Page 13 of Love is Strange
“Father?” I could see the wheels sticking in his inebriated mind as he tried to reconcile my presence in this place at this hour.
“Daniel,” I replied, all calm before a storm. “I came to check on Mary.”
“Veronica. We named her Veronica. And she’s not in my barn now, is she?” He laughed, but the sound was far from genuine. His crooked smile vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, and his beady eyes narrowed, much as they had just before he charged his blushing bride. “Isn’t it a bit late to come calling? And so far from home. Perhaps you were checking in on my wife and what is up her skirts, rather than the baby.”
Our stare-down continued, and I was not amused by his accusations. “Does she need checking up on, Daniel?”
He knew then, what I had seen. I could see it in his eyes and smell it all over him. Midnight could too, because he stomped and snorted, sensing his master’s agitation. Daniel Brown knew I’d witnessed what he’d done, and he was livid that he’d be outed. He closed the distance between us, dragging his skittish horse along with him. Aggravated, I stood my ground, and when he was close enough to touch me, he stuck a finger into my sternum.
“I don’t know who you think you are coming in he—” He didn’t even get a chance to finish before the loud thwack stopped him mid-word. His face went blank as if all thoughts were wiped from him like a blackboard, and, boneless, he fell forward toward me.
“Daniel?” I put my hands up to break his fall, lowering his dead weight into the soft hay at our feet. As he landed on his side, I saw a pronounced dent in the back of his head. I noticed dainty boots beside him, and following them upward, I saw Eve clutching a bloody farm tool in her hand.
“What have you done?”
Her inscrutable eyes didn’t shift from Brown’s face. “What needed to be done.”
She tossed the farm tool into the far corner, which was full of hay bales, and then turned on her heel, sashaying out of the barn. Saying a quick prayer over Daniel Brown’s body, I made the sign of the cross over him and hurried out into the blackness after her.
“They’ll think he was kicked by his horse.” Her shoulders back and head held high, she didn’t break her stride when I caught up to her, just continued on in the direction home. “Especially if anyone else has ever seen him hurt it like we did.”
“Eve, stop.” I reached for her, and she slowed in response. “You need to ask for forgiveness.”
“Why? I’m not sorry, Henry. He was going to hurt you. I couldn’t allow it. And he hurt my Mary. I may have given her up but she is stillmine.” She stopped then, wrapping her arms around my neck and gripping me by the hair. She kissed me hard enough to bruise me, and I could feel her trembling as she tugged me to the ground beneath our feet. Her mouth barely left mine long enough to mutter between kisses. “No one shall hurt the ones that I love.”
Love.
So she loved me too.
Heaven help me that was all she had to say. Her savage mouth and the way she pawed my clothes aside just sealed the deal.
Yet later, as I presided over Daniel Brown’s funeral and comforted his wailing widow as she sobbed in the dirt beside his grave, doubt crept back in. Guilt was my unwelcome visitor, spying on me in the mirror and whispering to me while I was trying to fall asleep at night.
Weeks went by, and I couldn’t eat for days at a time. I barely slept. I came down with a terrible cough, and every time I was about to fall apart, Eve would show up at my door under the cloak of nightfall. I’d voluntarily get lost in her flesh, my weary face buried in her hair, and she’d fortify me once more. As her visits increased, my sermons were less about sin and more about loving thy neighbor. I’d learned to set my watch by her visits, and my trips to my parishioners were fewer and far between. I managed to stop my nightly treks by her place of business, speculating about who in town she was servicing. I knew exactly where she’d be in her free time, and told myself that for now what we had was enough.
The evening before Thanksgiving, I’d forced myself to leave the rectory and call on some of my elderly flock, several of whom had insisted on sending me home with leftovers. Evidently, it’s customary for the well-bred Catholic to prepare extra for their poor and lonely local priest. Eve appreciated their custom and showed a particular fondness for warm cranberry sauce, which she skillfully trickled down my nude chest. As she took her time lapping it off of me, she stared up at my reactions from under her lashes, like a wild cat, playing with its prey.
She tilted her head. “Come with me, Henry.”
“Wh-what?” My breath caught in my throat, surprise overwhelming my pleasure.
“Leave this place and come with me to America. We can start new lives where no one knows us. We can take Mary when that woman is asleep.” The nearby hearth fire was reflected in her dark eyes, her excited smile clouded in shadows. “Board the ship before anyone even realizes she is gone. I’ve nearly enough passage saved for the both of us. I’ll have the rest in a fortnight.”
Had she just suggested we run, there would have been no debate. I would have followed her to the far ends of the earth, given up my collar, left my family and my calling, abandoned it all. But stealing a child from a mourning widow—that was straying too far from my path. Yes, Mary was Eve’s baby, but she had given her up. I knew I couldn’t voice such thoughts to Eve, who was so invigorated by such notions that she kept me up all night, riding me with extra vigor. Our situation had spiraled, and I was out of my depth. I couldn’t recuse myself, and desperately needed to seek counsel.
Fortunately, my mentor and longtime friend, Bishop McDougal, arrived the following day intent on having Thanksgiving with me whilst on his way up the coast to visit other parishes. McDougal was down to earth for a Bishop, renowned for his impressive presence and silver tongue. My family had known the McDougals long before I joined the priesthood, his people hailing from the same part of Cornwall as mine. My father often remarked that McDougal had been born to lead. Even the Cardinal once joked that he’d missed a calling as an actor or perhaps a general, but McDougal, to his credit, had just laughed and said he was leading God’s army instead. I trusted McDougal without hesitation, having been his devoted friend and student since seminary. He’d be able to help me sort out my tainted soul, if there was any help to be had.
The sun had long set, and we were both stuffed fuller than our sacrificial bird. We sat by the fire, and he poured our post dinner scotch as I started in with my story. He didn’t say much during the telling, just offered up the occasional clarifying question. He stared at me in rapt attention when I told him about the incident at the Browns’, but mostly, he just let me spin down until I had him caught up to the present.
“You claim you are in love with this woman.” His features looked harsh in the shadows cast by our evening fire.
“I don’t claim it, I am.” There was no hesitation in my tone.
He arched an eyebrow. “And she loves you in return?”
I gave one single nod. “Yes.”
“Henry…” He shook his head with a deep sigh.
