“Majesty,” Rachel mutters under her breath. “‘And my majesty and my splendor.’”
“What can a heathen like you possibly know about our city?” Susanna leans over Aaron, her shirt gaping open.
Aaron politely turns his head to address Rachel. “Quite a bit, actually. It’s pretty common knowledge Outside. Zzyzx is kind of a joke. I mean, the guy, Howe, he made a bunch of money by building an ‘oasis’ in the middle of the desert.” He hooks his fingers as he says oasis. “The lake, the hot springs. None of it was real. You’ve got to give him credit, though. He must’ve been a hell of a salesman. To get people to come all the way out here. Voluntarily.” He shakes his head. “Especially considering that before he owned it, it was a prison camp. Zero escapes, even though there were rumors of secret tunnels. Like the Marriage Tunnel.”
He looks from one of us to the other, then shrugs. “I guess the cons figured, why bother? They were stuck out here in the middle of the desert. Even if they escaped, where would they go? Kind of ironic . . .” He trails off abruptly and coughs into his napkin.
Susanna imitates his hooked gesture, then stares at her fingers as if she’s never seen them before.
I’m not sure what to think. Why is Aaron telling us all this?
For a minute no one speaks, then Jacob breaks the silence. “I don’t know where you’ve gotten your information, but you’re wrong. The man was a doctor. And the Lake of Fire is real. Where else would we get our water from? Or fish?”
“If by real you mean it’s a body of water, then yeah. It’s real. But it’s manmade. I’m surprised no one’s told you all this. The history of your town shouldn’t be a secret. Should it?”
But Susanna dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “This wasn’t a prison. This was sacred ground. Know and understand this! When the Anointed One comes, New Jerusalem will be rebuilt, with streets and with a trench.” She whirls on Aaron, poking a finger, but he’s not looking at her. “And why do we need a trench? For the water.”
Instead, Aaron is watching me as I raise my own glass. He purses his lips and gives one small, violent shake of his head.
Don’t drink the cool aid.
Is he still worried about poison? Susanna’s already downed her entire glass, and she seems fine. Sure, she’s a little red-faced and excitable. But if anything, she’s making better points than usual, using scripture instead of her normal insults to make her arguments.
I raise my glass and lift it to my nose, to sniff it, and Aaron slaps it out of my hands. The glass shatters, wine splashing in an arc across the table and floor.
“What the—?”
“Sorry. My hand slipped,” Aaron says, as the sticky liquid spreads across my white skirt like a bloodstain.
I stand as the dampness seeps into my undergarments.
“I’ll help you clean up.” Rachel pulls me from my seat. She shoots a glare in Aaron’s direction, but he has knelt to pick up the broken pieces of glass.
As soon as the kitchen door swings shut behind us, I ask, “Did you know about Delilah?”
Rachel pauses for a split second on her way to the cupboard and shakes her head.
“What are we going to do?”
“What can we do? Pray is all. You know I love Delilah, but she was always too headstrong. You heard Susanna. She made up her own mind to run.”
“What do you think she was running from?” The words come as a whisper, and Rachel shakes her head again.
“There’s no use trying to figure it out. It’s a problem better left to the Lord.” She hands me a bar of soap and wets a cloth under the faucet. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
And she won’t. Rachel’s always been better than me at putting unpleasant thoughts from her head.
“What about the wine?” I ask, changing the subject as I rub the bar of soap against the stain, which is rapidly spreading across my stomach.
“I know he’s your husband, Miriam, but really? He broke one of Daniel’s mother’s goblets! How will I ever explain this to the others? And he ruined my best tablecloth.” She wrings out the cloth and kneels before me.
“I meant Susanna.” I stop scrubbing. “And why did you let her use the glasses, anyway?”
“Oh, Miriam.” Rachel snatches the soap from my hands. “You know how she is.”
This from my best friend, who’s never once failed to correct me when I’ve strayed from the Path of Righteousness. Why is she suddenly so accepting of Susanna’s transgressions?
