Pocketful of Pearls

by Shelley Bates

  She didn’t want to go out there. The bathroom was a steamy, warm little haven, and it had a lock. Outside was a man who had ignored her wishes and made her take back her life, and she hadn’t forgiven him for it or figured out why he’d done it.

  “Dinah?” he called. Closer. He was in the kitchen. “Are you all right? I’m making a pot of tea if you’d like some.”

  Tea? Hunger hollowed her belly. She could consume an entire steak dinner and ask for seconds. But tea did sound warm and comforting.

  “Dinah?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “And since neither of us has eaten, I took the liberty of warming up the last of this excellent casserole.”

  That brought her out of the bathroom. He had pushed the correct buttons on the microwave without even asking her how. In less time than it took to think about it, she and her hired hand were facing each other across the kitchen table. Matthew bowed his head.

  “Lord, I’m very thankful for this food, and especially that Dinah is still here to eat it with me. Bless us both, and give us the strength to endure. Amen.”

  What an odd grace. But he was a worldly man, so it was to be expected.

  He passed her the casserole and poured a mug of tea, stirring in milk and two spoonfuls of sugar before he handed it to her. “Now, would you like to talk about what took you down there, or are we going to be frightfully British and ignore the whole thing?”

  Despite herself, she smiled. “In the most polite manner possible, I’m going to say ‘Mind your own business.’”

  He shook his head, and dished up his own meal. “Fishing people out of rivers makes them my business. It would be terribly unfair of you to make me go to all that work and not tell me what caused it. Was it your mother?”

  Her fork paused in midair. “My mother?”

  “Yes, wasn’t it she who went away in the ambulance? You’ll notice I’m making no comment whatsoever on your not going away with it.”

  “I told her something she didn’t want to hear and she collapsed.”

  He gazed at her for several long seconds. “Your mother collapsed because of something you said?” he asked at last. “Do you mind sharing what it was?”

  “Yes.”

  Her own chewing sounded like an army marching in her head, compared to the silent kitchen.

  “Sometimes it’s best to talk to an objective third party. It prevents painful things from lodging in one’s insides.”

  “You sound experienced.”

  “I am.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m not the one in the river.”

  “Neither am I, no thanks to you. Give me that casserole, please.” She eyed it, the yawning emptiness inside her demanding that she eliminate everything on the table.

  He handed it to her, and she scraped what was left onto her plate.

  “I’m not going to apologize for pulling you out of there, no matter how much you resent me for it.”

  “Just don’t do it again. More tea, please.”

  He poured her another cup, added milk and sugar, and gave her a lie-detector sort of look. She’d never actually seen a lie detector, but a look like this demanded honesty.

  “Again? Are you likely to try?”

  “That’s my choice, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, and turned back to his food. She wondered if he was going to eat it all. “Unfortunately, it’s always our choice to turn our backs on God.”

  She snorted. “I’ve been staring at his back for so long I doubt he’d notice.”

  “You feel God has turned his back on you?”

  “I don’t just feel. I know.”

  “How?”

  She set her fork down with a clatter. “Let me count the ways. He gives me my parents. Then Phinehas. Then what Phinehas does to me. Then he takes away my sister. Then Sheba. Then, when I finally get a grip and take something away from him for once, there you are, doing your heroic best to give it back to him. Can you blame me for being a little annoyed with you?”

  Her throat hurt from shouting and her heart pounded. Despite the fact that her stomach was full, she shoveled more casserole into her mouth and washed it down with tea.

  “What Phinehas does to you?” Matthew repeated.

  She shouldn’t have lost her temper. “Yes.”

  “Phinehas, the preacher, or whatever he is?”

  “Shepherd.”

  “What does he do to you?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “That was what you told your mother, wasn’t it?”

