A New Eden

by Quent Cordair

  “Biloba, you were gone too long. But now you are here.”

  “Do you have a name for her yet, Amuma?”

  “Not yet. I was hoping you could help me with that. You’ve always been so good with the naming.”

  “I’ll have to wait to see her face, of course.”

  Eileen pinched off a lump of clay from the virgin block on the table and handed it to Skye, who brought it to her nose, pressing her fingers and thumb into its pliable softness. She breathed in the elemental earthiness.

  “I’ve so missed this. . . .”

  Eileen smiled. “Have you been practicing your drawing, Biloba?”

  “Yes, Amuma, of course.” Skye dug into her purse and handed over a small sketch pad. Eileen leafed through it, stopping to study each figure and face. “I had plenty of time to sketch, between takes and scenes on the set. Most of these are of the actors and crew. Those two are of the director. The little cat wandered onto the set one day and stayed. One of the grips named her Grace, after an actress named Grace Kelly. Have you heard of her?”

  “Oh goodness, yes. She was delightful, so beautiful, elegant. A real movie star, that one. She married a real prince and became the Princess of Monaco. You’ve never seen any of her films?”

  “Amuma, you know we can’t watch movies – not those kinds of movies anyway, only the family-friendly ones in the campus theatre.”

  Eileen sighed. “I forget sometimes.”

  “It’s okay. Do you think you might be able to attend the premiere of my movie, though? They’re hoping it will be ready by December. It would mean so much to me to have you there – but only if you feel okay to travel, of course. You are okay, aren’t you, Amuma? Please tell me you’re okay. Max said that you wouldn’t tell him what’s wrong and that you checked out of the hospital earlier than the doctors wanted you to.”

  “There was no point going through more bother and expense. I very much dislike hospitals. And that Max needs to mind his own business.”

  “But you are his business, Amuma. You know how much he loves you, how much we all love you. Especially me. If anything were to happen to you – ” She lifted her fingers to the bruised bump on Eileen’s forehead, caressing around it but not touching it.

  Eileen patted and rubbed Skye’s arms. “It was just a little thing, dear. It was just a moment. And, of course, I wouldn’t miss the premiere of your movie, if I’m invited. I’m fine, really. But none of us lives forever, you know. We all have to face that reality eventually.”

  “But we do live forever, either in heaven or in . . . in. . . .”

  “I know that’s what you’re taught. That’s what your Bible says. But if there were a heaven, do you think I would go there?”

  “Of course you would, Amuma! Of course.”

  “Even if I don’t believe in God? Even if I haven’t done all the things Brother Lundquist says one must do to go to heaven?”

  “Well . . . Well – I don’t care! Somebody will just have to make an exception. I’ll insist on it. I’ll put my foot down. I can be very persuasive, you know.”

  Eileen chuckled. “Yes – yes, you can, my dear. But let’s not be worrying our heads over tomorrow when we have this beautiful day to share.”

  She returned her attention to the sketchbook. Skye was working the lump of clay into the form of a kitten.

  “Your drawing is coming along so nicely,” Eileen said. “You’re more confident, your line is getting much better, the shading is more nuanced, you’re minding your range of values. These are quite good, Skye. I really like the emphasis you gave to the mouth and eyes of this handsome young man. You have more than a few drawings of him here. He looks familiar. . . .”

  “That’s one of the actors. The lead actor actually. He’s pretty famous, I’m told.”

  “I’m sure I’ve seen him on TV, in a trailer for a movie. Maybe on a talk show. His name is Rory or – Cory. Yes, Cory something.”

  “Cory Vaughn.”

  “That’s it – Cory Vaughn. Well, goodness, you’ve been working with a pretty famous actor then. And, my, I do mean pretty. You two became acquainted on the set then?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. He’s very nice. Quite charming.”

  “Only charming? I’m not sure how any young man, famous or not, wouldn’t simply fall over in love with you at first sight.”

