He bowed his head; they all prayed silently for more than a minute. Freirs bowed his head, too, but only briefly; looking around, he saw that all other heads were bowed. Deborah was gazing at her feet, seemingly either deep in thought or not thinking at all. Sarr's eyes were shut tight, as if with profound concentration. Joram glared severely at his clasped hands, obviously with weighty matters on his mind. But Sarr's mother was staring intently at Deborah.
Moments later Joram raised his head. 'Amen,' he said.
There was a further easing of tension, a loosening of posture. A faint breeze had sprung up, tempering the force of the afternoon sun. Across the dome of sky a white half-moon hung just over the horizon like a smoke wisp. One by one, as if a film had been reversed, the Brethren picked up the objects on the lawn and carried them back inside. The bed and bureau were hauled up to the Poroths' bedroom; the truck was rolled into the barn.
Freirs checked his watch. It was just after one p.m. Deborah was standing silently on the porch. Sarr was supervising the moving in, pointing out where objects were to go, but was obviously not worrying much about exactness. 'Tis fine, 'tis fine,' he was saying, as the women replaced the dishes in the cupboards. 'Deborah and I can arrange it all later.'
'Are you going to have to feed all these people?' asked Freirs, during a moment when the other was not distracted.
'No, thank the Lord.' Poroth smiled. 'We Brethren know how to control our hungers.'
'It's clear you do,' said Freirs, but he was thinking of the Lindt girl.
People, as he spoke, were beginning to leave: making their goodbyes, blessing one another, and drifting off up the road in little groups or, more frequently, piling into cars parked near the front of the house. On their way out, many of the Brethren stopped to thank Poroth and wish him well.
'I think the Cleansing went splendidly,' said Abram Sturtevant, a dutiful brother, 'and I know Joram thinks so as well.' In fact, the later and his family had been among the first to depart.
'I just hope it proves a help to us all,' said Amos Reid. And old Jacob van Meer stopped to offer wishes from himself and his wife that Deborah, who had long since retired to her room, would make a speedy recovery.
Moments later Freirs saw Poroth talking in urgent whispers to his mother. The farmer looked annoyed. 'I will,' he kept saying. 'Don't worry, I'll be there.' At last the woman left, but Freirs could see she was dissatisfied and troubled.
The Geisels appeared reluctant to go. 'Please,' said Poroth, 'stay and share our Sunday meal. We'd like you to, Deborah and I.'
Corah Geisel elected to stay, but it was with the express purpose of caring for Deborah. 'I'd like to stay too, Sarr,' said Matthew. 'I know your woman's in no fit way to cook or fix the house after today. But I'm sorry, I have to go. There's been a mess of trouble at our place too – in fact, we may call for a Cleansing of our own, if we can get the Brethren together before next Sunday. Our hens and cows haven't been right all week.'
After the old man had bid goodbye to Sarr, Freirs accompanied him out past the front yard and onto the dusty road. 'What's the matter with your animals?' he asked. 'I've been drinking your cows' milk all summer. It's tasted fine.'
They walked a little way in silence, till the Poroths' farmhouse was well behind them. 'Most of the livestock in the area's been acting strange lately,' said Geisel. 'I don't rightly know what's behind it all. Some folks think – well, I don't mind telling you, there's those who say all sorts of things. Some even maintain the trouble comes from you.'
'Me?' Freirs' laughter felt a little forced. 'Why in the world would anyone think that? I've got nothing to do with this place.'
'That's just the point,' said Geisel. 'You're an outsider. You're living here amongst us, but you ain't one of us. But don't you go worrying yourself over it. Some folks around here just get scared and look to all kinds of excuses.'
'And what do you think the cause is?'
But the old man never got a chance to reply, for at that moment the earth tremors began.
