“Daniel tells us stories. How many other books can there be?”
He snaps my bobbin back into place. “The more you talk, the more I worry.”
I don’t blame him; I’m worried, too. I want to ask Aaron about the conversation I overheard, but I’m afraid he’ll confirm all my suspicions. For now, as long as I can keep the doubts to myself, I haven’t become Faithless.
“You could have told Daniel the truth this morning, but you didn’t.” He twists a piece of yarn between his fingers. “Why?”
Holding back all my questions and my fears is like trying to hold back a flood. Once they’re out, I won’t be able to take them back. Worse, what if Aaron confirms them? “Your mother lied to protect me,” I say. “I felt I . . . owed her.”
“She wasn’t just protecting you. She doesn’t want anything bad to happen. To our family.”
Is that what they meant by “Miriam’s going to be a problem”? “No one’s trying to hurt your family.”
He reddens. “I told you about the place I grew up. They weren’t big on family there, and sometimes . . . it’s hard to forget. That’s all I meant.”
He sounds matter-of-fact, but I can see the hurt little boy beneath the surface, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry. For an awkward moment, I think I might do both. Aaron looks away to give us each time to compose ourselves.
“What’s a cult?” I ask, partly to change the subject. But mostly because my curiosity is stronger than the dam holding it back.
“Where did you—” He jerks his fingers through his hair as he scans the room. “Shit, Miriam, you can’t—”
“Just tell me. I want to know.”
“Fine.” He gets up and paces once around the wheel. Twice. “Okay. Okay.” He puffs up his cheeks, then blows the air out. “A cult is . . . it’s a kind of religious group. It’s usually run by a single leader. One leader who sort of twists things”—he twists his hands together—“for his own benefit. A leader who manipulates people into believing everything he says. Who makes rules you have to follow, no matter what you want. Like here . . . in the Children of Daniel.”
“No.” I shake my head violently. “No. That’s not true.” But my head starts buzzing, and I have to grip the bobbin to stop shaking. Daniel does make all the rules. Rules that sometimes feel impossible to follow. And when we fail, he’s right there to dole out the punishment.
“It’s true,” he insists. “You believe every crackpot thing he tells you. Look at yesterday. The beast with horns? Phallic?” He shakes his head. “Come on.”
“Are you saying Daniel’s . . . his interpretation is wrong?”
“I’m saying I don’t think the guy who wrote Daniel all those years ago was worried about sexual tendencies, yours or anyone else’s. It’s classic projection.” Seeing my blank expression, he adds, “Projection is when someone is focused on a particular failing in other people because they’re committing it themselves. Like your Prophet, who seems awfully preoccupied with sex.”
“Daniel isn’t a sexual being. He’s married to the Word.” Isn’t he?
“Right. That’s why he lives in that big house up on the hill along with a bunch of single women.”
“It isn’t a bunch. Just Phoebe. ‘And then the Lord said, it is not good for man to be alone.’” Of course my first instinct is to quote scripture. It’s what we’ve been taught to do in times of crisis. Proclaim our faith, loudly and repetitively. But why is that? Whom are we preaching to? Everyone in here already knows it.
“See, that’s exactly the kind of manipulation and fallacy a cult leader uses. That quote, that’s from Genesis, and it’s referring to Adam and Eve—one man and one woman. But Daniel uses it to justify getting it on with whoever he wants.”
This time, I choose my own words. “Phallic and fallacy sound an awful lot alike.”
Aaron’s mouth twitches. “That’s the kind of thinking I know you’re capable of. It’s also the opposite of what Daniel wants. He doesn’t want you to know the truth. He prefers you ignorant and scared.”
“Fine. Since you claim to know so much, tell me: Is Delilah really safe? Because your dad says she is. But she’s Out there somewhere, alone. So how can she be safe?”
He hesitates. “Daniel wants you scared. He has you brainwashed into believing that everything Outside is terrible, that there’s no way anyone could survive out there. But there’s so much goodness in the world, Miriam.”
