Pocketful of Pearls

by Shelley Bates

  “Put like that, it does sound a little unbelievable.”

  “That’s because it is unbelievable. Honestly, don’t people have anything better to do?”

  “Here, why don’t you let me have her for a bit?” Dinah handed the baby over and Claire sat on the stump without, it appeared, a single thought for her wool-crepe skirt. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing?” she cooed and gave Tamsen her wristwatch to play with before returning to the conversation. “The thing is you’re from a favored family, and people like to talk about them the way magazines talk about movie stars. I guess it’s because we look inward at ourselves instead of outward at the world.”

  “How would you know what magazines say about movie stars? I’m shocked.”

  Claire rolled her eyes, and Dinah began to see that her motives for coming out here may have been sincere. Her suspicion lightened a little.

  “There’s nothing wrong with reading a magazine. Julia used to do it so she could talk about movies with her worldly friends at school.”

  Dinah couldn’t imagine prim and proper Julia McNeill doing such a thing. But then, she’d run away with that biker, hadn’t she? Obviously the signs had been there.

  Then she gave herself a mental slap. What signs? Like reading a movie magazine was some kind of evil seed that had manifested itself in her behavior later? If that were the case, what would grow from her use of the computer? Absolutely nothing—except a wider knowledge of baby care.

  “Speaking of Julia,” Claire began.

  As opposed to actually speaking to her, Dinah thought, since she’s Out and none of us are supposed to have contact with her any more. “Yes?”

  “I was talking to Rebecca about her apartment.”

  Something tugged under Dinah’s breastbone—a sense of impending loss. Cold crept over her skin as she realized the real purpose of Claire’s visit. “Were you?”

  “I want to move out of Mom and Dad’s and Rebecca needs a tenant.” She looked up from the baby. “She said that she’d discussed it with you, but you hadn’t made a decision. So I thought I’d come and talk with you about it, and see what you were going to do.”

  Bless Rebecca for giving her another chance. But there was no decision to make. “If you want it, you should take it, Claire. I can’t leave here now. We’re going to be taking the cattle to the auction pretty soon, I’ve got Tamsen to think about, Mom will come home next week, and . . . and I don’t think Rebecca really wants a dozen chickens digging up her prize roses, do you?”

  Claire smiled. “I don’t know. I like your chickens.”

  “Yes, but Rebecca may not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Completely.” Somehow her priorities had changed. The apartment was no longer the unattainable haven it had been not so long ago. No longer one more thing she couldn’t have. “Besides, Julia was your best friend. You’re the right person to move into her place.” She paused. “Do you hear from her?”

  Claire looked at her from under her lashes and didn’t reply.

  Dinah huffed a laugh. “It’s all right with me if you do. I’m not going to tell anyone. Tamara’s already been here and broken Silence, remember?”

  “We talk all the time. It’s not like she was Silenced or anything. She’s just Out.”

  Once again she’d underestimated Claire. “Just Out.” Just? How many times had the Shepherds told them that those who were Out were spiritually dead and to “touch not the unclean thing”? And here was Claire, talking with Julia all this time, keeping her secret as closely as Dinah kept all of her own.

  But now Claire was trusting her with this. If she could do that, could Dinah trust her to be a friend?

  “She’s so happy, Dinah. It’s in her voice, it’s in Rebecca’s pictures, you just see it glowing out of her. I know she did wrong to go Out and marry a worldly man, but then when I see her so happy I wonder what the wages of sin really are. I mean, how can you be filled with so much love when you’re not obeying God?”

  Love, a voice whispered in the back of Dinah’s mind. It’s not the works that matter, it’s the love.

  “I don’t blame you at all for staying in touch,” she heard herself say. “I’d do the same if it were my best friend.”

  In the beginning she’d had Tamara, and then Phinehas. But Phinehas had spoiled everything backward and forward in Dinah’s memory, and Tamara was gone, maybe for good.