  What was the point in keeping the secret any more? Or in shoving her soul into dark closets so Phinehas could walk around enjoying God’s favor? In a few days it wouldn’t matter. She would be back at the river and Phinehas could just live with the consequences of his own actions. She would be free.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Is he doing something you don’t like?” The question was phrased so delicately that she nearly smiled.

  “He raped me when I was fourteen.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “He’s been raping me during every visit ever since. I’m positive my parents knew about it, but they kept their mouths shut because we’re one of the favored families.”

  He was staring at her in horror, and she went on anyway. Punishing herself. Punishing him for asking. And yet, she had the same feeling as she had when she surrendered to the river. That same sense of freedom, just by speaking out loud the secret that had been bottled under her breastbone for ten years.

  “As far as God is concerned, I was brought up to believe I have to be perfect for him. So I was. I was the best-behaved, most modestly dressed little girl in the whole congregation. I knew there were two sets of eyes on me—the Elect’s and God’s. Everyone thinks I have nothing on my mind but serving God, visiting old people, and bringing food to the ones that need it. The young people hate me. I have no friends. Only Sh—the chickens.”

  She got up and took her plate to the sink. “Phinehas told me I was set apart, a princess of Israel, a vessel made for the love of God, expressed through his most holy servant. And I believed him. Even when he made me take my clothes off. Even after the first time it happened.” She turned to face him, throwing the ugly words in his face like rocks. “Then he told me it was my fault for being so pretty. He couldn’t help himself. And it had to be our secret, because God told him that was my purpose. Not being somebody’s wife or mother someday. My purpose in life was to satisfy him so he could keep on preaching the gospel.”

  “Dinah—” he whispered.

  “It took me years, but I finally figured out it was a lie.” She stared at him, challenging him. “You probably think I’m stupid, but you’re not Elect. You don’t know what it’s like. Phinehas is the mouthpiece of God, so you know what? God’s a liar, too. He just keeps hurting me and hurting me. But I’m going to put a stop to it. And you’re not getting in my way next time.”

  She turned her back on him. The plate slipped from her hands and landed in the sink with a clatter, but it didn’t break. She wished it had.

  Ten seconds of silence ticked by. She’d probably shocked him. It wasn’t Matthew’s fault. He was just standing in for men in general—and besides, he’d asked. If he didn’t want to know the ugliness that was her life, he shouldn’t have questioned her.

  She threw a glance over her shoulder.

  He sat motionless at the table, his hands resting on his thighs, empty palms up.

  Tears trickled down a face that was seamed with grief. His eyes were full of compassion and pain.

  He was crying.

  For her.

  Chapter 7

  TWO SETS OF car doors slammed outside. Dinah jumped. Matthew palmed the moisture from his face with one hand and pushed his chair back.

  “They shouldn’t find me here,” he said.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” Dinah was still staring at him, wonder and confusion in her eyes, as if she couldn’t quite believe he had broken down so completely. “I’ve legally hire
d you. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be in the kitchen.”

  “You’ll need to tell them about your mother.”

  She looked away at last. He wondered how a woman could go through so much and yet show so little emotion. The only times he had seen her break out of her rigid control had been at the rubbish pile, on the riverbank, and just now, when she’d shouted her terrible truth at him.

  “I know. And you’ll keep the rest of it quiet, won’t you?”

  “Of course. But you have to call the police and report this Phinehas person.”

  “No!”

  That was all she had time for before the back door opened and her aunt and uncle came in. When the third person stepped out from behind them and removed his wool coat, Matthew had to struggle to control a scalding spill of disgust, deep in his gut.

  The man was tall and spare and carried himself with patrician dignity. His hair was silver, waving over his brow and skillfully cut to lie close to his ears. Blue eyes glanced swiftly around the kitchen, taking in its occupants and stopping, finally, on Matthew himself. His mouth, its ascetic lips folded in disciplined lines, tipped down at both corners.

  “Dinah,” he said. He looked her up and down, from the wet hair streaming down her back to the flowered bathrobe to the slippers on her bare feet.

