The Virtue of Sin

by Shannon Schuren

  I blink, shocked to hear his name spoken out loud. Azariah ran off, like a dog in the night. Naomi at least accepted her punishment honorably. Not that it did her any good. But something in Aaron’s avid expression bothers me. He doesn’t believe in any of this.

  “We’re not allowed to talk about Contemptible acts.” Not that it’s ever stopped me before. “Besides, I thought you said Daniel already told you.”

  Aaron has been nothing but honest with me since that night in the cave. I’ve been the one with all the secrets. But his face changes when I question him, and for the first time, I think he may be hiding something.

  His smile looks forced as he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Of course we can have dinner with Rachel and Jacob. Once Daniel allows it. I know she’s your best friend.”

  I don’t like his tone, but I can’t find fault with his apology. “Thank you.”

  “Is she happy with her marriage?” he asks.

  “Why do you care?”

  He winces.

  “I’m sorry. That was rude. I didn’t think that was the kind of thing any man would concern himself with. A woman’s happiness? But yes. Rachel and Jacob are perfect together.”

  Aaron chokes on his food and takes a drink. “Perfection is overrated.”

  “Perfection is something we should all strive for.”

  “‘Perfection is not for the pure of soul; there may be virtue in sin.’”

  My throat tightens so my next words come out sounding breathless. “Virtue in sin?” He knows about Caleb. He must. He’s threatening me. I mouth the words silently back to myself. They don’t sound like a threat. They sound more like . . . an invitation?

  “It’s a quote. Kahlil Gibran.”

  “Right. Your prophet.”

  The silence stretches out between us, until I think the scraping of our forks against our plates will drive me mad. “What do you know about coyotes?” I ask, searching in desperation for a topic that won’t upset either of us. “Daniel thinks there might be one in New Jerusalem.”

  He studies me for a moment. “Doubtful,” he says, after a beat. “Coyotes don’t have any use for humans. They’re pack animals. Did you know they mate for life?”

  “Really? Just like u—” I gulp my water instead of finishing the word.

  Aaron quirks an eyebrow. “It’s ironic, when you think about it. Coyotes get a bad rap. In all the mythology, they’re always the trickster. The thief. The weak traitor. When in reality, they’re more loyal than humans.”

  More loyal than I am, for sure.

  “This chicken is good,” I say, too loudly. I hear the strain in my voice as I change topics, though for once I’m not lying. It’s moist and juicy, with a burst of flavor I couldn’t repeat if I tried. “Usually, chicken is so dried out.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “You mean the slop the Council passes off as chicken?”

  “My mother cooks for the Council,” I remind him, and feel slightly mollified when his face turns even pinker. I’m not the only one who says the wrong things.

  “I like to cook,” he says again, an edge to his words this time. “Besides, there’s a saying on the Outside. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid.”

  “What is cool aid? And why can’t you drink it?”

  His eyes glitter with a spark of something I can’t identify. Humor? Fear? “It’s a kind of drink. Like juice, only sweeter. And with less nutritional value. It means you shouldn’t take whatever someone offers you at face value.”

  “Face value?” These two words have no meaning to me when squashed together.

  Aaron’s impatient, though I can’t tell if it’s with me or himself. “People have an agenda, Miriam. You shouldn’t always buy into their empty promises. Just because someone tells you something, you don’t have to believe it.”

  I can’t help but think he’s talking about someone in particular.

  “And just because they give you drink, or food”—he gestures with his fork—“that doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

  I look down at my own plate as his meaning sinks in. “You think there’s something wrong with the Council’s food?”

  “Don’t worry, your plate is fine. That’s why . . . Never mind.” He shoves another forkful into his mouth, as if to silence himself.

  I nod, though I don’t understand whatever thoughts twist his lips into two thin lines.

  “What about our marriage vows?” I ask, laying my fork down. “Are those not just another set of empty promises?”

