The Virtue of Sin

by Shannon Schuren

  But I have too many questions running through my head, and for once the words won’t come.

  “Cat got your tongue?” He tilts his head back and laughs, as if he finds my newfound obedience hilarious. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think?”

  A question with no right answer. The intensity of his stare is mesmerizing. It’s as if he can see inside me, deep down into the depths of my soul. He knows about Caleb and me. He knows about the sins we committed, and those I’ve only dreamt about. How does he do that, if he isn’t a messenger of God?

  He circles me, the heels of his sandals slapping the floor in punctuation. “You speak to a man, you mark him as your husband. You take to his bed, you become his wife. You turn your back on the Fellowship of God and family”—here he pauses and takes my chin in his fingers—“you invite sin into your heart.”

  The shame that has been slowly kindling in my chest sputters. He’s still talking about leaving Chapel yesterday. He’s not talking about Caleb. Why isn’t he talking about Caleb?

  “Are you a sinner, Miriam?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. And it’s true. I’m suddenly just not sure to what degree Daniel knows it.

  Beside me, Aaron makes a noise that could be a cough or a curse.

  “And what are we going to do about that? Time is running out.”

  This time I know the answer, but I still have to force the word out. “Pray.”

  He grips my shoulders and pulls me close. “Prayer only works for so long,” he whispers in my ear. “Then it’s time for Confession. And Repentance.” He releases me so suddenly I stumble, and Aaron steadies me.

  Daniel turns back to the fireplace and grabs the book on the mantel. But it isn’t just any book. “I’ve had a chance to read through your journal,” he says. “I don’t encourage self-analysis. But you have an interesting perspective.” He taps the cover. “The dream you had on your wedding night. About the fountain. You seemed to recognize then that your need to run your mouth is your biggest weakness. I’m impressed.”

  My heart thumps so wildly I feel faint. Impressed? My dream about the fountain was a complete lie; my interpretation almost word for word his own. How does he not recognize this?

  He hands me the journal and I take it with a shaking hand, waiting for the reprimand, or at least the questions: Why is it so sparse? What have I left out? What about my dreams of my lover? But he doesn’t ask.

  “Since I’ve had this,” he says, “you obviously didn’t have a chance to record the last few nights’ dreams. Were they odd, I wonder? Because sometimes, wine has lasting effects. It clouds our judgment. Blurs our insight. Perhaps it was the cause of your headache.”

  That was two nights ago. How does he know about the wine? Aaron and I exchange a look, and his contains an additional warning. Don’t mention Delilah.

  “Do you remember . . .” For one brief second, I think Daniel is going to bring my friend up himself, but he finishes with “the story of Asa? With his diseased foot? You may recall that he refused to turn to the Lord to save him, instead relying on others.” The smile Daniel gives us doesn’t reach his eyes. “He died, of course.”

  Is Daniel threatening me? Or merely saying my headache is a product of my own wavering faith?

  “The headache wasn’t wine or disease,” I say. “It was worry. About Delilah. I dreamt of her last night.” Aaron told me not to bring her up, but I don’t care. This may be my only chance to learn what Daniel knows.

  After a glance toward Abraham, Daniel looks at me curiously. “What do you know about Delilah?” he asks, fiddling with the other item on the mantel.

  It’s a shoe. A sandal, like I wear. Like all the women wear. Tightly woven of yucca, the straps of frayed rope. When he flips it over, my stomach turns with it. Because I recognize the doodle on the bottom.

  I steel myself to look him in the eye. Abraham said she was safe. So why does Daniel have one of her sandals? “Where did you get it?”

  Daniel’s gaze holds mine as he picks up the sandal. “I have heard rumors,” he says. “That you wish to mount a search for our lost sheep. I’m here to tell you that will be . . . unnecessary. And unwise.”

  Aaron curses softly, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—how does Daniel know so much about what happened at the Gathering? The wine, my resolve to go after Delilah. It’s as if he was there.

