Stone Field

by Christy Lenzi

  Effie’s voice sounds worried. “Dora wants to know what kind of flowers she should pick for your wedding bouquet. She’s dying to see what you look like in your dress.” Effie says the word dress like her mouth gets stuck on it.

  “Tell her to break me off some sprigs of those pretty pale blossoms in the tiny trees by the spring.”

  Effie coughs, like she’s choking. “The poison sumac?” She smiles and it changes her grave face into something bright and alive, like when a stone’s thrown into the smooth surface of a pond. “I think not, Catrina.”

  One of her doctoring books is tucked under her arm. She walks over and sits down on the floor beside me. “Everyone knew Reverend Preston and you were courting and planned to marry, but I was surprised when I heard you wanted to get married today. I suppose with Henry leaving so soon, it seems right. War has a way of causing people to make big decisions quickly. I’ve heard there have been quite a few hasty parlor weddings throughout the county this month.”

  She runs her finger slow up and down the spine of her book. “I knew Reverend Preston was happy with the changes he’s perceived in you lately, but I must admit I was surprised you returned his affection. From what you once told me, I thought you and Stonefield…”

  “Things changed.” I hug my knees, pressing the throbbing wound where I scratched out Stonefield’s name. It burns.

  She stares at the book in her lap and clears her throat. “Catrina, I know what it’s like to have to find your own way without a mother’s guidance.” She clears her throat again, as if the words have gotten lodged there and she’s having trouble getting them out. “I’ve had to figure out quite a few things on my own because my father doesn’t feel comfortable talking about them. But books have helped me.” She pulls the volume out from under her arm. “With you getting married so suddenly, and not having a mother’s wisdom to advise you, I thought you might appreciate the knowledge in this book.”

  “Fruits of Philosophy by Anonymous,” I read out loud. “Anonymous. That’s a strange name. I’ve never heard of him.”

  “The writer is anonymous due to some people’s squeamishness about the subject matter. But it’s actually quite informative. The book is advanced scientific writing on women’s anatomy and reproduction.”

  “Writing on women’s what?” I open the book and flip through the pages.

  “It explains how a woman’s body works and how she can prevent herself from becoming pregnant unless she’s ready.”

  Lordy. I didn’t know such things were possible. “Effie, your Mr. Anonymous sounds like he wrote a good book, but I’m afraid he’s a little too late to help me.”

  Effie turns quiet, letting my words sink in. As they do, her eyes get big. “Oh, Catrina!” She reaches for my hand. “You should have said something. I could have helped you before—” When she looks into my eyes, I know she can see what’s behind them—me and Stonefield, and how we loved each other. But there’s no disgust on her face like when Lu saw us in the secret house. The tight lines on Effie’s face are from concern.

  “Catrina, I should have been more observant when you were sick. What kind of doctor would overlook such a symptom. I should have—”

  “You were busy helping my papa when I couldn’t.” I try to keep my voice steady. “And making plans to go to Africa.”

  She squeezes my hand and gets up to wrap a blanket around me. “It’s too cold in here to be sitting around undressed. You’ll get sick!”

  Dora’s bubbly voice from the other side of the door calls out, “Reverend Preston is waiting—better heel it, girls!”

  Effie calls, “We’ll be ready soon, Dora.” As we get up, she says, “Catrina, does Reverend Preston know about the baby?”

  The wound on the inside of my arm throbs and I feel the hot blood beneath my skin, pulsing out Stonefield’s name. I shake my head.

  Effie frowns. “Well, it’s understandable why you want to marry so quickly.” Her eyes narrow. “But, Catrina, don’t you think he deserves to be told before you marry?”

  “No.”

  I press the wound harder. I remember how the preacher pushed me to the bed and tied my wrists. I don’t care about the preacher. He should have pain, too. That’s what he deserves.

  “Why don’t you want to tell him? Are you afraid he will change his mind? He seems to care for you very much.”

  “He only loves me because he wants to save me from myself.” I squeeze my throbbing arm tight to my chest.

  “And … Stonefield?”

