with the express purpose of caring for Deborah. 'I'd like to stay too, Sarr,' said Matthew. 'I know your woman's in no fit way to cook or fix the house after today. But I'm sorry, I have to go. There's been a mess of trouble at our place too – in fact, we may call for a Cleansing of our own, if we can get the Brethren together before next Sunday. Our hens and cows haven't been right all week.'
After the old man had bid goodbye to Sarr, Freirs accompanied him out past the front yard and onto the dusty road. 'What's the matter with your animals?' he asked. 'I've been drinking your cows' milk all summer. It's tasted fine.'
They walked a little way in silence, till the Poroths' farmhouse was well behind them. 'Most of the livestock in the area's been acting strange lately,' said Geisel. 'I don't rightly know what's behind it all. Some folks think – well, I don't mind telling you, there's those who say all sorts of things. Some even maintain the trouble comes from you.'
'Me?' Freirs' laughter felt a little forced. 'Why in the world would anyone think that? I've got nothing to do with this place.'
'That's just the point,' said Geisel. 'You're an outsider. You're living here amongst us, but you ain't one of us. But don't you go worrying yourself over it. Some folks around here just get scared and look to all kinds of excuses.'
'And what do you think the cause is?'
But the old man never got a chance to reply, for at that moment the earth tremors began.
Bert Steegler and Amelia had already gotten back to the store. They were invariably among the first to leave worship so that they could get the merchandise out and open up for business on Sunday afternoon. They sensed that something was wrong when all the lanterns, hanging sausages, wires, auto clips, and fishing rods hanging from the overhead beams began to tremble. As they stood there in terror, gripping the counter at the front of the store as if it were a life raft, they felt a deep, very low rumbling beneath their feet. Before the vibrations ceased ten seconds later, three heavy glass lanterns had crashed to the floor, and all the items on their shelves had crept mysteriously toward the north, as if magnetized.
Most of the Brethren were still on the road – the Poroths' dirt road or the paved ones nearer town – when the tremors hit. Those who were walking felt themselves rocked and came close to losing their balance. 'It was like setting foot in a tippy boat,' Galen Trudel would say later. He felt the ground shift, and the simple phrase 'the solid earth' came mockingly to mind. Those in cars had to fight to keep their vehicles on the road. Driving close to town, Amos and Rachel Reid saw the pavement ahead slowly undulate as if it were a black ribbon floating on waves.
Many Brethren, true to their natures, were driven to recall warnings from the Bible. Klaus and Wilma Buckhalter, driving Eve home after an already exciting day, were reminded of Matthew: 'And behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent; And the graves were opened… ' Eve herself felt witness to a God 'whose voice shook the earth.' Others remembered the book of Revelation or, like Bethuel Reid, thought of Isaiah: 'Thou shalt be visited of the Lord of hosts with thunder, and with earthquake, and great noise, with storm and tempest, and the flame of devouring fire.'
And twenty-five miles to the south, graduate students in the geology department at Princeton, responding to a call from the Lamont-Doherty Geological Observatory in Palisades, New York, checked their instruments and verified the findings from Lamont: that north central New Jersey had just suffered a minor earthquake measuring four point nine on the Richter scale.
The excitement only lasted a few seconds, though it gave us all something to talk about over lunch. And it'll give me something to talk about when I get back to New York. Never experienced one of these things before; hope they're all as mild as this one proved to be.
Corah Geisel stayed upstairs with Deborah amp; left soon afterward, reporting that Deborah's reflexes seemed a little off, but that otherwise the wounds were superficial amp; were healing well.
It was grey the rest of the day amp; I sat in my room reading Robert W. Chambers amp; half waiting for another earth tremor, which fortunately never came. Most of Chambers' tales begin with marvelously ominous quotations from a mythical book called The King in Yellow. However, that single gimmick – masterful, I admit – seems to have been his sole inspiration.
I was sorry that old Corah left amp; that dinner was again made by Sarr; Deborah was still upstairs resting, he said. He sounded a trifle concerned, despite all the good things that had happened to this place today. He alluded to things wrong with her that Corah amp; the rest hadn't noticed or had overlooked. He amp; I ate a forlorn bachelor meal of cheese amp; bacon from the cellar (which, despite the Lindt girl's visit, still smells – went past the doorway tonight amp; got a strong whiff of decay). To keep Sarr company I stuck around the farmhouse a while after washing the dishes, but felt very drowsy amp; for some reason rather depressed. Hardly the appropriate mood for what's supposed to be a new beginning for this farm amp; my renewed decision to stay on. May be the gloomy weather; we are, after all, just animals, more affected by the sun amp; the season than we care to admit. Most likely, though, it was the absence of Deborah. Hope she feels better soon. We depend on her.
After Freirs went out, Sarr blew out one of the lamps. Taking the other, he walked softly upstairs, keeping to the edges of the old wooden steps so that they'd creak less. As he tiptoed into the bedroom, the light fell on Deborah's pale form. She was lying in bed on her back, staring into the darkness.
'Oh, you're awake.'
She nodded. 'Lots… to think about.' Her voice, a croaking whisper, still disturbed him.
He patted her head. 'I was going to pray silently, but I'm glad I won't have to. Just let me pray for both of us, okay? No talking now.'
'All right.'
He knelt in the corner, his knees upon the wooden planks. 'O Lord, hear me in Heaven thy resting place… '
She watched him levelly until he was done. He was smiling as he came toward her. 'And no singing tonight either,' he said, climbing into the bed. He brought the lamp closer on the night table and gently touched the bruises on her neck. 'These look even better now than they did this afternoon,' he whispered. 'God loves you, honey, and so do I.' Slowly he
leaned over and kissed the raw places at her throat. She stirred slightly; he took it for a response, hoping that, after this weekend's events, she'd want to make love as badly as he did. Leaning farther, he kissed her lips. She kissed him back only halfheartedly, her lips clamped closed. He kissed her again, waiting for her to open her mouth; she did not. Well, perhaps she still hurt there; he pulled away, feeling foolish.
Later, as they lay together in the darkness, he reached out and touched her shoulder. He felt her stir. Running his hand over the nightgown, he moved down her breasts toward her stomach and belly, sensing himself grow aroused. She stirred again and rolled away, turning her back to him. Guiltily he withdrew his hand and, with a sigh, turned over and tried to go to sleep.
July Twenty-fifth
The Poroths had been up for hours when he awoke. He rolled over in bed and looked out. The first thing that caught his eye was a garden spider just outside the screen, clutching the tattered remnants of a moth. Nature! he thought, as he had in days past. The animal was grey and hairy, as large as some of the mice the cats had killed. It was clinging to the dark green ivy that grew over the outside of the sill; obviously it had had good hunting this summer, preying on the insects that lived among the leaves. Almost as if it sensed Freirs' revulsion, the thing suddenly began to move, climbing purposefully up the screen and, as he watched, horrified, making straight for the rent in the wire. Hurriedly he seized the spray can from the shelf by his bed, held its nozzle against the screens, and inaugurated the new week at the farm by dousing the creature with poison. It struggled to within several inches of the gap, then stopped, arched its legs, and dropped backward into the ivy.
Darkly the nursery rhyme came back to him:
If you wish to live and thrive,
Let the Spider walk alive.
He tried to shrug it off, reminding himself that he had already killed so many that he was living, even now, on borrowed time.