  She stopped scrubbing something in the sink. “Yes? Would you like some tea?”

  “I understood you weren’t well.”

  “I’m fine.” She ran water into the electric kettle and plugged it in.

  “We missed you at the service. God’s blessing was poured out upon all of us.”

  Matthew stared from one to the other. With all that had happened, all he chose to note was that Dinah had missed a service?

  “But I see you have company,” Phinehas went on, “though you’re rather informally dressed.” He paused expectantly.

  Matthew stood up. “Matthew Nicholas.” He offered a hand, though he’d rather have extended it to a snake. At least a snake’s poison had a reason for being.

  Phinehas shook it. “I am Phinehas, Shepherd of the flock of God in Washington State. May I ask your purpose here?”

  Matthew chose not to reply right away. The pompous wretch could wait a moment. He introduced himself to Dinah’s relatives, and then said, “Miss Traynell has just hired me. I understand her father passed away not long ago, and she needs someone to do the outside work.”

  “Hired you?” John Traynell asked.

  “Yes. It’s a lucky thing she had someone here to help—I’m afraid her mother was taken ill this evening while you were gone. The ambulance came and took her to—” He glanced at Dinah.

  “Valley General,” she said.

  “Goodness gracious,” Margaret said breathlessly. “What was it? Is she all right?”

  “The EMTs said it might be a stroke,” Dinah said.

  “What are we all doing? We should be down there. Come on, John.”

  “Dinah looks to be in shock,” Phinehas said gently. “Someone should stay with her. I’ll stay behind for now and then go over in the morning. Call as soon as you know how Elsie is.”

  “Thank you, Phinehas,” Margaret said, and took her husband’s arm. “Come on, John. I knew that migraine was a sign of something more serious. My stars, what a week this has been.”

  The kettle was boiling hard and no one was paying any attention. Matthew unplugged it, poured out the cold tea in the pot, and put in two new teabags. Steam warmed his hands as he poured the boiling water.

  “Such an unfortunate shock.” Phinehas walked into the adjoining dining room and pulled out the chair at the head of the table. “You’ll be so thankful to have the kind of faith that can sustain you at a time like this, Dinah.”

  She made a noise that could be understood as agreement. Opening the fridge, she pulled out an uncut pie and dished up three portions. Before Matthew could eat more than a forkful or two she had wolfed hers down.

  “What happened, exactly?” Phinehas ate his pie much more slowly, licking each crumb of pastry off his lips before taking another bite.

  “We don’t know anything more than what the EMTs said,” Matthew answered.

  “Dinah?”

  Matthew set his teeth at the delicate snub.

  “That’s all.” She took another piece of pie and ate it just as quickly. “They said she’d pull through, that it wasn’t a severe one.”

  “Thank God for that. Are you going to the hospital?”

  For the first time, she looked up. “I don’t know. There’s nothing I can do tonight.”

  “You can show your care for your mother at her bedside.”

  “I don’t think they let people in intensive care,” Matthew put in. “Not until they’re stabilized. It’s not likely Dinah’s aunt and uncle will learn much once they arrive.”

  Phinehas turned a thoughtful gaze on him. Matthew returned it calmly.

  “Perhaps you’re right. An early night and an early start would likely be the best plan. Where are you staying, Mr. Nicholas? I believe all the rooms in the house are occupied.”

  “In the apartment in the barn.”

  “The barn?” One eyebrow rose, then fell. “Ah.”

  Matthew could practically see the wheels turning behind that bland expression. You sanctimonious old fraud. Well, Dinah isn’t as alone and defenseless as you think.

  “My duties include acting as night watchman,” he said, keeping his tone friendly and bland. “I hope you won’t be alarmed if you hear me doing my rounds during the night.”

  “Night watchman? What do you need one of those for, Dinah?”

