“‘For if we could control our tongues, we would be perfect and could control ourselves in every other way.’” The verse slips out, and they gawk at me.
“You know a lot of scripture,” Sarah says, her voice tight.
“I do. Sorry.” I wince. “Sometimes the words just pop out. That one, Daniel and my mother have been repeating since the day I learned to talk.”
To my surprise, she throws back her head and laughs. “Please. Don’t feel the need to quiet yourself in this house. We don’t.”
Maybe not yet, but she will. Not because she’ll run out of ideas. More like her ideas will soon become muzzled. Abraham will learn to do it, if she can’t do it herself. According to my father, this is a husband’s job.
I move the rice around my plate as these strange thoughts continue to pour in. Does married life always lead to morose notions? Perhaps the activities we’re supposed to be engaging in are meant to quiet the voice in my head. Instead, the doubts are gaining strength. Because instead of encouraging them, Aaron is supposed to silence them. Which is only one of the reasons God made a serious error with this pairing.
Only God didn’t make this pairing. And He doesn’t make mistakes. I used to think Daniel didn’t either.
“Aaron tells me you have questions about Delilah.” Abraham wipes his mouth with his napkin and lays it beside his plate.
Her name floods me with fear and guilt. Delilah needs help, and what have I done about it? Nothing. “Yes.” I wrap my fingers tightly around my glass, slippery with condensation. I can’t bring myself to ask the most terrifying question, so I say instead, “I heard you were there. When Delilah . . . when she ran away.”
Abraham chases an errant pea across his plate. “I drove her,” he says, casually, as if mentioning a stroll through the courtyard and not a trip to God knows where.
I pour more lemonade from the pitcher on the table, to gather my courage and give myself time to think. I can’t decide if it makes sense that Abraham would take her or not. After all, he used to live there. Or presumably near there. Wherever “there” is. But shouldn’t newly joined members have even harsher restrictions than the rest of us? At least until they’ve lost the temptation to return to their old lives of sin.
“Why did she run?” I ask.
“My guess would be to avoid ending up wherever Daniel wanted us to take her.”
“And where was that?” I ask.
Abraham takes a sip from his glass. “I can’t say,” he says, lifting one shoulder. “The address was in Vegas.”
“And you think that’s what she was afraid of. Not someone here.”
“That’s another possibility.” Abraham studies me for a moment, flexing his fingers open and shut, then gives me a tight smile. “She had nothing to fear from me, if that’s what you’re asking. I wouldn’t hurt your friend.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Who’s more faithful than Abraham?” I say, watching his face to see if he reacts to Delilah’s words.
But Aaron interrupts, stealing Abraham’s attention. “She’s better off wherever she is, if you ask me.”
“Aaron.” Abraham barks his son’s name.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I turn in my seat, so I’m facing him.
“My guess is that eventually, Daniel would have decided Delilah had been punished enough. You know, for her sin of being ‘Unworthy.’ And he would have brought her back, to live with him and ‘play house.’” He keeps making his weird finger gesture. “Just like Phoebe.”
My face flames with embarrassment. “Daniel isn’t like that! He takes in women who have nowhere else to go. After Azariah left her, Phoebe needed a home, and he needed the support of an educated woman.” But the familiar words suddenly feel awkward on my tongue.
Aaron curls his lip. “Use your head, Miriam. Educated women speak their minds, and we all know how Daniel feels about that.”
“That’s enough, son.” Sarah smiles, but I see the steel behind it.
He mutters something and shoves a piece of bread in his mouth.
I know Aaron is trying to tell me something. But I’m ashamed to say that I don’t understand. After all this time, how is it I know so little about Daniel, and New Jerusalem? Is anything I was taught true?
“But . . . Delilah was going to be Educated. Daniel told me. She would have liked that, much more than being someone’s wife.” Tears prick my eyes as the realization hits me: She’s never coming back. And I never even got to say goodbye. “She’s not . . . dead, is she?” I choke out the words.
Abraham swallows a forkful of food. “No one’s found her body.”