“Like what?” He’s evading my question about Delilah, but I have to know. What is it really like out there?
“So many things. Coffee shops. Books. All the music you can possibly imagine. Green grass. Kittens and puppies. Freedom. Choice.”
“It sounds terrible.” I’m lying. I suddenly want to know what “all the music you can possibly imagine” sounds like, more than anything.
“Really? That sounds terrible? As opposed to being married to me and lusting after another guy. Listening to a false prophet who controls who you marry, where you live, what you eat. And you can’t fool me. I know how much you hate weaving. But you’re supposed to do it the rest of your life? No complaints. No choice. Well, guess what? Outside, you can be whoever you want. If you want to sing, you sing. And if you never want to look at a goddamn loom again, you don’t have to.”
He’s baiting me, but I refuse to bite. Surely it can’t be as great as he says. There’s a reason my mother fled all of that. Her fear is real, real enough to keep us here my whole life. “Hurricanes. Floods. Fire?” I counter. “Death. Pestilence. Are you going to tell me those are just lies, too?”
“People die in here, too!” He takes a slow, deep breath, as if to calm himself.
What is he talking about? Who has died in New Jerusalem?
“Look,” Aaron continues. “There are problems everywhere. But they’re not as widespread as Daniel would have you believe. God isn’t raining down fire and brimstone the minute you walk out the gates. And a lot of people—the majority of people—think that freedom is worth a few problems. I mean, let’s face it. Here in New Jerusalem, you’ve done the opposite. You’ve traded freedom for safety.”
“For Salvation,” I correct him, the word feeling hollow. Because I’ve just realized: It doesn’t matter how wonderful the Outside is, or how terrible. Either way, it’s too late for me. If Daniel is right, this is the beginning of the End. And my name isn’t going to be in any Book.
If he’s right.
“How far away is it?” I ask, my voice loud. As if that might drown out the doubts.
He cocks his head. “How far away is what?”
“Outside. Do you have to travel far, once you leave the gates?”
“It depends on where you’re going.”
“Outside,” I say again, my frustration mounting.
“Miriam, everything is outside. Once you leave New Jerusalem, you’re outside.”
“So I’ve already been Outside, then. At the Matrimony.” The news is deflating. It’s just an empty expanse of sand and sky.
“There are cities, too,” he says, perhaps sensing my disappointment.
“Cities? More than one?”
He nods. “More than ten thousand.”
I shake my head. “That’s not possible. There is New Jerusalem, and there is Outside. Aren’t they equal?”
He stares at me for a long moment; his expression holds a hint of sadness, along with a touch of wonder. And maybe fear. “How is it you can be so well educated about some things and so clueless about others?”
I don’t know how to answer. Clueless is another word I don’t know.
“Here. It’s easier if I show you.” He walks to the drawers against the wall, extracts a piece of paper and a pencil. “This is California.” He looks at me as he draws. “Do you know about California? California is the state we live in. Fifty states make up the whole United States.”
&nbs
p; I’m already shaking my head. “I’ve heard of the states. But New Jerusalem doesn’t belong. We’ve seceded,” I say, repeating what I’ve been taught, though it occurs to me I don’t know the meaning of that word either.
“No, you haven’t. Daniel can say you’ve seceded, but that doesn’t make it true.”
Another lie from Daniel? They’re lodging in my throat. Any more and I don’t think I’ll be able to breathe. Could this really be a cult, like Aaron said? “What’s that?” I point to a line on the side of the page, which separates all he’s been showing me from nothingness.
“That’s the ocean.”
“The ocean.”
“Yes. You know, under the sea,” he sings.
Clearly he’s heard me singing more than I thought he had, since he’s already memorized the words. “I’ve dreamt of the sea,” I tell him, touching the paper with my fingertips as if I can feel the water. “It doesn’t seem so far when you draw it. You’ve been there?”
“Many times.”
“But how did you get through the desert?”
“Draw me what your world looks like.” He hands me the pencil.
