Awake Unto Me by Kathleen Knowles Read Free Book Online Page B

take a moment.” She stretched to reach two big apples and lost her balance. She tumbled to the ground with a cry, the apples flying every which way.
    Beth ran to her and saw with terror that Theresa had struck her head on a rock and was bleeding profusely.
    “Pietro,” Beth screamed. “Help.”
    Pietro came running over, followed by two of the farm hands. They all started to jabber in Italian.
    Pietro’s eyes were huge. “I will get Papa,” he gasped, and raced off, running toward the other end of the orchard.
    Beth clamped her hand on Theresa’s head wound, not knowing what else to do. She wept and pleaded with Theresa to wake up. Theresa lay still; she was pale but she seemed to be breathing. The blood trickled from under Beth’s hand and into Theresa’s hair, but the flow had slowed down.
    It was an eternity, but finally Pietro came back with Papa Rocco puffing at his heels.
    Papa threw himself on the ground and picked up Theresa in his arms. She moaned and her eyes opened, although they were unfocused. Papa bellowed, “Get some water and a cloth!”
    Beth sat back on her heels and watched as Papa cleaned Theresa’s head of blood and whispered to her in Italian. Theresa slowly returned to consciousness and started crying while her father rocked her in his arms.
    As he cradled Theresa, Papa looked over at Beth. “Lizbetta,” he said, using their nickname for her. “You did well. My foolish son did not know what to do but scream for his Papa. These farm boys are dumb. Don’t worry. The blood is a lot but not so bad. From the scalp it bleeds much but it’s not dangerous. She got a crack on her head but she’s fine. You did well to put pressure on it. Thank you.”
    Along with her relief, Beth felt something else—a kind of pride. I knew what to do.
     
    *
     
    Beth opened her Bible and read the passage the reverend indicated. Reverend Svenhard stared out the window, hands clasped behind his back. Beth glanced at him every so often; he was usually attentive to her reading. When she reached the end, he turned to her. He seemed, if possible, even more sweaty. He tugged at his collar and cleared his throat.
    “Was it not a good reading, sir?” Beth asked.
    “No. No. Ahem. Of course not, it was fine. You did very well.” Reverend Svenhard closed his mouth. Beth waited for him to say more, puzzled that he seemed distracted and hesitant.
    “Beth, ah, from time to time, it’s often the case that a man such as myself finds himself in a quandary.”
    “Sir?”
    “Beth, I have become very fond of you as a teacher is apt to become fond of a pupil.”
    “Yes sir.”
    “I have become so fond of you, I fear I may lose my mind if you do not feel the same.”
    “I don’t know what I feel, Rev—”
    “Ohhh.” He exhaled and clasped her close to him. She tried to back away but he held her tight and his breath rasped in her ear. His hand fumbled between their bodies as he struggled to open his trouser buttons. Beth realized what he was doing and closed her eyes. He fumbled in his pocket, murmuring, “Mustn’t leave evidence—they’ll know.
    “Hold this, please!” he said in a hoarse, gasping whisper.
    She opened her eyes enough to see it was his handkerchief. She was shaking as though she was in a cold wind, the handkerchief trembling from her fingertips. He took care of himself in several quick, hard jerks between their bodies. Beth stood still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Reverend Svenhard let her go and sat down in his desk chair with his back to her. He stayed silent, and she realized that she was expected to leave. She picked up her Bible and walked out the door, sick to her stomach and terribly confused.
     
    *
     
    The pattern had altered. It was a matter first of a short, uninteresting Bible reading, then Svenhard would grasp one of her barely visible breasts and perform the ritual into the handkerchief she held. Beth would simply close her eyes and imagine she was reading a book or lying in