  Now all she had were the chickens. And Matthew and Tamsen, she thought with a little shock of surprise. She might not have a job or an apartment or a wool-crepe suit, but she had them.

  Which, when you got right down to it, was more than she’d ever had before.

  MATTHEW WHEELED THE big truck in close by the kitchen door feeling rather like the hunter returning with a spear over his shoulder and the week’s meat supply on a travois. Well, he supposed half a dozen bags of groceries qualified, including several different kinds of baby food recommended by the young mother to whom he’d appealed in the supermarket aisle. As he hauled the bags in two at a time, he heard voices upstairs in Tamsen’s room. Dinah and no doubt the owner of the little silver car in the driveway.

  They came down just as he was putting the last of the fresh vegetables in the fridge.

  “She finally went to sleep,” Dinah reported.

  “That’s a pity.” He indicated the neat row of liquefied carrots, peas, cereals, and other baby foods in their jars on the counter. “A woman in the store helped me find all we’d need for the next little while.”

  “I’m sure we’ll need it when she wakes up. That kid is like a lion, seeking what she might devour,” Dinah said. “Matthew, this is Claire Montoya. Claire, Matthew Nicholas, our hired man.”

  He shook hands with the young lady in the black suit. “It’s nice to meet a friend of Dinah’s.”

  The two young women exchanged a glance. “We haven’t actually been friends, for reasons that escape me now,” Claire said with refreshing bluntness. “But I hope that’s going to change.”

  Matthew wasn’t sure what to expect, but the flush on Dinah’s face indicated she might be pleased about it. Had she had so few friends? Did this girl know about Dinah’s struggles? Probably not. If she did, how would that change things? And what would be the effect on Dinah if yet another person turned their back on her?

  But he was getting ahead of himself. If God had prompted Claire to come out here and offer her friendship, there had to be a good reason for it. He could only be grateful for those few friends who might stick by her right now.

  “Thanks for doing the shopping,” Dinah said, pulling out cheese and bread. “Grilled-cheese sandwiches all right with everyone?”

  Claire glanced at her watch and then volunteered to make a salad, and Matthew put the kettle on for tea. When they were all sitting around the kitchen table with full stomachs and cups of strong, hot tea cradled between their hands, Claire spoke up.

  “Dinah says you used to teach at a university, Matthew. What made you change jobs?”

  He smiled, and sipped the brew in his cup to cover up the sudden jolt of alarm in his gut. “I planned to do a walking tour and ran into a series of problems. Dinah was kind enough to give me a job.”

  “Matthew was kind enough to take it,” Dinah put in. “It would be pretty difficult to manage without him at the moment, especially with the stock sale coming up.”

  “Are you going to do it?” Claire’s gaze was uncertain. “Down at the county fair, all by yourself, with all those ranchers?”

  Dinah shook her head, as if such a thing were out of the question. “Of course not. I could, but I’m not going to give Alma Woods anything more to gossip about. I’ll tell Matthew what to do, and I’ll ask the Hendricksens over on the next place if they can trailer our animals in with theirs. If Matthew looks after the actual sales—which isn’t hard, Matthew, it’s an auction—then that will be the last of Dad’s stock. After that I’ll just run the other ranchers’ cattle on our pastures and get out of the b
usiness altogether.”

  “It gets pretty rowdy down there, I understand,” Claire said. “The ranchers aren’t used to seeing Elect women in the barns, are they?”

  “They weren’t used to seeing us in the bank, either,” Dinah said, “until you and I changed that.”

  Claire shook her head. “Folks have gotten used to it. Melchizedek and Phinehas just have to understand that women have to make their own living nowadays. We can’t all run day cares or get married straight out of high school. Maybe that was the norm twenty years ago, but things have changed.”

  “Yesterday, today, forever,” Dinah reminded her. “Though I agree with you.”

  “Jesus might be the same, the way might be the same, but we have to change.”

  “Why can’t a woman go to a stock sale?” Matthew felt goaded to ask. “Women are just as capable as men at that sort of thing. More, in this case.”

