“Is that all you think it is? Like doing a card trick?”
“I don’t know.”
He passed her the cigarette. It wasn’t ladylike to smoke, but she’d been sharing Robert’s cigarettes sometimes, and she didn’t know why. She came to like the burning they started in her chest. It was as if they fired her heart that had gone cold and brought it back to life.
“There was a little boy in my parish who’d been maimed. He fell out of a hayloft and broke his back. Father made him a clever little chair with wheels so’s he could scoot around. But he never walked or ran again. Guess he was lucky to be alive, but boy, when you saw him sitting in that chair watching all the other children at tag or ball, it broke your heart.”
“I can imagine.” She thought of Ben. If he could have been rescued, only damaged somehow, broken but alive. She was run through with a hot envy for the mother of the little wheelchair boy.
“It was hard on him for other reasons, too. He was his father’s only boy, and he was supposed to grow up and take over running their farm and all. And now he knew he’d never be able to do that. Guess he figured I was the one to come to, being the minister and all. After our children’s Bible study one day, he stayed behind wanting to talk to me. In private, he said. And he told me he had a dream the night before that he was running. And how wonderful it was, to be in that dream. ‘I was sad when I woke up and it wasn’t true,’ he told me. ‘I cried.’
“What he wanted to know was, was that wrong? They told him it was God’s will he be in a wheeled chair, so now of course he felt guilty. For wishing it were otherwise.”
“And what did you say?”
He plucked out some grass where they sat and scattered it absentmindedly over the insteps of Evie’s bare feet. “I told him never to think it was God’s will. That’s no way to explain things. Accidents happen. And I told him God loves him, walking or no walking. And not to be guilty for wishing a perfectly natural thing. He said to me then something that kind of changed my way of thinking.” He took the cigarette back from her, with his fingers where hers had been.
“What was that?”
He drew on what was left of their cigarette and blew out. Watching him, she had the sense, briefly, that he was not really from her world but a kind of dragon-turned-man who breathed only heat and smoke.
“He seemed to understand. And he told me he wondered if maybe a dream like that was a kind of prayer.”
Evie’s look on him was growing heavier. Her eyes felt to her so strong she was surprised she was not actually pulling him closer to herself, but he seemed not to feel anything.
“And I told him yes, I thought it probably was. That was when I had the idea. I asked him if he thought it might be worth crying in the morning if he could run at night. He considered that and told me he thought it would. I didn’t think anything of it, you see, wasn’t trying to convince him I was magic. But I had this idea I could figure a way to do it. If he believed in me enough, I could give him his dream.
“So I pretended this thing for him. I pushed his chair over to the manse, where my wife kept all kinds of herbs and such in the kitchen. She thought I was drunk, of course. But actually I wasn’t, not really. Or not any more than usual. I don’t know what I was thinking of, just that if I gave the boy something real, something to take inside him, it would work. I don’t know if it was magic or a miracle or dumb luck, but it did.” He held the stubby end of the cigarette over the grass. “I gave him his dreams all along. Not every day, but a lot of them, and they seemed to bring him a great deal of joy that he didn’t have before. He still envied the other children, but now he’d got something that they didn’t have, see. And sometimes he went places in dreams they could never go. And after all those years of trying to lead people to God, I felt as if I had finally done it.”
“What did you do then?”
“Nothing. I never thought of selling ’em or even giving them to anyone else. It was just a special thing between him and me. But after the fire . . . after I left, I knew I had to make a living, and I didn’t want to minister anymore. So I had this idea. And I went and tried, and sure enough it worked with just about everyone willing to buy from me. So I have my little living now. The End.”
Evie smiled. “You’ve been successful here, then?”
“Sure. For starters I have you, you constant bother.”
She hit his shoulder lightly. “Give me what’s left of that,” she said of the cigarette.
“You can have your own, you know.”
She shook her head. “I don’t smoke. I just like a little bit of it.”
“Sure, sure.”
She’d never been teased this way by any man other than George, and she spent some time considering how it felt. Good, and also wrong.
“Will you stay here a long time, then? Because you’re doing so well?”
“It remains to be seen. I could, but it always depends on the people and how long they’ll have me. Your minister is not terribly fond of me. I guess it depends on how much that will influence people, or if they grow tired of me, or bored.”
Evie dropped the end of the cigarette in the grass and spoke again before she lost her nerve. “I’ve been thinking about your little daughter.”
“Have you?” His eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you think you might go back and see her sometime?”
“I don’t think my wife would like that.” He reached one foot forward and stubbed out the cigarette, eyes on the ground.
“But . . . you’ve changed. She would see that, surely, if you tried. You could get them back.”
“How do you know?”
“What?”
“How would you know I’ve changed?”
Evie colored. “I only have your word for it. But I’ve never seen you drinking. You said . . . you stopped.”
Robert sighed, and Evie could still smell the smoke on his breath.
“I know it’s not my business,” she said.