  His jaw clenches in unison with his fist, and he mumbles something I can’t understand. When I ask him to repeat it, he says, “Don’t go there.”

  “Go where?”

  “It means leave it alone. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “The best you can?” I cry out. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means I’m trying,” he says, his voice low. “I’m walking the walk. I’m playing the game. If anyone suspects we’re not happily married, it isn’t because of anything I’ve said or done.” He raises his head on these last words, which are as sharp as his gaze.

  “You picked me,” I say, shoving a finger in his face and then my chest.

  “I’m aware.”

  “So when are you going to make me . . . ?” I wave my hand toward the bedroom, but I can’t finish the sentence.

  He barks a laugh. “Is that what you’re worried about? Sex? Relax. I’m not interested.”

  Tears well up, but I can’t tell if they’re from relief or humiliation.

  “Hey. Don’t cry. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I thought . . . Jesus.” He tries to take my hand, but I fling it away.

  “You didn’t hurt my feelings. I never wanted you,” I say, with more venom than I expect.

  “So you have no interest in me, but you’re offended I have no interest in you. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s unfair,” I say, though he’s partly right. “I just—people can tell something is wrong. Rachel already wonders. So what are we going to do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I don’t know why I’m pushing him, other than because I’m angry and ashamed and afraid. “So this is it? The rest of our lives? We just live like this?”

  “Damn it, Miriam. It’s not the rest . . . I have a boyfriend.” He spits the words, his hands clenched into fists beside his plate.

  His abrupt change of subject confuses me. “What are you talking about?”

  He dashes a tear with his fist. “I’m in love with someone else. On the Outside. A man.”

  The chair beneath me tilts, and I grab the table to hold on to as I shrink back from him. I have heard of these things, but only in a remote way, passages about long-ago sinners in the Bible, whose crimes were so terrible no one would repeat them today. “If a man lies with another man as he lies with a woman, he has committed an abomination.”

  “Stop!” He covers his ears. “I’ve heard it all before. It isn’t going to change anything. Falling in love with him wasn’t a choice.” He hurls his glass at the wall above my head.

  A shard bites my cheek as it shatters, and I cry out. Milk runs down the wall and pools at our feet. I touch my face, and my finger comes away wet with blood.

  Aaron leans forward. “Oh my God. I’m sor—”

  “Don’t touch me!” I shove myself back from the table, out of his reach. Then with a sweep of my hand, I send the plates and silverware and food crashing to the floor. “It wasn’t a choice? That’s your defense?” I skirt the table, wading through soggy rice and vegetables as milk soaks the hem of my skirt; anything to get away from him and his dirty sins and his pathetic excuses.

  From inside the bathroom doorway, I finally look at him—this stranger, my husband—and point a shaky finger in his direction. “You’re a man. You don’t have
the right to complain about choices.”

  I slam the door before he can respond. As far as I’m concerned, the mess is his to clean up.

  25

  CALEB

  I pass Delilah’s parents on the steps of the Council House, Chloe’s face buried in Gideon’s shoulder. I nod at the guard, guilt burning a small hole in my stomach. If I had chosen Delilah at the Matrimony, they wouldn’t have had to say goodbye to their daughter.

  No. I can’t think like this. I did the right thing.

  “This makes no sense. You did nothing wrong. If anyone is Unworthy, it’s—” Phoebe paces in front of the door, but stops mid-sentence as I enter the foyer.

  Part of me wishes she’d continued. I know gossip is the devil’s tongue in a woman’s mouth, but I’d still give up all of the meager table scraps my mother has managed to smuggle me to know whom Phoebe was about to name.

  Beside the door, Delilah sits on the bench. Her face is pale as ever, but her eyes are rimmed red and swollen, like she’s been crying. She isn’t crying now, though. She’s staring out the window, arms tight across her chest. When she looks up, the ice in her gaze stops me cold.

