THIRTY-SEVEN

ST. ANDREW, 1819

That blissful reunion on the settle was not to be our last time together. We contrived to meet as best we could, although the circumstances were inconvenient, to say the least—a hay barn on the edge of the pasture, fragrant with dried alfalfa (but then we had to be diligent to brush every seed and stalk from our clothes), or the horse barn off the St. Andrews’ house, where we’d lock ourselves in the tack room and quietly grind against each other amid dangling reins and harnesses.

During these times with Jonathan, even as I inhaled his breath and drops of his sweat fell on my face, I was surprised to find Adair creeping into my thoughts. Surprised that I felt guilty, as though I was wronging him, because we were lovers, in our way. There was an undercurrent of fear, too, of the punishment Adair would exact from me, not for swiving another man but for loving another man. Why should I feel guilt and fear if I was only doing what he wanted?

Maybe because in my heart I knew it was Jonathan I loved, only Jonathan. He would win out every time.

“Lanny,” Jonathan whispered, kissing my hand as he lay recovering in the hay after an assignation. “You deserve better than this.”

“I’d meet you in the woods, in a cave, in a field,” I replied, “if that were the only way to see you. It doesn’t matter where we are. All that matters is that we are together.”

Pretty words, the words of lovers. But as we lay together in the hay and I stroked his cheek, my mind could not help but wander. And it wandered to dangerous places, poking into matters best left undisturbed, such as the circumstances surrounding my abrupt departure years earlier, and Jonathan’s silence on the event. Since I’d returned to town he hadn’t asked me once about the child. He wanted to question me; I sensed it whenever there was a moment of strained silence between us, when I would catch him looking at me sideways. When you left St. Andrew … but the words remained on his tongue. He must have assumed I’d aborted the babe, as I’d said I would that day in church. But I wanted him to know the truth.

“Jonathan,” I said softly, catching and slipping tendrils of his black floss through my fingers, “did you ever wonder why my father sent me out of town?”

I felt him hold his breath, a hesitation in his stillness. After a bit, he replied, “I didn’t know you’d gone until it was too late … It was wrong of me not to seek you out earlier, to see that you were not in trouble or if something more sinister had happened to you …” He began to fiddle absentmindedly with the lacing on my stays.

“What excuse did my family make for my being sent away?” I asked.

“They said you were being sent to care for a sick relative. They were very closed after you’d left and kept to themselves. I asked one of your sisters once if they’d heard from you and if they might give me an address so I could write to you, but she rushed away without responding.” He lifted his head from my sternum. “Is that not the case? Were you not caring for someone?”

I could have laughed at his naiveté. “The only one who needed care was myself. They sent me away to have the child. They didn’t want anyone here to know about it.”

“Lanny!” He pressed a hand against my face, but I shook it off. “And did you—”

“There is no child. I miscarried.” I could say those words without emotion now, without a quiver in my voice or a knot in my throat.

“I am so sorry for all you have been through, and by yourself …” He sat up, unable to take his eyes off me now. “Does this have anything to do with how you ended up with this man? This Adair?”

I’m sure my expression became very dark. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

“What trials have you been through, poor brave Lanny? You should have written me, informed me of your situation. I’d have done anything for you, anything within my means …” He went to hold me—for which my body longed—then seemed to think better of it and pulled back. “Have I lost my mind? What—what are we doing? Haven’t I wronged you enough? What right have I to start up with you again, as though it’s a game of some sort?” Jonathan held his head in his hands. “You must forgive me for my selfishness, my stupidity …”

“You didn’t force me,” I said, trying to calm him. “I wanted this, too.” If only I could take my words back; it had been a mistake to bring up the child, dead and gone. I cursed myself for giving in to my petty nature. I had wanted Jonathan to know I had suffered and to acknowledge his part in the ill that had befallen me, but it had backfired.