I draw our city in the middle of the page, the wall that surrounds us and protects us. Then, on the far edge of the paper, I draw a small body of water. “I’m not sure of the direction,” I say, feeling the need to apologize. “I only know it’s very far.”
Aaron studies my drawing.
“What?” I ask. “Have I drawn it all wrong?”
He’s quiet for so long, I fear he won’t answer. When he does, his words don’t make sense. “Everyone has their own definition of Hell. I know mine. I’m trying to figure out if you know yours.”
My cheeks burn. “New Jerusalem is your version of Hell? What about your last . . . cult?”
He chews his lip and braces himself on the wheel. “Same difference.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. And anyway, you’re wrong,” I tell him, pushing his hands away as I sit and feel for the treadle with my foot. “Hell isn’t a place. It’s a feeling. Of loss. Of losing your most important thing.”
“Then I guess we’re both right. Because we’re both here, and we’ve both lost.”
He’s right. Caleb. Delilah. My faith. Maybe I am in Hell. I slam my foot against the pedal, and the fiber tears in my hands. “If you hate it here so much, why are you still here? It shouldn’t be hard for you to leave. You’ve done it before.” Go, and take my doubts with you.
A Call to Prayer blares out from the speaker on the wall, and Aaron and I both glance up, then at each other. This isn’t the normal time. They’re coming more frequently now, a reminder that we all must prepare to repent.
I stumble from the spinning wheel, my muscles too stiff with fear to kneel, even if I wanted to.
Aaron reaches out a hand to steady me. “It’s okay to have doubts,” he says.
I pull my arm away, and the muscle in my shoulder seizes up. How does he know of my doubt?
Aaron winces in sympathy and motions me to turn around. When I do, he lays his hands on my shoulders. “I’m just going to try and work out the knot. Is that all right?”
I relax my shoulders and nod. “How did you know?” I whisper. “About my doubts?”
“It’s pretty common. You’ve been taught your whole life to be faithful. So, being unfaithful . . . even having unfaithful thoughts, it causes anxiety. And nobody likes feeling anxious. We want to get rid of the feeling, as soon as possible. So we tend to revert to our old habits. We do the thing we’ve been trained to do in a time of crisis. For everyone here, that means turning to Daniel.”
For some reason, the soothing touch of Aaron’s hands coupled with his soft voice makes me start to cry.
“Hey, don’t feel bad about it. That’s the thing with cults. They mess with your head.” He stops rubbing for a moment and taps his finger gently against my skull. “Daniel’s been up in there your whole life. It’s not that easy to get him out.”
The muscles in my neck have loosened, but now my chest tightens. “And if I can’t?”
Aaron squeezes my shoulder. “Look. Maybe you should just forget everything I said. Like my mother keeps reminding me, you were happy before. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you any of this. Confused you.”
Was I happy? That seems so long ago, and any happy memories I have—skipping and laughing with Rachel and Delilah—seem like they happened to another girl. One who never listened to stories of the Outside, who never ate the food her husband cooked for her. Who didn’t know what it was like to feel the sunshine on her face while she kissed the boy she loved. Who still believed the word of her Prophet.
I don’t think I could be happy here again—not knowing what I know. And certainly not without knowing what’s happened to Delilah.
I shake my head. “No. I’m glad you told me. I just have a lot to think about.”
He stares at me for a long time, but I’m not sure he’s really seeing me. Finally, he takes the single skein of yarn I’ve managed to finish and inspects it. “Not bad,” he says. “Maybe we should trade it.”
“What? No one is going to give us anything for that but grief.”
“My mother will. And besides, there’s something I think you should hear. From her.”
41
CALEB
Your brother is the traitor.
Give Daniel the coyote.
I leave Susanna without a goodbye or a “keep faithful,” entering the door to Daniel’s inner chambers and locking it behind me. Then I stand in the darkened hallway, heart pounding, trying to figure out what all of this means.