  I feel like I’ve walked in on the middle of something intimate, though I can’t imagine what. They knew I was coming; it can’t have been anything too private. But then again, they’re women. My mother likes to grumble about my father keeping things from her, but it’s the women who have all the secrets. Every man knows that.

  “It doesn’t matter now.” Delilah balls her hands into fists. Her face turns the color of her hair, and so does her neck. As if she’s bleeding.

  This is the girl whose name was whispered to me at the Matrimony, when Miriam was no longer an option. If I had chosen her, my children would have had hair this color. Little tomato babies.

  “It does matter,” Phoebe says, each word clipped as short as her hair. “So what if no one chose you? There are other options.”

  She looks at me like I’m some kind of vermin that must be exterminated. She’s wondering why Delilah is being sent Out, but not me. By Daniel’s grace, I have been allowed to stay. I don’t dare question his decision. Neither should Phoebe. I’ve had my own punishments to endure. Like this task, escorting them to the gate. Daniel said it was part of my job as Security Officer, but he wants me to see exactly what I did when I ignored the word of God. How my actions affect everyone.

  “We’ve been waiting for some time,” Phoebe says. “I trust whatever caused your delay was important? Not marital duties, obviously.”

  She sounds exactly like my mother. The perfect blend of politeness and guilt. Hard to believe she never had kids.

  “I assumed you were with Daniel. I will need to speak with him before we go.”

  I’m not used to a woman addressing me like this. But as Daniel’s close advisor, Phoebe has been allowed certain privileges. It just feels wrong. I glance toward Daniel’s office. “I . . . uh, he’s not with me?”

  “Is that a question?”

  “No.” Was that a snicker? I glance at Delilah, but she’s staring blankly out the window again. “I thought maybe you were asking me a question: Do I know where Daniel is? I don’t. Have you checked his office?”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Phoebe says, “Yes, I’ve checked his office. He’s not in. Nor is his secretary.”

  I know where Susanna is, but Phoebe scares me. She might be the last person I want to have that information right now, especially if what Susanna implied is true. I don’t need her mouthing off to her teacher before I have a chance to talk to Marcus.

  Phoebe stares at the door to Daniel’s private quarters, then straightens her back. “Very well.” She crosses the room and grasps Delilah’s hands. “I know you’re feeling confused right now. But Daniel says this is an honor. Sometimes we have to deal with the unexpected and trust that God knows what He’s doing. Keep faithful,” she says, and it almost sounds like she’s talking to herself. “This will all work out.”

  Delilah doesn’t say a word.

  I understand why she’s confused. Daniel founded New Jerusalem to keep us safe and protected. Why would he want anyone to leave? Phoebe isn’t married, and she got to stay. Of course, those were different circumstances. She was married once. Is it because unmarried women are too susceptible to temptation without proper training?

  “Let’s go,” Phoebe says to me. As if I’ve been the one dawdling, instead of patiently waiting for them to finish their conversation.

  Delilah smiles, as if she can read my thoughts, and slowly unfolds herself from the bench. She hands me a suitcase, and Phoebe shoves her own canvas bag into my other hand.

  “Let’s go this way.” I turn to the right without waiting for a reply. This is the long way around the city, but I’m the man here. They will have to defer to my suggestion. The last thing I want is to run into Susanna again.

  We follow the dusty path that leads down the hill in uncomfortable silence. “Are you scared?” I blurt, mostly to fill the uneasiness in the air as we pass the girls’ schoolroom and walk around the edge of the housing circle. Since Delilah is unmarried, she isn’t supposed to speak unless spoken to, but her silence feels like a personal slight.

  “Why? Are you planning to hurt me?” she asks.

  I stumble over a rock. In a way, I already have. Does she know that she’s unmarried because I refused to pick her? Or does she think I might physically cause her harm?

  Delilah stops and hooks her pinkie finger through the chain link of the fence.

  Phoebe glances back impatiently. “Hurry up. I need to speak to your father before we go.”

