“We aren’t damaging it. We’re making it better. Why would we want this dirty pile when we can have something pretty?” She unrolls another piece. “Put this one in the red.”
I shove the wool into the churning liquid, grimacing as the crimson stain eats into it. It reminds me of blood, and torture. Death.
“Stop that!” Lydia snaps, and I snatch my hands back, splattering red dye across my apron.
“What? What did I do?”
“The humming,” she says, her blue eyes flashing. “I won’t have it.”
With shaking hands, I pull the wool from the bath and wrap it carefully in a towel. I didn’t realize I was humming, though now that she’s caught me, I recognize the song. It’s one my mother used to sing. She lost her voice as I grew older, but I’d memorized them long ago.
The one about not weeping for your memories. As a child growing up in New Jerusalem, I found the thought of crying about someone’s absence ridiculous. Why would I worry about forgetting someone? Our community was so tightly knit, no one ever left. But here I am, dashing my own tears with the back of my wrist. If I lose everything, all I’ll have are memories.
“Your color is uneven. That’s the problem.”
I swallow a sob, as well as the urge to rip pieces from the vat and hurl them across the Mill. “How do I fix it?” I ask, praying she doesn’t tell me to start over.
“You’ll have to pull it out and start over.” She shakes her head and turns, but not before I see the smile tickling the corners of her mouth. My failure brings her pleasure like nothing else. If I were a better person, I’d be happy she’s found this small source of joy. Instead, I imagine her suffering some terrible accident at work. Getting her hand caught in the loom. Falling into a vat of dye. Who knows? If she doesn’t leave soon, I may push her.
Instead, Susanna comes to my rescue. Or maybe Lydia’s.
“Have you heard the news?” she asks as she sweeps into the room, shaking rain droplets from her golden hair. She doesn’t even bother with a greeting. But then, why should she? Her mother will always welcome her; any greeting I extend will be false. Now that Aaron has pulled back the veil to reveal the rot inside the core of our community, I can’t unsee it. How much of our daily life is a lie? Words, prayers, deeds, all performed by rote and without soul or heart. Has Susanna known this all along? Certainly, she’s refused to conform to many of the rules the rest of us have blindly agreed to follow: covering her hair, talking about the men. Keeping her mouth shut. Is this the reason I hate her?
“Daniel caught Caleb and Aaron trying to leave the city. Chloe was on her way to take Gideon his lunch, and she saw the whole thing. Word is, they’ve been arrested!”
The blood leaves my head all at once, as if my brain has decided it has no need for it any longer. I stagger toward the table, and then somehow, my face is resting on the wool.
Aaron. Caleb. Leave the city. Arrested.
“Arrested!” I can see the shine in Lydia’s eyes, even from here, and this is the real reason I hate them both. Not because I’m jealous, or because of some failing on my part. Because they are horrible human beings.
“Get out,” I say. But the words are muffled in the wet wool beneath my cheek.
“Your husband may be Faithless. But you still have work to do,” Lydia reminds me.
I push myself up and turn to pull a hunk of wool from the vat. “I refuse to allow you to disrespect my husband,” I say, slapping it down on the table. Dye splatters across the wood planks, narrowly missing Susanna.
“The wool won’t dye itself,” Lydia says, raising her voice to match my own. She may be blind to my rage, but Susanna isn’t.
“Let’s go, Mother.” She steers her to the door, pulling it shut just in time to avoid being hit by the hunk of wet wool I hurl at their backs. It hits the wall with a splat, trailing dye as it slides to the floor.
When I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, it comes away red. As if I’m crying tears of blood, like Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. Just before he was crucified.
45
CALEB
“Running away?” Daniel asks. “Only the wicked flee when no one pursues.”
Light floods the room, and I blink in the sudden glare. It’s not just Daniel. He’s brought guards with him. Thomas and Gideon. Damn. We’re in bigger trouble than I thought.
“I’m not running away,” I say. How could he even think that? “I was only trying—”
Daniel steps forward and backhands me across the face.
