The Visitor by Katherine Stansfield Page B

it isn’t a dream because her mother is looking too and has tightened her hand on Pearl’s shoulder, so much it almost hurts and you don’t feel that in a dream.
    She’s going to ask who’s fishing on a Sunday but when she sees how pale her mother has gone and the look in her eyes Pearl realises that isn’t a good question to ask either. Her mother remembers chapel then and they go in, though she seems distant, distracted. She even forgets that Pearl has to go to the Sunday school room first rather than the main room, leading her into the grown up service instead.
    Mr Taylor the preacher leans his wide face low over the wood, sweeping his gaze across the whole village. Alice is in the front pew, pinned between old Mrs Pendeen and Mr Taylor’s wife who is very fat and will only wear brown dresses. She reminds Pearl of a boat. Alice looks so small between them, her shoulders hunched and her head lowered.
    On Sundays Mr Taylor’s words are bright with fire. Often he preaches against entertaining superstitious fantasies, like leaving a bit of the catch when the boats are unloaded for the Bucca to eat when no one’s looking. Then the fishermen lower their heads, letting Mr Taylor’s sternness fall on them, but on Monday evening when the boats return from the day’s fishing several morsels of mackerel will be tucked under a stone on the harbour steps, to keep the shoals close to Morlanow. But today Mr Taylor is talking about a different kind of sin.
    â€˜In the Book of Hosea doesn’t the Lord tell us what befalls the tribe who bear children out of wedlock? Doesn’t he tell us that the crop will fail, that the fields will be barren? That sin will strike the earth and cause hunger?’ People murmur back to Mr Taylor. He takes a moment to gather breath and to shove his glasses up his nose though they slip right down again. Her mother pushes her into the nearest pew. Its wood is cool against the backs of her legs. She can’t see where her father and Polly are; Polly’s old enough now not to go to Sunday school. Mr Tremain and Mr Polance are in the pew in front. The Master doesn’t come to chapel. He goes to the church that the Mr Tillotsons go to, back inland.
    â€˜We will all suffer for the sins of one,’ Mr Taylor says. ‘For turning a blind eye to that which breaks the Lord’s covenant.’ At this the murmur is louder, proper words agreeing with Mr Taylor, saying aye, aye. He points at Alice and looks just like the picture of God in the book Nicholas’ mother has in Sunday school, when God strikes down something bad Pearl has forgotten: eyes wide and staring, head leant back and cross-looking. ‘This!’ says Mr Taylor, ‘is the sin that will corrupt us all. Have we not our own fields, is not the sea a pasture plentiful with the Lord’s bounty? We must hold steadfast against sin. We must hold firm in our devotion to the Lord.’
    â€˜Amen,’ says everyone, very loud now, some people shouting. Her mother’s eyes are closed and her hands are clasped together so tight her fingers are white. Pearl can’t see Alice but she imagines she will have shrunk down to the size of a cat, or something even smaller, to escape Mr Taylor’s gaze and everyone else telling her how bad she is.
    â€˜And we will know who met this woman in sin, whose seed has defiled the Lord without His blessing of marriage. We will bring them together in God’s love and see that they are properly joined.’
    â€˜Amen,’ everyone says again, but quieter now. Heads are turned, just enough to see other people without showing they’re looking.
    â€˜We see the power of such sin already, don’t we?’ Mr Taylor says. ‘Govenek’s men have turned their back on the Lord to fish on his day of rest, on the holy Sabbath. Wickedness has come to our waters, my brothers and sisters, as well as in our midst in God’s