Alma Katsu - The Taker

I nudged my brother. “Take me home, Nevin.”

“Heard enough, have you?” he said, clambering to his feet. “Me, too. I’m tired of listening to that man’s nonsense. Wait while I trouble the Dales for a light; the road is sure to be dark.”

I stood conspicuously by the door, wishing Nevin would hurry. Still, the preacher’s words thrummed in my ears. I saw the looks of the women in the crowd when he turned his powerful gaze on them, the smiles that lit their faces. They were imagining themselves with him, or perhaps another man in town with whom they felt a spiritual bond… and could only wish that such desires could be acted upon. The preacher had professed the most alien concept imaginable, moral turpitude-and yet, he was a man of the Bible, a preacher. He’d spoken in some of the most august churches in the coastal area, from the gossip that had arrived in town before him. Surely that gave him some sort of authority?

I felt alit under my clothes with heat and shame, for if truth be told, I, too, would like the freedom to share my affection with any man I desired. Of course, at that moment, the only man I desired was Jonathan, but who was to say another wouldn’t cross my path one day? Someone perhaps as charming and attractive as, say, the preacher himself? I could see how a woman would find him intriguing; how many spiritual wives had the itinerant preacher known? I wondered.

As I stood by the door lost in my thoughts, watching my neighbors dance a reel (was it my imagination or were some desirous glances being exchanged between men and women as they spun past each other on the dance floor?), I became aware of the preacher’s sudden presence before me. With his piercing eyes and sharp features, he was beguiling and seemed aware of this advantage, and grinned so that I could see his incisors, sharp and white.

“I thank you for joining me and your neighbors this evening,” he said, bowing his head. “I take it you are a spiritual seeker, looking for greater enlightenment, Miss…?”

“McIlvrae,” I said, edging back a half step. “Lanore.”

“Reverend Judah Van der Meer.” He reached for my hand and gave my fingertips a squeeze. “What did you think of my sermon, Miss McIlvrae? I trust you weren’t too shocked”-here his eyes danced again, as though he was teasing me for his enjoyment-“by the frankness with which I present my beliefs?”

“Shocked?” I could barely choke out the word. “By what, sir?”

“By the idea of spiritual wifery. I’m sure a young woman like yourself can sympathize with the principle behind it, the idea of being true to one’s passions-for if I’m not mistaken, you seem a woman of great, deep passion.”

He picked up vehemence as he spoke, his eyes-and I do not believe I imagined this-running over my body as surely as if he’d used his own hands. “And tell me, Miss Lanore, you look a marriageable age. Has your family already bonded you in the slavery of betrothal? It would be a pity for a fine young woman such as yourself to spend the rest of her life in a marriage bed with a man for whom she feels no attraction. What shame to go through one’s entire life without feeling true physical passion”-here his eyes glinted again, as though he were about to pounce-“which is a gift from God to his children!”

My heart was near to bursting from my chest and I was like a rabbit drawn up in the wolf’s sights. But then he laughed, placed a hand on my arm, sending a tingle straight to my head, and drew close to me, close enough for me to feel his breath on my face and for an errant lock of his hair to brush my cheek.

“Why, you look as though you are about to faint! I think you need some air… Will you step outside with me?” He had my arm already and didn’t wait for me to answer, but whisked me to the porch. The night air was much cooler than the stuffy confines of the house and I took deep breaths until my stays wouldn’t let me draw in any more.

“Better?” When I nodded, he continued, “I must tell you, Miss McIlvrae, I was so happy that you joined us in this more intimate setting. I hoped that you would. I noticed you in the field this afternoon and I knew right away that I had to meet you. I felt a bond with you immediately-did you feel it, too?” Before I had a chance to answer, he took my hand in his. “I’ve spent most of my life traveling all over the world. I have a thirst to meet people. Every so often I meet someone extraordinary. Someone whose singularity can be seen, even across a field full of people. Someone like you.”

He had the glittery-eyed look of a man with a high fever, the wild look of someone chasing a thought but unable to focus, and I started to become frightened. Why had he singled me out? Or perhaps I hadn’t been singled out, perhaps this was an enticement he made to any girl impressionable enough to consider his offer of spiritual wifery. He pressed against me in a way too familiar to be polite, seeming to enjoy my distress.

“Extraordinary? Sir, you do not know me at all.” I tried to push him aside, but he continued to stand stubbornly in front of me. “There is nothing extraordinary about me.”

“Oh, but there is. I can feel it. You must feel it, too. You have a special sensibility, a remarkably primal nature. I can see it in your lovely, delicate face.” His hand hovered near my cheek as though he might touch me, as though he was compelled to do so. “You are full of want , Lanore. You are a sensual creature. You burn to know of this physical bond between man and woman… It is in the fore-front of your thoughts. You hunger for it. Perhaps there is a particular man…?”

Of course there was-Jonathan-but I thought the preacher was angling to see if I fancied him . “This talk is not proper between us, sir.” I stepped sideways and started to dart around him. “I should go inside…”

He put a hand on my arm again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I apologize. I’ll speak of it no more… but please, indulge me for one more minute. I have a question I must ask of you, Lanore. As I took the field this afternoon, and I noticed you, I saw you were speaking to a young man on horseback. An exceptionally good-looking fellow.”

“Jonathan.”

“Yes, that’s the name I was told. Jonathan.” The preacher licked his lips. “I have since been told by your neighbors that this young man might be sympathetic to my philosophies. Do you think you might arrange an audience for me with Jonathan?”

I felt prickling along the back of my neck. “Why do you wish to meet Jonathan?”

He laughed in his throat, nervously. “Well, as I said, from what I’ve been told he seems a natural disciple, the kind of man who can appreciate the truth of what I say. Could take up the cause and, perhaps, be an outpost of my church up here in the wilderness.” I looked into his eyes and saw for the first time a true wickedness about him, a love of chaos and disruption. He meant to sow this wickedness in Jonathan, too, as he tried to sow it in this town. As he’d hoped to sow it in me.

“My neighbors are amusing themselves at your expense, sir, since you don’t know Jonathan as I do. I doubt he would have much interest in what you have to say.” Why I felt I had to protect Jonathan from this man, I don’t know. But there was something ominous about his interest.

The preacher didn’t like my answer. Perhaps he knew I was lying or he didn’t appreciate being thwarted. He gave me a long, intimidating stare, as though thinking about what to do next to get what he wanted, and I felt for the first time in his presence true danger, a sense that this man was capable of anything. Just then, Nevin appeared in front of us with a blazing torch in hand-and for once, I was glad to see him.