Poroth made no answer. He was crouched in the shadow of the table and, as tradition demanded, was busy binding last year's garland to the top of the staff. The dried husks and withered ears dangled from the wood like talismans atop a spear.
Some of the more flirtatious wives stood near the men but talked among themselves, flaunting their long, unfettered hair. As a rule it was worn pinned up in a severe and deliberately unbecoming style, to be let down only at bedtime before one's own husband. During the yearly planting, however, this rule was relaxed.
'Like a pack of spoony schoolgirls!' came a low, laconic voice from the darkness. ' 'Father, turn away mine eyes from beholdin' vanity.' '
Deborah's youthful figure broke away from the others. 'Why, Rupert Lindt, is that all you can say after staring at us half the night?' She took another step forward and, with a toss of her head, struck a mock-seductive pose. 'You better go back and read the second half of the book: 'If a woman have long hair, 'tis a glory to her.' '
From the darkness came the man's embarrassed laugh and an automatic chorus of amen's. The one called Joram frowned and looked away. Among the Brethren it was considered unseemly for a woman to speak to a man other than her husband, and they took an equally dim view of those who quoted scripture back and forth in argument; for a people so conversant with the Bible it was far too easy to do. 'Sarr,' he said at last, turning to the younger man, 'you've come back to us like a prodigal son, and we rejoice in it – just as we rejoice in the wife you've brought back. The Holy Spirit's in her, we all know it is, but there's still much she'll have to be taught. 'Tisn't a night for jests. 'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.' I think you know the rest.'
'I do,' said the other, aware of the correct response. ' 'He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.' Don't worry, Brother Joram. I'll teach her to weep.'
Beside him came a muttered 'Amen.'
From the west a breeze gathered, carrying the scent of marsh water and rotting pine; it ruffled their beards and stirred the rosebushes at the side of the house. The night was cooler now, and the work sweat had dried on their bodies. They turned to face the fire, the men in their vests, the women in long dresses. Bats flitted through the darkness above them like the shadows of small birds; moths clustered around the dancing flames where the old men stood talking. Across the lawn bustling shapes moved to and fro in the light of the kitchen. The screen door opened, and a line of older women emerged from the house bearing small metal lanterns to help with the clean-up. The door slammed shut. Low in the sky the half-moon seemed close enough to touch, God's oppressive thumbnail poised just above their heads.
Joram stood. 'Up, brothers, sisters,' he called softly, striding toward the fields. 'We've sore travail before us.' Passing the knot of children, he bent and addressed the smallest of them, all but dwarfed by the bag of seed. 'Now mark you don't let varmints eat a single one,' he warned. 'Twould be bad portent!' With his face turned away from the firelight it was impossible to tell if he was smiling.
Soundlessly the others followed. The time of rest was over.
By now the tables had been cleared of the last scraps of food and of the cloth that had covered them. A lantern had been placed upon the one in the center, and in its beam a younger woman stood folding up the bridge table, her hair knotted back like that of the elders in the kitchen. Moving past the tables, Poroth set down his staff and approached her.
'I want to thank you, Cousin Minna,' he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. 'It was good of you to come tonight. I only wish you could've been out there with the rest of us.'
The other nodded gravely. Above the glowing lantern, her homely face looked prematurely aged. 'Piet wouldn't have wanted me to stay home and mope. You know how he loved a night like this, with all the folks gettin' together underneath the stars. I can feel his spirit with me right this very minute, standin' by my side. It's with me all the time, these days. I expect you feel it too.'
'I do,' said Poroth – and in a way he did. Or maybe it was just a passing breeze. 'I swear he's almost close enough to touch.'
Hearing a faint movement behind him, he turned half eagerly to look and found himself facing his mother. She was carrying one of the empty brown jugs back to the kitchen.
'Here,' he said, 'let me help you with that.' He took it from her and started toward the house, expecting she would walk beside him. But moments later, looking back, he saw that she hadn't moved. She was standing perfectly still, as if the shores of some vast and invisible ocean were stretched before her feet, and she was watching him with an expression which, in the dim light, he found difficult to read.
'You go on,' she said. 'Your Aunt Lise is in there washing up.'
'I know she is,' he said, puzzled. 'So are all the rest. Aren't you coming?'
She shook her head. 'I've got to be getting along. It's later than I thought.' Poroth heard a certain weariness in her voice. He was about to return to her side, but she stepped away from him and held up her hand. 'No, don't worry about me. Ain't nothing more I can do to help around here. You'd best be getting back to the field. The others'll be out there by now.'
'I don't plan to keep them waiting,' he said. 'But first I'd like to hear just how you think you're going to get home.'
She shrugged. 'The Lord gave me two good legs, and I'm not too old to use them.'
Somehow he had known that that was what she'd say. There was really no arguing with her, once her mind was made up, though he felt it his duty to try. 'Mother, with all its turns that road's a good six miles long, and it's at least another mile to your house. That's quite a ways to walk.'
'You don't have to tell me how long it is,' she said. 'I've been down that road before.'
'That was during the day. This time you'll be walking in the dark.'
'You know what they say. Tis only dark for them that will not see.' She began moving away.
'I don't understand,' he said. 'What's all this hurry for? You came with Aunt Lise, and now she'll be expecting to take you home. Or if you don't mind waiting a spell, you can go with Amos Reid. He and Rachel brought their car tonight. So did lots of others.'
She shook her head again, looking vaguely troubled. No, not troubled, exactly. It was something about her eyes, a kind of resignation. 'I haven't time to wait,' she said almost mournfully. 'The night's got me thinking, somehow, thinking about what's coming and what's past, and how there's something I should be doing that I'm not. I just can't seem to shake it, the thought of what's ahead… ' She muttered something under her breath.
The young man strained to hear what she had whispered; it had sounded like 'the Voolas.' He had never seen her quite so bad before. 'Now just hold on a minute,' he said. 'You've gone and got yourself in a state. And there's no cause to, not tonight. Tonight's a time for rejoicing. After all, just look at me!' He threw wide his arms. 'Here I am, all set up now, back where I belong. On our own land.'
'Don't go talking foolishness, son. The land ain't ours. You know very well that Andy Baber owned this place, and so did Andy's father, and his father before him.'
He scowled. 'Well, it was ours a hundred years ago – which means that we came first. That's the whole reason I bought this farm. I figured you'd be pleased, seeing as how your people were the ones who built it.'
'They weren't my people. It's a big family, you know that. They were just another branch.'
'They were Troets.'
She nodded bitterly. 'And you remember what happened to them?'
He felt a chill pass over his shoulders. Why had she brought that up? Was she trying to spoil this night for him?
But she had already begun to apologize. 'Don't pay me no mind,' she was saying. 'I'm just a useless old woman. Fact is, it's done me good, seeing you here in this house of your own, the seeds in the earth, the bread on the table. The night's been blessed, so far, and
I'm sure the crops'll do just fine. I just wish there was something I could do for you and Deborah, but… ' She paused, as if remembering. 'But now it seems it's later than I thought.'
With a brief dismissive wave she turned and moved off across the lawn, passing between the outbuildings and the farmhouse, heading toward the road. For a moment, walking through the squares of light spread on the grass beneath the kitchen windows, her figure seemed to grow larger and, somehow, almost fierce; then she'd passed beyond them, becoming once again as dim and insubstantial as a wraith on some forlorn moonlit errand. Circling around the side of the house, she slipped into its shadow and was gone.
He remained standing there, watching for her to reappear among the trees that lined the road, but after a