The blow catches me off guard. I touch my lip, half expecting to see blood. But our Leader isn’t all that strong, at least not physically. That’s why he has me.
Aaron is still in the back seat of the van. He hasn’t spoken or moved, and for a crazy moment, I think he may be planning something terrible, like running over Daniel and crashing through the garage door. Should I try to stop him? Or join him?
But then he crawls backward out of the vehicle, his hands raised in the air as he slowly turns to face Daniel. Is he praying? He looks like an idiot.
“Put your hands down,” I mutter.
Daniel raises an eyebrow. “Not the partner I expected to find you with.”
“This is all a mistake,” Aaron says. “Whatever you think is happening, it isn’t . . .”
“Shut up,” Daniel says, almost conversationally. “Your lies and denials are nothing but the pitiful cries of the damned. But you, Caleb.” He shakes his head back and forth. “I expected more of you. What have I told you? If you lack wisdom, your only other option is righteousness. And now you’re left with neither.”
“I am right—” I begin. Okay, maybe I’m not righteous. I’ve committed adultery, after all. And I was about to leave the city without permission. But only for a worthy cause. Only to redeem my brother. And myself. It was a good plan. Right up until I got caught.
“I’m wise,” I say softly. But that might not be true either.
Daniel certainly doesn’t think so. He jerks his head at the door, and the guards shove us both out into the rain, which has become a downpour. In a few short hours, it will wash out roads and flood the low-lying buildings. It happens every few years. We get so little, the ground can’t absorb it all when it comes. Today, the skies are weeping. Thunder and lightning crack in the distance, voicing the anger I can’t, as Daniel leads and Gideon and Thomas push Aaron and me through wet sand and ankle-deep water.
“Where are we going?” I ask through chattering teeth. But the wind steals my voice and the rain threatens to drown me, so I shut my mouth and continue on. Are we being thrown out? Aaron, I could see. But me, Daniel’s faithful servant? For this one infraction? He hasn’t even let me explain myself.
But he stops before the tunnel door, and then I understand. He’s going to lock us in the tunnels. I’ve heard rumors of this punishment from the other men, but I thought it was only for the worst sinners.
“Wait. This is all a misunderstanding. I wasn’t running away. I was going to get you your coyote.”
Aaron stares at me like I’ve sprouted horns. Daniel just ignores me as Thomas rolls back the door and we step into darkness. Water runs through the tunnel like a fast-moving river, splashing over my sandals and numbing my feet. My wet clothes cling to me, offering no relief from the cold air. I long for a fire or the desert sun or even the comfort of my warm bed in my lonely room.
“Wait here,” Daniel orders Gideon. “Don’t let anyone else in. Or out.” He takes the flashlight from the guard, then shoves me forward while Thomas and Aaron follow close behind. I duck my head low and press my hands against the wall, feeling my way through the darkened space. When we come to the handwriting, I run my fingers over the carvings. Daniel’s told us many times at our Lessons what it says, but I can never remember it word for word. It has something to do with why we’re here, and the sins of the Outside we’re
trying to avoid. As I peer closer, I’m surprised to see images instead of words. One looks like a man holding a spear. And there’s an animal—maybe a deer or a coyote. People standing near a river. Is it possible Daniel got the message wrong?
Before I can say a word, Daniel strikes me between the shoulder blades, muttering bits of scripture under his breath. “You have turned your back on me” I recognize. I think that one comes early in the Bible. And “lake of fire and sulphur” is Revelation, one of Daniel’s favorites. But I don’t recognize “lie down with dogs.”
“What book is that?”
He hits me again, and I slip in the ankle-deep water and bang my head against the wall.
“The Book of Daniel.” Spittle hits me in the face. “You want to drive?” he asks. “So be it.” He pushes me farther down the tunnel. “You will be driven far from your people. You will wander the desert like animals.”
The quote is vaguely familiar to me, but in my panic and my shame, I can’t place it.
“I wasn’t trying to leave,” I say again.
When he stops to throw open the door, I realize we are in the Marriage Cave. It feels like another life, another Caleb who stood on that stage just a few weeks ago. I started that night with such hope, and by the end I was furious and heartsick.