Bert Steegler and Amelia had already gotten back to the store. They were invariably among the first to leave worship so that they could get the merchandise out and open up for business on Sunday afternoon. They sensed that something was wrong when all the lanterns, hanging sausages, wires, auto clips, and fishing rods hanging from the overhead beams began to tremble. As they stood there in terror, gripping the counter at the front of the store as if it were a life raft, they felt a deep, very low rumbling beneath their feet. Before the vibrations ceased ten seconds later, three heavy glass lanterns had crashed to the floor, and all the items on their shelves had crept mysteriously toward the north, as if magnetized.
Most of the Brethren were still on the road – the Poroths' dirt road or the paved ones nearer town – when the tremors hit. Those who were walking felt themselves rocked and came close to losing their balance. 'It was like setting foot in a tippy boat,' Galen Trudel would say later. He felt the ground shift, and the simple phrase 'the solid earth' came mockingly to mind. Those in cars had to fight to keep their vehicles on the road. Driving close to town, Amos and Rachel Reid saw the pavement ahead slowly undulate as if it were a black ribbon floating on waves.
Many Brethren, true to their natures, were driven to recall warnings from the Bible. Klaus and Wilma Buckhalter, driving Eve home after an already exciting day, were reminded of Matthew: 'And behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent; And the graves were opened… ' Eve herself felt witness to a God 'whose voice shook the earth.' Others remembered the book of Revelation or, like Bethuel Reid, thought of Isaiah: 'Thou shalt be visited of the Lord of hosts with thunder, and with earthquake, and great noise, with storm and tempest, and the flame of devouring fire.'
And twenty-five miles to the south, graduate students in the geology department at Princeton, responding to a call from the Lamont-Doherty Geological Observatory in Palisades, New York, checked their instruments and verified the findings from Lamont: that north central New Jersey had just suffered a minor earthquake measuring four point nine on the Richter scale.
The excitement only lasted a few seconds, though it gave us all something to talk about over lunch. And it'll give me something to talk about when I get back to New York. Never experienced one of these things before; hope they're all as mild as this one proved to be.
Corah Geisel stayed upstairs with Deborah amp; left soon afterward, reporting that Deborah's reflexes seemed a little off, but that otherwise the wounds were superficial amp; were healing well.
It was grey the rest of the day amp; I sat in my room reading Robert W. Chambers amp; half waiting for another earth tremor, which fortunately never came. Most of Chambers' tales begin with marvelously ominous quotations from a mythical book called The King in Yellow. However, that single gimmick – masterful, I admit – seems to have been his sole inspiration.
I was sorry that old Corah left amp; that dinner was again made by Sarr; Deborah was still upstairs resting, he said. He sounded a trifle concerned, despite all the good things that had happened to this place today. He alluded to things wrong with her that Corah amp; the rest hadn't noticed or had overlooked. He amp; I ate a forlorn bachelor meal of cheese amp; bacon from the cellar (which, despite the Lindt girl's visit, still smells – went past the doorway tonight amp; got a strong whiff of decay). To keep Sarr company I stuck around the farmhouse a while after washing the dishes, but felt very drowsy amp; for some reason rather depressed. Hardly the appropriate mood for what's supposed to be a new beginning for this farm amp; my renewed decision to stay on. May be the gloomy weather; we are, after all, just animals, more affected by the sun amp; the season than we care to admit. Most likely, though, it was the absence of Deborah. Hope she feels better soon. We depend on her.
After Freirs went out, Sarr blew out one of the lamps. Taking the other, he walked softly upstairs, keeping to the edges of the old wooden steps so that they'd creak less. As he tiptoed into the bedroom, the light fell on Deborah's pale form. She was lying in bed on her back, staring into the darkness.
'Oh, you're awake.'
She nodded. 'Lots… to think about.' Her voice, a croaking whisper, still disturbed him.
He patted her head. 'I was going to pray silently, but I'm glad I won't have to. Just let me pray for both of us, okay? No talking now.'
'All right.'
He knelt in the corner, his knees upon the wooden planks. 'O Lord, hear me in Heaven thy resting place… '
She watched him levelly until he was done. He was smiling as he came toward her. 'And no singing tonight
