Faking Faith

by Josie Bloss

  For once I felt like the flowery words actually spoke to me. Not that I was going to immediately call up my old friends and admit that I’d been wrong and they’d been right all along. But the concept of accepting that I wasn’t perfect, and then asking for forgiveness, being cleansed, and moving on—instead of stewing around and then pretending it hadn’t happened—was … something to think about.

  Though in the more immediate sense, the guilt I felt about lying to Abigail was starting to grow and fester and become a heavy anvil hanging precariously over my head. She was so good and kind and believed all this stuff with her whole heart. And I was such a dirty liar who in no way should be here polluting her.

  My mistakes were obviously not entirely in my past.

  Abigail smiled at me and put her hand on my shoulder. She had absolutely no idea what was happening in my head, and that somehow made it worse.

  “Come on, Faith, let’s go set the table,” she said, with a soft squeeze.

  ELEVEN

  I was avoiding eye contact with Asher as much as possible. Whenever he was around, I felt like a ball of exposed nerve endings, waiting for something to jump out and hurt me.

  However, I found there was no way I could avoid watching him when he wasn’t looking at me. And not just because he was total eye candy.

  I couldn’t help but notice how sweet and gentle he was with his younger siblings, and how he seemed to take his role as a big brother very seriously. Whenever he was around, he was forever giving piggyback rides or answering endless questions or quietly instructing. He would listen patiently to the little kids, not once laughing at them or shrugging them off.

  It was undeniably adorable.

  As Abigail and I did the dishes after dinner the next night, I decided to take a risk and ask about him.

  “So what does Asher do all day? Does he have a job or something?”

  Abigail shook her head. “He used to take classes at the community college in Carbondale. But that turned out to be a bad idea, so he works a lot with Daddy and around the farm. He’s going into the house-building business with Daddy officially, as soon as he saves up enough money to invest.”

  “Why was community college a bad idea?” I asked, as casually as possible.

  Abigail gave me a sidelong look, as if assessing me. I tried to look innocent, wondering if I’d taken my questioning too far.

  “I mean, not that I—”

  “Honestly, it’s a little bit of a scandal,” she whispered, interrupting me.

  “Really?” Now this was interesting. Asher had a scandal, too? Was this the mysterious “trouble” that Abigail had asked her readers to pray about?

  “You have to promise you’ll never breathe a word to anyone about this! Not ever ever!”

  I solemnly promised.

  “Okay, I’m only telling you because I trust you completely.” Abigail took a deep breath and leaned in toward me, speaking softly. “Last year, Asher met a girl from town in one of his classes and he claims that they fell in love.”

  She said it like it was the worst, most shameful thing that a nineteen-year-old guy could do. As if it were on par with throwing puppies in a river or running over a little old lady.

  “Really?” I said, trying to look shocked. “In love?”

  “Yes.” Abigail went back to scrubbing a pan. “Daddy was so furious. This girl was a total stranger—she wasn’t even a real Christian! She went to public school and goes to a Catholic Church. Can you imagine? Daddy told Asher that clearly the devil had gotten into him. That he had been tempted, and he’d been weak and had fallen, and now his soul is tainted.”

  “Wow,” I said, blinking rapidly, trying to assemble all this information in my head. “You said he met her in one of his classes?”

  “They were assigned to work on a project together, which Asher never even told us about, and they spent time alone.” I knew that I was supposed to gasp in a horrified manner at this, so I did. Asher spending time alone with an unrelated and unmarried girl was highly forbidden, of course. It’s as if everyone thought teenagers would start bonking like bunnies if they didn’t have constant supervision. “And he told me that one thing just led to another and they talked about all sorts of things and he really liked her. Apparently, even though she wasn’t a real Christian, she was actually very nice.”

  Imagine that.

  “Well, what happened next?” I asked, wincing as I rinsed a pot in the scalding hot water.

  “Asher snuck around with her for weeks, and then Daddy found out. This was, oh, six months ago or so. One of the men from our church saw them together at a park. Holding hands and kissing, right out in public! Daddy got in such a rage, it was scary. He told Asher he had to quit school and come work for him, and that he wasn’t to be trusted alone with any girl except his sisters until he was married.”

  “Oh my word!” I said.

  She sighed. “Daddy said that none of his children would ever set foot in a government institution again, if that’s the sort of thing that went on there. Asher was heartbroken. He said that he really cared about this girl, and she cared about him. But Daddy threatened to throw him out of the house if he ever spoke to her again. I mean, of course I understand why Daddy did that, but it was awful to see Asher take it so badly. ”

  Gross. It seemed so controlling and cruel. As if a nineteen-year-old guy should be ashamed of being attracted to someone, and made to feel guilty for having a normal desire to hold hands and make out. And it was just unfair that jackasses like Blake were free to be awful to girls, while a guy like Asher, who seemed decent and kind (if disturbingly cute), was kept under lock and key.

  The world needed more guys like Asher.