“We cannot continue like this. This is the last—complication—I need in my life.” Jonathan rolled away from me and got to his feet. When he saw my shocked and hurt expression, he continued, “Forgive my frankness, dear Lanny. But you know full well I have a family, a wife, an infant daughter, obligations I cannot forsake. I cannot jeopardize their happiness for the sake of a few stolen moments of pleasure with you … And there is no future for us, there cannot be. It would be hurtful and unfair to you for us to continue.”

He doesn’t love me enough to stay with me—the truth cut my heart like a blade. I gulped for air. Anger flamed up inside me at his words. Could he be realizing this only now, after we had started up our illicit affair again? Or was I hurt because he was forsaking me a second time for Evangeline? I must admit the first thought that came to me, as I sat dumbfounded, was of revenge. I can see how scorned women swear themselves over to the devil; in such a moment, the need for revenge is strong but the ability to extract it insufficient. If Lucifer had appeared before me at that second, promising the means to make Jonathan suffer the everlasting torments of hell in exchange for my soul, I would have accepted it, gladly.

Or perhaps there was no need to summon the devil, to draw up the fiery contract, to sign my name in blood. Perhaps I already had.

I was at a loss, now, for how to carry out Adair’s plan, and the realization that I might fail made me sick with fear. I’d thought I’d lure Jonathan to Boston with my love and sexual favors, but I’d failed. Remorse made my lover swear off me, though he promised he would be my friend and benefactor, if need be, forever. I waited to see if Jonathan might change his mind and come back to me, but it became clear as the days progressed that he would not. A visit, I begged him; come to Boston for a visit, but Jonathan resisted. One day his excuse was that his mother couldn’t be trusted not to upset village affairs in his absence, and on another day it was that a complication had arisen that required his attention.

In the end, though, it was always his wife who kept him from agreeing to leave. “Evangeline would never forgive me if I left her alone with my family for a long spell, and she’d never make the trip with the baby,” he said to me, as though he really was at the mercy of his wife and an infant—as though he’d never put his own wishes ahead of theirs, dutiful husband and father that he was. Such excuses might have been believable for another man but not for the Jonathan I knew.

The approaching snows were pressing my departure, however. I sensed that if I remained in St. Andrew for the winter, something terrible would happen. Adair, enraged that I’d defied him, might descend on the town with his hellhounds, and who knew what the blackhearted fiend might do to the innocents of St. Andrew, cut off from the rest of the world? I thought of the stories Alejandro and Dona had told me about Adair’s barbarian past, leading raids on villages and slaughtering inhabitants who resisted. I thought of the maidens he’d raped and the way he’d drugged me and used me for amusement. Moving within Boston society ensured that Adair’s brutal tendencies remained somewhat in check; there was no telling what would happen in an isolated, snowbound town. And I’d be the one responsible for bringing this plague on my neighbors.

I was mulling over my predicament one evening at Daughtery’s, hoping to run into the tenderhearted axman I’d met early in my visit, when Jonathan walked in. I’d seen that expression on his face before: he had not come into Daughtery’s restless for companionship. He was flush with contentment. He’d come from an assignation.

He started at the sight of me, but, having seen me, could hardly leave without acknowledging my presence. He took the stool across the lone table, his back to the fire. “Lanny, what are you doing here? It’s hardly the place for a lady to frequent on her own.”

“Oh, but I’m not a lady, am I?” I said, bitingly, though I regretted my bitterness immediately. “Where else can I go? I can hardly drink in the company of my mother and brother; I can’t abide their disapproving faces. You, at least, can always go back to your big house for a nightcap. Better quality of drink, at any rate. And anyway—shouldn’t you be home at this hour with your wife? You’ve been up to something this evening, I can smell it on you.”

“Considering your position, I wouldn’t think you’d be so quick to judge me,” he said. “All right—I’ll tell you the truth since you demand it from me. I have been with another woman. Someone I was seeing before you returned so unexpectedly. I, too, have a mistress. Anna Kolsted.”

“Anna Kolsted is a married woman.”

He shrugged.