  I can’t stay still. Hearing her say his name burns my ears. My arm’s inflamed with him. I rise to my feet and pace the floor, pressing his invisible name against my heart.

  “Stonefield is my own self.”

  Effie tilts her head and squints at me like a puppy.

  Her blank look infuriates me.

  I beat Stonefield’s name against my chest with my arm, my fist, hitting myself so I won’t cry in front of her. “He tore me apart.”

  Deep lines of confusion form on Effie’s forehead. I imagine her wondering if I still love Stonefield and how I can let Reverend Preston marry me if I do. And I want to shout, Well, how could Henry marry dum-dum Dora when he loves you? And how could you let him when you love him back?

  Love’s more rotten than stumbling into a bear trap. The iron jaws snap shut on you and you end up tearing off your own leg just to survive.

  She watches me pacing, pounding my chest. She’s real nervous now, glancing at the door. I should have kept quiet. She doesn’t understand. I want to slap that look off her face.

  “Damn it—stop staring at me like that, Effie! You’ve got all your fat books and your fancy words, but you don’t know anything. Stop trying to fix me and mind your own business.”

  Effie’s mouth puckers up into an angry frown. She shakes her head like she’s deciding what to do, then she flings the book onto the floor and whips around so fast, I jump, startled. She opens the door and storms out, almost crashing into Dora.

  “Need help, gals? The menfolk are waiting in the parlor.”

  I push Dora out of the way so I can see if Effie will turn around and come back to me, to apologize, but she doesn’t. She keeps walking all the way down the hall and into the front room.

  “Goodness!” Dora gulps.

  “I don’t need your help, Dora. I’ll be right out.” I slam the door in her face.

  The only help I need is someone to keep Henry from killing me when he sees what I’m going to wear to my damned wedding.

  * * *

  I’ve never worn the suit before. It’s midnight black with a snowy linen shirt and fits me perfect. Mother gave it to Henry for his fourteenth birthday—his first grown-up man’s suit. It still looks new because he grew out of it so quick. Effie and I helped Mother make it while she was teaching us to sew. When we were done, Effie slipped columbines in the pocket and wrapped it all up in fine tissue paper she got from Mr. Lenox’s store. Henry was proud as a rooster strutting around in it.

  Why should only men get to wear such simple, comfortable things? I take another puff on the pipe and blow a smoke ring. I hoped the pipe would calm me, but it’s not working.

  Henry’s impatient knock rattles the door. “We’re waiting. Come on out, Cat.” He stomps away.

  I open the door.

  Dora rushes up to meet me with a bouquet of pale purple flowers. “Look, the lavender’s in second bloom! Your bouquet will match Samuel’s boutonniere—” She stops short when she sees what I’m wearing. For once in her life, she’s speechless.

  I pull a sprig of lavender from her bouquet and slip it into my breast pocket the way Reverend Preston wears it.

  “But…” She looks as if her eyeballs might pop out of her head. “You can’t wear that to your wedding. You’re … you’re a woman.”

  “I doubt wearing the suit or the lavender in my pocket will change that.”

  I walk past Dora into the parlor.

  Papa, Mr. Lenox, Henry, and Reveren
d Preston all turn to me as I enter.

  Lord.

  Henry’s eyebrows slide to the top of his head. Mr. Lenox starts blinking as if his eyelids are made of butterfly wings.

  Reverend Preston’s smile melts. When he sees my suit and the lavender in my pocket, his lips harden like cooled wax.

  When Henry sees Reverend Preston’s expression, his face turns red. “Cat, this isn’t a game.”

  I agree. “Games are more fun.”

  Reverend Preston clears his throat. “Catrina, the Bible has things to say about women’s and men’s appearances. I didn’t admonish you in such matters before now because of your illness and your ignorance of the Scriptures, so perhaps I am to blame. But today we’ll be joined in holy union before God. I feel the Lord is telling me I must speak to you about your appearance, because when others look at us—”

  I’m shaking, holding the words in, but they push themselves out of my mouth. “You’re right, Reverend Preston—”

  “Please, call me Samuel.” He smiles like I’m a child at his knee.

