Brookland (69 page)

“I am so proud of you, Mrs. Horsfield,” he said.

Prue let out an awkward laugh. “Why do you address me so formally? I have ever been Prue to you, and you Will to me.”

“But you're not a girl anymore,” he said, as if this were an explanation.

“No, and I regret it little, except if it means you shall no longer be my friend.” She looked around and said, “If it were still the building season, I could offer you a fancy seat on a spool of rope or a crate of tools, but if you want to sit now, we have only the boards of the roadway.”

“I am fine to stand,” he said. He stood nodding and looking out at the view “I'm sure you wonder what has made me seek you out this evening.” He looked away toward the water, then back to her, his chin tucked slightly beneath his blue muffler. “I desire to marry your sister.”

“Oh, I had hoped it would be so,” she said, and reached out to touch his arm.

When he had recovered from the surprise of being touched, he took her hand in both his own. “You give your permission, then?”

“It is not mine to give.”

“And you know which sister I mean?”

Now Prue began to laugh in earnest, and pulled back her hand. “Do you imagine I could think you meant Tem? Who has turned away every suitor who's approached her, and would cow you utterly within the week?
No, Will Severn. I know which sister you mean.” She was surprised, after all the years in which she had thought little of him, to find her body had been so drawn to his. “You wish to marry my sister Pearl.”

“I do,” he said. “I love her dearly.”

“She has spoken nothing to her sisters about this attachment, but we have both seen the way you look at each other, and I imagine you will be happy together. But are you sure,” she went on, “she is the sort of creature of which one makes a wife?”

“In what way do you mean?” he asked. “She has already accepted me, but I come to you, as her guardian, to ask permission.”

“I simply want it clear between us, Will, that you understand what you would be doing, marrying such an invalid.”

The smile did not fade altogether from his face, but even in the moonlight, she could see it wane. “She is not an invalid,” he said. “She is as healthy as you or I.”

“But she cannot see to your parishioners as a minister's wife should do.”

He shook his head. “I disagree with you. She can do so as well as anyone. Perhaps better, as unlike many of my parishioners, she has a heart full of compassion.”

Prue felt a vague discomfort at his words, though she could not have said why.

“Prue Winship, I am not a wealthy man, but I love your sister, and I desire to marry her. Please give us your permission.”

“I repeat, I cannot give it. I am not her father. I will speak to my husband and see what he says; and we will bring word to you as soon as possible.”

“Yes,” he said, and licked his small lower lip. “Perhaps, if I may be frank with you, I should indicate it is a matter of some urgency.”

The wind freshened, and the water seemed to be rushing by more quickly. Prue could hear the laughter and the rumble of conversation at van Nostrand's landing, but could not make out its substance.

“Do you hear me plain?” he asked, and reached over to touch her elbow

Again, she felt the electrical current travel through her, though it felt milder now “I believe I do,” she said. “I will speak to Ben at once.”

“Thank you.” He brought her hand up to his face and kissed it, then let it go.

They walked back down the bridge in silence, and Prue could not feel her feet on the roadbed. She did not know if this was due to the cold or to the shock of what she believed she'd heard him say. He tied shut the gate inexpertly and asked, “Shall I see you home?”

“Heavens, no,” Prue said, thinking all the while she could not make the situation ordinary by pretending it was so. “It's a short distance.” As he continued to watch her, she said, “We shall seek you out in the morning, have no fear.”

He bowed to her before heading the other way up the Shore Road.

Prue found herself uncertain where to go on the silent road. She had traveled from the works to Joralemon's Lane on so many occasions, she thought her body should be able to walk the route without her mind's intercession; but it was her body, at that juncture, seemed outside her control. Her mind was blank as the water she walked beside.

At home, she found a fire blazing in the kitchen, and Tem and Ben sitting before it, apparently in good spirits, and drinking gin.

“Where is Pearl?” Prue asked the moment she had closed the door behind her.

Ben rose to greet her and said, “Christ, you look ill. What did the minister say?”

“Where's Pearl?”

“She and Abiah are changing her sheets,” Tem said, also rising to her feet.

