It seemed strange to have no one in the house. Well, no one besides Matthew. Even when he was there, he was so quiet she sometimes forgot about him.
Later that evening, she broiled pork chops for supper and set the platter on the kitchen table.
“I’ll say grace, if you like.” He sounded a little diffident, as if he thought she’d laugh at him again. She was sorry she’d laughed. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him, but if the man insisted on saying stupid things, he should expect that kind of reaction.
“You say grace before your meals?”
“Don’t you?” he asked.
“Of course, but . . .”
“But what?”
But the prayers of worldly people don’t even reach the ceiling. That was what she’d always been taught. Matthew was worldly, true, and Phinehas was chosen of God, but there was a great gulf fixed between the way Phinehas behaved and the way Matthew did.
“Nothing. Go ahead.”
She bowed her head and at the end of his simple, heartfelt grace—the man still regarded food as if it were the Holy Grail—she even said “Amen.”
Which was a baby step away from collusion with the world, but still . . .
Dinah passed him the Brussels sprouts. “You have a good memory for facts and figures.”
“I should do.” He took exactly half of them and passed the pot back to her. “I was a teacher.”
“A teacher? What grade?”
“University. Butter?”
“Thank you.” He taught university. The sum total of her ambition in life was to have her own apartment and finish a two-year degree, and he had run away from independence and a university career. Was the man demented?
“What subject?”
“English literature.”
“What, like poetry and such?”
“Yes. My dissertation was ‘The Embodiment of Love: The Religious in Love Poetry of the Seventeenth Century.’”
“My goodness.” There was love poetry in the seventeenth century? The only love poem she knew was the Song of Solomon, and she loathed every word of it. If she could, she would tape over the edges of those pages in her Bible, so it would never open there again.
“What about you? Where did you go to school?”
Now it was her turn to blush. “Hamilton High.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her and mashed butter into his potatoes with vigor. “You haven’t gone on?”
It was very important that she cut her chop into half-inch pieces. “No. There’s no point.”
“There’s always a point to a good education.”
“Not if I’m just going to stay here.”
“Why should you just stay here? Why couldn’t you move to Spokane or Seattle and go to college if you wanted?”
“And who would look after my mother and the ranch?”
“You mentioned your aunt and uncle would look after her till she recovered. And she’s not an old woman. She can’t be much over fifty. She has a long way to go before she becomes an invalid.”
It was hopeless to explain to a man who tossed over careers as easily as she tossed out compost that Elsie wasn’t capable of looking after herself. Her father had done it, her husband had done it, and now it fell to Dinah to do it.
“If my mother were left to run the ranch, every animal would wander away over the mountains, never to be seen again. My chickens would die of neglect, and the house would fall down around her.”
“Oh,” he said. “I see. I suppose it’s rather late to teach her some life skills, isn’t it?”
“Rather,” she agreed, mimicking his accent.
After that he ate his chops in silence, and went away to his own apartment soon afterward. For which she was glad.
Dinah walked through the quiet house, removing the last traces of its guests. She emptied the wastebaskets in the bedrooms. Picked up a tissue from the guest room floor. Took the vacuum cleaner up to Phinehas’s room and vacuumed the carpet viciously. Then she stripped the bed, holding the sheets in front of her averted face and dropping them in the washer as though they held the plague instead of merely the scent of the soap he used.
She hated that smell. Thank goodness he didn’t use something common, like Ivory, that she’d have to smell all the time. His soap was some special men’s blend from Crabtree & Evelyn that cost a fortune, and people were delighted to keep him supplied with it.
When she finally fell into bed, exhausted, the house was spotless and the past week might never have been. Only the results of it were still here.
She was still here because Matthew had thwarted her and yanked her out of the river.
He was here because she’d had a little rebellion and risked the wrath of God to house him.
And the house was here, still gloomy, still smelling of old wood because her dad had never let anyone open the windows. First thing tomorrow, if the sun was out, she would open them all and let a cleansing breeze blow through.
SHE’D FALLEN ASLEEP thinking of wind and freedom, and when she woke in the morning, she realized why. The south wind had come up in the night and blown the cumulus clouds off the side of the mountain. By the time she went out to give the chickens their breakfast treats, the sun had even dried the ground into lumpy ruts where the cars had made tracks in the mud over the last few days.
Maybe winter would loosen its grip on them and they’d get some warm days. With a pang, she realized that the sweetest part of a warm day would never happen now. She used to bring the plastic chair out into the yard and Sheba would jump in her lap, and for as much as half an hour at a time, the two of them would sun themselves together. Sheba would lean against her and spread out one wing to the warmth. Dinah always imagined the cherubim spreading their wings over the Ark of the Covenant the same way whenever Melchizedek preached about it.
But Sheba was gone, and what little warmth and sweetness there was in life had gone with her.
Matthew emerged from the barn. “Good morning.”
She let the rest of the treats fall to the ground and palmed the moisture from under her eye with her free hand. “We’ll take the Jeep up to the high pasture today,” she said, ignoring his greeting. “I’ll show you how far the land goes, and where the animals are grazing. You need to learn everyone’s brands, too.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. If you want breakfast, I’m making omelets. If you’re watching your cholesterol, you’re out of luck around here.”
