A New Eden

by Quent Cordair

  “Last week," Roger continued, “an attorney from Reno got an injunction halting West Gate, claiming state law now requires the county to provide a study showing that the construction isn’t going to result in toxic seepage from the mine, and documenting that there isn’t seepage already present that would allegedly put residents at risk. It’s ridiculous – the mine tunnels never advanced to within a hundred feet of that side of the hill, and there’s never been any ‘toxic’ seepage – and all of this is already on record with the county. The suit is going nowhere, but it’s going to take us another three weeks now before we can even get it back on the court’s docket. In the meantime, we can’t so much as lift a hammer. It’s an utter waste of time and resources. So entirely unnecessary. We’re having to keep the contractor and crews on busy work elsewhere or risk losing them.”

  Aaron shook his head as he sliced off a forkful of marbled steak. “What about Windsor?”

  “That suit came out of nowhere too. The attorney is contesting the projected water usage, and has the full support, of course, of the NIMBY group that’s been showing up at the Planning and Board meetings over the past months claiming the project is going to cause everything from gridlock to smog to overcrowded schools, a drought, and probably plagues of locusts and a damned small-pox epidemic. But the projected water usage isn’t even borderline. We have plenty of water, and we can get plenty more if and when we need it. I don’t know where they found the money to hire this guy – if they did hire him. Apparently, he’s pretty slick. With a big East Coast firm. Used to be with the EPA, and he doesn’t come cheap. So now we’re at a standstill on Windsor too, before we’ve even broken ground.”

  Outwardly, Roger seemed merely disgruntled, but Sophia knew he was coming to a boil inside. He hated delays, and particularly legal delays.

  “Joseph can manage all of that though, can’t he?” Aaron asked. Joseph Reisenberg’s law firm handled most of the Hale’s corporate and personal business. The Hales were, by far, the firm’s biggest account, and Joseph was well seasoned at getting things done in Aurum County.

  “Sure, he can manage it, but I think there’s something else going on, and I don’t like it. It’s too coincidental that these two utterly frivolous, after-the-fact suits would be brought against us out of the blue, and this closely timed. Who’s behind it? It doesn’t smell right.”

  “Do you want me to see what I can find out?”

  “Yes, I do. If this is the start of some kind of trend, it’s not a good one, and I want it nipped in the bud. It’s costing us money and time.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you.” He turned to his wife. “Sophia, love, I apologize – I hadn’t meant for this to spill over into dinner. The steak is outstanding, of course. Lovely choice on the wine.”

  “Thank you, dear. Business is business. You know it doesn’t bother me. I just hope you’re still able to enjoy your food. We’re down to a case of this Cabernet – I’ll see if Nicholas can find more.” Nicholas, her sommelier at the resort, could find anything. “But on to more pleasant subjects.” She looked to Aaron. “I understand that you had an unexpected visitor in Paris. . . .”

  Aaron finished the bite he was chewing, contemplating his response. “You have eyes and ears everywhere, Mother.”

  “Stephanie’s mother called me. That was quite the coincidence, that you and she happened to be in the same restaurant in Paris on the same evening.”

  He knew that she didn’t believe it had been a coincidence, anymore than he did. “Stephanie said she had taken the train up from Monaco that morning for some shopping. I know you wouldn’t have divulged my itinerary without first asking – I’m thinking she may have made a friend in our offices who tipped her as to my whereabouts. She’s resourceful when she wants to be.”

  “I hope you two had a good time. . . .”

  “As her mother may have told you – ” he glanced at her for confirmation – “I was dining with a prospective investment partner and his wife, Pierre and Liliane Arnault, when Stephanie came over to the table. She didn’t pretend to be surprised to find me there. I invited her to have dinner with us, which she did, and it made for sparkling conversation all round, of course. She thoroughly charmed them both, in her fluent French, and offered high praise for our family and the company at just the right juncture. As Father knows, we’re meeting with Monsieur Arnault and his partners again next week. Stephanie and I had drinks at the bar afterwards.”

