They didn't always feel the need to talk; sometimes they just sat together in silence, listening to whatever sounds the night made. They craved no entertainment. They were content.
Or most of them were. Adam Verdock, who'd just arrived from his dairy down the road, recalled a relative of his up in Lebanon who'd yielded to his wife – not one of their sect – and had had his home wired for electricity. ' 'Twas hard to stop, after that. First he bought the woman an electric steam iron, then he bought one of them things with blue lights that kill the bugs, and finally he went and bought himself a television set, just like young Jonas Flinders.'
There was a general sighing among those assembled, and a rueful shaking of heads. They knew what was coming; most of them had heard the tale before.
'Well, he had that thing put in, right in his living room where he could watch it all the time, and at first he thought it was something really special. But then his little ones took to it, and I hear it turned their heads right around. They got to scanting their dinner and their chores so they could sneak in and watch, they'd be asking for every frippery they saw, and his oldest boy near got himself thrown out of school for the way he was acting 'round the girls. That was enough for him; he took that contraption and buried it out behind his hog wallow. Now he does penance for two hours every night, staring at a blank spot of wall right where that thing used to sit. He says it's to remind him of his sin.'
More headshaking, sounds of assent, another round of tea. Bethuel Reid got up and walked noisily to the bathroom; Jacob van Meer continued rocking in his favorite chair; Adam Verdock filled his latest corncob pipe.
Finally van Meer cleared his throat. 'Wouldn't be surprised if that nephew of yours decided to buy one of those things, just to please that woman of his.'
Verdock let that sit a while, puffing ruminatively. 'No,' he said at last, 'that ain't what she wants. What she wants is company. She's from a big family, you know, one of them New Church clans up in Sidon, and she's used to havin' lots of folks around. I think she won't be happy till she's got herself some little ones – and that ain't up to her, it's up to Sarr. Right now he ain't ready to raise a child, and he knows even less about raisin' crops.' He paused. 'Ain't that right, Lise?'
His wife didn't look up from her knitting. She was a Poroth and, consequently, inclined to be more sympathetic. 'Seems to me Sarr's doin' all he can with that place,' she said, 'and I think he's doin' right by his woman. At least he's agreed to take in a boarder.'
'Yes, I saw the fellow at the store,' said her husband. 'You remember, Bert, 'twas last Sunday. Fat fellow, kinda soft lookin', but he seemed likely enough. Got a little insolent with Rupert.'
Steegler nodded. 'Struck me that way too. Young Sarr seems to speak well of him, though. Brother Rupert, now, he's got little good to say for a fellow who doesn't earn his keep.' He paused. 'Of course, Rupert would talk that way, wouldn't he?'
'Now don't be unchristian,' said Amelia. 'We're goin' to be guests at Brother Rupert's house tomorrow morning, don't forget.'
There were nods all around. Worship that week was going to be held at the Lindts'. The following Sunday would see it at Ham Stoudemire's, and then would come the Poroths' turn.
Elsi van Meer looked up. 'You suppose Lotte Sturtevant will be there? She's gettin' awful close to her time, from the look of her.'
'She's got a few weeks yet,' said Amelia. 'But I'll grant she's sure swelled up. Never seen the like. It will be a son, I'll wager – and a mighty big one.'
'She ain't due till the end of the month,' said Lise Verdock. 'It may well take till August.'
Van Meer paused in his rocking. 'Let's hope so,' he said. 'Let's hope it goes past Lammas Eve.'
'Amen,' they all said hurriedly, and nodded. 'Amen,' said Bethuel Reid, who had just come back out to the porch. He shuffled across to the old wicker couch and sat heavily beside his wife.
Van Meer resumed his rocking. His wife shooed a bug from the pitcher of iced tea. Lise stared meditatively at the rain falling in thick cascades from the eaves of the porch. In the distance came the sound of thunder.
'Really comin' down,' she said. 'Funny how nobody predicted it. 'Twasn't the sort of day for rain.' She paused.' 'Bout time we had some, though. Corn's been needin' it.'
The others turned to stare out at the night. Once again they heard the rumble of thunder. Past the farther side of the house, beyond the line of trees, they could hear the rain beating against the tombstones in the cemetery.
'Amen,' Reid said again.
July Tenth
Sarr and Deborah were going to spend the whole day at worship; they had walked toward Gilead hours before Freirs woke up. He was left to share the farm with the animals: the seven cats, four hens, and rooster, the birds that sang unseen behind the leaves, the bugs that whirled frenziedly in the heat. The sun itself was hidden behind a lowering grey sky; the ground was still damp from last might's rain and had a stagnant smell. On days like this the earth seemed capable of breeding insects, like the carcasses of horses were once believed to do.
From the window he could see Bwada and Rebekah chasing after something near the barn, the grey cat in the lead despite her greater age. Lately they'd taken to stalking grasshoppers, which swarmed around the cornfield in abundance.
Foregoing his exercises, he went into the farmhouse and made himself some breakfast in the kitchen, leafing gloomily through one of the Poroths' religious magazines, and then returned to his room out back for some serious reading. He picked up Dracula, which he'd started the night before, but couldn't bring himself to scribble more than a few lackadaisical notes.
Tried to settle into the Stoker, but that soppy Victorian sentimentality began to annoy me again. The book begins marvelously, on a really frightening note – Harker trapped in that Carpathian castle, doomed to be the prey of its terrible owner – but when Stoker switches the locale to England amp; his main characters to women, he simply can't sustain that initial tension.
For that matter, what's so bad about becoming a vampire if it means you live forever? Wish one would come amp; bite me. I'm sure I'd develop a taste for blood eventually.
Besides, the story's spoiled for me: I keep picturing Carol in all the female roles amp; find myself wanting her. Dear Carol, weather is lousy, wish you were here…
With the Poroths gone he felt lonely and bored. He found himself staring at the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling, the mildew on the walls, the dying roses drooping in their vase. It was hard to concentrate. Though he'd brought shelfloads of books to entertain him, he felt restless and wished he owned a car; he'd have gone for a drive, visited friends in Princeton, perhaps even headed back to New York… But as things stood he had nothing to do but take another walk.
He picked two sprigs of pennyroyal from the garden where Deborah had shown him and stuck them behind the earpieces of his glasses. They tickled as badly as the mosquitoes they were supposed to ward off, and even with no one to see him he was conscious of how silly he must look. When he reached the stream he tossed them in the water.
He followed the stream's twisting path back into the woods. Even though he'd seen it only once before, the way already seemed familiar. Ducking once more beneath the arch of vines and branches, he winced as he prepared to get his feet wet. To his surprise the water seemed less cold this time. Thin wisps of greenish scum floated here and there on the surface.