  My words keep coming even though I’m thinking they should stop. “I remember God talking about that in the Bible. He was speaking to a man who was named Samuel—like you. He lit into him good for judging someone on their appearance. He told him, ‘For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.’”

  Reverend Preston’s eyebrows slide up as high as Henry’s. “Well, I—”

  “Cat—” Henry’s voice is a warning.

  But I don’t stop. “And I feel like the Lord is speaking to me, too.” I clear my throat. “I feel like He’s telling me to tell you that He says, ‘Samuel, don’t make Me repeat Myself.’”

  The room turns quiet as death.

  Effie’s eyes roll to the rafters, and I wonder if it’s topsy-turvy up there for her, too.

  I hold my breath, waiting for Reverend Preston to make a disgusted noise and walk away. I wait for the sting of Henry’s hand across my face.

  But those things don’t happen.

  Instead of storming away, Reverend Preston laughs.

  The sound jolts me like sudden thunder.

  But everybody else lets out the breath they’re holding. Papa and Mr. Lenox look relieved and start chuckling along with Reverend Preston. Dora still has her hand clamped over her mouth, but now she’s giggling, nervous, through her fingers. Only Henry’s face looks the same, but with the redness drained out of it.

  Reverend Preston holds his side as his laughter quiets. “May the Lord have mercy on me for my pride—for He ‘resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble.’”

  He stands up straight and pulls his Bible out of his suit pocket. I wonder if he’s going to start preaching. “Friends,” he says in his deep, liquid voice, “Catrina and I will have many years to read the Scriptures together and for her to learn the finer points of God’s will. And I will be faithful in my duty, as God commands husbands to purify their wives, ‘even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it; That he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word, That he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish.’ But for now, let us overlook outward appearances—my bride’s naïveté, her blunders and blemishes—and turn to the heart of the matter at hand. Mr. Lenox, would you please join our hearts and hands in holy matrimony?”

  Oh God. Hurry and get it over with. The angry wound on my arm pounds beneath my sleeve. The heat of it fills my whole body. Damn you, Stonefield.

  Reverend Preston presses his hand on the Bible and holds it out for me to do the same.

  And Lordy, Lordy, Lordy—as God watches, and Henry glares, and Reverend Preston smiles, I do.

  25

  When all’s been sworn to God and the wedding’s over and done with, my darkness comes rolling in. It clings to me, heavy as my vows. I want to fling them both a thousand miles from me. Effie left right after the ceremony was over. I don’t think she liked our vows much either.

  Reverend Preston rides off with Henry and the men to pick up ale and invite folks to the house for a little celebration and Henry’s farewell. I figure the only way to survive the darkness of my own wedding party and all those people is if I’m full of ale, so I start drinking the moment Mr. Lenox rolls in the first barrel and offers to pour.

  I down enough toasts to feel like I’m moving slow through a dream world by the time the guests arrive. I don’t even care when they look at me strange. When they say things to me, I just nod, because they don’t seem real. They’re like actors with lines from a play, just not as good as Shakespeare’s. By nightfall, I can’t even remember why they’re all here. Reverend Preston sounds as amusing as the fool in A Midsummer Night’s Dream who got turned into an ass by Puck the nature spirit. Lord, he thinks he’s clever. Even the way he puts his fingers over mine when I hand him his cup feels strange and foolish and makes me laugh. That makes him grin like a dog. His smile looks too large to fit his face. I wonder if he has more teeth than other folks, and I reach out to try and count them, but I miss and my finger brushes across his lips instead.

  That’s when Reverend Preston decides it’s time to say goodbye to Henry and take me away.

  But I don’t want to go to his home. I hadn’t thought about what it would be like to have to live with him, alone. All I thought was how bad it would hurt Stonefield.

  I don’t want to think about any of it now. I want to stay here with Papa and Henry. I never loved Henry more than I do right now. I think about how I’m wearing his suit, and how he hugged me and Effie and Mother when he unwrapped it on his fourteenth birthday. I hug him now just like I did back then. At first, it feels like I’m hugging a roof plank, but the plank softens the longer I hold it, until it finally feels like the old Henry again.