“I’d be delighted to share some cholesterol with you,” was all he said.
But it was kind of him to be concerned.
That was the most annoying thing about him, she thought as she mixed the omelet and poured it into the pan. Matthew Nicholas was consistently kind. There must be some sort of hitch somewhere—some point at which the outer skin of his composure peeled back and the anger under it roared into life. She wasn’t sure how long it would take him to get to that point, but she was certain it would.
Men—and the God in whose image they were made—were consistent that way.
She was just dishing out the eggs when she heard the familiar sound of a car engine whining up the highway, and then the crunch of gravel as it turned into the drive.
Not Phinehas. Not so soon. Surely she’d be given more than a day before he came back?
She dried her hands on the nearest towel. Matthew came to the door behind her. “Who could that be?” he asked.
She’d never seen the car before, but she had no doubt about who was getting out of it. With a scream of pure joy, she leaped down the front steps two at a time and ran.
“Dinah!”
Tamara ran to meet her, and their bodies collided in a hug so fierce that Dinah was sure Tammy’s small bones would crack. She started to cry, unable to get even a few words to string together enough to make sense.
“How—they said you couldn’t—oh, Tammy, I’m so glad to see you—but how—?”
“They might have said y
ou couldn’t see me, but nobody said I couldn’t come to see you.” Tamara pulled away long enough to look her in the eyes. Dinah could hardly see through tears that blurred the face she loved.
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so happy. Everyone’s gone. No one needs to know.”
“I knew you would talk to me, at least,” Tamara said. “They called Auntie Ev and told her about Mom. She told me, so here we are.”
Dinah forgot what she was going to say and gripped Tamara’s arms, looking down at her stomach.
Her flat stomach. Covered with a bright-red knitted sweater. The jeans she wore fit like a glove.
Cold horror splashed over her. “Tammy? Did you—where’s the—you didn’t—?”
“Right here.” Tamara pulled open the back door of the four-door compact and with experienced fingers unbuckled the straps of the car seat. She hefted the baby up and held it out, feet dangling, to Dinah.
“Here you go, Di,” she said. “Meet your niece, Tamsen Dinah Traynell.”
Chapter 9
RELIEF WASHED OVER Dinah in a flood. Tamara hadn’t given her baby—Dinah’s niece—away. She’d been told to, but she hadn’t done it.
She took the baby, who was wearing a pink terrycloth sleeper under a pink quilted jacket, and laid her on her shoulder. She hadn’t had much experience with kids other than Tamara, but she hadn’t forgotten how neatly their little bodies fit on her arm, how they smelled, the way they snuggled.
She hugged the infant tightly and tried not to cry.
When she finally looked up, Tamara was leaning on the hood of the car, an odd, watchful expression in her eyes. It cleared immediately, and she smiled. Dinah smiled back. Tamara probably thought she was going to either suffocate or drop the baby. She stopped murmuring nonsense words and addressed a proper sentence to her sister. “How old is she?”
“Four months.”
“Oh, my. Isn’t she just beautiful?” She dropped kisses all over the baby’s cheek, and the little face screwed up in distress. Her perfect little lips parted in an ear-splitting scream.
“Here. She’s probably hungry,” Tamara said. “We’d better go inside so I can feed her.”
While Dinah brought her diaper bag in, Tamara dropped into the armchair. Dishes clinked in the kitchen and someone put the kettle on the stove. In the act of pulling up her sweater to give the baby access to her breast, Tamara lifted her head like an animal scenting danger. “I thought nobody was here.”
Dinah waved a hand. “That’s Matthew. Sounds like he’s making tea. He’s English,” she added by way of explanation.
“Matthew?” Tamara made the baby comfortable and stared at her. “Who’s Matthew?”
In answer, he came through the door and crossed the room with one hand held out. Tamara grabbed a thin blanket out of her bag and tossed it over the baby, then reached up to shake his hand from her seat in the deep, comfy armchair.
“Matthew Nicholas. Dinah hired me recently to help out with the animals and whatnot. I’m so pleased to meet you. She didn’t mention she had a sister.”
Tamara slanted her a glance. “I bet she didn’t. You’re not Elect, are you?”
“No. I was homeless, but Dinah has rectified that.”
“Homeless?”
“Yes. I came to the door asking for food, and she gave me a job instead. Much more effective.”
“Did she?” Tamara sat back. The baby sucked noisily.
Dinah lifted her chin. “Somebody has to do the work around here.”
“You don’t have to explain to me. I’m happy you’ve got help. Anything that pokes the Elect in the eye, I’m totally in favor of.”
“I’m not poking them in the eye. There’s nothing wrong with us having a hired man. People do it all the time.”
“Yeah, but most people don’t have a whole town talking about every little thing they do, either.”
“You sound just like Phinehas.”
“I do not.” After burping the baby, Tamara switched her to the other breast and adjusted the blanket. Matthew looked away, and a flush crept into his face.
Dinah smothered a smile.