  When Delilah lifts a foot to pry a pebble from the bottom of her shoe, Phoebe throws up her hands and marches on without us.

  “I meant, scared of going Out,” I say, watching Phoebe get farther ahead, until she disappears into the shadows.

  “Yes.” Delilah switches to the other sandal. “But maybe it’s still better than where I am now.”

  Her words remind me of Naomi’s letter. But how could she know about that? Is there something about Naomi that all the women know and I don’t?

  “Where we are now is Sanctuary.”

  “I meant . . . being the only girl who’s never been chosen.” She waggles her finger back and forth between the two of us. “We’re both unmarried, but it’s different for you, isn’t it? Because you’re a man.” She narrows her eyes. Or maybe she’s just peering into the darkness. “I really thought you’d pick Miriam. She thought so, too.”

  Silence drags on, heavy and hot, and I think we’re both imagining how different everything would be if I’d actually chosen Miriam. But that still wouldn’t have changed Delilah’s status.

  “You can’t understand how humiliating it is,” she continues. “To be called Unworthy, not because of any choice I made, but because of someone else’s.”

  “I didn’t make a choice,” I say, “because I couldn’t. And I’ve been punished, too.” Why did I think it was a good idea to talk to her? Talking never brings me anything but trouble.

  “Not choosing is still more choice than we get.”

  I start walking again, mostly to stop the conversation, but also because I want to get this over with. Once Delilah is gone, she won’t be a constant reminder of whatever mistakes I made. Or didn’t make. As we get close enough that we can see the floodlights above the front gates, I finally say, “It’s not like you’re being Banished. Daniel is sending you to be Educated. He says you’ll come back. Eventually.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Delilah says.

  But before I can ask what she means, we’ve caught up to Phoebe. She’s standing a few feet back from the gate, around the side of the guard shack. And she’s arguing with my father.

  “. . . between you and Daniel?”

  I don’t hear the first part of Father’s question, b
ut Phoebe’s body goes rigid, and even I can tell she’s lying when she says, “Nothing.”

  She has her back to us and doesn’t see us approach, but Father does. His cold gaze rakes over Delilah, then flicks to me and away. Dismissing us.

  “This isn’t right, Han,” Phoebe says. “You know as well as I. After that debacle of a Matrimony, we should have at least had a Council meeting to discuss—”

  Father slaps her.

  I jump between them and grab Father’s wrist. “You can’t hit her! She’s not your wife or your son.”

  Father curls his lip. “I’m still your father, regardless of how high you think you’ve climbed.” His tone is frigid, but he takes a step backward. A small one, but I notice. Something has shifted between us, maybe because I’m bigger than him now. Or perhaps his anger is no longer a match for my own.

  “Daniel will hear about this,” Phoebe says, her hand pressed hard against her cheek.

  “He will,” Father agrees. “And he isn’t going to appreciate you questioning his judgment.”

  I’ve never heard any man disrespect Phoebe so openly before. Yes, she’s a woman. But she’s also one of Daniel’s closest advisors. She’s always had his protection. What has happened that Father no longer cares about any of that?

  And what did she mean by debacle?

  Delilah suddenly makes a guttural sound, drops her suitcase, and collapses into the sand.

  Father looks down at her, his face blank, then shifts his gaze behind me. I hadn’t even heard Marcus walk up, but there he is, looking dazed, his face flushed and his hair damp with sweat. His clothes are rumpled. As if he’s been fighting.

  “Are you going to do something, or just stand there like an idiot?” Father barks.

  The rebuke is so familiar I take an involuntary step forward before I realize he’s talking to my brother.

  Delilah moans and curls herself into a ball as the van—a battered, dusty contraption shaped like a moth larva and painted the dull brown of a tepary bean—pulls to a stop in front of our awkward semicircle, blocking our view of the rest of the city. It makes a belching sound, sending a cloud of noxious fumes into the hot desert night.