  “You’re sweet, Amuma, but I don’t think Cory Vaughn fell in love with me. I think he may have been expecting me to fall in love with him. Apparently most girls do.”

  “They fall into something, I’m sure. But you have a better head on you than most.”

  “Besides, he’s not even Christian, much less Flock. I couldn’t possibly date him, even if I wanted to.”

  Having reached the blank pages at the back of the sketchbook, Eileen returned to several of the studies. “I’m sure you’ll want to resume your lessons now that you’re home.”

  “Oh, absolutely! That is, well, as soon as I can.”

  “When do think that might be?”

  Skye sighed deeply. “This coming week is Passion, of course. Then I have to fly back to Los Angeles for another week or so of filming. Then we’ll be working on the soundtrack in a recording studio. As soon as I get back, the choir will be recording our annual album – Brother Flynn wants me in two solos and a duet this year. We should be finished by mid-June or so. And through it all, I have to keep up with my school work for this final semester, and then after graduation, the agent wants me back in L.A. to read for another role. I don’t know if I’m still expected to go on tour with the children’s choir again this summer. I’m busier and busier, it seems.”

  “I see. Are you enjoying the acting then, more than your art?”

  “Oh no! I mean, the acting is interesting, challenging. It’s rewarding in its own right. But we do so little actual acting, Amuma – most of the time we’re just sitting around waiting for the next shot to be set up, or for the sun to come back out from behind the clouds, or to go back behind the clouds, or for it to set, or for someone else’s scene to be finished.”

  “What about your singing?”

  “I really enjoy the singing too, of course. I’ll always sing. But as much as I love singing, it’s still performing someone else’s creation. For me, there’s just nothing like making the original art myself, from scratch. I’m writing some songs of my own now. That helps.”

  “I’d certainly like to hear them sometime.”

  “Oh, I’d love to sing them for you. But when we start with my art lessons again, can we work more with live models? Maybe Max would be willing to sit for us again? I think I could do a much better job with him now. He has such a fascinating, beautiful face.”

  “He hates sitting still for even a minute, you know. But maybe if you ask him. He’ll do just about anything for you, I think.”

  “Max is such a sweetheart.”

  Eileen chuckled. “You might be the only person on earth who thinks so.”

  “Oh, I know what he’s really like beneath all that gruff and bluster, and I know that you do too, Amuma.”

  Eileen returned her smile. “Speaking of handsome men, you just missed Aaron. He came by with Ian this morning. He asked about you.”

  Skye’s fingers stopped working the clay. She set the kitten down on the edge of a shipping crate and lifted herself up to sit next to it, her feet dangling.

  “How is he, Amuma?”

  “Better than ever, by the looks of him. He just got back yesterday from another trip. He said he hasn’t heard from you in quite a while.”

  “Well, how am I supposed to – ? It’s not as though I heard from him the whole time I was in L.A. either. What does he expect me to do?”

  “He didn’t say he expected anything. Aren’t you two still friends?”

  A wistful look came into Skye’s eyes. “We never see each other anymore, Amuma.”

  “You can’t text him or call him?”

  “The new Flock phones only connect with o
ther Flock phones – the same as our computers.”

  “Well, that’s a pity. You might have borrowed someone’s phone in L.A. Or you could use my phone now, if you’d like. Or you could write him a letter.”

  “Or he could write me.”

  Eileen shook her head. “So, you two are just going to go your separate ways for the rest of your lives?”

  “It’s already happening, Amuma. But what can we do? Do you think maybe he would come to church with me if I asked?”

  Eileen raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t know about that, Biloba, but it might start an interesting conversation. Maybe you could ask him and see what he says.”

  “I’ve so missed you. I’ve missed talking with you. There’s really no one else – ”

  Outside, the dogs had started barking angrily over raised male voices. Skye glanced at her watch.