  She turned innocent eyes on him. “You wouldn’t have heard, Phinehas. There have been cattle thefts lately, sometimes right out of the home corrals. I know most of our animals are up in the spring pasture, but it was worrying Dad before he passed away. And then the folks at the next place had their home broken into a few days ago. I’m very glad Mr. Nicholas is here. It makes me feel safe.”

  It was one of the longest speeches Matthew had ever heard her make. And if Phinehas had a brain in his head he’d count the cost and realize chances were good he’d be caught if he made an attempt on her door tonight.

  How any human being could take advantage of a woman as physically and emotionally fragile as this one was a complete mystery to him. She deserved protection and care. She didn’t deserve to be the tool that an overwhelming selfishness used for its own gratification. Matthew clamped his molars together in an effort not to lunge across the table for the man’s throat.

  “I’m glad,” Phinehas said simply, with a fond look. He pushed his plate away. “And now I believe I’ll spend some time in prayer and thanksgiving for the service tonight, and plead for Elsie’s recovery.”

  When he left the room, Matthew turned to look at Dinah. The tension seeped slowly out of her, leaving her limp in her chair.

  “Excuse me.” She went into the bathroom, and a few moments later he heard the toilet flush. When she came back into the room, she smelled of breath freshener.

  “Have you seen a doctor about that?” he inquired softly.

  “About what?” She reached for her cooling mug of tea and swallowed it.

  “I believe the disorder is called bulimia.”

  She gazed at him, her eyelids drooping with exhaustion, and didn’t answer.

  “In my last position we were trained on how to spot various things that affect young people, and eating disorders was one of them. I think it would be helpful if you talked to someone about it.”

  “I think it would be helpful if you minded your own business.”

  Humiliation burned his cheeks. He had only known this girl for a couple of days, and already she had driven him to extremes of behavior he would not have believed possible a week ago. Digging graves. Underwater rescues. Standing up to evil cloaked in godliness. Her blunt words seemed to negate all that, to reduce him to . . . well, the status of a hired hand.

  “I beg your pardon,” he sa
id, feeling as foolishly British as he no doubt sounded. He put his plate in the sink and made sure the kitchen door did not slam as he closed it behind him.

  DINAH HAD FULLY expected God to strike her dead for lying to Phinehas and making up such outrageous stories about cattle thefts and break-ins. Or, at the very least, she had expected Phinehas to see right into her miserable soul and catch her out. The punishment would end up being the same.

  But neither of them did. Instead, Phinehas had gone to his room without telegraphing his usual intent, and she had known the lie had worked. For tonight at least, she was safe. Maybe there was an advantage to having God’s back turned on her. He’d actually missed an opportunity.

  However, she’d wound up punishing herself. She’d hurt Matthew’s feelings, and now, at two in the morning, when she’d heard measured footsteps moving around the house, a glance out the window had told her he was holding up his side of their unrehearsed lie and actually performing the duties of a night watchman.

  She’d be thankful if she didn’t feel so bad. Okay, he was wrong about the bulimia. She had every right to control her digestive system, that was all. She certainly had no control over anything else. Without a word being said, the expectations of the congregation dictated how she dressed and did her hair. Phinehas controlled her body. The only things that belonged to her were her stomach and her mind, and sometimes she wondered about the latter.

  She’d tried to stop throwing up. She’d keep meals down for maybe two or three days at a time. But then Phinehas would turn up unexpectedly or her father would lay down another rule, and she’d run to the fridge to fill up the empty hole inside her, and reassert control by tossing everything up again.

  Was it even possible to stop? She didn’t know. And seeing a doctor was so ridiculous it just emphasized how ignorant Matthew was about their ways. Michael Archer was Elect. He was the only doctor they all went to see, and if Matthew’s wrong ideas were ever repeated to him, he’d be out here visiting with her mother before you could say “mentally disturbed.” Her mother would deny it and then proceed to make her life miserable with questions and complaints and lectures about how she was attracting attention to herself and bringing disgrace on God’s Holy Flock.