The Virtue of Sin

by Shannon Schuren

  “Why didn’t Phoebe accompany Delilah to the restroom?” Daniel asks, folding his arms.

  Abraham presses his lips into a thin line. “It was a single-person room. The window was high off the ground. We had no reason to suspect she’d run, let alone that she’d be able to do so.”

  An image of Delilah crumpled in the sand swims to the surface of my mind.

  Daniel looks completely calm, even as he slams his fist to the desk. “Her chaperones had one job. One.” He picks up his chair. “Job.” And slams it down.

  None of us are willing to respond, and the room goes silent, the sound of splintering wood echoing inside my head.

  I don’t know where I find the courage to speak up, but someone has to tell him. I lean forward. “Delilah didn’t want to go . . . wherever you were sending her. She was afraid.”

  “Afraid? Everyone is afraid.” He gestures toward the darkened window. “It’s why we stay here together. So we can be safe from the anarchy Outside.” He turns to me. “How well do you know her?”

  Why am I the only one seated? I struggle to my feet. “Not well. But she is like most of the other girls. She’d never survive on her own Outside.” Her earlier words echo in my head. Maybe it’s still better than where I am now. It almost sounded like she wanted to leave. What changed in that short amount of time, from walking down the hill to arriving at the gate? Or was she lying?

  Father doesn’t like agreeing with me, but he says, “Caleb is right. Delilah’s like the rest. No skills whatsoever.”

  I bristle at this criticism. That isn’t what I said. They have skills. Miriam has her memory for scripture, and her beautiful voice. And she was more than willing to help me with the coyote trap. Before we got distracted by . . . other things.

  “You said she was afraid,” Daniel says, interrupting my sinful thoughts. “Could she have been afraid of someone in the van? Abraham, perhaps? Or Marcus?”

  We all shift our gazes to Abraham, who looms over us like the shadow of a mountain. A solid, angry mountain.

  Who’s more faithful than Abraham? “She wasn’t afraid of Abraham,” I say, wishing I could take it back as soon as the words leave my mouth. Damnation. If it wasn’t Abraham, does that mean she was afraid of Marcus? Marcus isn’t violent. That mark on Susanna’s cheek was probably soot. I don’t even know if he was the man with her in the bathhouse. I need to talk to him. Why isn’t he here, telling us his version of events?

  “Marcus was there when she ran,” Father says, echoing my thoughts. “Perhaps we can send him back out to look. Maybe he can find her before too much damage is done.”

  Does Father know something I don’t? Even if Delilah is in danger, sending Marcus back Out seems unreasonably risky. And while Father craves admiration from our Leader above almost anything, surely even he wouldn’t sacrifice his own son for a pat on the back. Then again, am I any better?

  Daniel turns to Abraham. “What was Marcus doing during all this?”

  “Marcus was in the van. Where I told him to stay. I went in to pay for the gas, and Marcus thought—”

  “He thought wrong,” Daniel says.

  How does Abraham know what my brother thought? Daniel is already angry at Marcus. Abraham is just making it worse.

  Father swallows hard, a sheen of sweat shimmering on his forehead. “Marcus has never been Out before. It’s overwhelming the first time. He thought he was doing right by Abraham, protecting the vehicle.”

  “I sent him along to guard Delilah. But instead, it appears that your son is the one in need of guidance.”

  My father’s eyes flick to me, then away, hitting me like a punch to the gut. I don’t flinch. I just stare at a point on the wall above his head, my hands balled into fists. Why is that his first reaction? Daniel says his son screwed up, and he looks at me, even though I had nothing to do with this. I’ve been appointed to the Security team by our Leader himself. What more do I need to do to earn his respect?

  “He meant Marcus.” Abraham sounds amused, though his face is like rock.

  “And what about your son?” Father fires back. “I’m told someone saw him with Delilah just yesterday morning. What was that all about?”

  Why was Aaron with Delilah? Or is this just Father trying to shift the focus of Daniel’s anger away from my brother? I’ve seen him do it countless times. It’s not personal; he’d offer up anyone convenient. Usually, I’m the convenient choice.