  “Oh, gosh! I have to go. And I only just got here. Brother Lundquist – ” She jumped up and gave Eileen a quick hug. “Oh, I hate this. I’ll be back as soon as I can – after Passion, or . . . But I guess it won’t be until – ” Her face fell. “I’ll come again as soon as I can, Amuma, I promise. Just, please, promise me you’re going to be okay.”

  “I’m always okay, Biloba. It’s you I worry about.”

  Skye straightened, her eyes widening. “Me? But whatever for?”

  Eileen set her tools aside and carefully wiped her hands clean on her apron. She turned and took Skye by the shoulders, searching the girl’s face. She said, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?”

  Skye was startled, frightened even. For a moment, it was as though she didn’t know Eileen Vasari at all. The words had come from a place Skye hadn’t seen before. The last thing she ever would have expected out of Eileen Vasari was biblical scripture. “I don’t understand, Amuma. . . .”

  “That was the question God put to Saul when he stopped him with the blinding light on the road to Damascus.”

  “Yes, I know the story, of course, but why would you ask that of me? Am I hurting you in some way? Please tell me it isn’t so, Amuma. I surely would never – ”

  “Saul was on his way to Damascus, to persecute the Christians.”

  “Yes, but I would never harm a Christian! Or anyone else for that matter.”

  “Not even the most important Christian?”

  “Brother Lundquist? But I love Brother Lundquist! I could never do anything – ”

  “I’m sure Cole Lundquist already suffers a great deal on your account, but no, not Cole Lundquist.”

  “Who then? Who else could I be hurting?”

  “You, my love. You.”

  Skye was confused. She looked as lost as a child in the woods. “Me?”

  “Mind the road that you’re on, Skye Emberly, and what’s at the road’s end.”

  “I . . . I’ll try, Amuma.”

  There was no time for more. Skye kissed Eileen’s cheek, squeezed her hands and, pausing to scoop up the clay kitten, hurried out with it.

  When she had gone, Eileen said quietly to the door, “Trying won’t be enough, my love. I think it’s going to take everything you’ve got. Maybe more.”

  There was palpable tension in front of the barn. A white SUV, the standard model used by the Angels, was pulled up tightly behind the van. Gideon Cane, in his black uniform, was arguing heatedly with Max, who was threatening to get his shotgun if the young man didn’t remove himself from the property. Jonathon stood nearby, hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably. Professor Grant, in jeans and a rumpled t-shirt, watched the proceedings through the cracked door of his cottage, unnoticed by all but Skye.

  Skye slipped between Max and Gideon. She gave Max a farewell hug and, at Gideon’s insistence, climbed into the SUV without argument. As they drove down the drive, past the cottage, she caught the professor’s eye. She raised her hand to wave, but he was already closing the door.

  * * *

  “Brother Lundquist was worried about you.” Gideon’s tone was as cool as the air blowing from the SUV’s vents. He had glanced at Skye only once, briefly, at Eileen’s.

  “It’s nice to see you again too, Gideon.” She checked the rearview mirror to ensure Jonathon was following. “There was no reason to be worried about me. I’m still allowed to be off campus, am I not?”

  He didn’t respond. It was as if she hadn’t spoken. She shivered. “Would you mind turning the air down a little please?”

  He did nothing for several moments before reaching over and turning the air off completely.

  She took in the scattered wild lilies blooming among the grasses on the side of the road. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Where else would you have gone?”

  His reply had sounded neutral enough, but she knew him too well. She had heard the accusative exasperation. “You could have come in, you know,” she said. “Amuma would have enjoyed seeing you again.”

  He readjusted his grip on the steering wheel and concentrated on the traffic at the intersection at The Sophia. He turned left into Old Town. Skye shifted tack, lightening, brightening.

  “So – how are the preparations for Passion coming along? I hear we’re expecting higher attendance than ever this year. The Angels must be busy.”

  But for the remainder of the journey she received no further acknowledgment.

  Communicating with Gideon had always required patient prying and nurturing on her part, even when they were children, but gone were the days when he would open up to her. His defenses were becoming impregnable.

  She wasn’t giving up on him though.