Prue crossed the room to the half-open door, behind which Pearl was folding back an embroidered sheet over her quilt while Abiah had the turnscrew in the bedpost to tighten the ropes. They had a good fire going in the grate. Prue had never understood the rage that had possessed her father the night he'd dragged Pearl practically by the hair to apologize for the theft of the book; but although she could not explain herself, if she'd held a weapon in her hand at that moment, she believed she could have killed her sister.

“What did he want, love?” Ben asked, coming up behind her.

“Pearl,” Prue began, in as calm a tone as she could muster, “are you carrying the minister's child?”

Abiah turned dumbstruck to look at Prue, and both Ben and Tem began exclaiming as if she'd gone mad, but Prue hushed them.

“Pearl?” she repeated.

Pearl tentatively raised both palms toward the ceiling, and her eyebrows followed.

Before Prue knew what she was doing, she lunged across the room and slapped her sister's face. Pearl didn't try to fend her off, but Ben was on her in an instant, wrapping one arm across her breastbone to pull her back. “Prue,” he said, “what are you thinking?”

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Prue said sharply to Pearl. Pearl recoiled at her tone. Prue had slapped her near her nose, and her left eye began to water, though she wasn't crying. More quietly, Prue said, “Pick up your book.”

Pearl reached down and opened it, but stood saying nothing. After what seemed an eternity, she wrote a note, then held it out to Prue.
I am not certin
, it read,
but I believe
.

“Good Lord,” Ben said softly, and dropped his arm from across Prue's chest.

Abiah said, “What has she written?” though she must have known the answer.

Tem, who had come into the doorway, said, “She believes herself with child.”

Abiah said, “Mercy.”

Pearl wrote,
How does one know, without Fail?
and held it out to Prue.

Prue shook her head no and said, “You must have reason to think it might be so?” The idea of Will Severn making sport with her sister was unbearable. She could neither imagine it nor drive it away.

Pearl wiped her nose on her sleeve, wrote, and held the book back up to her.
Who are you to ask?
it read.

Prue felt the embers of her anger continuing to smolder. “Your sister, and your guardian.”

She took it back to write, &
when you & Ben hadyr Pleasure in the Haystacks all the Yeers before you were wed, to whm did you have to apologize?
No one answered her, and she flipped to a new page and wrote,
I've never once prqum'd to tell you how to manage Affqyrs
.

“But you are not responsible for me,” Prue nearly spat at her. “You
are the one has been marked since birth, and it is my duty to look after your welfare.”

Pearl hissed, and wrote,
Mark'd because you mark'd me
.

Prue read the words twice before she understood their import. “Pearl,” she said, “you cannot—”

But Pearl gave her a sharp “Ssst,” and went back to writing. Prue could not summon the words to object a second time.

Ben asked quietly, “What is this?” but Prue waited for Pearl's response.

It came:
I know you curs'd me in our mothr' Womb. Is it not so?
Her eye was still watering from the blow, and she brushed angrily at it.

As long as Prue had lived, she had striven to keep this knowledge from Pearl and from everyone else. She had regretted it as she regretted no other thing, and kept it locked away where not even her husband might know it. To have Pearl bring it out into the open so matter-of-factly, on a cold November evening, seemed strangely familiar—it was the thing Prue had most dreaded, and she had therefore already dramatized this scene in her imagination a thousand times—and yet uncanny, like a voice from the grave. She was horrified to know her sister knew of her crime, but Pearl's admission also came as a kind of relief. What could Prue not tell her, if she knew this?

“How long have you known?” Prue asked. Though Ben and Tem were quiet, she could feel their confusion in the air behind her.

Always
, Pearl wrote.
Jobana told me, when I was small
.

“And all these years, you've said nothing to anyone?”

She shook her head—equivocally, Prue thought—no.

Ben touched the back of Prue's arm and asked again, “Sweet, what is this?”

“Not to Tem? Not to Mother nor Father?”

“I've no idea what you speak of,” Tem said.

Pearl shook her head with greater emphasis, and both her eyes filled with tears.

Prue's own smarted, as if she were the one who'd been slapped. She looked at her sister, standing there ready to cry and no doubt pregnant, and Prue loved her more than anything in the world. She loved her more than Ben, more than her lost daughter, the distillery, or the dream of a
bridge. “I am so sorry,” she said. She longed to pick her up and hold her. “I'm sorry, Pearlie,” she said again, and watched Pearl's mouth open exactly as it had in the awful dream, and watched her white teeth shine as she cried.