  “Are you suggesting my son is somehow to blame?” Abraham’s tone makes clear what he thinks of Father’s suggestion. “Aaron has nothing to do with this.”

  “Neither does Marcus.”

  But Daniel shakes his head. “I’m not so sure. He was there, Han.” He flicks his hand at Abraham. “Put Marcus on watch. If he stumbles again . . .” He lifts one shoulder. “You know your duty.”

  “What about Delilah?” I ask, afraid to think about how he might finish that sentence. “Who will go out to look for her?” I pray he doesn’t say me. But at the same time, she is our Sister. Someone needs to find her.

  “Delilah is no longer our concern,” Daniel says. “She chose to run; she is dead to me. The rest do not need to be put in danger because of her folly. In fact, I think we need to beef up security. What if she joins another community? Gives away our secrets? After all, which is worse? A distant enemy, or one who has stood inside your gate?”

  Abraham and Father’s faces are still, so I can’t tell if they share my shock. Delilah isn’t our enemy; she’s just a girl. What secrets does she possibly know that could warrant what amounts to a death sentence?

  Daniel continues, “Beginning tomorrow, the boys will start combat training.”

  Abraham straightens. “That seems . . . extreme.”

  “We’re safe here,” Father agrees. “We don’t need to arm ourselves.”

  At the mention of arms, Abraham crosses his, his black T-shirt straining against the muscles beneath.

  “We are at war with evil.” For a second, Daniel looks haunted, his eyes going black with fear. He claws at his own chest, raking angry red gashes into his skin. “It’s the holiest men the devil tries hardest to sink his teeth into.”

  “We’re talking about one girl, Daniel.” Father lowers his voice. “One scared girl. Her . . . mistake . . . shouldn’t be an excuse for anything else. Don’t make it one.”

  He’s trying to soothe Daniel. I know, because it’s the same tone he uses on Mother, usually after he’s lost his temper. I’m just not sure why he needs to do so now. Because Delilah has run away, we are all in danger? It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t say so. Abraham also remains silent, and I don’t know him well enough to guess if this is because he’s smart, or because he’s as baffled about what’s happening as I am.

  “Maybe Delilah didn’t run away.” I don’t know where the words come from, but I have their full attention now. I can’t look at Abraham, though I can feel his stare drill into my skull.

  Daniel tilts his head to the side, and Father curls his lip and says, “Don’t be ridiculous. What else could have happened?”

  I don’t know. But I have to say something to get their attention, convince Daniel he needs to find her. What else could have happened? It wasn’t Phoebe; she’s a woman. And Delilah wasn’t afraid of Abraham, and even if she had been, I can’t bring myself to accuse him while he’s standing here, radiating anger like body odor. That leaves Marcus.

  Please, God, don’t let it have been Marcus. “Maybe she was just trying to get back home, where she felt safe. Like Daniel says, we have enemies. Out there,” I say.

  “Such as?” Daniel asks.

  “Naomi.” She’s the only Outsider I know, and as Daniel said, she once took refuge inside our gates.

  “Naomi?” scoffs Father. “Please. Surely even you aren’t that stupid. She’s long gone.”

  I turn on him, fists clenc
hed.

  “Temper, temper,” Daniel chides.

  “I thought Naomi was dead,” Abraham says.

  “Laugh all you want, but she’s not dead. She’s worried about Rachel. And Rachel and Delilah are friends.” I’m thinking out loud, but I’m immediately sorry. I wish I could bite off my own tongue.

  Abraham gives me a look, but I can’t read it.

  “And how do you know that?” Daniel’s voice is cold, like the darkest part of night when the animals hunt.

  “I saw the letter she sent,” I whisper.

  I don’t even flinch as Father strikes me. I deserve the blow for so many reasons, only the least of which is invading Daniel’s privacy.

  “Get out of my sight,” our leader orders, and I don’t hesitate. I need to find my brother. Before Daniel does.

  28

  MIRIAM

  BETTER A SMALL SERVING OF VEGETABLES WITH LOVE THAN A FATTENED OX WITH HATRED.