  “That’s what Margaret said. . . .”

  He knew that his mother was hoping, waiting. Apparently Stephanie had left her own mother hanging as well. It was interesting, Aaron thought, that his friend apparently hadn’t revealed that upon leaving the bar they had retired to their respective rooms.

  “Aaron?”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought perhaps there might be more to the story.”

  “No. That’s all.”

  Roger added, rather too casually, “The lovely Miss Delacroix seems to be quite the asset to have around. I’m sure she had old Pierre wrapped around her finger.”

  Aaron conceded as much with a half smile, but offered nothing further.

  After a pause, Sophia moved the conversation along again, raising the matter of the new housekeeper, who was dependable but not without her shortcomings. The girl could be too thorough, she said, which was keeping her from getting through cleaning her portion of the house on schedule, while the other housekeeper on staff suffered the opposite tendency, being fast but insufficiently detail oriented. Neither girl was responding well enough to corrective guidance, but both were trustworthy and punctual and had pleasant attitudes – Sophia was hesitant to let either go. Roger suggested that rather than fight their tendencies, the two might function better as a team: with a little coaching, they should be able to work well together, the faster one on the more time-consuming tasks and the more thorough one on the detail work. Together, they should be able to finish the entirety of the house in a timely fashion and to Sophia’s standards.

  Sophia thanked her husband for being wise. Roger thanked his wife for being brilliant and beautiful. She reached for his hand. He took hers. To Aaron, the way they gazed at each other in that moment was much like a certain pair of young lovers on a swing in a forest. . . .

  He loved that they were still in love, and more than ever. He looked away, to the fire in the fireplace, from the fire to the gurgling fountain in the garden’s shadows, from the fountain to the brightening stars above, where Aries was emerging from the darkening sky.

  “It’s good to have you home, Aaron,” his mother said, drawing him back into her circle.

  “Thank you, Mother. It’s good to be here.”

  The big house had been much too empty for her of late, he knew. He regretted how the decision he had made was going to affect her, despite her aspirations and hopes for him. His father, he thought, would understand.

  Six

  Skye Emberly was sitting next to her unopened suitcase on her bed in her dorm room, listening. Or trying her best to.

  “Sister Skye, I just can’t tell you what a blessing it is to have you home again. We’ve all missed you so much – nothing’s quite the same when you’re gone. Why, just the other day I was over at Lisa Starks’ house, and at dinner Brother Starks was saying how much he’s missed having you in Bible Study, that nobody asks questions about the Scripture quite the way you do. He said how much he’s been praying for you, Sister Skye, like we all have, praying every day that God would just keep you safe and just bless you and just keep working His will through you and that God has such great things in store for your life, and Sister Starks was saying that she misses you so much and that it’s been hard to really enjoy choir practice when you’re not there. She said she even forgot the words to the third verse of Amazing Grace last week because she was just thinking about you and just praying in her heart right there in choir practice that God would keep His hand on you while you’re out there in the
world surrounded by all those unbelievers and temptations. I don’t think there’s a Lamb in the Flock who hasn’t had you in their prayers every single night, Sister Skye. Even yesterday when I was helping at Little Lambs, Sister Helmsly said that no matter which of the children says the prayer before snack or lunch, they always have to mention you, usually right at the end, praying that God will just watch over you and bring you home safely – it’s so sweet, I saw and heard it with my own eyes and ears – and I know that Sister Beasley has been knitting something for you too, probably a sweater or a throw, or maybe she’s doing a quilt this time, I can’t quite remember, and Brother Hargrove’s third graders have been working on painting a big mural right on their classroom wall, all about your trip, the Prophet be praised – wait till you see how many angels they painted in the clouds watching over you! It’s the cutest thing, one of them painted an angel riding right on top of your airplane, just like it was riding a horse or something – ”