  “Delilah was—is—a good person. She’s done nothing to deserve punishment or shame. Even if she had, she’s still our Sister. Someone should be looking for her.”

  A flicker of emotion crosses Daniel’s face, and then it’s gone. Disgust, maybe? Or pride? “As I’ve told you many times, there is no protection outside these gates. Especially not for sinners.” He tosses the shoe, and it lands at Aaron’s feet. “Delilah is dead.”

  I feel woozy, and I hear a high-pitched noise, like the mewl of an injured cat.

  It’s coming from me.

  Aaron wraps his arms tightly around me and bends my head to his chest. I stare down at the shoe, listening to the heavy thud of his heart as my own splinters. The doodle on the bottom is our symbol for refuge. Is this the last I’ll ever see of her drawings?

  “We told Miriam as much. Last night,” Abraham says. He clears his throat. “She was upset. We all are. Understandably.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. He most certainly did not tell me that. But he sounds convincing now. So what is true? Was he lying last night, when he told me not to worry? But he also said the same thing later to his wife when he thought no one else was listening. She’s safe.

  Safe. Refuge. I blink my eyes open. The tower on the bottom of the shoe seems to wave at me through my teary gaze. What if Delilah left the shoe behind on purpose? What if it’s a message? Like the message she sent through Caleb. Who’s more faithful than Abraham?

  I desperately want to believe this. I need her to be safe. But if Abraham is telling the truth, that makes Daniel the liar.

  So whom do I believe? My Leader? Or an Outsider?

  Daniel is the Living Prophet. It has to be him. Except. He didn’t recognize my made-up dreams from among my real ones. He hasn’t called out my sins. And he can’t seem to tell that all of us are lying.

  Abraham’s motives remain unclear. All I know for sure is that he was the last person to see Delilah.

  I can’t let them see my doubts, so I raise my head from Aaron’s chest and say, “She was my friend. I didn’t want to believe it. I’m afraid I carried on so much, I made myself sick.”

  Daniel studies me, blinking only once in what feels like an eternity. He’s looking for signs of deceit, but I channel my mother and adopt her mask of serenity.

  “Next time, you’ll do well to confine your sickness to your own house.” He nods, first to me, then to Aaron, Abraham, and Sarah. “And Miriam? Keep faithful.”

  I’m starting to feel like that’s no longer an option, but he’s gone before I can say another word.

  Aaron and his family surround me then, and though no one has asked the question, I can feel the weight of it between us. Aaron opens his mouth first, and I raise my hand. “Please. My head still hurts. Can we go home?”

  As he ushers me to the door, Sarah pulls me close. “You did good,” she whispers. I want to believe her, but nothing about this feels even remotely good. When she hugs me, her bosom makes a curious clacking noise.

  She’s hidden the netsuke in her bra.

  39

  CALEB

  Miriam does not want me. The realization pounds in my head, keeping time with my heavy steps along the path behind the pasture as well as the throbbing behind my eyes. I have not slept. I waited all night, but she never came. The message is clear; she has chosen her husband over me. Which means my sins were for nothing. I gave up my right to be in the Book just so that she could turn her back on me. On our love.

  I want to break
something. Hurt someone. Hurt myself. Physical pain is much easier to bear. I try to focus on my headache, inviting it to take hold and push out everything else. But it remains stubbornly weak and ineffective. Just like me.

  Why is this happening? I can’t lose her. Not now. Not after I know what her voice sounds like as she whispers in my ear, what her hair smells like, what her body feels like. There has to be a way to win her back. I just need a plan. Food, then sleep. And then a plan.

  Susanna is already at her desk when I stumble through the front door of the Council House, and I have to hold back the curses that hover on my lips. What is she doing here this early? Even if I were capable of holding a normal conversation without screaming, it wouldn’t be with her.

  “Caleb.” Susanna raises her eyebrow. “You’ve been out and about early. Or late. What have you been up to? Ducking your obligations already?”

