He'd recognized the farmhouse from the photograph as soon as it came into view, a small grey-shingled boxlike affair, as tall as it was wide and obviously quite old, set close to the edge of the road as if eager to greet the few strangers who ventured out this far. The thornbushes along the side were green now, dotted here and there with dark red rosebuds. Deborah, Poroth's wife, had been standing there on the porch as they drove up, a pair of cats gathered like children at her feet. Even at this distance, Freirs could see that she, too, looked much as she had in the photo, dressed in homespun black from neck to ankle. She had waved gaily to them as Poroth spun the wheel and brought the truck around to the side of the house, where it came to an abrupt halt on a bare section of the lawn.
The first thing that had hit him was the silence. He'd noticed it as soon as Poroth shut the motor off. As he climbed out onto the grass, grateful to be on solid ground again, it was as if the whole world had suddenly come to a stop. Back in Gilead, standing alone, he had felt a similar quiet, but there it had seemed somehow less dramatic, a more fragile thing soon to be shattered by the inevitable noise to come, traffic noise and tractors and the intrusion of human voices. Here, though, he sensed that except for the small sounds of insect, bird, and wind in the trees, the silence was permanent, a central fact of life.
Deborah immediately came down from the porch to meet them. She was a handsome woman, even better looking than he'd hoped, with strong cheekbones and wide dark eyes beneath heavy un-womanish brows. Her mouth was large, the lips sensual and thick-not a puritan's lips at all; with makeup, in the right clothes, she would really be something to see. Her mass of black hair was obviously long and full, but she wore it swept back behind her head and knotted in a complicated bun with a severity that looked almost painful. He wondered what she'd look like with it down.
'I sure hope you didn't have to wait long,' she said, after Sarr had introduced her. 'Services always run so late at the Reids', the way Brother Amos can talk. I was afraid you'd get fed up and start walking back to New York.'
Freirs smiled – in part to make up for Poroth, who, he saw, was scowling at his wife. Probably didn't like her putting down the neighbors. 'Oh, I wasn't about to walk home. In fact, I had myself a little nap.'
'I found him sleeping in the graveyard,' said Poroth. 'Right by that big stone of the TroetsV
Deborah laughed. 'A good choice! They're Sarr's old relations.'
'Yes,' said Freirs. 'I gather almost everyone is.'
'And guess where he found our notice,' said Poroth. 'The one I put up in Flemington.'
'Where?' She turned to Freirs.
'I found it on a bulletin board in New York.'
This news, he saw, had caught her by surprise. She looked from him to her husband, as if the two men shared a secret. 'How did it get there?'
'That's what we don't know,' said Poroth grimly. 'Some kind of prankster, maybe.'
'Or else a good Samaritan,' said Deborah. She considered this a moment, then nodded. 'Yes, it must have been, don't you see? Look how nicely everything's turned out. It just might be a sign from God.' Eyes wide, she turned back to Freirs. 'It's like your name -from Jeremiah. I'm sure that's an omen too.' She grinned. 'Maybe you'll turn out to be a prophet.'
Freirs laughed uneasily. 'I'm afraid I'm no relation. But then, you never can tell.'
'I can tell,' she said. 'You were meant to come here, I'm sure of it. And I'm sure you're going to fit right in.' Scooping up a cat, she began moving toward the house. 'Now come on, both of you. I have lunch ready, and then Sarr can show you around. You two just better be hungry. There's sliced ham and cheese, and fresh dandelion greens-' Looking back at Freirs, she added, 'Nothing from our own garden, not yet, anyway – but there's a rhubarb pie from the Geisels right up the road.' To Sarr she added, 'Brother Man's coming by later. I think he wants to meet our guest.'
'Sounds like just what the doctor ordered,' said Freirs, hurrying after her. For a moment he caught a glimpse, in back of the house, of the outbuilding where he'd be staying. It looked somehow less welcoming than the farmhouse. Maybe they didn't want to show it to him till they'd softened him up. Well, that was okay; he could use a good lunch. He followed Deborah up the porch steps, surreptitiously eyeing her swaying hips encased in the black dress, the hemline sweeping barely an inch above the floor. A wonder it didn't get dusty.
Behind them in the yard, Poroth sighed. The matter of the rental notice seemed to be closed. 'I'll leave the truck out,' he called, coming after them. 'We'll have to start back to town by five to make the bus.'
While Deborah held the screen door open for Freirs, a pair of cats dashed past her feet and into the house, closely followed by another that Freirs hadn't seen. This could be a problem; he hadn't counted on there being so many.
Inside, the house seemed cramped and dark, with an unmistakable odor of cat; his nose tickled alarmingly. He heard Poroth's footsteps on the porch behind him. The old floorboards creaked. 'It's lighter in the back,' Deborah said, leading the way. They passed from a small front hallway to what was obviously the living room, where a rocker and a low, rather worn-looking couch stood facing a small fireplace. Beyond it lay the kitchen, afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows and a screen door in the rear.
It took Freirs a moment to realize what was missing. He looked in vain for lamps, a light switch, television; there was nothing but a small kerosene lantern on the mantelpiece. As he entered the kitchen, he saw another on the shelf by the doorway. He cleared his throat. 'I thought your ad said "Fully electrified." '
'The outbuilding is,' said Poroth, ducking as he came into the kitchen. T ran the wires in myself not two months ago. But in our own home-' he shrugged. 'W e prefer to keep the modern world at a distance. Here, you see, we're independent of the city and its ways.'
Freirs sensed, not for the first time, a hint of disapproval. Across the room he noticed a huge cast-iron woodburning stove rubbing shoulders with a shiny little Hotpoint. He turned to Deborah, who was busying herself at the sink, cats milling at her feet. 'I suppose that stove is gas-powered.'
'Correct,' said Sarr. 'We bought it secondhand from a man in Trenton.'
'Honey,' Deborah said over her shoulder, 'show Jeremy the tanks out back.' Freirs watched her lay a platter of ham on the kitchen table and remembered how hungry he was.
'Here, look at this.' Poroth pushed open the screen door and led Freirs out into the back porch, where two more cats were lying on the dusty wooden steps. 'Each one lasts about a month,' said Poroth – but he was pointing to a pair of silver canisters standing like miniature spaceships against the rear wall of the house, surrounded by rosebushes and weeds. 'Ordinary propane. It heats our water and cooks our meals.' Draping a long leg over the railing, he leaned back against the weathered wooden post and folded his arms.
'I don't get it,' said Freirs. 'You say you want to be independent of the modern world, but gas is just as modern as electricity. And probably just as expensive.'
He thought perhaps he had offended Poroth, but the other seemed amused. 'I know it doesn't sound very rational,' Poroth said. 'I don't pretend it is. The choices we've made have been largely… symbolic. Expressions of our faith.' He smiled wryly. 'Does that make any sense?'
Freirs shrugged. 'I suppose so.'
'Look,' said Poroth, 'we're not fanatics, Deborah and I. We have indoor plumbing. We own a truck. When one of us gets sick, we see a doctor. Some of the Brethren are stricter than that; others may think we're too strict. There's plenty of room for differences. You'd be surprised how open-minded the Brethren can be.'