Free Peter Loon by Van Reid

white of her dress, which had only seemed pale and even drab in the dimness of the tavern, as he was taken by the grass and the sky and the reflective water. Nora Tillage’s narrow hands were folded on her knees. She appeared to sway back and forth just slightly, almost as if she were in a rocking chair. Her face showed concern and even interest, but she said, though almost more to herself than to Peter, “I’m not supposed to talk with you,” and when these words had died in the air she quickly said, “I think.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, which might have meant–and probably did mean–several things. He gathered himself to return the way he had come, when she spoke again.
    â€œAre you with Parson Leach?”
    Peter considered this. “I am, yes, I think.”
    â€œI like him,” she said. “I heard him preach once. It was about a man who climbed a tree to see Jesus.”
    Peter didn’t know the story, but he stood half-turned toward her, his head turned the rest of the way, cocked slightly–not unlike one of those birds that Crispin Moss had called on the road, or the crow that was watching them. Peter nodded, indicating his interest in what she said.
    â€œHe was a tax-collector, I think,” said Nora. She was looking past him, out over the surface of the lake. Peter had some moments to look at her directly and began to see the imperfections–that is the humanness–in her face, none of which diminished her attractiveness to him. “We went to hear Mr. Barrow preach three weeks ago,” she said. “Papa was struck . He fell right down and hit his head on the floor of Mr. Buelly’s front room. And when he told us what he’d seen, Mr. Barrow said he been touched by Christ, for Jesus took Mr. Barrow to see Heaven and so Mr. Barrow knows what it looks like. He said Papa’d seen just a peep of it. He said Papa would never have to trouble about doing wrong again.”
    Peter took this in slowly. “Did you see anything?” he asked.
    â€œNo.”
    Anyone watching from another shore would hardly know they were talking, they looked so separate, but the young men outside the tavern, if they could see Peter standing, could never see Nora hunched low against the bank.
    â€œHe told Papa that I’d never have to trouble about doing wrong, even if I wasn’t struck, if he took me under his wing. He said Papa would have lots of things in Heaven, because you’re supposed to give up your sons and daughters.”
    Peter squinted one eye and looked down at a speckled rock at his feet.
    â€œBut Mr. Barrow said Parson Leach was a Congregationalist and a devil,” she added in sudden haste. “I’m not supposed to talk with you.” Nora rose from her little niche in the bankside like an animal poking its head from a hole. She did not try to reach the worn path, which would have meant passing by Peter, but scrambled instead up the little bluff of slope, grabbing hanks of grass and roots to pull herself up. Her bonnet bobbed above the crest of the bank.
    â€œI don’t think he’s a Congregationalist,” Peter called after her, but his voice was so weak, the wind must have carried it away.

9

Concerning Antinomianism and Other Matters
    PARSON LEACH WAS STANDING ON THE SMALL PORCH BEFORE THE ALE Wife when Peter came up from the shore; the young man had the feeling that he was being looked for.
    â€œI thought you had pressed on,” said the clergyman.
    Peter told Parson Leach where he’d been and the man nodded, glancing back at the tavern door, then at Peter again, as if he were connecting Peter’s explanation with something else. Peter wondered if the parson had seen Nora Tillage come up from the lake before him, and What would he make of that? “There’s another supper inside, if you can tolerate it,” said the preacher with half a smile.
    Peter was sure he could. The shank