“No. But I did tell you.”
“You wanted me to know.”
“Yes.”
Evie stood up as if she meant to leave, but she was still barefoot.
“I’ll never see my son again. I don’t have any choice about that. But you . . . you could go back and try. Instead you’re choosing to suffer. You don’t have the right. Not when you could go back tomorrow and see her again.”
Robert looked up at her. “I don’t pretend to suffer like you. I have the luxury of knowing she’s still alive. You’ve no idea the pleasure I get, imagining the happiness of her young life.”
“But you won’t be part of it.”
“She’s better off without me.”
A music of children playing dawned at the edge of their voices, and Evie stopped, listening. The child sounds bounced closer, laughter and arguing and a steady counting a little way off in the trees.
“One . . . two . . . three . . .”
The numbers sang loud as hiders peeled away and ran shouting through the orchard. One by one they fell silent, not wanting to betray their positions, until only the count sounded off through the secret-whispering leaves.
“Eight . . . nine . . . ten . . .”
“I have to go,” Evie said. She bent to her stockings and began to tug them on.
He smiled at her fear of being seen with him by the children. He watched her lacing her boots, then picking her way through the edge of the orchard to the graveyard, where the children were not allowed to play. He watched her until she disappeared, and he stood breathing as quietly as any hider, in the center of the children’s game.
Chapter 22
There was a prayer meeting at the church one summer evening, when the lightning bugs swam in and out of the early twilight along the edge of the forest. Christina met Cora outside the store so they could walk the last together. Cora glanced at her f
riend sidelong, without turning her head. She touched her hand to the ribbon around her neck.
“Looking forward to seeing Jackson?”
Christina was staring down at her feet.
“I don’t know.”
“He rarely goes to prayer meeting, does he?”
“No, I suppose he doesn’t.”
“Rolf Baer will be there, though.”
“Yes, I expect he will.”
Cora waited for Christina to say more but found that her silence persisted.
“Jackson came into the store the other day, when no one else happened to be there.”
“Mmm?”
“He was awfully forward with me. It took me a long time to get him to go away.”
“Really? Well, that’s not surprising, is it? He sees you’re the prettiest girl in town. They all do.”
Cora reached to flick a bee away from her friend.
“I hope you’re not angry with me. I did nothing to encourage him, truly. He’s just . . . a ridiculous boy.”
Christina felt to check the security of the pins in her hair, then let her hand rest a moment on the back of her neck.
“You know what, Cora? I think I might have to give up on Jackson Banks. You were right from the start. He’s never really going to like me. If he didn’t ever notice me to begin with, we aren’t going to trick him into it.”
Cora pressed her lips together, and when she released them, the blood flooded them even brighter.
“I think you’ve made a good decision, Chrissy,” she said. “I never really thought Jackson Banks was good enough for you. Even though I know . . . you wanted him to be.”
“I know. I see now how foolish I was.” She fidgeted with her church gloves. “But lately I’ve begun to wonder if maybe there could be someone else.”
“Someone else?”
“You remember what you said? About how maybe it wouldn’t be so bad . . . to be adored?”
Cora stared. “You don’t mean to say it’s Rolf? Rolf Baer?” She said the name as if he were known across the county for having murdered several wives and hung them up in the wardrobe at home.
Christina blushed. “I thought it was impossible to change my mind. But then we went to that dance, and . . . maybe I could.”
Cora sighed. “I’m glad for you, Chrissy. The thing about Jackson . . . This is so much better, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I think it will be. And you know something funny?”
“What’s that?”
“My dream might come true after all. The one I bought from Mr. Owens.”
Cora stopped and leaned against the hitching post outside the church. “That’s right,” she said. “Isn’t that something?”
She leaned over and grabbed her stomach, as if she could feel it sucking all the color from her face.
Christina touched her shoulder. “Cora, are you quite well?”
She straightened up. “Yes, I’m fine. Just felt sick for a moment. Robert Owens strikes again, imagine that.”
“You look very pale. Do you want me to walk you back home? I can just run inside and tell Mommy and Papa we’re going back.”
“No, no, that’s all right. I think it’s passing, just give me a minute. I really don’t want to leave.”
“Look at that. . . . Miss Burnley dragged Mr. Owens along with her. Wonder how she managed it?”
Cora smiled, perked up. “Maybe she convinced him to be concerned for his immortal soul.”
Christina put her hand on Cora’s back. “Is he the reason you won’t just go home?”
Cora didn’t answer.
“As your friend, Cora . . . didn’t you try to warn me when you thought I was wishing for something I’d never have? Something I’d be better off without?” She watched Violet Burnley and her boarder mount the church steps. “You know Mr. Owens is too old for you, so why do you persist in hoping for him? Even if he did fall in love with you . . . then he would take you away. From your family and from me. I’d hate that. And I don’t believe you’d be happy in the end either.”