I guess not much has changed.
Thomas shoves Aaron forward, and he falls to his knees.
“This will be your new home,” Daniel says, his voice magnified by the rock walls and his rage. “I’ve removed the ladder, so there will be no crawling out of the pit. Let’s see how resourceful you truly are. If you really want to escape, you can probably find a way. But you should give serious thought to whether you wish to brave the desert at night. Also”—he waves at the entrance to the tunnel, where water is flowing in at an alarming rate—“this is going to flood soon. I strongly suggest you keep this door shut if you don’t want to drown.”
With that, he pulls the door shut, plunging us into darkness. Maybe it’s the cold, or the shock, but it takes me a few seconds to process what has happened. The quote is from Daniel. From when Nebuchadnezzar dreamt of exile as punishment for his sins.
We aren’t just being punished.
We’ve been Banished.
46
MIRIAM
AND YOU WILL KNOW THE TRUTH, AND THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE.
—John 8:32
As soon as Susanna and Lydia are gone, I leave the Mill, heading out into the rain without an umbrella or a plan. I just know that I can’t sit by myself and worry. I need to do something. I need answers.
The trouble is, I don’t know where to get them. Daniel? I don’t know if I trust him anymore. My mother? What will she know about Caleb and Aaron? I stop and lean against a pinyon tree to catch my breath, though the rain is doing its best to drown me. Where can I go? Daniel’s eyes are everywhere inside these gates, as is his law. What I need is an ally, though I feel like those are being stripped from me, one by one. Is this deliberate, or am I starting to see demons where they don’t exist?
Like Caleb. I used to think I’d do anything to make things “right,” so that we could be together. But what has he done? When Aaron left me, he said he was going to stop Caleb from doing something stupid. Now they’ve both been arrested. Trying to leave the city? What were they thinking? When I told Caleb I’d thought about going, he laughed at me. Did he change his mind? He’d never leave New Jerusalem, not for good, but maybe my concern about Delilah finally got through to him. But then why didn’t he tell me? Maybe he was trying to, earlier, at the Commodities Exchange, and somehow Aaron got caught in the middle. My thoughts swirl together so quickly I can scarcely pull them apart, and my head swims. How did our need to be together become so great it overshadowed the hurt we’d inflict on everyone else? Because now Aaron is in trouble, too. He told me he didn’t trust Caleb, and he was right.
So why did I? Because I loved him? Or at least, I thought I did. Though he said nice things, and held me in his arms, I don’t really know him. And he certainly doesn’t know me. My thoughts. My dreams.
Though Aaron says my dreams aren’t real. That I only dream about the things I’m worried about. What did he call it? My subconscious? What does that even mean? Under-conscious? Beneath my conscious. Or beneath my conscience? Because I’ve certainly dreamt about things my conscience doesn’t approve of. Or at least Daniel wouldn’t approve of. But if dreams are messages from God, why would that be? The thought makes my gut twist tighter. It’s not true. Aaron must be wrong.
I shake my head, water spilling from my curls. I can’t think about this now. I need to do something. Aaron and Caleb. How can I help them? Aaron told me he wanted me to talk to his mother. That there was something she had to tell me. Of course, that was before we ran into Caleb, and Aaron went after him and sent me back to the Mill. But maybe Sarah can help me now. At the very least, she should be able to answer my questions. She and Abraham both know what happened to Delilah. Maybe they also know what’s happened to Aaron and Caleb.
I run all the way to the housing circle and knock at their door, not at all sure of my welcome. After all that’s happened, how can I have faith in anything? But I must have answers.
Abraham stands silently in the doorway as rain drips off the eaves of the porch and down my neck.
“Can I come in?” I ask, and he steps back to let me pass, then sticks his head outside once more before shutting the door.
“Miriam!” Sarah comes into the room, stopping when she sees my disheveled appearance and rain-slicked face. “What’s wrong? Where is Aaron?” Her concern is for me as well as her son, and it’s my undoing. One second, I am standing in their living room, the next I am sobbing in her arms.