I quivered with fury. “So you haven’t ended your affair with her, even after the pretty speech you gave me the other day?”

“I—I couldn’t leave her as abruptly as that without explaining what had happened.”

“And will you explain that you’ve had a moral epiphany? That you’ve resolved not to see her again?” I demanded, as though I had any right to.

He remained silent.

“Do you never learn, Jonathan? This cannot end well,” I said icily.

Jonathan pressed his mouth into a frown, long-simmering resentment bubbling up. “That seems to be what you always tell me, isn’t it?” Sophia’s name hung in the air between us, unspoken.

“It will end the same. She’ll fall in love with you and want you for herself.” Fear and sorrow rose up in me as it had the day I’d found Sophia in the river. I wouldn’t have thought, after everything I’d been through, that her vision still had the power to affect me—maybe it did because I sometimes wondered if I’d have done well to follow her example. “It’s inevitable, Jonathan. Everyone who knows you wants to own you.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

His sharpness silenced me for a second, but I couldn’t leave it be. I said sarcastically, “Those who have you tend to rue their good fortune. Perhaps you should ask your wife about that. Have you thought how your affair with Mrs. Kolsted will affect Evangeline should she find out?”

Anger overtook Jonathan quickly, like a storm front. He checked over his shoulder to make certain Daughtery was engaged and no one was listening, then gripped my upper arm and drew me close. “For Christ’s sake, Lanny, have pity on me. I’m married to a child. When I took her to our conjugal bed, she cried afterward. Cried. She is frightened of my mother and dumbstruck around my sisters. I have no need for a child, Lanny. I need a woman.”

I pried my arm out of his grip. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“I wish to God I’d never given in to my father and married her. He wanted an heir, that’s all he cared about. Saw a young girl with many breeding years ahead of her and made a deal with old McDougal, as though she was a broodmare.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’ve no idea of the life I must live now, Lanny. No one to run the business but me. Benjamin is still as helpless as a four-year-old. My sisters are ninnies. And when my father died, well … all his worries were foisted onto my shoulders. This town depends on my family’s fortunes. Do you know how many settlers bought their land with loans secured by my father? One harsh winter, or if they’ve no talent for farming, and they will default on their obligations. I can foreclose, but what use have I for another failing farm? So you’ll forgive me, I pray, for taking a mistress and having some small measure of escape from all my responsibilities.”

I cast my eyes down.

He continued, wild eyed. “You can’t imagine how tempting your offers have been. I’d give up everything to be free of my obligations! But I cannot, and I think you understand why. Not only would my family be lost, but the town, too, would fail. Lives would be ruined. You may have caught me in a moment of weakness when you came back, Lanny, but the past few years have taught me hard lessons. I cannot be so selfish.”

Had he forgotten that he’d once told me he wanted to leave them all behind, his family and his fortune, for me? That he once wished his world was just he and I? A more levelheaded woman would have been happy to see that Jonathan had accepted his responsibilities, and was shouldering obligations that might break a weaker man. I cannot say I was happy or proud.

But I understood. I loved the town, in my way, and had no desire to see it falter. Even if my own family was already in difficulty, even if the townspeople had treated me shabbily and gossiped behind my back, I couldn’t take away the linchpin holding the town together. I sat opposite Jonathan, grim and sympathetic to the plight he’d just shared with me, yet inside, panic bloomed from my feet to my head. I was going to fail Adair. What in the world would I do?

We drank our brew in dismay. It seemed clear enough that I’d have to give up on Jonathan and needed to concentrate on my own plight: what to do next? Where could I go that Adair wouldn’t be able to track me down? I had no desire to reenact the excruciating torture I’d already been subjected to.

We paid for our drink and went out to the path, each of us silent with our own thoughts. The night was again cold, the sky clear and bright from the moon and stars, thin clouds slicing through the silver light.