“But what for?” Ben asked.

“I laid a curse on her when she was in the womb.” There was pleasure in saying what all these years she had striven to hide. “You see what was the result.”

“I don't understand,” Tem said. “Were you five years old when Pearl was born?”

Prue turned and nodded to her. “Six.”

“Well, you can't have put a curse on her.”

Pearl kept crying.

“Prue, are you listening? You may have wished her ill, but little girls can't curse their sisters. Believe me, it's not possible; had it been, I should have done it to you long ago.”

“But you see, it is what happened. I stood at the top of Clover Hill and wished with all my might for the Lord to smite her. And look what came to pass.”

“Lord have mercy,” Abiah said quietly, and excused herself from the room. A moment later, Prue heard the door to Abiah's bedroom shut behind her. Prue thought she had gone in to pray.

Pearl flipped to a new page and wrote,
Will you let me marry him?

“I don't see I have any choice,” Prue said. “And I wouldn't keep you from him, in any case.”

Pearl wiped mucus from her upper lip.
And will you apologize?

“I have already done so, Pearl. I am sorrier for what I did to you than for any other thing I've done in my life.”

“Apologize for slapping her,” Ben said.

“Yes,” Prue said. “I am sorry. I'm ashamed of myself.”

Pearl weighed this a moment, then went to her wardrobe and gruffly unlatched the door.

“What are you doing?” Prue asked, but Pearl simply removed her other dress and a clean chemise, and laid them on the bed for a brisk and sloppy refolding. “Pearl,” Prue said. When Pearl did not respond, Prue grabbed for her arm, but Pearl pushed her off. “I am sorry. I've regretted what I did every day of your life.”

Tem said, “You've done nothing.”

“I love you more than I can say,” Prue said, but herself could hear how tinny the words sounded.

Pearl balled up a pair of stockings and threw them on top of her clothes. She wiped her nose again brusquely on her sleeve, and began to write. When she had finished the page, she tore it from the book and would have flung it at Prue, could paper be flung. Instead, it wafted to the floor. She continued to write as Prue bent to pick it up.

It read,
How dare you acuse me of Immorality, when you yrself are the darkest Sinner in the Room? You might have said a Word,—
one Word
,—of Apology all this Time, & you've skulk'd around, hoping I would'n't take you to Task. I wo'n't
,—

She tore off a second sheet, and this time held it out to Prue.
—accept yr Apology. It is'n't good enough
.

“No,” Prue said, “please don't go. I am sorry.” She wished there were some other way to phrase it, but it was all she could say. “You don't know how I have suffered over this.”

Ben had read the notes over her shoulder and said to Pearl, “Please put that down.”

She had bent over for the pillow slip she had not yet worked onto her pillow. It was one she had embroidered herself, with flowers and vines.

Prue said, “I will not have you leave this house,” though she heard this ring false as well. How could she prevent her? Who was she to say?

Pearl shoved her clothes in the pillow slip, and took her extra pencils from her table and crammed them in on top. She was still crying, and obviously annoyed at herself for it. She twisted the bundle closed and held it against her chest.

“Put that down,” Prue said, and felt a new surge of anger when Pearl did not comply. “I demand that you put it down,” she said more forcefully, then grabbed for the bundle.

With one hand Pearl continued to grip tight to her possessions, and with the other she struck out at Prue with the blind viciousness of a cat. Her mouth was wide open, and she let out a rasping cry. When Prue tried to contain her, Pearl kept striking at her until at last she pushed her with enough force to send Prue stumbling a few steps back. Whether from the force of this exertion or simply from rage, she collapsed onto her mattress with her pillow slip in her arms, and continued to make her awful, inarticulate, nearly soundless howl. The fire continued to crackle, and the
floorboards creaked as Prue resettled her weight, but a terrible silence seemed to reign in the room as Pearl gave vent to her anger and frustration. Prue did not know what to do or say. She did not want to see Pearl thus, yet could not avert her eyes from the spectacle. When she looked to her husband and to Tem, they appeared equally watchful and uncertain.