The Taker-Taker 1 Read online

  Mother looked at me squarely. “I tell you this as a mother who loves you, Lanore: you must cease your friendship with Master Jonathan. The two of you are children no longer. To continue in this way will do you no good.”

  I didn’t feel the flecks of boiling water alighting on my skin or the heat from the cauldron dampening my face. I stared back at her.

  She rushed to cover my horror-struck silence. “You must understand, Lanore—what other boy will want you when you are so obviously in love with Jonathan?”

  “I’m not in love with Jonathan. We’re only friends,” I croaked.

  She laughed gently, but it stabbed at my heart all the same. “You cannot deny your love for Jonathan. It’s quite evident, my dear, as it is just as evident that he does not feel the same way toward you.”

  “There’s nothing for him to show,” I protested. “We are just friends, I assure you.”

  “His flirtations are the talk of the village …”

  I brushed a hand over my sweaty brow. “I know of these. He tells me everything.”

  “Listen to me, Lanore,” she implored, turning to me even as I turned away. “It is easy to fall in love with a man as handsome as Jonathan, or as wealthy, but you must resist. Jonathan is not to be your destiny.”

  “How can you say that?” The protest broke from my lips though I hadn’t meant to say anything of the kind. “You cannot know what lies ahead for me, or Jonathan.”

  “Oh, silly girl, do not tell me you’ve set your heart on him.” She took me by the shoulders and gave me a shake. “You cannot hope to wed the captain’s boy. Jonathan’s family would never allow it, never, nor would your father abide it. I am sorry to be the one to tell you this hard, hard truth …”

  She didn’t have to. Logically, I knew that our families were unequal and I knew that Jonathan’s mother had high hopes as far as her children’s marriages were concerned. But a girl’s dreams are near impossible to kill and I’d harbored this one for as long as I could remember; it seemed I was born with the desire to be with Jonathan. I’d always secretly believed that a love as fierce and true as mine would be rewarded in the end, and now I was being forced to accept the bitter truth.

  My mother returned to her work, picking up the long stick to stir the clothing in the boiling water. “Your father means to begin searching for a match for you, and so you see why you must end your friendship. We have to find your match before we make matches for your sisters,” she continued, “so you understand the importance of this, don’t you, Lanore? You do not want your sisters to end up unwed, do you?”

  “No, Mother,” I said, dispirited. I was still turned away from her, looking off in the distance, willing myself not to cry, when I noticed movement in the forest beyond our house. It could be anything, benign or dangerous—my father and siblings returning from the hay field, someone traveling between farms, deer picking at greenery. My eyes followed the figure until I could make it out, large and dark, a graceful shimmering blackness. Not a bear. A horse and rider. There was only one true black horse in the village and it belonged to Jonathan. Why would Jonathan be riding out this way if not to see me, but he had passed beyond our house and was headed in the direction of our neighbors, the recently wed Jeremiah and Sophia Jacobs. I could think of no reason for Jonathan to call upon Jeremiah, none at all.

  I raised a hand to tuck a few loose curls under my cap. “Mother, didn’t you say Jeremiah Jacobs was not at home this week? Has he gone away?”

  “Yes, he has,” she said absently, stirring the pot. “He has gone to Fort Kent to look at a pair of draft horses and told your father he would return next week.”

  “And he’s left Sophia by herself, has he?” The shimmering figure had slipped beyond my vision into the darkness of the woods.

  My mother murmured in agreement. “Yes, but he knows there’s no reason to worry. Sophia is safe on her own for a week.” She lifted the wet garment out of the pot by the stick, a steaming, dripping mass. I took it from her and carried it under the tree, where we wrung the wool out together. “Promise me you will give up on Jonathan and will seek his company no more,” was the last she said on the matter. But my mind was on our neighbor’s tiny saltbox, Jonathan’s horse waiting restlessly outside.

  “I promise,” I said to my mother, lying glibly, as though it meant nothing at all.