She leads me to the sofa and rocks me, smoothing my hair. “It’s all right. Shh. Abraham, get us some towels.”
She dries my tears and helps me out of my clothes as best she can without leaving me naked, then wraps me in a blanket. As she gathers the rest of my wet things, the speaker on the wall crackles to life. “All citizens report to Chapel in one hour. All citizens, report to Chapel in one hour.”
I lift the towel from my damp hair. “Why is he calling us to Chapel? It isn’t the Sabbath.”
“You tell us,” Abraham says.
“A.J.” Sarah’s voice is sharp, and my apprehension gives way to full-blown terror at her use of this different name. They promised to give up all the remnants of their former lives when they came into this community. The fact that she calls him something other than the name Daniel gave him, right in front of me, fills me with a terrible foreboding. “Can’t you see she is upset?”
And then to me, “Be careful,” she whispers and points to the speaker mounted on the wall. So Aaron has shared his suspicions with them. Or they shared theirs with him. I appreciate their concern, but in this case, it’s unfounded. If he were using the speakers to listen to us, my mother would have been Banished for her singing long ago. Besides, how would he ever keep all the voices straight? We all have at least one speaker, and most homes have more.
I shake my head. “He can’t hear us like that. He has other ways of keeping track of us.”
“Well, just to be safe,” Abraham says, and then yanks out the cords. “That will cost us, but we don’t have time to worry about it now. Why are you here, Miriam? Where’s Aaron?”
“I don’t know.” I fight the urge to cry again and pull the blanket tight around my shoulders. I need to be strong. They deserve the truth, and I need their help. Even if it means confessing my sins and my complicity in Aaron’s arrest. I take a deep breath. “I don’t know where Daniel’s taken him, but I think I know why. Caleb”—my voice catches on his name—“Caleb and I were . . . unfaithful.”
Confessing this to these good people feels like ripping my heart out and handing it to them. “I’m so sorry. We—I—never meant to hurt anyone. Least of all Aa
ron. He just . . . got stuck in the middle somehow.” I twist my fingers together and stare at the tangle.
Sarah grips my hands with warm fingers. “We understand more than you know.”
Abraham narrows his eyes, as if he has less faith than his wife, but he keeps his mouth shut.
I give Sarah a grateful smile, then swallow it. “I don’t know what happened. Aaron went after Caleb, earlier today. He said he had to stop him from doing something stupid. And now Susanna says they’ve both been arrested.”
Sarah’s grip turns painful. “Damn it.”
“How convenient,” Abraham mutters. He closes his eyes and pounds a fist against the fireplace mantel.
“She said they were trying to leave the city.” I tear up again. “That can’t be true. Why would they do that? They must have known how much it would anger Daniel.”
They exchange a look I can’t decipher. “Do you think he might be . . . violent?” Sarah asks.
With all I know, I can’t defend him any longer. “Yes. I think he could be violent.” I take a deep breath. I need to know everything. “I heard you. Last night. I know about the cult. And Delilah.” I look at Abraham. “I also heard Aaron say something about prostitution. What did he mean?”
Abraham clears his throat. “My orders were to drop Delilah at a brothel in Vegas. Daniel didn’t know what else to do with her, so he got in touch with a madam who agreed to take her.”
My vision darkens to a few tiny stars of light, and I sway as the blackness closes in. Someone holds my shoulders to steady me. I blink, trying to clear the dizziness and confusion. If this is true—if any of it is true—that would mean Daniel is worse than a liar. He’s a monster.
But I can’t think about that. I need to concentrate on Delilah. “You said you got Delilah somewhere safe. Is that true? Were Caleb and Aaron helping you? Is that why they left?”
Abraham says, “It’s true that Delilah’s safe. But I didn’t know anything about Caleb and Aaron. He wouldn’t have been that stupid. Would he?” He glances at his wife, who shrugs. “If he’s really been arrested, then we’re all in trouble. You’ve been honest with us, so I’m going to lay our cards on the table.”
The Virtue of Sin Page 29