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
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 pulled 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
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