I stare down at the top of her head. “Marriage has changed you, Rachel.”
She scrubs harder, and I have to lean back against the counter. “Nonsense. I’m just saying, Susanna is like a force of nature. You won’t change her. Why bother?”
“You’ve never given up on me,” I say.
“Because I know you can be better.” She grasps my hands, but I slip them free.
“Why did you invite them here, Rachel? Tonight? You know being with Marcus only reminds me of . . .”
She takes the rag to the sink. “He is Jacob’s friend. And this is how it will be. You have to accept it. This Insubordination, this Blasphemy—it was fun when we were little. But we’re adults now. You’re married. You need to embrace that.”
“I have embraced it.” I turn to the sink and rinse my skirt as best I can, the stain going from bright to pastel pink. It’s strange, but lying to my best friend feels like more of a sin than anything I’ve done with Caleb—in reality, or in my dreams. Maybe because she’s always thought better of me than I do myself.
“Don’t you ever wonder if this is all there is?” I ask, watching the soapy water circle the drain. Is this the kind of thought that made Delilah run?
“What are you talking about? It’s exactly like Daniel always told us. This is the way to Righteousness. We’ve been waiting to be wives our whole lives, Miriam. Remember how we dreamt of this? Gatherings with our husbands? And now here we are.” She turns from me. “Soon we’ll have babies. A real family. Of my very own.”
She doesn’t mean it as an insult. We took her into our home, but I know how much she longed for her own mother, her own siblings. A house filled with love and laughter. So did I.
“I remember,” I say, to her reflection in the window above the sink. She’s behind me, arranging berries on a platter. “It’s just . . . different than I imagined, somehow.”
But I know exactly how. Rachel and I are drifting apart, and it’s my secrets separating us. If I were to let go of my foolish dreams and accept my marriage and my responsibilities, I could make things right between us.
Aaron’s voice drifts in from the other room. How easy it would be to follow them all down this path. How natural. How safe.
How empty.
I lean toward the window, until my reflection disappears and I can see into the yard. Caleb is out there, sitting on a picnic table with his head in his hands. And he is alone.
I turn to Rachel, who is intent on making her dessert platter the prettiest it can be.
“I need some air,” I tell my best friend. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Then I slip out through the back door, and follow my heart into the darkness.
31
MIRIAM
THOU SHALT NOT COVET.
—Exodus 20:17
A sliver of moonlight slices through the darkness as Caleb catches my hand, pulling me into the shadows of the tin-roofed Pavilion. I trip, and he helps me find my balance. We’re standing so close together. Too close. The last time we were this close, we were kissing.
I lean back against a wooden post and he follows and I forget about Rachel and Delilah then, forget about everything but him. We kiss, until hours have passed, or maybe days. I can no longer tell, and I don’t care. My world has shrunk to only this space, only this moment.
A coyote howls. We startle a
nd move apart, and I can see my own guilt reflected in his eyes. This is a sin. I need to end it. Right now. I need to tell him that we can’t do this. Then I need to go to Daniel and confess. This path is as clear to me as any of the endless passages of scripture I’ve memorized.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. Sometimes my thoughts trip over themselves and I don’t know which will make it to my lips first. I’m grateful it wasn’t “my God, you’re beautiful,” or “kiss me again.”
His forehead puckers into tiny lines. When he puts his hands on my shoulders, I melt. “For what?”
“We can’t do this.” The words lack the conviction to convince myself, much less anyone else, but I’m thankful that my runaway tongue still knows the difference between right and wrong. At least when it’s not otherwise engaged.
“You know scripture better than me,” he says. “Isn’t there anything in the Bible about a duty to love?”
“What are you saying? That we should”—I fumble for the words—“be unfaithful?”
The thought is equal in horror and in thrill. Adultery is a sin. It isn’t something I can condone, even for a moment. And yet. To never touch him again? To only have the memory of my lips against his? I think I’d rather die. Sin or death. Are these my only choices?
