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He looked up as if to follow one idea or to have another, but his mind didn’t take notice of the biblical verses. In front of him was the window of the small bay window that overlooked the lawn. From where he was sitting, he could see part of the fence.
And then he remembered that image of Martyn Trischer leaning against the fence, just before the beginning of the last function.
Again him, again Martyn Trischer.
At that point, Johnathan Abblepot's mind registered a small piece of information, which did not immediately lead to anything: his look went on a little book with a fine binding, which was carelessly resting on the table in front of the window.
Abblepot went back to reading the Bible. Or at least try to do it. His wife, Elizabeth, did not look away from her book.
Shortly after, the reverend got up to get some water, under the look of his wife. He looked at the table again, without any conscious attention.
When he returned, his wife seemed to have got up and sat back down again.
The next hour passed without any distraction. Abblepot seemed to regain concentration to mentally compose notes and arrangements that would have been useful for next Sunday's sermon. Elizabeth read a few more pages of the book in her hands, then began to tidy up some other rooms.
The reverend did a few household chores and went to the church.
Dinner time came quickly enough. Elizabeth had prepared some stew and mashed potatoes: they consumed it cheerfully and with a good conversation. The reverend's so-called tiredness seemed to have overcome; the girl was pleasant as usual.
It was then, at the end of the dinner, that a shadow reappeared in Abblepot's mind and face.
His brain had brought the detail of that book back in his mind. Like a wounded animal that hides in the ravines until it has regained sufficient strength, so that thought, strengthened with the passing of the hours, had come back to the reverend's mind.
It was a momentary flash, but that left a clear trace. Now that he had remembered, Abblepot knew that the book was not part of his library. The spine, the cover, its colour, and the size: he was practically sure that he had never bought anything like it, and no one had ever given him a book.
So, where could it come from?
By now, his brain had started: and a series of details surfaced.
When he got up to get a glass of water, the book was on the edge of the living room table near the bay window, he was sure of it, he could almost still see it in front of him. Just as he knew that, once he returned to the living room, almost without realizing it, he still had a look at the table, and the book was gone. The missing book now seemed as evident as the groove of a disappeared building left on the grass.
Abblepot tried to dismiss this thought as absolutely insignificant. But a prod, similar to something physical, pressed his chest and warned him to clear up any doubts.
When Elizabeth said she was going to bed, Abblepot stalled a bit so he could go in the living room again.
As soon as his wife went up to her room, he rushed to the study, searching for that book. As he already knew, there was nothing like it in his library. He also looked in the library, the shared one, where his wife also provided herself with readings; and again, as he imagined, he found no trace of what he was looking for.
Either he had had a hallucination, or that little book was on the living room table and Elizabeth herself, who else? She must have taken it away from there. Obviously, to make sure he didn't see it.
What other explanation was possible?
Abblepot bit his lip because he realized that he had made a wrong thought about his wife, that he had accused her of deception. Practically never, in his life with Elizabeth, had he doubted her honesty.
But now, that thought, made, forgotten and remembered again within a day, was so evident that it seemed impossible that it was on a hallucination. He was sure of what he remembered seeing, as he did not doubt that the Bible was on the pulpit of the church.
Although regretting doing such a thing, an offense to the good faith with which Elizabeth was undoubtedly full, he began to rummage in frenzy wherever it was possible to hide a book.
Finding nothing was more of a relief than a concern.
After a few minutes spent looking in the living room, Abblepot sat on the armchair, almost persuaded, with a sudden change of opinion, that he had imagined what was not there. He was now looking forward to the next morning when he could innocently question Elizabeth about that matter.
While pondering over these things, the reverend looked at the cabinet where they kept the trays and dishes. Even in the dim light of the only lamp the reverend left on, his attentive look, or sharpened by the situation, did not miss the fact that a tray was out of place, not well aligned with the order that his wife usually kept.
He got up with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension and opened the cabinet.
He was satisfied about completing his research and amazed at such a secret act by Elizabeth; he saw a book behind a tray.
It was that book: the book with the fine binding and the purple color he had seen on the bay window table.