  “Of course they are,” Claire replied. “But it puts a woman in a public forum, and we were brought up to believe that isn’t becoming. My job at the bank and even Rebecca’s owning the bookshop are walking the fine line. Not that it’s stopping either of us, you’ll notice.”

  “Knowledge and using one’s abilities is very becoming in a woman, I’ve always thought.”

  “Not to the Elect. We’re taught that the woman runs the household,” Dinah explained. “and the man goes out to work. I’m just not sure how much longer they’ll be able to teach that. Not with rebels like Claire and Rebecca around.” She grinned at Claire over her cup.

  “What about the woman in Proverbs 30?” he asked. “She managed her affairs very capably in a public forum, and her children rose up in the gates and called her blessed.”

  “Yes, well, she wasn’t living in Hamilton Falls,” Dinah said.

  “A capable woman can be called blessed wherever she lives. And she shouldn’t have to hide her talents and abilities just because Melchizedek and Phinehas say so. Are they so afraid of women that they have to keep them shut up in their homes?”

  Dinah and Claire glanced at each other, and then Claire said, “I hope you don’t plan on saying things like that in public, Mr. Nicholas.”

  “I’m not afraid to express what I think in public or in private.”

  “That’s the difference between us, Matthew,” Dinah said quietly. “In the Elect we have to think about others before we speak.”

  “You mean you have to think about what other people think before you speak.”

  “Matthew, don’t talk about things you know nothing about.”

  “He’s right.” Claire sounded a little surprised at herself, as if someone had elbowed her in the ribs. “Listen to us. We both agree with him, we’ve both worked in public, and yet we still talk the talk. And don’t even get me started on women having no part in Gathering.”

  “What?” Confused, Matthew looked from one to the other.

  “In the Sunday Gatherings, only the men speak,” Dinah explained. “But the wives and daughters usually talk things over with their men so everyone’s thoughts can be expressed. Except—” She paused, then plowed on. “Except Dad.”

  “Your dad never passed on your mother’s thoughts?” Claire asked. “Or yours?”

  Dinah shook her head, and Claire frowned. “That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?”

  “Dad took his place seriously.”

  “Well, yes, most of the men do, but he should still have included you.”

  “He’s gone now, so it doesn’t matter,” Matthew put in gently. What a strange church these people belonged to. He could no more envision women being excluded from participation than he could imagine himself selling stock at an auction.

  But obviously both were reality. If not now, then soon.

  “It does matter, though.” Claire put her mug down. “Now Elsie and Dinah have no voice at all in Gathering. I mean, even if I move out, my dad will still give my mom and me a voice.”

  “Guess I’ll just have to get married, then,” Dinah said lightly. Matthew glanced at her and frowned when he saw how pale she was. In her eyes he saw a sardonic doubt that contradicted her tone. “Speaking of getting married, did you know that Derrick Wilkinson is back on the market again?”

  “Now, there’s a man who would always include you, with scrupulous attention to detail,” Claire said.

  “No doubt about it. But for that you’d have to live with him.”

  Both women laughed at whatever man they were talking about. Matthew didn’t much care, because with the sparkle of laughter about her that made her forget about herself for a moment, Dinah’s face became beautiful.

  “Poor chap.” It was difficult not to smile. “What on earth is wrong with him?”

  Claire tried to explain. “Picture a man in a shirt and tie every day of the week, with pens in his pocket.”

  “You could be describing me, most days,” he said mildly.

  “Yes, but your main goal in life isn’t to be the next Deacon.”

  “Well, no. What is your version of a deacon?”

  “The Deacon is an Elder in training. An Elder leads Gathering. But in order to do that, you have to be a son born into a favored family, or married to a daughter of one. And now with Julia McNeill married to someone else, her sister Madeleine already married to an Elder, and Tamara gone, there’s only one eligible woman left in town. Better watch out, Dinah. He could be getting ready to ask you out.”

  “He already has.” The laughter faded from her eyes. “I turned him down.”