“Dad! Jesus!” Aaron slaps the table.
I can feel the blood leave my face.
“Well, I’m not going to lie to her,” Abraham says. Then he looks at me, and something in his expression softens. “What I’m saying is, I don’t think you need to worry. Delilah’s a smart girl. She’ll be all right.”
“What about your other friends?” Sarah asks, in a transparent move to change the subject. “Aaron tells us you’re good friends with Rachel. She’s Naomi’s daughter, right?”
I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. Who told them about Naomi? Daniel? Or Aaron?
“And she just got married?” Sarah continues. “Like you and Aaron?”
Images of Delilah and Rachel flash through my head, pictures of all of us together. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We had our futures all planned out. So happy. And hopeful.
“Yes. Everyone gets married. When the Lord says it’s right.” We would all be married. We were certain of it. Though now that I think about it, Delilah wasn’t all that certain. She was worried, that night in the desert. Did she have some sort of premonition about what was to come? Was she already planning to seek refuge somewhere else?
“Is she happy?”
“Who, Rachel?” I slump against the back of my chair, suddenly exhausted. “Yes. Rachel prayed for Jacob. And he chose her.”
“Like in the Bible.”
“Well, yes. But that’s not why . . .” I stop. Aaron said Jacob wasn’t supposed to pick Rachel. That he lied at the Matrimony. That if he hadn’t, she’d be married to Aaron. Or Marcus. I never asked him about Delilah, but I should have. Who was supposed to say her name? Because that’s why she was at the Matrimony. She was supposed to be chosen. Which means she wasn’t sent away for her own sin, but for someone else’s.
My head feels light, like it’s floating away from my body. Like one more breath, one more word, one more dark thought will loosen it entirely. I press my hands against my ears, as much to hold it into place as to block out their words.
“Miriam? Are you all right?”
“I don’t feel very well,” I say, hearing the words from far away.
“It’s the lavender,” Sarah says. “It can be potent if you’ve never had it before. Let’s get you somewhere quiet. Abraham, help me.”
I let them carry me to a twin bed in a room much like my old one. It smells of cinnamon and musk. The sheets are cool, and though I don’t mean to, I drift into sleep before I can come up with a logical explanation for the doubts that are gaining volume in my mind.
35
CALEB
Daniel’s speech today, about the beasts and sinners and the End of Days, terrified me. I’m still shaking. The world is ending, and there is nothing we can do. In fact, it’s our sins that led us here. Delilah’s escape. My adultery. Marcus and his secrets. It’s no wonder Daniel says we must confess and repent. What choice do we have?
Miriam may think that finding Delilah will help, but how can it? We can’t leave. Not now, when everything is falling apart. Outside is the last place we should be. I wish I had made that clear to her last night. I wish I had said a lot of things. Why do I always think of the right thing to say when it’s too late? I should have told he
r the truth about the Matrimony. How Marcus and Aaron screwed everything up. Then she’d understand that her precious husband isn’t what he appears to be. But as always, Daniel’s voice is in my head. And he would never approve of me sharing that information with a woman. Especially not one he called an adulteress.
Except she wasn’t, not then. I have made her one.
Guilt hits like a sucker punch.
I must look like a crazy person, muttering to myself as I take the path behind the pasture to check the coyote trap. It’s empty, which may be a good thing. I’m not sure what I’d do with an animal if I caught it. I’m so hungry, I might be tempted to eat it. I haven’t had a full meal in days. It’s my own fault, and Daniel has made it clear that he isn’t interested in relieving my suffering in this area. I’m not used to this constant feeling of hunger. It gnaws at me, like wild animals. Like guilt. I’m far more used to anger, feeling powerful and in control. These other feelings leave me weak, at the mercy of Daniel and his Beasts.