He did not immediately read the title, stopping instead to ask himself once more why his wife had to hide that book from him.
Then he looked at the cover: they were poems and love letters from the English poet John Keats.
The following morning Abblepot was unable to wake up as early as usual. The whirlwind of thoughts that had accompanied him to bed did not allow him to go to sleep immediately. Also, when he finally fell asleep, he was restless and not at all relaxing sleep.
He decided to immediately deal with the matter of the book with Elizabeth and listen to what she had to say about it.
He found his wife in the room adjacent to the living room.
"Good morning, dear," she said with sincere friendliness.
"Good morning to you."
Abblepot, although annoyed by the event, had no intention of getting too angry. The night he had advised that it was not a good thing to let oneself get angry: not very evangelical, and probably not useful.
He went on to ask his wife what time it was.
"It's not too late, don't worry. I saw that you were still sleeping soundly, so I decided not to disturb you. I hope you don't mind. "
"No, not at all. Thank you, "said Abblepot." I didn't get much sleep tonight. "
"Worries?"
"Yes. A few."
Elizabeth invited her husband to sit down to have some breakfast. Then he offered to get him a cup of coffee.
"Do you mind if I sit in the living room?" said the reverend.
"Of course not. I'll be right there," Elizabeth replied.
When she came back, she found Johnathan seated in his armchair; he wasn't sitting back in a relaxed manner, but he was slightly leaning forward, with both feet resting on the ground, knees flexed, and wrists resting on them. He looked at her with sleepy eyes, he had the stiffness of statues, but the restlessness of those who are ready to make a move.
Not far away was the table, and Johnathan's left hand was a few centimeters from a book, which the young woman recognized immediately. He had specially put it there before going to bed.
Before Elizabeth even asked him why that attitude, Abblepot said, "Did someone lend you this?"
But in reality, that was far from a question. Elizabeth felt a heart skip a beat. She held the cup firmly in her hands, yet her stiffening must have been as apparent as if she was a puppet whose puppeteer had pulled all the strings at the same time.
Abblepot pressed on, but without altering his voice. Not that this mattered to Elizabeth, who was already feeling uncomfortable.
He said, "It's not mine. And nobody lent or gave it to me, and you know how well I know my books."
Although she felt flustered, Elizabeth regained her calm: "Sure… Keats' poems. They are lovely, do you know them? Hanna had always told me about it, do you remember her? Until in the end, she decided to lend the book to me. I have almost finished it, but the last ones I read are not so beautiful. I think it's time to return it; it's been a while. Hanna will be wondering if I might be trying to keep it!"
But Abblepot continued: "I found it by chance" he allowed himself this little lie "he was in that cabinet" and pointed to it.
Elizabeth put the coffee on the table and pretended to be interested in the book, which she had read and reread passionately until the day before. Then she said, "Ah, what a fool! I must have accidentally put it in there!"
Johnathan, this time was unable to hide his disappointment over his wife's blatant lie.
She continued: "I think I had it in my hand when I opened the cabinet's door. Who knows what I was looking for. Then I must have placed it inside without thinking. I was a little careless, sorry, John. I know you don't like untidiness, and finding a book among the dishes must have been a bad surprise!"
Elizabeth might have guessed how true that was, but not for the reasons she thought.
In reality, that was a nasty surprise for both of them, and both of them realized it.
The young woman laughed with apparent nonchalance.
The reverend said, "Don't worry. It can happen."
"Thanks for finding it, let's just leave at that," and Elizabeth laughed again "you know, it must have been at least a couple of days since I picked it up, and I didn't even bother to wonder where it was."
But this sentence brought back to Johnathan's mind the clear image of the book resting on the bay window table the previous afternoon. Now he was beginning to find it unbearable that his wife could lie to him like that. Unbearable and distressing, because he wondered what was behind that series of lies.
He handed the book to Elizabeth, looking at her as you do with a child who has misbehaved, but he did not get back the remorseful look he expected.
The young woman said, "Thanks, John. I'll try to give it back to Hanna today." And she found an excuse to excuse herself from the heavy air of that room.