  EIGHT

  As autumn deepened and the leaves turned russet and gold, the love affair between Jonathan and Sophia Jacobs did not abate. During those weeks, my encounters with Jonathan were rarer than ever and painfully brief. While it wasn’t all Sophia’s fault—Jonathan and I each suffered demands on our time—I blamed Sophia entirely. What right had she to get so much of his attention? As far as I could see, she didn’t deserve his company. Her worst sin was that she was married, and by pursuing this relationship, she was forcing Jonathan to compromise his Christian morals. She was condemning him to hell along with herself.

  But the reasons she didn’t deserve him did not stop there. Sophia was hardly the prettiest girl in the village; by my count, there were at least twenty girls comparable in age who were prettier than she, even if I excluded myself from this group on the basis of modesty. Further, she had neither the social position nor the wealth that would make her a suitable companion for a man of Jonathan’s status. Her housekeeping skills were lacking: her sewing was passable, but the pies she brought to church socials were pasty and unevenly cooked. Sophia was clever, without a doubt, but if one were pressed to pick the smartest woman in town, her name would not be among those to spring to mind. So what exactly was the basis for her claim over Jonathan, who should have only the best?

  I spun the late summer flax contemplating this queer development, cursing him for being inconstant. After all, that day in the McDougals’ field, hadn’t he said he’d be jealous if I was to become attached to another boy in the village, and yet here he was secretly courting Sophia Jacobs. A less heartsick girl might have drawn conclusions from his behavior, but I wouldn’t, preferring to believe that Jonathan would still choose me if he only knew my feelings. I wandered by myself after church services on Sundays, casting unanswered glances in Jonathan’s direction, hoping to tell him how badly I wanted him. I walked the trails that led to the St. Andrews’ house and wondered what Jonathan might be doing at that moment, and in my daydreams I tried to imagine the feel of Jonathan’s hands on my body, what it would be like to be pressed beneath him, raw from his kisses. I blush to think how innocent my view of love was then! I had a virgin’s conception of love as chaste and courtly.

  Without Jonathan, I was lonely. It was a preview of what my life would be like once Jonathan was wed and took over his family’s business and I was married to another. Each of us would be drawn increasingly into our own orbits, paths destined never to cross. But that day had not come yet—and Sophia Jacobs was not Jonathan’s lawful wife. She was an interloper who’d staked a claim on his heart.

  It was just after the first frost when Jonathan came out to see me one day. How different he looked, as though he’d aged years. Or maybe it was only that the gaiety in his demeanor had gone; he seemed serious, very adult. He found me in the hay field with my sisters, pitching the last of the hay left to dry in the summer sun into the barn, where we stored the alfalfa that would feed the cattle through the long winter.

  “Let me help you,” he said, springing down from his horse. My sisters—dressed as was I in old clothes and with kerchiefs tied around our heads to keep our hair back—looked askance at him and giggled.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, taking in his fine wool coat and doeskin breeches. Haying was miserable, sweaty work. Anyway, I was still smarting from his desertion and told myself I wanted nothing from him. “Just tell me what brings you out here,” I said.

  “I’m afraid my words are meant for your ears only. May we at least walk a ways by ourselves …?” he asked, nodding at my sisters to show that he meant no disrespect. I threw my pitchfork to the ground and pu
lled off the gloves and started meandering in the direction of the woods.

  He fell into step beside me, leading his horse by a slack rein. “Well, we haven’t seen each other in a while, have we?” he began in an unconvincing manner.

  “I’ve no time for niceties,” I told him. “I have work to do.”

  He abandoned his pretext altogether. “Ah, Lanny. I have never been able to fool you. I have missed your company, but that’s not why I’ve come out here today. I need your advice; I’m no good at judging my own problems and you always seem to see a way clear, no matter what’s at issue.”

  “You can stop trying to flatter me,” I said, wiping my brow against a dirty sleeve. “I’m hardly King Solomon. There are far wiser people in this town you could turn to, so the fact that you have come to me means you are in trouble of some kind that you don’t dare share with anyone else. So, out with it—what have you done now?”