She has to be mistaken. Or lying. My brother has never done anything to betray anyone. Unless you count taking Susanna for a wife instead of Rachel. But that wasn’t really a betrayal. A lie, maybe. A misstep. But it should have been between him and God. Daniel wouldn’t call him a traitor for that. Would he?
So this all must have to do with Delilah. Daniel blames Marcus for her running away. I need to prove that isn’t true.
I have to find Delilah and bring her home.
It makes perfect sense. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. Once I bring her back, she can tell Daniel herself that Marcus had nothing to do with her disappearance. Daniel will be so pleased. And almost better than that, Miriam will be happy. She was so worried about her friend. This will ease her mind; this will bring her back to me. This must be what love is—the willingness to risk anything to make her smile. I have kept faithful to Daniel all my life. But I’ve never wanted anything like I want Miriam, and I don’t know how to stop. I can only hope God will forgive me this one sin.
Daniel’s forgiveness is another matter, though if I can find Delilah, I suspect he’ll give me anything I ask for.
I pace the hallway outside Daniel’s office, the eyes of the Prophet’s painting following me. He is still asleep, and ideally, I need to leave before he wakes. But I’m going to need help, both to leave New Jerusalem and to find Delilah. Marcus is the obvious choice. He’s been Out once already. But I don’t want to get him in any more trouble than he already is. That leaves Abraham. He’s been Out, too. Hell, he knows how to drive; he used to live Outside. The problem is, I don’t know if I can trust him. I try to think back to the night Delilah went missing. Did he seem overly concerned about her well-being? I can’t remember. If anything, he seemed more worried about Marcus. Which could work in my favor. And what was it Delilah said to me? Who’s more faithful than Abraham? I can think of about a dozen people, off the top of my head. But none of them have access to the gate and the van. And none of them were there when Delilah ran.
There’s also Naomi. When I suggested to Daniel that she might be involved, I was mostly trying to take the blame off my brother. I don’t know if she has anything to do with Delilah’s running away. But I do know she’s still alive. And I know wh
ere to find her. If she can’t tell me where to find Delilah, she will at least be able to help me navigate Outside.
I need to get her letter.
I crack the door open, hoping Susanna has left her post. She hasn’t; worse, Phoebe is with her.
Their voices are so low at first, I can’t make out what they’re saying. Phoebe stands in front of the desk, her muscular arm wrapped through the handle of a woven basket. Her face is puckered with concern, while Susanna just looks smug. But then, Susanna always looks smug.
“. . . heading down a bad path,” Phoebe says, her voice rising at the end of her sentence.
“It’s my choice. You’re just jealous.” Susanna pushes back her chair and reaches for the basket, ripping it from Phoebe’s hands so violently it makes me wince.
“It may feel like a choice, but it’s a mistake. Trust me, I know.” Phoebe rubs at the scratch marks left behind on her arms. “God always recognizes sin. Even when Daniel condones it.”
My jaw drops at her outspoken Blasphemy. Susanna merely rolls her eyes. “Out of my way,” she says, pushing past her teacher. “I’ve got shopping to do. Daniel will be hungry.”
“And what about your husband?” Phoebe asks, straightening her shoulders.
Susanna’s gaze flicks in my direction, and I jump away from the door crack. “Marcus has bigger problems than breakfast,” she says, slamming the door on her way out.
Cold sweat trickles down my forehead as I wait in the darkness for Phoebe to leave. If Daniel wants a coyote, I will give him one. But I have to hurry, before Susanna gives him my brother.
When the room is empty, I slip through the doorway and go straight for Susanna’s desk. But the drawer is locked. I’ll have to break it. With any luck, by the time she realizes it and thinks to accuse me, I will be gone. Or maybe even back already, our lost sheep in tow.
What exactly was it that Daniel said to me, when he asked me to bring him the coyote? Something about someone among us who was weak. He wasn’t talking about Delilah at the time, but she fits that description. Her fear has made her weak, and her foolishness has put us all in danger. I must be the strong one now.
The Virtue of Sin Page 27