  “Daddy was a little doubtful about you coming to visit,” Abigail continued. “Because he still thinks the devil has a hold inside Asher. We all had a big talk about it, though, and I think you’re even a bit of a test for him, to see if he can act appropriately around you.”

  So that’s why he’d been so awkward around me. That’s why the whole family got weird and silent the night Asher said he was thankful for meeting me. They were afraid he was going to lose all control and try to defraud me or something.

  Too bad I was coming to the uncomfortable realization that part of me wouldn’t mind getting defrauded by Asher.

  “How does Asher feel about all this? Does he ever talk about it?”

  Abigail looked sad. “He really hates to talk about it, and I think he still feels awful. Daddy told him he’d visited sin upon the family. Asher is pretty sensitive, for a boy, and Daddy’s always been on him about being a real man. Asher prays and tries to be upbeat, but I think he’s still confused. It probably would have been better if he’d never gone to college at all and never even had those thoughts put in his head.”

  “Probably,” I said, my thoughts spinning.

  As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Asher was becoming more fascinating by the moment.

  . . .

  Later that evening, I went up to Abigail’s room and dug my cell phone out of my suitcase to call my mom. She probably didn’t even remember that I told her I’d call to check in, but I didn’t want her to try and get ahold of me and freak out because my phone was off.

  “So, how is it?” she asked briskly. I could tell from the city sounds in the background that she was walking from her office to the train.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Lots of interesting people.”

  “It’s just girls there, right? And they’re keeping an eye on you all?”

  “Yes, Mom,” I said, half rolling my eyes. I almost wished I could tell her where I really was, but only if I could witness the look on her face.

  “Well, good,” she said. An ambulance went by her, wherever she was, and the siren was all I could hear for a few seconds.

  “Anything else?” she asked. “The food is okay? You have everything you need?”

  For a moment, my throat swelled and I almost burst into tears. I couldn’t beli
eve how much I missed my mom. And my dad and my brother and our house. My family was ridiculous and weird and all of us barely knew how to communicate our way out of a paper bag, but at least they were mine.

  And no one there talked about the devil being inside anyone else. And no one expected me and my mom to cook and clean just because we were the women.

  “Yes,” I said, hoping she couldn’t hear my voice break. “I do.”

  “Okay, Dylan,” she said. I heard the call waiting beep. “Sorry, honey, there have been some big developments with the case and I have to take this. Call if anything comes up, okay? Stay out of trouble and I’ll see you soon.”

  “Sure, Mom,” I said, but she’d hung up before I could even say that I missed her.

  TWELVE

  My visit with Abigail settled into a pleasant sort of routine. Well, as pleasant as anything that involved getting up at six in the morning and wrangling a cow could be.

  But it was refreshing not to be spending all my time on a computer or closed up inside. The little kids were all shockingly well behaved, but they were still a loud bunch, clattering through the house and slamming the screen doors. The windows were always open, and someone was always cooking or baking something, and there was always work to be done. Daily life was productive and busy and full of people.

  I had to admit that all the Bible reading certainly got old. I could totally understand how Abigail was able to quote scripture by heart. At this point in her life, she’d probably been through the whole book twenty times.

  Generally I blanked out while the reading was going on. I tried to pay attention, but there just wasn’t much of it that spoke to me.

  The rest of their lifestyle was much more interesting, anyway.

  The third afternoon I was there, I helped Abigail weed. We put on old-fashioned straw hats and carried little baskets out to the big garden behind the house. It was a huge plot of land, but impeccably organized. There were neat rows of tomatoes and squash and cucumbers and peppers and other plants I couldn’t identify. And bright ripples of yellow and orange marigolds surrounded the whole thing.

  I think Abigail had already come to realize that I wasn’t as experienced as I’d claimed about gardening and household tasks, though she didn’t comment on it or laugh at me or ask if I’d lied. She just patiently instructed me, praising my efforts.

  “My sister does a lot of the gardening, so I’m a bit worthless at all this,” I explained as I floundered with my little spade, face flushed. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re doing great!” she said, smiling.

  I smiled back, wondering how one person could be so … nice.

  We worked side by side, pulling up sprouting weeds from around the squash. And I looked down at my filthy hands, dirt caked under my fingernails, and then up at the puffy clouds breezing across the blue sky. I smiled as I realized I’d never felt so comfortable and purposeful being outdoors in my whole life.

  I caught Abigail watching me.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

  “It’s just so beautiful out here,” I said. I wished I could tell her about the chaotic, traffic-ridden concrete suburb where I’d come from. How our yard was taken care of by a lawn service and that we’d never had a garden. How I’d never put my hands into the earth like this before, and the only vegetables I ever ate came on a salad at a restaurant or from the supermarket.

  “ ‘All things were made through Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made,’ ” Abigail quoted. Her face was so shining and earnest and open, for a moment I couldn’t help but be desperately jealous. I wished that I could have such certainty about the world and how it worked.

  I smiled at her. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”

  “What stuff?”

  “Gardening. Cooking. All these things that you … I mean, that we do all day.”