  Skye felt herself beginning to tilt. She put her hand on the mattress to steady herself. The pillow was so close. Having slept less than two hours the night before, she wanted nothing more than to lie down for a few minutes to close her eyes. The film shoot in Los Angeles had run on until two in the morning, and then she had to be up at four-thirty to catch the early flight out of LAX. . . . LAX? She smiled weakly to herself as her roommate babbled on – no doubt she had picked up the acronym from one of the actors or the crew on the set. She hadn’t known previously that there were commonly used acronyms for airports, anymore than she had known, before leaving the valley, what a latte was, much less a venti caramel macchiato. Oh, how her new friends on the set had laughed when she finally discovered, after having a venti caramel macchiato every day for a week, that it had caffeine in it. Caffeine! She wasn’t supposed to have caffeine! Like the Mormons, the Obadites eschewed all caffeine and alcohol. If God dwells within you, then your body is His temple, and every Lamb knew the words from the children’s song in Little Lamb School: “We must keep His temple clean, pure and holy in His sight – ” In her prayers that night, she had dutifully repented, but despite her efforts she couldn’t bring herself to feel terribly guilty about the caffeine. It had been an honest mistake.

  What hadn’t been a mistake was accepting the venti caramel macchiato offered to her by the assistant director the next morning. It tasted just as good as when she had been unaware of its chemical composition, and it certainly perked her up, helping her study her lines and rehearse her scenes. She was confident God would want her to be able to do her work as well as possible, and if a venti caramel macchiato helped her do that, then surely God wouldn’t mind too much. Why, He might even approve! There were Christians of other denominations on the set who drank coffee and sodas and energy drinks with caffeine in them, and they were all such genuinely nice, talented, good-hearted people – if odd in their own ways. She couldn’t wrap her mind around God sending them all to burn in Hell over a little something that didn’t seem to hurt any of them in the least. The caffeine certainly hadn’t hurt her at all, from what she could tell.

  What was hurting her presently was the effort to stay upright, awake, and engaged as Melanie babbled on. What Skye wouldn’t do for a venti caramel macchiato about now. . . . There were no coffee shops anywhere on the Church’s side of the river, of course, but there was the coffee shop on the plaza. . . . Now, it was just a little fantasy, the Devil tempting her when she was weak. If she were ever seen in the valley with a caffeinated beverage – ! She couldn’t even imagine the consequences. She certainly didn’t want to. So many people looked up to her to set a good example, a perfect example, though why it was so, she had never known. Brother Lundquist would be heartbroken. He would have to work so hard to contain his anger and hurt. It was unthinkable, really. She’d never dream of doing such a thing, and that the thought had even crossed her mind was totally unacceptable and shameful and, yes, a sin – she was too tired, too weak, too susceptible to temptation. She steeled herself and pushed the thought away, praying in her mind for strength –

  “. . . and, Sister Skye, how is it that the Lord just keeps making you more and more beautiful every day? Oh, there are the days when I could just pray to have your hair and your eyes so that someone other than that pimply ol’ Rich Stiggler would look at me. But they say the Lord God blesses us all differently. I just don’t know how it is that you could have any of a thousand boys if you wanted them, but you still don’t have a single one. There are days when I can just see the Lord’s spirit shining forth from you, and it’s just like a holy light around you. I don’t know for what purpose He put you on this earth, Sister Skye, or what great things He has in store for you, but I just feel so blessed that you’re here and we’re all so glad you’re back. We’ve all missed you so much. Sister Tina has been standing in for you at Passion rehearsal, and she’s okay at it, I guess – she tries real hard – but she can’t possibly play Mary anywhere near as well as you do. Of course she knows she’s just standing in, but she keeps forgetting her lines and losing her place, even when the script is right there in her hands. I don’t think God ever intended Sister Tina to be on a stage in front of everybody. Do you know that Rich Stiggler even tried to kiss me the other day behind the choir risers when no one was looking? I’m surely not sure I can blame you for not having a boyfriend. It was weird, I mean really weird, but kind of nice, nice but in a weird kind of way, you know – ”

  Skye nodded and smiled, patiently awaiting an opening. Knowing Melanie, she might go on for another five or ten minutes before asking a question or taking a break for a breath, but Skye needed to find a way to interrupt and request some quiet time so that she could rest for a few minutes. It was late morning and maybe she would be allowed to nap just a little before lunch. That would be glorious. She had promised Brother Lundquist that she would come and see him first thing upon her return, but surely, hopefully, he could wait until early afternoon.

