Andre Alexis - Pastoral

The memory of the previous night returned to Elizabeth as she stood at the kitchen sink. The knives clicked on the white enamel and she remembered that Robbie had not wanted to see her after the accident. He needed to rest, he’d said. He didn’t want her to see him as he was: injured, depressed.

— But that’s when you should see the people you love, she’d answered.

— Can I have a little time to myself, Liz? Please.

Which was when all doubt vanished. There was something seriously wrong. Still, it was not in her nature to be angry or resentful. She had not complained. She wasn’t the type to make a scene or cause pain. That may even be what he held against her, that she could not love him the way he wanted. How unfair, because he made her happy. Effortlessly, it seemed.

In any case, she had said she’d wait for him to call or to meet her at the bakery. And a day after they’d spoken, he had come to the bakery. It had upset her to see him: two black eyes, his neck in a brace, wincing as he walked. It had taken great self-control to keep from crying at the sight of him, to keep from taking him in her arms. Her touch would have caused him pain, he’d said. It was even painful, he’d said, to hold hands, but he had come to show her the state he was in, so she could see he hadn’t been lying about his need for rest and solitude. Also, there was something he had to tell her, something important.

— About the accident? she’d asked.

— Yes, he’d answered.

But he would not speak to her then, not in front of the bakery. He had not wanted the whole big-eared town to know their business. So, they had arranged to meet in ‘their’ clearing in the woods behind her uncle’s property.

It was early evening when she got there. The sky, visible above the treetops, was red-orange. The woods were quiet and smelled of pine, of mushrooms and of rotten undergrowth. Robbie came some time after her. She heard him before she saw him. He sounded like a large animal, a deer, say, crashing through the woods. Then, there he was beside her, still wearing the brace that made him look so vulnerable. He was alone. (For some reason, she’d been afraid he would bring Jane.)

He wasted no time on kindness.

— I’ve got something to tell you, he said. I should have told you sooner. I don’t know how to say it, except to say it. So … I’m in love with Jane Richardson too.

It took a moment for Elizabeth to comprehend.

— What do you mean ‘too’? she asked.

— I mean I haven’t stopped loving you, Liz, but there’s Jane too, now.

— You love us both? That’s convenient. Are you screwing us both too?

— Yes, I am. I’m sorry. I should have told you.

Well, what could you say to that? And he had the nerve to look contrite, as if he’d broken a plate and forgotten to mention it. She could think of nothing to say. Instead, she wondered what would happen if she punched his neck. Would he die? Or would the brace save him?

— I know this is the worst thing to tell you before we get married, he said. But I still want to marry you. I still love you, Liz.

— How long have you been seeing her?

— A while. Maybe a year.

— You’ve been sleeping with the two of us for a year?

— I know, and I’m sorry. It’s not like there are rules for this, you know. I tried to do the right thing.

— You proposed to me while you were sleeping with someone else. You proposed to me.

— I love you and I want to marry you. This doesn’t change how I feel about you.

— Why me? Why do I get to be the wife whose husband is screwing someone else and everyone knows except me? Is that because you love me too?

— I knew you’d be mad. I don’t blame you. I really don’t understand all this any better than you. But I think we should think this through. You know how I feel about you. I swear I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, but I love Jane too. And I’m asking if you would marry me, despite everything.

Up to that moment, all of her emotions had been in a kind of suspension; no single one presided. Elizabeth was furious, humiliated, amused, unbelieving and stunned that the one man she loved, the one man she thought would protect her from shame, could do this to her. And as happened when there were too many emotions to deal with at once, she shut down. Completely. Door after door closed within her, until she was no more than a surface.

— I have to go, she said.

And she’d left him in the woods.

After his words in that place, their place, how could she be irresolute? There was no chance the two of them would see each other again. So, why talk about marriage? Yet, when her aunt had asked if the marriage was still on, she’d said yes and she’d said yes because she still had feelings for Robbie, whatever may have happened.

On the other hand, though she still loved Robbie, she wanted to get back at both him and Jane for putting her through this misery. Jane she wanted to hurt outright. But Robbie she wanted to hurt in a way that would leave the door open for him. He would have to work to regain her trust, if he wanted it, if her trust mattered to him. She was not certain she would ever forgive him, but she would give him another chance. How this would happen, how she would deal with Jane, she did not yet know. The first thing to do was to tell Robbie she had thought things through, that she would marry him, if he still wanted her. That would buy her time.

So, again, she had not lied to her aunt. As far as she knew, there would be a wedding.

When she had finished washing her plate and knives and again told her aunt that all was fine, she went up to her bedroom. As she often did these days, she took out the prayer book her parents had left, curious to see if there were a prayer for someone in her position.

There were certainly a number of prayers related to love: a prayer to find love, one to keep love and one to regain lost love. There were prayers for those who had never been in love, who had been abused by love, who had been betrayed by love. There were even more, but Elizabeth chose to read this last one, the one for those who had been betrayed:

Lord, free me from the flame of this betrayal.

Let this pain pass and with it the love I feel

For my beloved. Though love is your greatest

Gift, let me put it by and begin again.

Make me anew in the fire of your true love.

Make me in the balm of your mercy. Teach me

The divine art, forgiveness, that brings peace,

And in peace let me know love again, new forged

From the broken remnants of my ruined Self.

Amen.

This prayer was not what she needed. The time would come for forgiveness and rebuilding, but not yet. Not until she had settled matters for herself.

During his first months in town (with Lowther’s guidance and, most often, his company), Father Pennant took to exploring the fields and woods around Barrow: open fields, abandoned farms, fields lying fallow. All of this walking and looking was done to familiarize himself with the new world: shrews, deer mice, milkweed, monarch butterflies, deer flies, horseflies, blackflies, dragonflies. He noted what he saw, where and when things were seen, and he drew (precisely and beautifully) the flora and fauna of the place. His forays brought him considerable pleasure, as well as instilling the sense that he was getting to know the land at the same time as he got to know the people who lived on it.

In all of this, Lowther was a wonderful companion. He was a naturalist of sorts, infallible when it came to birds and trees. He could, for instance, tell most birds by their song, and it was a pleasure to walk with him, if only because it greatly increased Father Pennant’s awareness of the sounds this bright world made. Moreover, April and May provided them with ideal weather: sunshine, light rain from time to time, cool nights, more sunshine. The plants were nourished and thriving and it was exquisite to go out on dew-wet mornings to explore the greening: weeds, flowers, cow manure, sheep shit, the wet spoor of deer, coyotes and, in one field, what looked to be the spoor of a bear, fresh.