  Her question unnerves me. What does she know about me and my obligations? “What are you talking about? I’m following all my obligations. Are you?”

  “Poor Caleb. All that love in you, and yet you’re alone. No one to share it with.” She stands and moves around to my side of the desk. When she gets close enough that I could touch her, or she could touch me, I stumble backward and out of her reach. She makes me nervous in a way I can’t explain, except I know it has to do with all the preaching I’ve heard my whole life about carnal urges. I don’t love her—I don’t even like her—but I’m always aware that she’s a woman. I’m drawn to her, somehow, and I’m afraid that when we’re alone together some primitive power will take over and I’ll end up touching her in a way Daniel might understand but I know Marcus won’t.

  “I don’t . . . what is it you want?”

  “I need your help,” she says, her blue eyes shiny with unshed tears.

  It feels like a trap. Why would she need my help? She’s married to my brother; he’s the one she should ask for help. Unless this is about him. My head hurts from lack of sleep and trying to figure out her agenda. So I swallow and say, “What kind of help?”

  She flips her hair over her shoulder and turns her head, as if the purpling bruise on her neck is some kind of offering. “I think you know.”

  I’m overcome by an all-too familiar sensation, the same blend of anger and disappointment that colored my childhood. Oh, Marcus. What have you done?

  Susanna wraps her hands around her neck as if to hide her shame, then presses herself against my chest. The flowery scent of her hair tickles my nose. She is temptation in the flesh, if I’m not careful.

  “Please,” I say, aware of how weak begging makes me sound. “Not Marcus.”

  Instead, she tilts her head to look into my eyes. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? He’s the coyote.”

  “What? No. How can the coyote be a person?” What had Daniel said? The devil takes many shapes. A coyote, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But she’s right. He didn’t ask me to hunt for wolves.

  “Don’t be an idiot.” She pushes away from me and crosses her arms over her full chest, any trace of amusement gone. “Did you really think Daniel was asking you to catch an actual coyote? He’s looking for a traitor. Your brother is the traitor.”

  My sympathy for her deflates so quickly it leaves me weak, and I sag against the desk. “No,” I whisper, even as Daniel’s words echo in my head. Sometimes even a brother.

  “Yes,” she argues. “He’s responsible for all of this—” She waves her hand between us. “Your lack of a wife, my suffering, Delilah’s disappearance.”

  Marcus can’t have done all those things. Yes, he has a temper. But he’s not a monster.

  Susanna leans forward and traces her finger slowly down my cheek. “I know how much you both struggle not to be like him—your father,” she whispers. “But only one of you is succeeding.”

  Her words are eerily close to my darkest thoughts, the ones I’ve tried so hard to bury. I slap her hand away. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  Her smile hovers somewhere between wise and wicked. “I know you’re in love with Miriam.”

  “How could you possibly . . . ?” I’m not sure how I form the words. My lips are numb. My whole face is numb.

  Susanna blinks widened eyes at me. “I’m a woman.”

  She’s toying with me. I see it now. Damn Marcus and his weakness for her. What else has he told her? Before I can ask, she continues, “What you should be concerned about is whether Daniel already knows. He’s with Miriam, right now. What do you suppose they’re talking about?”

  The words are a threat, a dagger perfectly aimed. I clench my fists tight at my side, the urge to lash out so strong I’m afraid, for her and for me. I can’t speak, for fear of what the words might set in motion.

  “He’s going to open the Book, Caleb. Soon. And your name isn’t going to be in it.”

  I force myself to take a breath. And another. Each exhalation where I don’t hurt her is a victory for me. And a reprieve for her, though she’s too stupid to realize it. Breathe. Finally, I’m calm enough to say, “Neither are you. You’re as much an adulterer as me. Only I am Daniel’s trusted advisor. His beloved apostle. You’re nothing but a secretary. A mere woman.”

