in his mind, hoping to find one of them plausible: but none left him with the serenity he would have liked.
He prayed to God that he would regain the trust he always had in his wife. However, he didn't pay much attention to church things for the next days to come.
Then he was bothered by anger and suspicion, which he felt growing to stay within him, like clouds that announce the storm that won't get away until they thunder.
Then he asked God for forgiveness for those feelings that he had condemned so many times in his sermons and that now he could not let go.
What he finally decided to do was miles away from the Johnathan Abblepot people knew.
The reverend decided to fake a trip: basically to secretly spy on his wife.
He let a couple of weeks go by, pretending he had forgotten entirely about that matter. So he forced himself to assume the most natural and usual manners with Elizabeth, being calm and focused on something else, so that she would reassure herself and would not suspect that her husband was still brooding.
Johnathan felt like dying, because of the coldness he was planning to trick Elizabeth with and because of the way he was able to deceive her.
But the pain he felt inside for what had happened was more reliable than those feelings. So he carried on.
When it seemed to him that enough time had passed not to arouse suspicion, Abblepot told his wife that he would be gone a few days: he had to go to Dothan to speak with the reverend of that community; the reason would have been too complicated to explain.
Johnathan Abblepot prepared a piece of unnecessary luggage, and one early morning when Elizabeth was still sleeping, he left the house.
He hid in an area of the church which he only had access to; from there, and he could easily reach the attic: no one would have suspected he was hiding in there.
A couple of days wouldn't take long to pass by: from up there, he could easily see the possible visits that his wife would receive and the trips she would make.
He didn't have to wait long.
That same morning, at rather late hours, Elizabeth walked briskly out of the vicarage, dressed in one of her older dresses, a handkerchief around her neck, and a hat in her hand. Abblepot watched her mesmerized for a few moments, then decided, as he had already contemplated doing that morning, that he would follow her.
Although it was not that cold, the reverend put a handkerchief and a hat on that covered most of his face.
He felt like when he was a boy and was playing hide and seek with his older brothers, but at the same time, he felt the guilt of what was not a game at all. Everything around him had the consistency of the dream, and he perceived his actions as if being performed by someone else.
He struggled to keep up with Elizabeth. For a moment, he thought he had lost her when she reappeared not that far away. Abblepot was not now from Evelyn Archer's shop: Elizabeth went in.
Johnathan waited for the few minutes it took his wife to get things done in the shop. When she came out, however, she didn't seem to have bought anything.
Amazed, Johnathan saw his wife take a tour around the building; he moved to be able to see where she was going.
The woman stopped in the back yard and leaned against the wooden wall.
She seemed worried and edgy. She tilted her head as if she was taking a deep breath. She often looked around; perhaps she was waiting for someone.
Abblepot was worried about getting discovered, but Elizabeth never looked over his side.
It wasn't long before Martyn Trischer joined her in the clearing.
Johnathan remembered several images of the young man hanging out around the church and vicarage, but he tried to remain focused on the scene he saw.
Trischer and Elizabeth spoke animatedly, her more worried, him with more silent pauses. Abblepot saw him put his hand on his head a few times, scratching it slightly; then, he saw him approaching his wife as someone who wanted to reassure the other person.
The last part of that scene, which must have revealed a lot to him by now, was a silent glance between the two young people, who were now holding hands. Finally, they parted.
Elizabeth waited a few more moments, again with her head tilted against the wall; then, she set off, probably to go home.
Abblepot did not follow her.
What he had seen paralyzed him.
It seemed definite: the book of love poems came from Martyn Trischer, he was almost sure of it; it was even more confident that his wife wasn't indifferent to the flirting the young man must have done with her.
Abblepot clenched his fists in the pockets of his overcoat until they almost hurt; he did not know why but the thought and image of his church, benches, altar, and crucifix, crossed his mind.
He quickly returned to the vicarage, lost in his thoughts, and confused as he had never felt before in his life.
He spent most of the afternoon wandering about the questions he would ask Elizabeth without even worrying that would also have to explain to her how he had come to that conclusion. It seemed to him that he was meters underwater, where the sound of the world was muffled, where even what you see loses its consistency.
He went back to reality later that afternoon.
It was almost dark when he heard someone marching quickly towards the house. He looked out of a skylight: he saw a shameless Martyn Trischer crossing the lawn.
The boy knocked on the door, and a confused Elizabeth greeted him: the two argued a bit, Elizabeth did not seem willing to let him in. But in the end, she gave up and let him in.
Abblepot without too many precautions left his hiding place and, helped by the fact that it was almost dark, he went down to the lawn to secretly go round his house. He looked through a couple of windows before seeing his wife and Trischer: the lights on in the house allowed him to see the scene perfectly.
They were in one of the sitting rooms at the back: Johnathan could not grasp their words, if not just an indistinct buzz or something a bit clearer when they raised their voices, but it was apparent what they were talking about.
Elizabeth was holding Keats' book and showing it to Trischer. He was sitting in one of the armchairs like a back stubbing throne usurper.
What they were saying was worth little now, thought Johnathan Abblepot, all taken up by the morbid obsession to watch what was going to happen.
Every movement the two made, every incomprehensible word they said, flared more in his mind. In a moment of clarity, Abblepot realized that he was still clenching his fingers into his fists until they hurt.
Then Trischer put his head down as if he was overwhelmed with thoughts: Elizabeth went up to him and put her hand on his hair.
The boy got better, touched Elizabeth's arm, before looking at her and standing up.
Finally, he kissed her.
Abblepot