  “You’re right. There’s no one I can confide in, except you.” Jonathan turned his handsome face from me, embarrassed. “It’s Sophia—you’ve guessed that much, I’m sure, and I know hers is the last name you wish to hear—”

  “You’ve no idea,” I muttered, tucking a fold of my skirt into my waist to lift the hem from the ground.

  “It’s been a happy enough union between us, Lanny. I never would have guessed as much. We are so different and yet I’ve come to enjoy her company immensely. She has an independent mind and isn’t afraid to speak it.” He spoke, oblivious to the fact that I’d stopped dead in my tracks, mouth agape. Hadn’t I spoken my mind to him? Well, perhaps I hadn’t spoken my mind plainly to him on all matters, but hadn’t we conversed as equals, friends? It was maddening that he thought Sophia’s demeanor so singular and remarkable. “It’s all the more extraordinary considering the family she comes from. She tells stories of her father, that he is a drunkard and a gambler, and beats his wife and his daughters.”

  “Tobey Ostergaard,” I said. It surprised me that Jonathan had not known of Tobey’s poor reputation, but it only went to show how sheltered he was from the rest of the village. Ostergaard’s problems were well known. No one thought much of him as a father or a provider. A poor farmer, Tobey dug graves on the weekends to earn extra coin, which he usually wasted on drink. “Her brother ran away a year ago,” I said to Jonathan. “He fought with his father, and Tobey hit him in the face with his gravedigger’s shovel.”

  Jonathan seemed genuinely horrified. “This rough upbringing has toughened Sophia, and yet she has not become hardened and bitter, not even after her grievous marriage. She regrets very much having agreed to the match, especially now that …” He trailed off.

  “Now—what?” I prodded, fear rising in my throat.

  “She tells me she is pregnant,” Jonathan blurted out, turning back to me. “She swears the baby is mine. I don’t know what to do.”

  His expression was a sheet of terror and, yes, trepidation that he’d had to tell me this. I would have slapped him if it weren’t so plain that he truly didn’t wish to hurt me. Still, I wanted to throw it back in his face: he’d been carrying on with this woman for weeks, what did he expect? He’d been lucky that it hadn’t happened sooner. “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Sophia’s wish is plain: she wants us to be married and to raise the babe together.”

  A bitter laugh burst from my lips. “She must be mad. Your family would never allow it.”

  He gave me a quick, angry look that made me regret my outburst. “What is it,” I tried again in a more conciliatory tone, “that you wish to do?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I tell you, Lanny, I do not know my own mind on this matter.” I wasn’t sure I believed him, however. There was a hesitancy in his tone, as though he held thoughts that he didn’t dare speak. He seemed much changed from the Jonathan I knew, the scoundrel who’d planned to remain unfettered as long as possible.

  If he only knew how conflicted I was by his dilemma. On one hand, he seemed so miserable and helpless to see his way clear that I was moved to pity. On the other hand, my pride stung like newly flayed skin. I paced around him, a knuckle pressed to my lips. “Well, let’s think this through. You know as well as I that there are remedies for this sort of predicament. She needs to make a trip to the midwife …” I thought of Magda: surely she would know how to deal with this calamity, an eventuality in her line of work. “A tincture of herbs or some procedure, I’ve heard, will take care of the problem.”

  Face flushed, Jonathan shook his head again. “She won’t. She means to have the baby.”

  “But she cannot! It would be madness to flaunt her wrongdoing so.”

  “If such behavior would be madness, then she is indeed not in her right mind.”

  “What about … your father? Have you thought of going to him for advice?” The suggestion wasn’t completely ridiculous: Charles St. Andrew was known for chasing his servant girls and had probably been in Jonathan’s position once or twice himself.