  “Be good, Cat,” he whispers. “Be good to Samuel and obey him, and he’ll treat you right. He’ll take care of you and Papa and Dora while I’m gone.” His whisper voice sounds so kind and gentle, like the old Henry, that I want to whisper, too.

  “You be good, Henry.” My words come out slow, stumbling over each other, and I don’t even know what I am going to say before the words are spoken. “Make the rebels stop fighting and end the war so the soldiers will leave Stonefield alone. I hate him. But only because I love him so much. If he dies, it will kill me.”

  All of a sudden, I’m holding a plank in my arms again, and Henry’s pushing me away, into Reverend Preston’s arms. The room spins. The ground keeps shifting under my feet and the doorframe comes at me and hits me in the elbow. All the faces whirl past me as Reverend Preston guides me out the door where his horse, Faithful, is already hitched to his buggy. I think I’m falling asleep, and Lord, we’re already at the parsonage next time I open my eyes. Reverend Preston gives me his hand to get out, but I can’t get steady enough, so I put my arms around his neck and let him carry me inside.

  I’m so sleepy. My body’s made of lead. When Reverend Preston sets me on my feet, I take off all my clothes until I’m naked and hang my jacket, shirt, and pants over a chair. It takes me a long time because the floor keeps sliding away and the walls spin a little bit every time I move. I look for the bed, but none of the rooms I walk into have one.

  “It’s this way, Catrina.” He takes my hand and shows me my room. But instead of leaving, he sits down on the bed and puts his hands around my waist. He sets me on his lap and slides his fingers across my collarbone and down my arm, pushing my hair over my shoulder.

  “I’m not yours.” I try making the words come out in a serious voice, but when Reverend Preston chuckles at my expression, I feel like I must be saying it wrong.

  “Not completely, but soon you’ll be all mine.”

  I laugh at the fool idea of belonging to Reverend Preston. Does swearing to God make something so? Ha. God should know better than to put faith in us humans.

 
But being so close to a man’s body reminds me of how it felt to be next to Stonefield in our secret house. Reverend Preston’s legs are strong and solid beneath me and his arm muscles flex as he holds me. The ale makes it so hard to think clear. I try to remember why I did this—so I can stay angry at Stonefield—but Lord, I miss him so bad. If Reverend Preston were to kiss me, I could close my eyes and feel Stonefield’s lips instead. It seems a thousand years since I felt him beside me. Reverend Preston puts his other arm around my neck and draws me toward him.

  But his kiss isn’t Stonefield’s. How could I pretend it would be?

  I open my eyes and pull away from him. His kiss tastes bitter and his embrace is a tangle of heavy ropes. I struggle free of him and stand up.

  The room spins around, and I feel sick. All the ale I drank comes back up, emptying onto Reverend Preston’s feet.

  He groans and lies back heavy on the bed. After several moments of silence, he sighs and sits up. “I shouldn’t have let you have so much to drink—it’s my fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re not yourself.”

  “He was myself and he’s gone.” I force my eyes to focus on the preacher’s blue eyes, but my head feels so heavy and light at the same time, I can’t hold it steady. “I never should have done this.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying, Catrina. You need to rest. We’ll start new in the morning.”

  Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets up and fetches a washbasin and water.

  I crawl up onto the bed and pull the covers all the way over me so he can’t see me. I rub my face hard against the pillow, trying to wipe away his kiss, but I still feel it. I grind my teeth together to rid myself of his taste and bite my lips hard to scrape the kiss away. I think that when the Bible says Hell is a place of wailing and gnashing of teeth, this is what it means. Finally, with the iron taste of blood on my tongue, I give up and let my darkness take me.

  26

  My head throbs when I wake up, and I’m so thirsty. The sharp scent of new lumber and fresh whitewash fills the preacher’s house. I realize I’m in his bed, but I don’t recall why. All I can think is how I long for the comforting smell of Papa’s pipe and Henry’s coffee that have settled into the nooks and crannies of our musty old house.