“We already have.”
I close my eyes and breathe him in. He’s right. We’ve already sinned. What’s one more meeting? One more kiss? One more touch? A little more time together, a few more memories to hold on to. After that, I’ll be strong enough to do the right thing.
Oh, the lies I tell myself.
“Are there degrees of sin? Or infidelity?” He hooks his pinky finger around mine, his touch burning me with a glorious heat.
“Degrees? No. Maybe.” I open my eyes and exhale. “I don’t know. We’re taking too many risks. Someone will find out, and then what?”
“I don’t care,” he says, his words as reckless as the way he presses his body against mine. “I’m not ashamed of how I feel.”
“I’m not ashamed either. I’m afraid,” I say, pushing weakly against his chest. His heartbeat thumps beneath my hand, an invitation I’m not sure I’m strong enough to turn down. “We’ve crossed a line. There’s no way back from this. The only way to avoid Banishment now would be to leave before we get caught.”
And leaving isn’t really an option. It would mean saying goodbye to our friends and our families. Turning our backs on Daniel. And yet, something about the idea lights a match, deep inside. “Delilah is already Out there somewhere. If we went Out, we could find her . . .”
He pulls away, and the wind blows cold between us. “We can’t leave. This is our home.”
“What about Delilah? Is it true, what Susanna said?”
He glances toward the Dining Hall. “I don’t know what she said, but Delilah . . .” He hesitates so long, at first I think he’s going to tell me something terrible. “Ran away,” he finally finishes.
So Susanna wasn’t lying. At least not about this. “And she’s still Outside? Is no one trying to bring her back?”
“Shhh. We can’t talk about Delilah anymore.” He presses a finger softly to my lips.
I shake it off. “Delilah is my friend. Our Sister. We can’t just . . . leave her. She could die out there.” My words are angry, bitter on my tongue. Because I am angry. Is this why I have such an overwhelming need to speak all the time? Because the only way I can know my own heart is to name the feelings inside it?
Caleb takes my clenched hands in his own. “I saw Delilah. Before she left. She asked me to give you a message. She said not to worry, that she would be all right. And she wanted me to tell you, ‘Who’s more faithful than Abraham?’”
“‘Who’s more faithful than Abraham?’” I echo. “Is that some kind of riddle? Because she wasn’t all right, was she?” Unless she was planning to run all along, and she didn’t want me to worry.
“Maybe she was scared of someone,” he says. “And that’s why she ran.”
“Who would she be scared of?” But I think maybe I know. Maybe it’s not a riddle at all. Maybe it’s just the name that’s important.
“Abraham?” I ask, at the same time that Caleb says, “Aaron?”
He’s asking as much as he’s suggesting, but his guess is even more ridiculous than mine. “She barely knows Aaron.” Yet, she did ask Caleb to give me the message. Not her mother. Or Rachel. Because she thought I would understand it? Or because she thinks I’m in danger, and might need Abraham’s help? “That’s ridiculous. Aaron isn’t dangerous.”
Caleb presses his thumbs against mine, over and over. “How can you be sure? He’s not a believer, you know.”
A chill crawls across my shoulder blades. “Why would you say that?”
“You don’t have to defend him just because he’s your husband. How much do you even know about Aaron? He’s an Outsider. If he was involved in Delilah’s disappearance, Daniel should be told. With him gone, you’d be a free woman.”
I pull my hands from Caleb and wrap my arms around myself to get warm. “He didn’t do anything to Delilah,” I say. “The whole idea of it is absurd. I saw him; he was as shocked as I was when Susanna told us she’d gone missing. If he were lying, I’d know it.” I study Caleb’s face. “Is that what this is really about? You want to get rid of Aaron so we can be together?”
“Don’t you?” he asks.