Last night, I waited until the others left and then snuck into the Communal Kitchen and ate their leftovers cold, right out of the refrigerator. Handfuls of cold potatoes swallowed whole, hunks of meat, fat already congealing, torn with my teeth. The food stuck in my throat, and I held my mouth under the faucet to drink and to wash the grease from my face. I felt shame, but also a strange connection to Miriam. It was food we should have eaten together, as man and wife. Instead of sharing meals, we’ve been reduced to secret meetings where we end up either kissing or fighting.
The kissing. Even now, I can’t stop thinking about kissing her. I am strong; why does even the thought of her make me weak? I have to tell Daniel. But first I have to see her. One more time. I asked her to meet me at the Mill tonight. After Daniel’s pronouncement, she’s probably reached the same conclusion I have. But if not, I’ll convince her that we both have to do the right thing and confess.
While I wait alone in my room for dark to fall, I decide to sneak down to the kitchen to see if there’s any food left over from whatever Phoebe served Daniel for dinner. I’ve done it before. Once, I found a bag of tiny colored discs with an M symbol stamped on them. They made me think of Miriam. As I held them in my hands, the color started to bleed onto my skin, and I quickly put them back where I found them. If I can’t find anything else tonight, I will risk Daniel’s wrath and eat them. What’s one more sin? I may as well have a full belly when I accept my fate.
As I slip silently through the side door into the darkened hallway of the Council House, I notice a light in the kitchen. Who would still be up at this hour, long after dinner? I wait in the shadows, listening for voices, but I hear only the soft click of utensils against a plate. The hungry beast in my gut howls loud enough to give me away.
“Daniel? Is that you?” Phoebe smiles expectantly as I step into the room. “Caleb.” To her credit, she sounds only slightly disappointed. “What are you doing here so late?”
My stomach begins a seemingly endless series of growls as I stare at her plate.
She slides off her stool. “Are you hungry? Here, sit.” She pushes the plate in front of me. “Eat. I’ll make more.”
She goes to the counter at the back of the room to make another sandwich, as I tear into the one she’s already bitten. I don’t even chew it before I shovel in a forkful of potato salad as well.
“I told Daniel it was an evil sort of punishment, making you go hungry like this. It would have been an easy thing to ask one of the Council Women to cook for you.”
I shrug and try to chew slower. It’s the first food anyone has given me in a long time. Why is Phoebe being so nice to me? When we escorted Delilah to the gate two days ago, she made it clear she blamed me for the girl’s fate, and she’s right. I was supposed to pick her as my wife. All of this is on me.
“It’s my own fault,” I say, around a mouthful of bread and cheese.
But Phoebe places her hand over mine. “You were trying to do the right thing. We . . . Daniel . . . believed that God would choose Miriam for you.”
I take the glass of milk she pours. “Miriam believes God should let the women choose,” I say, once I’ve washed down the sandwich. I shouldn’t tell her this—I’m all but admitting we’ve spoken. But somehow it seems to matter less now. Soon everyone will know anyway.
Phoebe wipes off the counter. “That sounds like Miriam.” She pauses, the sponge still in her hand. “Would it be such a bad thing, do you think? Perhaps women have more insight into the human heart. Happy wife, happy life.”
“Is that scripture?”
“No. Azariah used to say that to me.” She turns her head, and I’m struck by how beautiful she is, considering she’s probably my mother’s age. She has neither long hair nor scarf to hide behind, but if anything, that makes her more attractive. Her close-cropped cut hugs the angles of her skull. She reminds me of the herons that land near the lake sometimes, lean and elegant.
“But . . . that’s not how it works. God doesn’t speak to women.” Thank goodness. If he did, I fear there’d be even more men married to the wrong wives.
Phoebe’s back stiffens as she stares out the darkened window. I can’t tell if she’s sad or angry when she says, very quietly, “What would you know of our communication with God?”
“I just . . . I would know. Daniel would have told us.”
“Because you’re a man?” She shakes her head. “This must be hard for you. You hold all the power. I can understand that even the idea of giving any of that up is frightening.”