  She brushed her hands off and sat back on her heels. “I love being useful and productive,” she told me. “And it makes life so much nicer if you take joy in your work rather than resent it. And this is what we’re here to do, you know? As women. Feed the family, tend the hearth. We’re training for the rest of our lives, doing all this.”

  “Right,” I said. “But I was wondering … have you ever … oh, I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  I looked at her. “Sometimes I just think about maybe … wanting something more?”

  She looked disturbed, squinting at me. “Want more than to fulfill my God-given role? No, of course not. Faith, there’s nothing more to want!”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling embarrassed. That had been the wrong thing to say.

  “Daddy preaches that’s what’s wrong with feminists. They confuse women by suggesting that there’s something more they should want. Something more than following Christ’s path. So they try and have a career, and then it’s impossible for them to juggle having a husband and babies as well, and they just end up miserable and unfulfilled in all aspects of life. God and family should always be the priority. That’s the way to true contentment.”

  “Right,” I said, thinking of my mom. She didn’t seem all that miserable. In fact, she was obsessed with her job and she was apparently damn good at it.

  But there was also the fact that I barely saw her …

  “Do you … disagree?” Abigail asked, looking concerned.

  “No, not at all,” I said hurriedly, and she smiled.

  “Honestly, don’t you just feel sorry for all those girls out in the world?” she asked. “Can you imagine not having a strong father to lead your family and a mother who takes care of the home? To flounder and have to figure it all out for yourself? To not have a peaceful, happy place to live and grow?”

  I shrugged. I guess I should feel sorry for myself. “When you put it that way, it does sound kind of awful.”

  We went back to weeding and were silent for a few minutes. I tried to pretend that I really was Faith, that I really did agree that women belonged at home with a dozen babies and shouldn’t want anything more than that. That all I needed to be fulfilled in life was to become a homemaker and a mother and a support to men.

  But all it did was make me feel sick to my stomach.

  “And don’t you think there is something lovely about having your path laid out for you?” Abigail said, continuing as if we hadn’t paused. “We don’t need to worry about what we should do with our lives, the way that boys do, because we already know what we have to do. It’s the most spiritually fulfilling and Christ-centered role a girl could possibly have. And it was given to us!”

  “Of course,” I said with a little laugh, like it was unfathomable I would ever disagree with her.

  “I thank God everyday that he put me where I am and gave me the life he did,” she said, sticking her trowel hard into the dirt for emphasis. “It’s awesome.”

  I glanced over at Abigail. She had a smudge of dirt across her cheek, her clothes were unstylish and dowdy, and her hair was unfashionably long. She didn’t know anything about current music or celebrities or how to apply eyeliner. She’d never kissed a boy or seen an R-rated movie. She would never get drunk at a party with her friends or dance around the living room of her own apartment.

  Part of me wished nothing more than that I’d been born like her and had never known anything different.

  Part of me wondered why it sounded like she was trying to convince herself that her path was so perfect.

  . . .

  Later that night, after we’d settled into bed, she said my name.

  “Hmm?” I replied sleepily, only half-conscious.

  “I was thinking about our conversation in the garden. Don’t tell anyone this, but I’ve sometimes thought … ” Abigail trailed off. And then, as if she’d found courage, she continued. “I’ve secretly always thought it would be really amazing to go out in the world and help other people.”

  I opened my eyes, trying to figure out what she was saying.

  “Help
them how?”

  “Like … poor people. I mean, Daddy and Mama give money to families in our church who need it, or we make meals for a family if the mother is sick or just had a baby. But there are so many people out there, in cities and other countries. Who, you know, need help. So many children who are unloved and defenseless. And who haven’t heard the Word of God. And who are hungry. Not just for Jesus but for actual food.”

  “That’s true,” I said, surprised she’d even considered this.

  She sighed. “Sometimes I wonder who is supposed to help all the souls already on this earth. If we Christians just focus on our own families and the people in our church, who is going to help everyone else? If He were here, wouldn’t Jesus be out there helping them? Don’t you think?”

  I stayed silent as I thought about what to say next. As much as I wanted to burst out and tell Abigail that she could do or be anything in the world, that just wasn’t what she believed to be true. She would be insulted. And Faith would never say something like that anyway.

  “I’ve sometimes wondered if there should be any callings besides becoming a wife and mother,” I said, thinking fast. “I mean, I know that’s the best role, but there are godly women who never get married. Maybe that would be possible for you? Like, as a missionary? Or … something else?”

  Like a social worker or a teacher or a nurse or an international relief worker or a legal aid lawyer or one of the million other jobs that women, even devoutly religious women, were allowed to have these days!

  “I’m a girl,” she said, with resignation.

  I stayed silent.

  “But sometimes I wish that maybe … oh, this is going to sound awful … ”

  “What?”

  She lowered her voice to the softest whisper. “Sometimes I wish God had more faith in me and I had been born a boy.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said.

  Then I lay there and thought of Asher, wondering if boys really had it much better around here.

  THIRTEEN