  She decided she could keep listening while reclining. Slipping off her shoes and arranging them neatly next to the bed, she let herself lie back, making an effort to maintain eye contact with her roommate as her head came to rest on the pillow. Hopefully Melanie would get the hint.

  The children had been so sweet that morning. Twenty-five or thirty of them had gathered on the Church’s side of the bridge, excused from class for long enough to greet the van bringing her from the airport. Some were holding handmade “Welcome Home” signs. Some were waving palm fronds gathered from the Church’s arboretum. She insisted the driver stop so that she could get out and greet them, hugging and kissing as many as wanted to be hugged and kissed, promising that as soon as time allowed, after Passion perhaps, she would come to the school and answer all their questions about her adventure.

  The palm fronds had reminded her of the palm trees along the beach in southern California, the beach where, only the night before, she had walked with the enigmatic, strikingly handsome film star under the warm moonlight, the surf washing away their footprints, where Cory Vaughn himself had reached for her hand as they strolled. . . .

  * * *

  The persistent knocking woke her. She checked the clock on her desk. It was one-thirty. Melanie was gone. The fatigue in her veins pinned her to the bed. She squinted against the afternoon sun streaming in through the blinds of the window.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  “Skye, it’s me,” a male voice answered impatiently.

  “Me who?”

  She could almost hear his sullen huff.

  “May I come in?”

  She pried herself off the bed and looked in the mirror. Her blouse and skirt were wrinkled. She had removed her makeup in the airplane lavatory. Obadite girls didn’t wear makeup, or jewelry either, for that matter – but she had been required to wear a little of both for the part in the movie. She had grown accustomed to leaving the makeup on between scenes, and then leaving it on when she ventured off set, and then when eating out with the cast and crew around
town. She wondered what Brother Lundquist would say if he ever saw her like that. Of course, he would see her like that soon, up close and personal on the big screen, but he would have to remember that he agreed to her submitting to whatever was required for the role; after all, she wasn’t playing an Obadite girl in the film – a generic Christian girl, yes, but not specifically Obadite.

  Skye had never really needed makeup, she was told, even for the camera, being blessed with a healthy complexion, defined lips, long dark lashes, and a natural blush in her cheeks. It was her eyes that people usually noticed. They were wide set and large, turned down at the nose and up at the temples, with clear, bright whites and deep brown irises that sparkled and shone. The makeup artist on the set was convinced she was at least part Persian. To Skye, they were just her eyes.

  She combed her fingers through her auburn curls. Fortunately, she hadn’t been asked to cut her hair – she was certain Brother Lundquist would have drawn the line at that. She missed its extra fullness and impertinence from when she was near the sea. For a moment, she wondered if the young man waiting in the hall would have noticed the difference – straighter or curlier – and if so, which he would prefer.

  “Come in, Simon.”

  Simon Paulson, light boned and almost anemically fair skinned, had thick black hair and high, prominent cheekbones; his thin lips were ruddier than those of most men; his brown-black eyes smoldered whenever he felt passionately about something, as he usually did. They were smoldering when he saw Skye again for the first time in months.

  “I was afraid you might have changed,” he said.

  “Have I?”

  He looked away, his gaze falling on her bed, on the impression left on the rumpled bedspread, on the indented pillow where her head had been. He looked away to examine the corners of the room.

  “Where’s your chaperone, Simon?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “There wasn’t anyone at the desk. It’s okay though.” Male visitors were allowed in the girls’ dorm of the Bible college only under strict rules, and during limited daylight hours. Given Simon’s position as Assistant Youth Minister, he wasn’t required to have a chaperone, but she had never known him not to observe the rule when possible, as he always conducted himself above any possible suspicion. He certainly wouldn’t close the door if he entered the room.