Alma Katsu - The Taker

Now I know only a fool looks for assurances in love. Love demands so much of us that in return we try to get a guarantee that it will last. We demand permanence, but who can make such promises? I should have been happy with the love-companionable, abiding-that Jonathan had had for me since childhood. That love was eternal. Instead, I tried to make his feelings for me into what they were not and, in trying, I ruined the beautiful eternal thing that I had.

Sometimes the worst tidings come as an absence. A friend who does not visit at the usual time, and who quickly thereafter withdraws from the friendship. An awaited letter that does not arrive, followed at some distance by news of an untimely death. And, in my case that winter, the cessation of my monthly flowers. First, one month. Then a second.

I prayed there might be another cause. I cursed Sophia’s spirit, sure that she was paying me back. Once bidden, however, Sophia’s spirit was not so easy to contain.

Sophia began visiting me in my dreams. In some, her face would merely appear in a crowd, jarring and accusatory, then disappear. In one recurring dream, I would be with Jonathan only to have him leave me abruptly, turning from me as though by silent command, ignoring my pleas that he stay. He’d then reappear with Sophia, the two walking hand in hand in the distance, Jonathan without even a thought for me. I’d always wake from these dreams feeling hurt and abandoned.

The worst dream would throw me out of sleep like a bucking horse and I’d have to stifle my cries or risk waking my sisters. The other dreams might have been my guilty mind playing tricks, but this dream could be nothing else but a message from the dead girl herself. In this dream, I walk through an empty village, the wind rippling at my back as I travel down the main carriage trail. There’s not another person to be seen, no voice or sound of life, no chopping of wood or clanging of the blacksmith’s anvil. Soon, I’m in the woods, white with snow, following the half-frozen Allagash. I stop at a narrows in the river and see Sophia standing on the opposite shore. She is the Sophia who committed suicide, blue, her hair frozen in clumps, heavy wet clothing weighing on her. She is the forgotten lover, moldering in the grave, at whose expense I have made my happiness. Her dead eyes settle on me and then she points to the water. No words are spoken but I know what she is telling me: jump into the river and end your life and the life of your child.

I dared not speak to anyone in my family about my condition, not even my sisters, with whom I was normally close. My mother commented once or twice that I seemed moody and preoccupied, though she jested that I must be suffering greatly from the monthly curse, to judge by my behavior. If only I could have spoken to her about my situation, but alas, my loyalties were to Jonathan; I could not reveal our relationship to my parents without consulting him first.

I waited to meet with Jonathan at Sunday services, while again nature intervened. Several weeks elapsed before the trails into town were passable again. By then, I felt the press of time upon me: if I were forced to wait much longer, I would not be able to keep my secret to myself. I prayed during every waking moment for God to give me the opportunity to speak to Jonathan, soon.

The Lord must have heard my prayers, for at last the winter sun came out in its fullness for several days running, melting a goodly portion of the last snowfall. Finally, that Sunday we were able to hitch up the horse, bundle ourselves in cloaks, scarves, gloves, and blankets, and pack ourselves together, tightly, in the back of the wagon for our trip into town.

In the congregation hall, I felt conspicuous. God knew of my condition, of course, but I fancied everyone else in town did, too. I feared that my abdomen had begun to swell and all eyes were upon the unsightly bulge under my skirt-though surely it was too soon for that, and in any case it was doubtful that anyone could find anything amiss, given the layers of winter clothing. I pressed near my father and cowered behind a post throughout the service, wishing to be invisible, waiting for the opportunity to speak to Jonathan afterward.

As soon as Pastor Gilbert dismissed us for the day, I hurried down the stairs, not waiting for my father. I stood on the last step, searching for Jonathan. He emerged, soon enough, and made his way through the crowd toward me. Without a word, I took his hand firmly and drew him behind the staircase where we’d have more privacy.

The bold move made him nervous, and he glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had taken notice that we’d stolen away. “Good God, Lanny, if you are thinking I should kiss you here-”

“Listen to me. I am with child,” I blurted out.

He dropped my hand, and his handsome face shifted through a series of expressions: shock, a flush of surprise, a creeping realization that brought on pallor. Although I hadn’t expected Jonathan to be happy with my news, his silence frightened me.

“Jonathan, speak to me. I do not know what to do.” I tugged at his arm.

He took a sidelong glance at me, then cleared his throat. “Dear Lanny, I am at a loss to know what to say-”

“That is not what a girl wants to hear at a time like this!” Tears strained at my eyes. “Tell me I am not alone, tell me you will not desert me. Tell me that you will help me figure out what to do next.”

He continued to behold me with great reluctance but said, stiffly, “You are not alone.”

“You cannot imagine how frightened I’ve been, confined with this secret at home, unable to speak of it with anyone. I knew I had to tell you first, Jonathan. I owed you that.” Speak, speak , I willed him; tell me that you will confess your part in my downfall to our parents and that you will do right by me. Tell me that you still love me. That you will marry me . I held my breath, tears rolling down my cheeks, almost faint with wishing to hear him speak those words.

But Jonathan could look at me no longer. His gaze fell to the floor. “Lanny, I have something I must tell you, but believe me when I say I would rather die than have to share this news with you right now.”

I felt light-headed and a chill of fear broke over me like sweat. “What could be more important than what I have just told you-”

“I’ve been engaged. It was settled this week. My father is in the hall making the announcement now, but I had to find you and tell you myself. I didn’t want you to hear from anyone else…” His words trailed off as he realized how little his courtesy meant to me now.

As we were growing up, we’d sometimes made light of the fact that Jonathan had not been betrothed. This business of betrothal was difficult in a village as small as St. Andrew. The best prospective brides and husbands were snapped up early, marriages arranged for children as young as six, so if your family hadn’t acted promptly, there might not be a good choice to be had. One would think a boy of Jonathan’s means and social stature would be an attractive candidate for any of the families in town with daughters. And he was, but a match had never been made, nor for his sisters, either. Jonathan said it was due to his mother’s social aspirations: she didn’t think any family in town would be advantageous enough for her children. They would surely do better among his father’s business associates or through her own family’s network in Boston. There had been flurries of inquiries over the years, some looking more solid than others, but they all seemed to peter out and Jonathan had approached his twentieth birthday with no bride in sight.

I felt as though my stomach had been opened with a butcher’s knife. “To whom?”