  That seems to amuse her. “An adulterer and a woman. Is that all?” She cocks her head. “The time will come when you’ll realize you’ve underestimated me. And you aren’t going to want to be on my bad side when that happens.” Her voice singsongs up and down on the words.

  She’s trying to fan the fire of my anger—I can feel it happening— and I’m powerless to stop it. Only the sound of approaching footsteps stops me from doing something I’m not sure I’d regret.

  Susanna straightens and dons an expression of piety probably only I can see through. “It’s you or him, Caleb. So do us both a favor and give Daniel what he’s asking for,” she says, bending forward just enough to whisper in my ear, “Give him the coyote.”

  Her hot breath sends a shiver of revulsion through me. As if it’s that easy. He is still my brother. I must honor him. But is there a way to do that while still remaining in Daniel’s favor? Or while regaining Daniel’s favor? Because if Susanna has told him about me and Miriam, I may have already lost it. I don’t want to believe her, but she’s right about one thing. Daniel is going to open the Book. And I don’t know if my name will be inside. And what about Miriam’s? If she is barred from the Kingdom of Heaven, will she ever forgive me?

  It all feels so hopeless. What can I do?

  My gaze falls on Susanna’s desk, on her blotter. And her keys. She said it herself: Daniel doesn’t want a coyote. He wants a person. A nonbeliever. A traitor to our faith.

  That, I can give him.

  And just like that, the weight upon me is lifted. Keeping all these secrets while accomplishing nothing has felt unnatural; this decision to act is like removing a barbell from across my neck.

  40

  MIRIAM

  OUTSIDE ARE THE DOGS AND SORCERERS AND THE SEXUALLY IMMORAL AND MURDERERS AND IDOLATERS, AND EVERYONE WHO LOVES AND PRACTICES FALSEHOOD.

  —Revelation 22:15

  I lean over the spinning wheel, my head still churning with everything that’s happened: Abraham’s cryptic reassurances about Delilah, the strange conversation I overheard between Aaron and his parents. Daniel’s lies.

  Is he a liar? I can’t believe I’m even entertaining such blasphemous thoughts. But nothing makes sense anymore. Daniel says Delilah is dead; Abraham says she is safe. That reassurance holds small comfort for me, since I don’t know if I can trust him. I once thought we were all safe here, but that doesn’t seem to be true either. How did this happen? I’m losing everything I believe in.

  Even Caleb. All of those comments about women and God. He talked as if we were inferior. Does he really believe that? And what about whatever went wrong at the Matrimony? How much does he know? He wanted me to meet him here
last night. What must he have thought, when I didn’t come? Did he wait? I look around the room but see only wool. There is nothing out of place, nothing he’s left for me. No evidence he was even here. Maybe, like me, he found it difficult to throw off his obligations for even one evening.

  I feel the impossible weight of Aaron’s stare as he asks, “Are you ready to talk about it yet?”

  While Aaron possesses the admirable quality of sensing when I need silence, it appears even he has his limits.

  “What is there to talk about?” I take a rolag of wool from the basket Lydia’s left and twist one end around the spindle. Today I’ll finally spin our wool into yarn, which we can either trade for other commodities or use in our own weavings. As girls, we were all taught to use the spinning wheel as part of our education, but I was never good at it. I suspect one of the reasons Lydia has gone to help with the shearing today is so she can rejoice tomorrow when my yarn comes out snarled and fuzzed.

  And just like that, I’ve already snagged the wool on the bobbin. “Damnation.”

  “Let me help, Sleeping Beauty.” Aaron gently pries the wool from my hands and begins to untangle my mess.

  “I’m not sleepy,” I say, leaning away.

  “I meant . . . because of the spinning wheel. You know, the fairy tale?”

  He sees something in my blank expression, because he closes his eyes and sighs. “Never mind. Not even a goddamned fairy tale?” he mutters, yanking harder on the thread. “Doesn’t he let you read anything in here?”

  We’re face to face now. I can smell his breath, minty with a hint of sweetness.

  “We read the Bible.”

  “And nothing else?”