Jonathan put a hand on my arm. “Forgive my outburst and forget my troubles. You have every right to despise me for what I just said. The last thing I want is for you to take on my burdens. My horse is in Daughtery’s barn. Let me give you a ride home.” But before I could tell him it was unnecessary and that I preferred to be left with my thoughts, we were interrupted by the crunch of snow at the top of the path.

It was late and near freezing, unlikely for anyone to be about. “Who’s there?” I called to a figure in the shadows. Edward Kolsted stepped into a sliver of moonlight, a flintlock in his hands.

“Be on your way, Miss McIlvrae. I’ve no quarrel with you.” Kolsted was a rough young man from one of the poorer families in town and posed no competition to Jonathan for anyone’s affections. His long face had been disfigured by smallpox, as many had been in youth, and for a young man, his brown hair was already thinning, his teeth falling out. He leveled the rifle at Jonathan’s chest.

“Don’t be stupid, Edward. There are witnesses: Lanny and the men inside Daughtery’s … unless you plan to kill them, too,” Jonathan said to his would-be murderer.

“I don’t care. You’ve ruined my Anna and made a laughingstock of me. I will be proud to be known as having avenged myself against you.” He lifted the rifle higher. A complete dread chill seized me. “Look at you, you fancy peacock,” Edward sneered down his rifle at Jonathan, who, to his credit, stood his ground. “Do you think the town will mourn when you’re dead? We’ll not, sir. We despise you, the men of this town. Do you think we don’t know what you’ve been up to, bewitching our wives, putting them under your spell? You took up with Anna for a bit of fun, and in the bargain stole the most precious thing I had. You’re the very devil, you are, and this town would be better rid of you.” Edward’s voice climbed, high and defensive, but regardless of his words, I felt sure that Kolsted would not go through with his threat. He meant to frighten Jonathan, to humiliate him and make him beg for forgiveness, and that would give the cuckold a measure of dignity. But he didn’t have the resolve to kill his rival.

“Is that what you want of me, to be a devil? That would suit your purpose, exonerate you of blame.” Jonathan lowered his arms. “But the truth is, your wife is an unhappy woman, and this has little to do with me and much to do with you.”

“Liar!” Kolsted shouted.

Jonathan took a step toward his assailant and my gut twisted, unsure if he had a death wish or if he couldn’t let Kolsted hide from the truth. Perhaps he felt he owed it to his lover. Perhaps our argument in Daughtery’s had brought about some resolution. But his angry countenance was misleading and Kolsted might be convinced that Jonathan was enraged because he loved Anna. “If your wife were happy, she wouldn’t seek my company. She—”

Kolsted’s old rifle fired, a blue-white burst of flame at the muzzle, which I caught from the corner of my eye. It went too fast: a crack like thunder, a flash like lightning, and Jonathan staggered backward, then dropped to the ground. Kolsted’s face contorted, captured in the moonlight for an instant. “I’ve shot him,” he muttered, as though reassuring himself. “I’ve shot Jonathan St. Andrew.”

I dropped to my knees in the half-frozen mud, pulling Jonathan onto my lap. His clothing was already soaked through with blood, all the way to his greatcoat. It was a deep wound and serious. I wrapped my arms around Jonathan and looked balefully at Kolsted. “If I had a rifle, I would shoot you where you stand. Get out of my sight.”

“Is he dead?” Kolsted craned his neck but wasn’t brave enough to walk up to the man he had shot.

“They’ll be out in a second, and if they find you here they’ll lock you up forthwith,” I warned, hissing through my teeth. I wanted him to flee: stirring could be heard within Daughtery’s and someone would be out shortly to see who had fired the shot. I had to conceal Jonathan before we were discovered.

I didn’t have to prompt Kolsted twice; whether it was from fright or sudden remorse, or because he wasn’t ready to be taken into custody, Jonathan’s assailant drew back like a spooked horse and ran. Locking my arms around Jonathan’s chest, I pulled him into Daughtery’s barn. I peeled back his greatcoat, then his frock coat, until I found the wound in his chest, blood spilling out from a hole near where his heart should be.