  —Proverbs 15:17

  This morning, after the Call to Prayer, Daniel announces that instead of their Vocational Duties, the men will begin a new kind of training. Which means that I must endure Lydia’s harsh criticism and Mishael’s leering gaze on my own. Daniel also declares that our Private Period is at an end, and reminds us it is our duty to socialize with other newly married couples. It takes less than an hour for Rachel to hurry down the hill from the Farm to the Mill to extend Aaron and me an invitation to a Gathering in the Communal Dining Hall this evening.

  As young girls, Rachel and I witnessed dozens of my parents’ Gatherings. We even planned our own. Whom we’d invite, what we’d serve, which Bible passages we’d study. But now that the moment will soon be upon me, I feel sick to my stomach. Which is almost funny, since that is the excuse I plan to use to get out of attending.

  But when Aaron returns from his mysterious new training, tight-lipped and sweaty, he insists we go. I have no idea what he’s thinking. We have far too many secrets. We’ll never get through an intimate dinner without giving ourselves away.

  * * *

  • • •

  Just before sundown, Rachel and Jacob greet us at the door of the Hall. “Welcome!” she says, while Jacob merely nods, his arm around her shoulder. I envy them their easy affection. It’s the kind of thing Aaron and I will never have and won’t be able to fake.

  Aaron reaches for Jacob’s hand, shaking hard. “Jacob. Thanks for the invite. So thoughtful. And so . . . spontaneous.”

  Jacob winces and rubs his hand when Aaron finally drops it. “Honestly, Rachel’s been planning this for a while,” he says. “We were just waiting for Daniel’s announcement.”

  “Sure. You’d need to be ready at a moment’s notice, wouldn’t you? So whenever the opportunity presented itself, you could just”—Aaron snaps his fingers—“snap it up.” His words are friendly, but his eyes are cold.

  Jacob jumps at the sound but doesn’t answer. Instead, he blinks and looks away. What is going on between them? They’re allowed to say whatever thoughts pop into their heads, yet they hold so much back. I’ll never understand men.

  “Now, don’t get upset. It was Susanna’s idea.” Rachel links her arm through mine and pulls me away, into the warm alcove tucked between the Dining Hall and the Communal Kitchen. The space is not intended for dining; it’s more of a storage area. The shared wall with the kitchen has a pass-through window, and the opposite wall is the back of the brick fireplace in the Dining Hall. But it’s cozy, much more suitable for the four of us than the cavernous hall. One long table has been pulled in from the dining area. Rachel has dressed it with one of her tablecloths and candles, the flames glinting off the glass doors of the cabinets. She must have been preparing all afternoon.

  “Why would I be upset? This is love . . .” I trail off. The table is set for six, not four. And then I notice Susanna leaning against the kitchen doorway on the other side of the room.

  Suddenly, I regret not faking that stomachache. But it’s too late now. For one brief moment, I consider fleeing, the way I did yesterday. I can’t do this. I can’t act like a proper wife with an audience. I certainly can’t do it in front of Susanna and her husband, the brother of the man I’ve committed adultery with. I stagger backward, bumping into Aaron. He’s maneuvered himself somehow so he is holding me in place, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist, his foot in front of mine. He’s supporting me, literally, and I’d be irritated if I weren’t so grateful.

  “Hello!” Susanna calls, waggling her fingers at us. “Isn’t this darling? Only a few days of marriage, and already Rachel is the perfect hostess.” Her white dress is cotton, the same as mine and Rachel’s, but she’s unbuttoned the top three buttons and cinched a red woven scarf tight around her waist. I doubt Daniel would approve. Even I don’t.

  We stand awkwardly in our newly formed couplings as Susanna slinks slowly around us like a cat looking for a place to sharpen its claws. Marcus trails behind, already having figured out that his wife is used to being the center of attention and seemingly happy to oblige her. When she stops in front of Aaron, my mind chases through a dozen awful things she might say to ruin us.

  “The last time I saw you, you were flat on your back” is what she decides on, tracing a single finger down his cheek and resting it on his shoulder, “with Miriam on top of you.”

  He flinches and jerks away, and there is a moment of shocked silence, though I can’t tell if it’s from the implication behind her words or the intimate way she’s touched my husband. Or maybe I just can’t hear anything beyond the buzzing in my own head. Aaron and I may as well be naked and copulating on the table in front of them, the way everyone looks at us.