  Jonathan snorted like a shying horse. “I suppose I will have to tell old Charles, though I don’t look forward to it. He will know how to deal with Sophia, but I fear what the outcome might be.” Meaning, I guessed, that Charles St. Andrew would make his son break all ties with Sophia and, baby or no, they’d not see each other again. Or worse, he might insist Jeremiah be told, and Jeremiah might demand a divorce from his adulterous wife and start proceedings against Jonathan. Or he could extort hush money from the St. Andrews, agreeing to raise the babe as his own if he was paid for his silence. What might happen once St. Andrew stepped in was anyone’s guess.

  “My dear Jonathan,” I murmured, my mind scrabbling for a piece of advice to give him, “I am sorry for your misfortune. But before you go to your father, let me think on it a day. Perhaps a solution will come to me.”

  He looked over his shoulder at my sisters, who were now obscured from us behind a pitched stack of hay. “As always, you are my salvation.” Before I knew what was happening, he clasped me by the shoulders and pulled me to him, fairly lifting me to my toes to kiss me. But it was no brotherly peck; the forcefulness of his kiss was a reminder that he could conjure up my desire at will, that I was his. He held me tight to him and yet he trembled, too; we were both panting when he released me. “You are my angel,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. “Without you, I would be lost.”

  Did he know what he was doing, saying such things to someone desperately in love with him? It made me wonder if he had meant to set me to take care of this unsavory business of his, or if he had merely come seeking reassurances from the one girl he could depend on to love him no matter what he did. I liked to think that a part of him loved me purely and was sorry to have disappointed me. I cannot honestly say I knew Jonathan’s true intentions then; I doubt if he himself knew. After all, he was a young man in serious trouble for the first time; perhaps Jonathan wishfully believed that, if God would forgive him this indiscretion, he would mend his ways and be satisfied with one girl who would love him completely.

  He climbed back in the saddle and nodded politely to my sisters before turning his horse in the direction of home. And before he had ridden to the edge of the field and disappeared from my sight, a thought came to me, for I was a clever girl and never more focused in intent than when it involved Jonathan.

  I decided to visit Sophia the next day and speak to her in private. I waited until I had shut our chickens in the coop for the night, so my absence wouldn’t be noticed, before setting out for the Jacobses’ farm. Their property was much quieter than ours, mainly because they owned fewer livestock and there were no children to help tend to all the chores. I crept into the barn, hoping I would not run into Jeremiah, and found Sophia penning their three raggedy sheep in a stall for the evening.

  “Lanore!” She started in surprise, hands flying up to cover her heart. She was lightly dressed for being outside, with only a woolly shawl over her shoulders instead of a cloak to ward off the cold. Sophia had to know of my friendship w
ith Jonathan and God knows what he might have said to her about me (or perhaps I was foolish to believe that he gave a thought to me once he’d left my presence). She gave me an icy look, undoubtedly worried about why I’d come. I must have seemed a child to her for being not yet wed and still living under my parents’ roof although I was only a few years younger.

  “Forgive me for coming to see you unannounced, but I had to speak to you alone,” I said, looking over my shoulder to be sure her husband wasn’t close by. “I will speak plainly, as there is no time for niceties. I think you know what I have come to discuss with you. Jonathan shared with me—”

  She crossed her arms and gave me a steely look. “He told you, did he? He had to boast to someone that he has made me with child?”

  “Nothing of the sort! If you think he is pleased that you are going to have a baby—”

  “His baby,” she insisted. “And I know he’s not pleased.”

  I saw my opening. I’d been thinking about what I would say to Sophia from the moment Jonathan had ridden away from me the day before. Jonathan had come to me because he needed someone who could be ruthless with Sophia on his behalf. Someone who could make clear to her the weakness of her position. Sophia would know that I understood what she faced; there would be less room for conjecture and appeal to emotion. I wasn’t doing this because I hated Sophia, I assured myself, nor because I resented that she’d usurped my place in Jonathan’s life. No, I knew Sophia for what she was. I was saving Jonathan from this wily harridan’s trap.

  “With all due respect, I must ask you what proof you have that the baby is Jonathan’s? We have only your word, and …” I trailed off, letting my implication linger in the air.