She began to tell him about what had happened while he was gone, about Snyder’s death and Reed’s exile, as they strolled along the creek, the late-afternoon light warm on their shoulders. Stanton was taken aback by this; he’d grown to trust Reed, and he stated that he was concerned about how easily the group could splinter.
She also told him about the rest: Hardkoop, the elderly Belgian, had been ill and been left behind, and Jacob Wolfinger had attempted to go back for him but never returned. Doris Wolfinger’s soft tears, she said, seemed to remain in the air for many nights afterward, as if the understanding that her husband was gone for good had come to her only in gratitude. “I’m not sure what to make of all that’s occurred to us,” Mary admitted, feeling even more overwhelmed as the weight of it all came back on top of her. “I’m no longer able to determine who’s good and who’s bad.” Back in Springfield, it seemed so simple. When Lewis Keseberg threw Mr. Hardkoop out, none of those decent folks lifted a finger to help him… Or went back to find Mr. Wolfinger after he vanished. It’s as if everyone is only looking out for themselves… With her tales of shadowy men in the basin, everyone thinks Tamsen is a liar. Even individuals who used to trust her now loathe her, yet I saw her after they rescued her from the flames. I’m not sure why she would fabricate such a storey.”
With a shake of his head, Stanton expressed his dissatisfaction with the situation. “Tamsen enjoys attention, but only positive attention. Mary, you are correct. It’s quite bizarre.”
“And then there’s Mr. Reed,” she said, not wanting to stay on the subject of Tamsen and her strange stories. “Reed didn’t appear to be capable of murdering a man in cold blood…”
“You’re also correct in that regard. That does not sound like the man I am familiar with.” Stanton said in a hushed, distant tone.
“It just doesn’t make any sense at all.” She turned her gaze to the foggy horizon. “That’s why, Mr. Stanton, I’m so delighted you’re back. “It’s one of many reasons.” She reddened a little. “You always appear to know what you’re talking about.” I—I feel a little more secure. He seemed to recede at that point—it was slight, but she sensed a small gap between them had reopened. To avoid their elbows brushing, he took a step closer to the river, and she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the changing weather.
“I’m not sure why you’ve put your faith in me so many times, Mary. Of course, I want it, but you must understand that I don’t deserve it.” He’d come to a halt and was silently staring at the flowing river.
“Whatever you’ve done in the past, whatever happened to you, it can’t be as horrible as you think.” She gently stroked his arm. “I can see how the sin has atoned for itself in you, in the way you bear the weight of it.” You must be merciful to yourself.”
She stated these things because she believed they were true: the Bible teaches others to forgive so that God might forgive everyone.
She had a fleeting feeling he may cry, but all he did was take a deep breath and run his hand through his hair. “I’ll never forgive myself—it’d be like allowing her to die all over again.” In my fantasies, I’ve already failed to save her numerous times. Every night, I watch her drown again.”
Mary’s breath had become stuck in her throat. She recognised what he was talking about: the storey of the girl he had loved—and abandoned when she was pregnant.
“You know, I was planning to marry her,” he explained. “That very day, I had come to tell her.”
As he gripped and stretched his hands, Mary noticed his knuckles turning white. Then he shifted his gaze to her, as if expecting her to object.
“Then it wasn’t your fault,” Mary responded, despite the fact that she could tell her words had no effect on him. Mary’s father had told her that the unfortunate girl had committed herself as a result of Stanton’s abandonment. But suddenly she realised that there could have been another cause. Her father’s description of the man—the boy—didn’t sound anything like Stanton. It seemed ridiculous now that she had ever doubted Stanton.
The landscape in front of them was ruffled by the shadow of a single cloud high overhead. It was a sign, as if God’s hand had touched the valley.