  His brain was getting a lot of exercise these days, Matthew thought, trying to wrap itself around all these strange customs. Maybe National Geographic should do an article on these people. Maybe he’d write it himself.

  “Isn’t that a little archaic?” Of all the questions in his mind, that was the least offensive.

  Claire shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s just the way it is.”

  “So because Dinah doesn’t fancy him, he doesn’t get to realize his ambition?”

  “Dinah doesn’t get to realize her own ambitions,” Dinah put in with more than a trace of sarcasm. “Why should he be any different?”

  “Because he’s a man,” Claire said with a dramatic gesture and a roll of the eyes.

  Matthew began to see that, under their sober black and all the restrictions placed on them, there were two women, at least, in the Elect who were seething with rebellion. They just didn’t seem to be willing to give up what they had to act on it. He felt as though he’d been transported back to the age of suffragettes, when women were still lobbying for the vote.

  “I hate to break this up,” Claire said with another glance at her watch, “but I need to get back to work.”

  Dinah got up. “Thanks for coming, Claire. And for asking about the apartment. Even though there’s no way I could take it, I appreciate the gesture.”

  “Let’s see more of each other, all right?” Claire said. “A person can never have too many friends.”

  Dinah smiled, and Matthew rejoiced to see it. As she waved at Claire’s little car from the front porch, he cleared up the kitchen and put the lunch dishes in the dishwasher.

  He heard her footsteps go into the bathroom. The door closed, and a moment later the toilet flushed.

  No. Oh, Father, help her. She’s been doing so well.

  She came out of the bathroom and stood in the kitchen doorway, swaying a little.

  “Dinah! My dear, what’s the matter?”

  The face that had been animated with laughter and interest just moments ago had stretched and fallen into a mask of grief. A deep sob shook her thin shoulders and tears trickled down her face. One of the side effects of bulimia, he knew, was uncontrollable mood swings. He was just going to have to do his best to help her through it.

  “Dinah?” Without thinking, he crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her, smelling fresh cotton and mint mouthwash. Her head fell forward and she wept into the front of his shirt. “Dinah, please tell me.”

  She
dragged in a jagged breath, her fingers curled into his shirt. “She should never have come out here.” Her voice was muffled and watery.

  “Why not?” he asked gently. “She wants to be your friend.”

  “How long will that last?” she wailed on a long note of grief. “Why would anyone want to be friends with me? I’m ugly and dirty and used. Who wants to be friends with that?”

  Chapter 14

  MATTHEW’S ARM AROUND her shoulders was a small comfort as he guided Dinah into the living room. A small comfort against the wilderness of loneliness and self-contempt inside her.

  He should take his arm away, she thought, palming tears off her cheeks. Why would he want to touch garbage like me?

  Instead, he sat her down on the brown couch and kept her in the circle of that arm, where she cried until she was exhausted and her eyes were red and stinging. Then he handed her a tissue and waited for her to blow her nose.

  “Talk to me,” he said in a voice so gentle it made her tear up again. “Tell me why you think you’re dirty and used.”

  “You know why!” How could such a smart man be so obtuse? She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. Finally she gave up and slumped against his side, her arms crossed over her chest. She put her shoulder toward him so she wouldn’t have to see his face. “Hello-o . . . I’m somebody’s mistress. Claire is pure and a virgin and I’m just one of Phinehas’s whores. Not even the only one. My body is used and ugly and I’m filth in everybody’s eyes, even God’s.” Correction. “Particularly God’s.”

  “And you’ve taken on all the ugliness that belongs to Phinehas and appropriated it for yourself.”

  Shock hit her in the solar plexus. “What? What did you say?”

  “Listen to yourself. Filth, ugliness, moral ruin . . . you’re taking all that on yourself instead of placing it where it belongs—squarely on Phinehas. Why are you protecting him?”

  “I’m not!”

  “Something inside you is. Is it easier to do that than to admit the person who was supposed to care for your soul and act as your shepherd is a wicked, selfish man who should be in prison?”