“Well, time will tell. Maybe I can’t make him love me. But he said something to me once . . . something that made me think perhaps I could.”
Christina considered her for a moment. “Well, if you manage it I just hope it’s what . . . how . . . you think it will be. I still think you’re crazy.”
Cora tried for a sly smile, but the dart of her eyes was too quick and seemed nervous instead. “I’m feeling much better,” she said. “Let’s go in.”
The prayer meeting opened with the call to worship and the hymn “Abide with Me.” The pews protested as the town settled into them. As soon as the music ended, the space it left was filled with a creaking and rustling of bodies while Mr. Arnold approached the pulpit, as if the church and the pews themselves feared the silence.
“Friends,” he began, “we have just sung together, with all our hearts, one of my favorite hymns. ‘I need Thy presence every passing hour. / What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?’” he quoted. “‘Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be? / Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.’”
The congregation shifted. He paused and looked out over them, searching for some sign his thoughtful repetition of the lines they’d just sung had offered them some new and startling clarity.
“I fear that one has come into our midst—a tempter, if you will—who may be leading some of you astray.”
Robert’s head, which had been leaning down toward his own chest while he listened, snapped upward, and for the first time he actually seemed interested in what was being said in church.
“It has long been held a sacred Christian belief that we must be wary of our dreams, for who knows whence they originate? How often do demons come into our sleeping hours to tempt us into sin? How many times has Satan inspired your dreams, or yours, or mine?” He paused to allow the words time to scurry all the way to the back of the room. “None of us can know. Let us be grateful for those mornings when we do not remember them upon waking and pray that this might be the case every morning. Do not take your dreaming lightly, and do not engage with those who would lead you to believe you should enjoy them! Any such person is no doubt a demon in disguise, sent by the devil himself to lead you into sin!”
Mr. Arnold’s voice seemed to wear deeper grooves as it sanded the floorboards, the knees of the pews, and the softened souls of his parishioners. The dream peddler’s face was still, like a mask of mud that might crack if he smiled. He glanced around and encountered a similar effort in the bodies of his friends, who kept their heads staring forward instead of turning to look at him.
“How do you know with whom you are dealing? Consorting, no less? Remember that St. Thomas Aquinas teaches us of the danger of interpreting our dreams, lest they be inspired only by demons. He cites Deuteronomy, chapter eighteen, verse ten: ‘Let there not be found among you him who observes dreams.’ Thus sayeth the Lord! This is what he commands you. Ignore your dreams lest you be tempted by forces you know not. And here you are, not only living through them but buying them, paying for them! We must pray for your souls and the soul of this sinner who has come among us. Remember Jeremiah, chapter twenty-nine, verses eight and nine: ‘For thus saith the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel; Let not your prophets and your diviners, that be in the midst of you, deceive you, nor hearken to your dreams which ye cause to be dreamed. For they prophesy falsely unto you in my name: I have not sent them, saith the Lord.’ Mark you: ‘I—have—not—sent them’!”
Reluctantly heads began to turn, wanting to see what Robert Owens would do. He had rounded his shoulders forward as he listened. He appeared to be deep in private thought, as if he did not realize or care that the tirade was directed at him.
“Brothers and sisters,” Mr. Arnold went on, “let me tell you a story about a man I once knew. His l
ife was rich and full of good works. He had a loving family, an honest job. He was not a man of worldly goods, but neither did he want for anything. His house was solid, the butter at his table was sweet, and he was a friend in his community.
“Then one night he had a dream. In his dream he was no longer an ordinary man of friends and family and honest work. He was the king of a large realm, a desert kingdom that put him in mind of biblical places. His palace stood in an oasis surrounded by palm trees. Although he had a queen, in the evenings the most beautiful maidens of lands near and far were brought to his court to dance for his entertainment. He had a prince and a princess child, both, but he knew them not, for they had servants to care for them. And in the evenings when the maidens were dancing, an orchestra played, made of instruments he’d never seen or heard before, and its music was more exquisite than anything he’d ever known in his waking life.
“He came to me because he was so troubled by this dream. ‘It seems so real,’ he told me. ‘I can’t help thinking this was my true way in another life, or a path I was supposed to follow in this one and can’t. All my happy circumstances seem like nothing now compared to those riches when I wake. The dream comes to me every night, and I cannot ignore it. I wait all day just to get back into that world I know at night.’”
He paused and surveyed the rows of listening parishioners, their stillness undone here and there by a finger rubbing the side of an itching nose, a pair of ankles crossed, a handkerchief lifting.
“I think it was the music that haunted him most. He could almost capture its melody during the day, but never quite. I insisted to my friend that it was just a dream, to pay it no mind, but the dream destroyed his happiness anyway. He could not have what was in it, and he could never be content with his own life again after that. But his life was good. And so is yours.”
Robert’s eyebrows went up under the front of his hair. His body began to shift as if it would follow, and they all wondered if he would be driven out of the church.
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