Abblepot stared at an indistinct point outside the window. In reality, he saw nothing in front of him, if not the image of his wife Elizabeth, now alongside John Keats' book of poems and love letters, and another man.
He didn't know who this man was and what he looked like, but it seemed to him that there was no other explanation.
That wasn't the only thing that bothered him. If there had been nothing else, he would have dealt with the matter with elegance.
He would have approached the man making him understand the impropriety of his acts and inviting him, first of all, not to disrupt their family peace anymore, and secondly to confess his sin before the Lord.
But there was more.
Elizabeth didn't say anything about it.
She didn't even get rid of that inappropriate gift.
Lastly, Elizabeth had tried to hide it from him, because perhaps she did not intend, at least in the short term, to get rid of it: she wanted to continue reading it. Or maybe keep it.
Of course, his wife's could be just curiosity. And, given the probable inconvenience of the content and the very existence of that book in their home, she didn't want to upset him too much.
What if it did come from a friend of Elizabeth and she, young and conservative, had let herself go to a little bawdy curiosity?
Perhaps even, Elizabeth may have found that book by chance, and now she was just a bit curious.
Johnathan continued to review these last possibilities in his mind, hoping to find one of them plausible: but none left him with the serenity he would have liked.
He prayed to God that he would regain the trust he always had in his wife. However, he didn't pay much attention to church things for the next days to come.
Then he was bothered by anger and suspicion, which he felt growing to stay within him, like clouds that announce the storm that won't get away until they thunder.
Then he asked God for forgiveness for those feelings that he had condemned so many times in his sermons and that now he could not let go.
What he finally decided to do was miles away from the Johnathan Abblepot people knew.
The reverend decided to fake a trip: basically to secretly spy on his wife.
He let a couple of weeks go by, pretending he had forgotten entirely about that matter. So he forced himself to assume the most natural and usual manners with Elizabeth, being calm and focused on something else, so that she would reassure herself and would not suspect that her husband was still brooding.
Johnathan felt like dying, because of the coldness he was planning to trick Elizabeth with and because of the way he was able to deceive her.
But the pain he felt inside for what had happened was more reliable than those feelings. So he carried on.
When it seemed to him that enough time had passed not to arouse suspicion, Abblepot told his wife that he would be gone a few days: he had to go to Dothan to speak with the reverend of that community; the reason would have been too complicated to explain.
Johnathan Abblepot prepared a piece of unnecessary luggage, and one early morning when Elizabeth was still sleeping, he left the house.
He hid in an area of the church which he only had access to; from there, and he could easily reach the attic: no one would have suspected he was hiding in there.
A couple of days wouldn't take long to pass by: from up there, he could easily see the possible visits that his wife would receive and the trips she would make.
He didn't have to wait long.
That same morning, at rather late hours, Elizabeth walked briskly out of the vicarage, dressed in one of her older dresses, a handkerchief around her neck, and a hat in her hand. Abblepot watched her mesmerized for a few moments, then decided, as he had already contemplated doing that morning, that he would follow her.
Although it was not that cold, the reverend put a handkerchief and a hat on that covered most of his face.
He felt like when he was a boy and was playing hide and seek with his older brothers, but at the same time, he felt the guilt of what was not a game at all. Everything around him had the consistency of the dream, and he perceived his actions as if being performed by someone else.
He struggled to keep up with Elizabeth. For a moment, he thought he had lost her when she reappeared not that far away. Abblepot was not now from Evelyn Archer's shop: Elizabeth went in.
Johnathan waited for the few minutes it took his wife to get things done in the shop. When she came out, however, she didn't seem to have bought anything.
Amazed, Johnathan saw his wife take a tour around the building; he moved to be able to see where she was going.
The woman stopped in the back yard and leaned against the wooden wall.
She seemed worried and edgy. She tilted her head as if she was taking a deep breath. She often looked around; perhaps she was waiting for someone.
Abblepot was worried about getting discovered, but Elizabeth never looked over his side.
It wasn't long before Martyn Trischer joined her in the clearing.