“I . . . no. How could you think that? I don’t want to hurt him. And anyway, Banishing Aaron won’t make me a free woman. It’s too late. Everyone would assume . . .” I can’t say it out loud, but he must know. We’ve been married for more than a week; they all think I’ve shared his bed. “I’d be humiliated. Shunned. Like Phoebe.” I shudder at the thought. “You claim to love the sound of my voice, but I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying.”
“That’s the first time anyone’s accused me of not listening,” he says. “Daniel says I listen too much, when I should be taking action. And that’s what I’m trying to do. Just deal with one obstacle at a time.”
“That’s how you think of Aaron? As an obstacle?” My voice climbs, and I force myself to lower it. For all I know, our argument is carrying right through the kitchen window.
“How do you think of him?” Caleb asks me.
I’m not sure I can answer. What is Aaron to me? Not husband or lover, but not an obstacle either. Friend, maybe? Even though he’s a man?
Caleb senses my hesitation and leans closer. “There is something, isn’t there? Something that makes him . . . unsuitable. Something he might have done. You must tell Daniel.”
He’s hinting at something. Does he know Aaron is not attracted to women? Maybe there are no secrets in New Jerusalem.
“You seem to know better than I. Why don’t you just say it?”
He ducks his head and rubs a hand roughly across the back of his neck. “My father saw him,” he finally says. “With Delilah. The day before she left.”
“So?”
“And then there’s . . .” He presses his lips together. “I think he’s in love with . . . someone else. I promised Marcus I wouldn’t tell, but . . .”
My heart thumps hard in my chest, this time from fear rather than desire. “Promised you wouldn’t tell what?” I ask.
“Marcus told me. They planned it all. Before the Matrimony. It’s Blasphemy, I know,” he says quickly, before I can respond, “but Marcus was acting out of love. I don’t know what Aaron’s excuse was.”
How can you plan to fall in love, with man or woman? Blasphemy, Caleb calls it. Daniel would have stronger words. But then I think of Aaron, bandaging my cut while he laid his own wounds bare for me to judge. I slowly shake my head.
“We can’t tell anyone about this. I made a promise, too. And I’m not prepared to sacrifice him for my own happiness. Daniel knows anyway, so what does it matter?”
My scalp tightens. “How do you know who Aaron was supposed to pick?”
Some emotion I can’t read darkens his eyes. “Never mind . . . I can’t tell you. It’s only for the men to know.”
“Only for the men.” I mimic him, my voice dripping sarcasm. “You men with your secrets. What are women, then? Property? I’m trapped in my marriage, and all because of some secret you won’t share. You know what would solve a lot of problems? If women got a say in who we married.”
“That’s not the kind of decision women are equipped to make. God doesn’t speak to you.”
“But he speaks to you? What does he say, exactly? ‘Pick Miriam, but tell her to keep her opinions to herself’? Or maybe, ‘I’m willing to look the other way on the breaking-of-the-commandments thing, as long as you’ve got a solid plan to get rid of her husband.’”
Caleb backs up against a picnic table as he tries to escape the trap of his own words. “I’m not proud of what we’ve done,” he says, contradicting his earlier declaration. “I know it’s wrong. I’m just trying to find a way to make it right. There isn’t another option.”
“That’s what I used to think, too. But you know what? There is a choice. I could keep being good Miriam, the girl who does what she’s told. The one who goes along with what everybody else wants. The one who keeps her mouth shut.” I step back, farther into the shadows. But if I keep being this Miriam, I may as well disappear altogether.
“Or what?” he asks, leaning forward. “What else can you do?”
“I can start thinking for myself.”
32
MIRIAM
AND THERE AROSE A DISAGREEMENT BETWEEN THEM, SO SHARP THEY PARTED WAYS.
—Acts 15:39
Caleb moves toward me. “What does that mean?”
I turn my head. Something deep inside me feels shattered. I don’t want to deny him like this. But hasn’t he already done the same to me?
The Virtue of Sin Page 21