“Lanny,” he wheezed, searching for my hand.

“Right here, Jonathan. Be still.”

He wheezed again and coughed. There was no help to be had, judging from the distance of the shot and the location of the wound. I recognized the expression on his face: it was the strained look of the dying. He fell into unconsciousness, sinking in my arms.

Voices floated in from the other side of the worm-eaten boards, men from Daughtery’s out on the path. Finding no one, they drifted away.

I looked down on Jonathan’s beautiful face. His body, still warm, weighed heavily in my lap. My heart clamored in panic. Keep him alive. Keep him with me at all costs. I hugged him tighter. I couldn’t let him die. And there was only one way to save him.

I eased his body to the ground, spread open his coat and waistcoat. Thank God he was unconscious; frightened as I was, I’d never have been able to do the cursed deed otherwise. Would it even work? Perhaps I remembered it wrong or there were special words I needed to recite to make such potent magic work. I had no time for second guessing, however.

I fumbled at the hem of my bodice, searching for the vial. Once I’d located the tiny silver vial by feel, I ripped out the stitches and pulled it from its hiding place. My hands shook as I pulled the stopper from the vial and separated Jonathan’s lips. There was only a drop in there, less than a bead of sweat. I prayed it was enough.

“Don’t leave me, Jonathan. I cannot live without you,” I whispered in his ear, the only thing I could think to say. But then Alejandro’s words came to me, the thing he’d told me that day I’d been transformed—I prayed it would not be too late. “By my hand and intent,” I said, feeling foolish even as I spoke, knowing I had no power over anything, not heaven, hell, or earth.

I knelt in the straw, Jonathan propped in my lap, and brushed his hair off his forehead, waiting for a sign. All I remembered from the ordeal was the sensation of falling and a fever sweeping through my body like a fire, then waking much later in the dark.

I hugged Jonathan to me again. He’d stopped breathing and was growing colder. I pulled his coat around him, wondering if I could get him all the way to my family’s farm without being noticed. It seemed unlikely, but there was nowhere else to take him, and someone would search Daughtery’s barn sooner or later.

I saddled Jonathan’s horse, amazed to find I was afraid of the devil stallion no more. With strength I didn’t know I had, born of necessity, I threw Jonathan over the horse’s withers, swung into the saddle, and sprang out of the open barn doors, streaking through the village. More than one villager would later claim to have seen Jonathan St. Andrew ride out of town that night, throwing theories about his disappearance into disarray, no doubt.

When we reached my family’s farm, Jonathan’s body cradled in my lap, I went straight to the barn and woke the hired driver. We had to leave St. Andrew that night; I couldn’t risk waiting until morning, when Jonathan’s family would come looking for him. I told the driver to hitch the horses quickly; we were heading out immediately. When he protested that it was too dark to travel, I told him the moonlight was strong enough to light his way, then added, “I’m paying your wages, so you listen to me. You’ve fifteen minutes to harness those horses.” As for my trunk of clothing and other things, they’d all be left behind. I couldn’t risk waking my family by returning to the cabin. My only thoughts at that moment were of spiriting Jonathan out of town.

As the coach rattled down the snow-crusted road, I peeked out the curtained window to see if anyone in the house had heard us, but no one stirred. I imagined them waking to find me gone, wondering—heartbroken—why I would choose to leave this way, my departure as mysterious as my years of silence. I was doing a great injustice to my mother’s and sisters’ kind hearts, and it struck me to my core, but the truth was, it was easier to disappoint them than to lose Jonathan forever, or to disobey Adair.

Jonathan lay on the bench across from me, wrapped in his coat and a fur lap robe, my cloak balled into a pillow, his head propped at an awkward angle. He made no movement, there was no rise and fall of his chest with breath, nothing. His skin was pale as ice in the moonlight. I kept my eyes trained on his face, waiting for the first sign of life, but he was so still I began to wonder if I had failed.