  Aaron’s face is redder than mine, his embarrassed gaze lingering on Rachel. Even he recognizes my best friend as the paragon of virtue in this group.

  Rachel breaks the tension with a wheezing laugh and wipes her fingers against her apron. “Susanna! What an odd thing to say!”

  “For God’s sake, Susanna. Don’t—” But my words are no match for her poison.

  “I’m talking about the night of the Matrimony,” Susanna says. “Miriam, you remember. You and Delilah were running across the desert. Trying to escape your fate, perhaps?”

  For once, I’m speechless. Some part of me knew Susanna would find a way to use that night against me. Still, Daniel already knows about my transgression. I’ve been Shamed for it; I’ve paid my penance. Why does she still care?

  Aaron snorts and mutters something under his breath, but I catch only the words “too late,” and I hurry to cover his voice with my own.

  “We were running because we were late.” I hate her even more for making me explain myself. I don’t tell them that if I’d known what the future held I would have run in the opposite direction.

  Susanna continues, “Aaron was on the ground. Miriam must have tripped right over him. I’m not sure what he was doing down there.”

  “I’d been bitten by a snake.” Aaron tenses, his fingers digging into the flesh at my waist.

  “A snake!” Rachel reaches through the pass-through to grab an onion, which she clutches to her chest. Her response is overly dramatic, but it serves to cut some of the tension. “And on our wedding night! How awful.”

  “Was it?” Susanna is more amused than concerned. “I hadn’t realized. I suppose that’s why she put her lips on him then. Poor Miriam. Never can control her mouth.”

  I suppress the urge to scream, but barely.

  Rachel rescues me once again. “Who’s hungry? Jacob, can you check on the roast? I just need to finish dicing some vegetables.” She throws visual daggers at me before turning her back to search the drawers for a knife, and it’s all I can do not to weep. Instead, I exchange a guilty look with Aaron before glancing hastily in the other direction. If murder weren’t a cardinal sin, I’d snatch the knife from Rachel’s hand and turn it on Susanna. I still may have
to, if only to keep my best friend from using it on me.

  Jacob hasn’t moved. I’m sure he doesn’t know how to check a roast. Under different circumstances, I’d offer Aaron’s assistance. “Shall I check the meat?” I ask, louder than I intend.

  “Forget it. I’m sure it’s ready.” Rachel points the knife at me. “Sit, and I’ll bring it in.”

  Jacob takes his chair at the head of the table, offering me the spot on his right. I slide onto the bench and Aaron follows, while Susanna and Marcus settle themselves across from us. I give Marcus a tentative smile, ignoring his wife. “So, Marcus, heard any good riddles lately?”

  He stiffens his back, eyes wide. “No. Why? What have you heard?”

  “Oh. Okay.” His reaction is so unlike the cocksure boy I used to know, fearful, almost, that it catches me off guard. I take a drink of my water to fill the awkward silence. “Okay,” I say again. “I’ve got one. Where was Solomon’s temple?”

  “Oh, please. Everyone knows that. It was”—Susanna hesitates for the briefest second and glances at her husband—“his head. On his head.” She crosses her arms with a smirk.

  Marcus switches from tapping his temple to scratching his eyebrow and angles a tiny smile in her direction.

  So, the arrogant boy I knew has finally learned to humble himself. Too bad it wasn’t for someone worthy.

  Rachel carries in a platter piled high with lamb and turnips. Though we’re fully capable of serving ourselves, she ladles the food onto our plates as we thank her. Rachel has always ministered to others, even back when she was the least fortunate of all of us. Now her luck has changed, but still she thinks of us first. She deserves every blessing she’s received.

  As if she’s read my mind, Rachel beams down the table at us, at Jacob, blissful in her role as wife. I’m supposed to be sharing that bliss. Marcus certainly is. He watches Susanna, a faraway look on his face that clears only when she smiles. Meanwhile, Aaron pushes the food around on his plate, pretending to take small bites when he thinks someone is looking. I could probably read his thoughts if I tried. It’s a trick my parents have perfected. But we are not them.