“Want some matrimonial cake? Alma Woods brought it to the funeral supper and nobody had any.”
“Sure. I’m starving. You look like you could use some, too, Di.”
“I will, don’t worry.” She ignored the underlying concern about her thinness. “Except I hate how it crumbles all over everything.”
“How did it go? The funeral, I mean.”
Dinah went into the kitchen and pulled out the pan. She sliced generous helpings because there was no one to tell her not to. “It was all right. Uncle John and Aunt Margaret handled most of the arrangements, and Phinehas was here.”
“I bet he was.”
The bitterness in Tamara’s tone might have been a bond between them, but Dinah’s secret was locked behind her lips, even from the one she loved best. Particularly from the one she loved best. Even though Melchizedek, Julia’s father Mark McNeill, and their own father had been the ones to sentence Tamara to seven years of Silence, it had been Phinehas who had advised them to do it, by long-distance phone call from Spokane.
Despite what he had done, Dinah couldn’t give Tamara anything more to hate him for. It was already standing between her and God, and she feared for her sister’s salvation. From the look of her clothes, it was in serious jeopardy.
Matthew poured the tea into mugs and brought them into the living room. Tamara finished feeding the baby and handed her to Dinah.
“She can spit up on your shoulder and initiate you into aunthood.”
“Oh, thanks.” Dinah armed herself with the blanket and patted the baby on the back in a relaxing rhythm.
“Er . . . would you rather I stayed, or not?” Matthew asked in a low voice.
“Stay.” Tamara’s voice was firm. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Still, Matthew looked to Dinah for confirmation. She nodded. “If Tamsen throws up all over me, you can have her.”
He perched on the edge of the sofa and watched the baby as if she were a bomb and he was deciding whether or not to run.
“So, are you okay?” Tamara asked.
Dinah shrugged. “The same.”
“Do you think Mom would talk to me if I went and visited her?”
Dinah couldn’t stop her face creasing with distress, and Tamara saw it. “I don’t know, honey. You know how she is about the rules. If Melchizedek says you’re Silenced, then she’s not going to speak.”
“You did.”
So she had. Without a second’s thought. “I love you.” Too late, she realized how that sounded.
“And Mom doesn’t?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I think it is. You should come to Auntie Evelyn’s. She’s great. She hugs everybody. She was a little weird with me at first, but then she had a meltdown about all my black clothes and we went shopping. She was fine after that.”
Aunt Evelyn, whom the family treated like the whore of Babylon because she’d never come into the fold, because she’d escaped as soon as she was old enough and had never come back. The only time his sister’s name had ever crossed her father’s lips had been when he’d called her to ask if Tamara could come and board there.
Aunt Evelyn was the second person she’d met or heard about within a week who treated people with more kindness and compassion than the Elect. Something was seriously out of balance here.
It was dangerous to think that way, she reminded herself. The Elect were God’s chosen people. They might not be perfect, but they were chosen. Her job was to fit in, to bend and blend, not to criticize.
Wasn’t it?
“Tammy, are you sure you want to wear color?”
Was that amusement or derision in the brown eyes she loved? “Come on, Dinah. Say what you mean.”
“Okay. Have you gone Out?”
Tamsen burped and spit up, and Dinah wiped her face and handed her back to Tamara, who settled her in
the portable car seat on the floor.
“Tammy?”
“Yeah, I heard you. What do you think? I get pregnant, I get Silenced, I get tossed out of the house. Gee, I’m going to stay Silent for seven years and then come crawling back, grateful that people are going to talk to me now?”
Something inside Dinah quivered and threatened to collapse. “Don’t, honey,” she whispered. “You sound so bitter.”
“I’m not. Not a bit. What I am is free, Di. You should try it. It feels great.”
Dinah shuddered and looked at the carpet. She might not have much, but at least she had the safety and fellowship of the Elect. Out there in the world was nothing but howling loneliness and chaos and spiritual death. It nearly made her ill to see Tamara embracing that so wholeheartedly.
The way you embraced the river? whispered a tiny voice in the back of her mind. What’s the difference?
“What do you think about all this, Matthew?” Tamara demanded in a tone that just missed being insolent.
Matthew hesitated, looking from one sister to the other. “I don’t know enough about the situation to give an opinion.”
“But you know about the world, probably,” Tamara said. “Tell Dinah it’s not such a bad place.”
“It isn’t. Not in general. But my experience seems to have been the opposite of yours,” he said. “I came here and found a welcome. More than I’d learned to expect in the other places I’ve been.”
“Yes, but you probably didn’t have my father and Melchizedek to deal with,” Tamara pointed out.
“No, I didn’t. Phinehas was here, however.”
“I bet he wasn’t too keen on you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Matthew said steadily. “He seemed very civil.”
Dinah glanced up to find him looking at her. Don’t you say a word, she thought.
He didn’t.
“I’m going to assume our trip up the mountain is postponed?” he asked, deflecting the conversation away from danger. “I’m sure you and your sister have a lot to catch up on.”
“Oh, did you guys have plans?” Tamara looked from Dinah to Matthew.
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