“We don’t hold all the power. I used to think that, but . . . you women have a certain power, too. Over us. I sometimes feel like you know more than we do.” I duck my head. I sound stupid. I shouldn’t have admitted that to Phoebe. But how is it that Miriam can consume my every thought, even when Daniel has told me it isn’t right? And the night that Susanna tried to undress in front of me. She stirred something in me, even though she belongs to my brother. On top of that, she’s a terrible person. Maybe an adulteress. And still, I was drawn to her.
“It’s not in men’s best interest to notice things.”
I bristle at the insult. “I notice things.”
“Do you? So you know, then, that women have something to offer? Aside from their service to you?” She brings her plate to the counter and sits beside me. “Because if that’s true, you’re much more observant than your brethren.”
The last bite of sandwich lodges in my throat. I am different. Didn’t I choose to remain single, rather than take a wife merely to meet my own needs and appease God and Daniel? I look down at my plate. Then again, I did just sit here and eat Phoebe’s food while she made herself more. “Thanks. For the meal,” I say, feeling more shame than I can admit to her.
“I owed you a debt,” she says, running the tines of her fork through the mayonnaise on her plate. “For defending me. Against your father.”
Ah. So that’s why she’s fed me. I shrug and ball my napkin in my fist. “Not a big deal.”
“It’s bigger than you think. Not many people stand up to Han. You’re either brave or foolish.” She raises an eyebrow as she nibbles at her sandwich.
“Probably both.”
“I wish I were,” Phoebe says, dropping the bread to her plate and dusting off her hands. “Braver, I mean.”
Is she talking about the End of Days? Surely Phoebe has no sins to account for, other than her husband’s. And she’s already paid for those. But Marcus did say if anyone else were involved in Delilah’s escape, it would be Phoebe. I watch her closely. “Are you scared?”
She wrinkles her nose, just the tiniest bit. “I wish I could say no.” The muscles in her neck tighten as she swallows.
“What about Delilah? Is she . . . damned? Without Daniel’s protection?”
Phoebe drops her gaze to the timeworn table. “I hope not. I hate to think of her Out there . . .” Her
voice trails off, and then she straightens her back. “But where she was headed wasn’t any better.”
“Is it all connected?” I ask. “Her escape and Daniel’s dream? Because they’ve happened so close together. Is Da— I mean God, angry?” I don’t need to ask about Daniel. I already know the answer to that.
“I don’t know. I used to think I understood him. But lately . . . all of this . . .” She sweeps her hands upward, as if trying to encompass the whole community. “It scares me.”
Phoebe is an Elder, as well as Daniel’s confidant. Maybe she can answer my questions. I have no one else to ask.
“I found something,” I tell her. “A letter from Naomi.” She flinches, but I can’t tell if it’s the name itself that upsets her, or something more. “Did you know that she was alive?”
She stands abruptly and goes to the window. “She’s of no concern to any of us anymore.”
“But. If she’s still Out there . . .” I’m having trouble putting it all together in a way she’ll understand. “Do you think . . . I mean, could she have had something to do with Delilah going missing?” When she doesn’t answer, I keep going. “What about Azariah? Do you know where he is? Could he have taken Delilah?”
Her gasp is painful. “Do not say his name. Ever.”
I’m flailing blindly for answers without thinking about the injuries I might inflict, but I don’t have time to worry about them now. “Please,” I say. “I need to know. Daniel blames Marcus for her disappearance. But I know my brother. He couldn’t . . . he can’t be involved. And I need to prove it. Before it’s too late.”
She closes her eyes briefly. “Daniel doesn’t blame Marcus. Not for that.”
“For what, then? The Matrimony? Because if it weren’t for Susanna, tempting him—”
Phoebe holds up a hand to stop me. “I know what you must think about her. And yes, sometimes Susanna uses her looks to gain some measure of control. It’s because she thinks that’s all she has. And that’s my fault. I should have taught her better. I should have let them all know that their thoughts and feelings matter. Instead, I spent too much time trying to avoid my own shame. It’s funny, right? That my shame is really someone else’s? But that’s the burden we women must carry.”
The Virtue of Sin Page 24