The Lover: A Short Story(7)

“You’d do that?”

“Yes,” he said as his fingers skimmed her thighs and she arched her back, even as she tried to mumble about iniquity and depravity. But she’d loved him so much in secret and silence, and now he was there. “We’ll go, in the spring, with the thaw.”

A wolf was howling, braving the bitter cold outside. But it was not cold, not in her heart, her body aflame and her head filled with thoughts of all the places they might venture to. The city, south of the town, where they built great cathedrals and palaces, where the cold did not snap the bones. He slipped into her body, and she thought maybe there really were curses, and her curse was to want him like this, against all reason and decency.

“That’s that big wolf again,” Nathaniel said afterward as he put on his shirt. “When I catch it, I’m going to make a cape for you from its fur.”

“Is a wolf pelt worth anything?”

“It’ll have to be. The winter is bad, there are few foxes around, and everything else is scarce. I’ve hardly caught a thing. Then again, you’re a mighty big distraction.”

“I don’t need a pelt, just you.”

“That you have already,” he said.

“Must you rush out?” she asked. She wished to explore the naked expanse of his back, to whisper secrets in his ear, and to listen to the murmur of his pulse as she fell asleep.

“They’ll be expecting me back at the house,” he said.

Alice would be expecting him. Judith chewed on a nail and watched him as he adjusted his coat.

“I dreamt of you once, before you came to this town,” she said. “It can’t be wrong if I dreamt of you, can it?”

He laughed. “What’s that?”

“Nothing. Kiss me,” Judith said, clutching him with desperate hands, hoping he might remain a few minutes longer, but he smiled and said he must depart before he was missed. When he stepped out, she fell back on the bed, her hands stretched above her head, her heart still beating madly to the rhythm of their lovemaking.





Heavy white flakes cloaked the roofs of the village, and the tops of the pine trees leaned a little toward the rising sun. Inside the store, Nathaniel was going through the sums while Judith rearranged preserve jars. The shop boy had stepped out, complaining of a toothache, and promised to be back in an hour, so she was assisting Nathaniel with his chores.

The bell above the door jingled as someone walked in, and she heard the telltale humming of a man as he approached the counter.

“You have tobacco, do you?” he asked.

Judith, her back to the entrance, stood rigidly with a jar in her hands while Nathaniel helped the customer. The man left quickly, and a few minutes later, someone else came looking for soap. Judith stepped out of the shop.

She found the stranger a few paces from the shop’s entrance, leaning against a wall. He was carrying a long string of onions over his shoulder and smiled at her.

“What were you doing in there?” she asked.

“Getting myself a pinch of tobacco. It’ll make these onions go down better if I can smoke a pipe. This is my supper, you see, and rather meager it is.”

“You should have spent your money on meat instead of tobacco, then.”

“One must nurse a few vices,” he said. “You wouldn’t have a crust of bread, would you?”

“Leave town. Go beg in a big village.”

“Beggars are arrested in big villages.”

“In small ones too,” she said.

He looked thinner than when they’d first met, his high cheekbones straining against his skin. She imagined that underneath his clothes he was more bone than flesh.

“Come back after dark,” she said. “I’ll give you your crust of bread then.”

The shop boy returned, and Nathaniel headed back to the guesthouse. Before dusk, Judith told the shop boy that she’d close by herself. The boy was so grateful he practically skipped home. The stranger appeared a little afterward, and she locked the door, guiding him to the storage room, where she grabbed a jar of pickles and another with jam. She tossed them in a burlap sack, along with a loaf of bread she’d pilfered from the kitchen. She supposed he wouldn’t complain about its quality, like her sister did.

“There,” she said. “Count yourself lucky and don’t bother me again.”

“You are the very soul of charity,” he said, and his smile was sardonic and sharp as usual. Sharp as a blade he was, and those eyes of his were a bit like ice, bright and cool.

“Where are you sleeping? Not in the hut, I hope. You’re not allowed back there.”

“I wouldn’t go inside unless you invited me.”

“Good. Because if you break a window and try to wiggle in, you’ll be sorry. Are you sleeping in someone’s stable? Sneaking in at night?”

“Maybe I slide into the bed of a matron with a nightcap on her head and warm her better than a pelt,” he said.

“You’re silly and you must go away. Why should you remain here?”

“The winter is hard everywhere, and the local priest is more generous than the ones at other parishes,” he said. “On occasion he’ll hand a man a bowl of soup in exchange for clearing the snow from his steps. In other places, they’ll beat you with a club and give chase.”