“I cannot impose further,” he answered, looking again to Sanne. The widow woman cast down her eyes but smiled softly from the side of her mouth. It decided for him his action and he was shown to the small room he had stayed in many times before.

He had never, however, heard the night there open up with singing, as he recognized through the wall one of the hymns Sanne had sung to him that previous Sunday.

He listened to her voice in long measures of closed-eyed well-being, then sang back softly from his small room the refrain as he remembered it. When their singing stopped, the entire house was quiet and drawn in darkness.

See the man in darkness. He rises and goes to the woman in her quarters, where he gets in bed next to her and bundles in the warmth she gives off under the covers. The woman is stone still and tries to slow her breathing so he will not hear how it catches in her throat or the thump her heartbeat makes under her bed gown. The man hears only this, and his own breath adds to it, coming harder the closer he moves toward her. She is generous fleshed. He is greedy of it but tries to restrain himself. Man and woman lie with each other in the dark chamber and fill it with a muffled paean of wanting that nonetheless does not disguise the expression of what is tender in their thoughts for each other.

It is morning soon.

four

Devotion to Sanne was natural as desire for almost everyone who knew her long. For Merian, though, it did not come so easily and, in fact, did not arrive fully for many years. It was not that he found her wanting for any of the good attributes of her sex, but simply that attachment for him was slow to come always, even to his first wife and own boy.

Devotion to him came slowly to Sanne as well, because they had come together in haste and also possibly that she was no longer a girl but a full-grown woman, with one husband already in the ground. Perhaps this one would also die in her arms.

In fact, not until well after the time that their child was born did she find in her bosom a deep wellspring of loyalty and love for the father as well, and it was said this emotion came then not because of domestic need and convention but because they had donated each from their own personal treasure to the crucible of common creation.

When they first arrived at the farm, after concluding their contract, he showed her those acres he had bragged about before with self-consciousness.

Well it is no utopia, she thought to herself but, when asked her opinion, answered instead, “In time it just might grow to be something.”

She began in those early days, as he had two springtimes before, with the very basic tools of sacrifice and a task before her so overwhelming she found it best not to think of its completion — but rather that each chore was a step whole in itself — so that she might live in small victories instead of constant setback or failure. She was alone then as Merian himself had been in his first days, even as he toiled in the fields beyond the house, which seemed to her like leagues away.

Besides the great mass of dust she found caking every exposed surface in the room there was the matter of the measly fireplace, which was little more than a circle of stones under a too-small hole in the roof, and that circle hardly big enough for cooking with more than one pot. The vegetables he grew in the garden were not enough for proper sustenance, and of household hardware there was nothing but a knife worn down to the thinnest strip of metal and a spoon that looked like it had been used for digging in the dirt. These were merely the things that caught her eye upon entering her new abode. She knew there was likely to be much worse when she started looking, and great labor indeed if the place was ever to be made a home. She set about this self-assigned task with iron resolve, mistressing those things he had failed to master even in his other victories, great and small, in the wilderness miles from the end of the road — and quite a ways farther from the seashore, which was her natural home.

She tried never to feel self-pity or doubt as she contemplated the works in front of her, but simply labored at improving her lot, so that when she finished they could no more properly be called Merian’s acres. That is still how they were known for a time, but from her first day there it was a misnomer.

Inevitably, as she went about rearranging things, the time came when the place also began to show its secrets to her, and she learned what was on the bottom of the lake bed. It was as she did the washing on the shore, at the end of their newlywed weeks, and counted the small victories she had already achieved, that she learned what was the matter with the land that her husband struggled so hard against. She wrung the washing, feeling pleased with her accomplishments, and began pinning it in the trees, when she suddenly heard the sound of Ould Lowe’s canny voice calling filthily to her. She knew immediately what it was she heard, though she had no name for the specific fiend.

When she broke free of the fearful spell the beast was trying to enchant her with, she marched directly back to the house to await her husband’s arrival. Shortly Merian came round from the fields for the midday meal, and she asked him what kind of land it was they lived on again.

“It is our utopia,” he said, filled with the sweetness of their young union.

“It is devil’s ground,” she retorted. “Now, what is the thing out in the lake?”

“It is vanquished,” he insisted, giving her its name. “At least it was till you come.”

“It is half done, like everything else around here,” she replied, beginning the first fight of their marriage.

They rowed all afternoon, and when he finally considered the argument finished and done Merian went back to the fields. When he left, she went to the corner where her wedding trunks were still stacked and removed the chain that had fastened them together, then went back to the lake, where she found her laundry no longer pinned to the trees but floating out on the water.

After removing her boots, Sanne waded into the lake, calling to the ghost as she went, “I don’t know what you are, but you’ll not haunt this house.”

When Lowe heard his prey and himself spoken to, he reached out blindly to the woman and dragged her by the feet until she was submerged. Beneath the surface of the lake, he pulled her toward him in a ghoulish embrace with his heavy arms, where he might make her his favorite new plaything. Terrified, Sanne struggled to free herself of the monster’s grasp but could not break his hold until she was near enough to smell his skin. When she was, she needed no dark arts but gouged at his strange multicolored eyes until he let go of her.

The beast relinquished the woman only with hesitation, even in his great duress of pain, and churned at the water in anguish. Once he had relinquished her, Sanne took the chain she had brought with her and bound him, arm and leg, then shut tight a lock around its links so he could no more harass her household. When she had finished, Lowe sat alone on the bottom of the lake, restful as a monument of one in heaven.

She returned home that evening, satisfied with her work, to find her husband waiting for her to make his dinner. “And who cooked for you before?” she wanted to know.

“I did it myself,” he answered.

“Then it is not so long that you have forgotten how.”

“You’re not going to feed me?”

“Isn’t it enough I left my home for you?”

“I gave you a new one.”

“It is filled with bad omen.”

“It is virgin and must be tamed as all land like it, if we are to have a place.”

“I once had a home.”

“You are free to go back to it.”

“And what waits for you to return to it?”

So continued their fight until she barely had voice to speak. “I left my home for you,” she said again, before falling asleep, not knowing what future her union to him held or what future of any kind she might expect anymore.