  * * *

  To the best of anyone’s memory, the drive through rows of arched elms leading up to the parsonage had always been laid in white gravel. As one of the iconic views of the Church campus, featured in many of the publications and videos over the years, it was unlikely ever to be paved over. Skye wouldn’t have changed it. The crunch of gravel beneath the tires, through the dappled shade of the elms, always evoked the powerful presence at the lane’s end. The parsonage itself seemed part of the man, an extension of his body and spirit, not merely the structure in which he lived. To Skye, the reverend had always seemed larger than his home. As always, her heart beat a little faster as they approached.

  A sober two-story affair painted in white with black trim, the parsonage had been built in the muted Italianate style common in the 1860s. The overhanging eaves of its low-pitched roof were bracketed and corniced. A dignified, balustraded balcony extended over the porch, wrapping the front and north sides. A covered walk led from a side door to the adjacent chapel, painted all in white. The chapel’s twelve sturdy rows of uncushioned benches had accommodated the congregation through the Flock’s first half-century. While nearly all services were now held in the cavernous cathedral nearby – only weddings, funerals, and the occasional Elders’ meeting were still conducted in the original sanctuary – the unbroken tradition of the chapel bell calling the devout to worship remained. Both parsonage and chapel were listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

  Gideon accompanied Skye into the parsonage, close at her elbow. He hadn’t laid a hand on her, but she felt he might if for any reason she should try to turn around. Of course she had no reason to turn around. She was escorted up the staircase, into the pastor’s office and to the front of the broad glass-topped desk before Gideon took his leave to wait with Jonathon on the bench in the hall.

  The reverend was working in longhand on a manuscript. Skye waited silently, knowing not to interrupt. He finished the paragraph before looking up to study the girl standing before him.

  “Sister Skye. You’re home.”

  It was matter-of-fact – too much so. She could tell he was upset. She wanted to go to him, to throw her arms around him, to hold him, to have him hold her – but no one embraced Brother Lundquist and Brother Lundquist embraced no one. It just wasn’t done. Still, she thought, she might try someday.

  “Yes, sir. It’s good to be home, sir. I would ha
ve come earlier, but I had to visit a friend who’s been ill. You look well, sir. Is Sister Isaacs feeding you properly? I can see she’s better at dusting and cleaning around here than Sister Mayweather ever was, but Sister Isaacs has never had much of a reputation for her cooking, you know, and if I had to choose between good cleaning and good cooking for you, I should think that – ”

  “Thank you for your concern, Skye.” He had cut her off. “Sister Isaacs’ cooking is adequate. Besides, to quote the Prophet, bathem, the pleasures of the palate are the gateway to gluttony. As I see it, God in His grace has blessed me with Sister Isaacs as a shield against temptation.” He exhaled audibly, allowing himself to appreciate his own cleverness for a moment. “Speaking of gluttony, I should revisit that subject in a sermon again soon. I’ve noticed a number of the Flock appear to have increased in girth over the winter.”

  He had meant to scold her. He resolved to remain at least stern. As it had ever been, it was nearly impossible for him to remain cross with the girl when in her presence.

  “Please sit down, Skye.”

  She sat in one of the two chairs facing the desk. She set the clay kitten on the corner of the desk, turning it to face him, waiting for a smile.

  He noted the object but shuffled through the pages in front of him. His eye fell on an imperfect passage – he picked up his pen, crossed through the phrase and jotted a new phrase above, along with a note in the margin.

  “Have you finished tomorrow’s sermon, sir?”

  He set the pen down, set the papers aside and neatened the stack. Leaning back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, he intertwined his fingers, forefingers raised together in a steeple.

  “I’m working on the next book. This chapter is on laboring for the Lord. Speaking of which, I’ve received nothing but glowing reports on your work in Los Angeles. The producer seems quite optimistic that the film could be a commercial and critical success.”

  “Oh? That’s good, isn’t it?” The way he was studying her face, she worried momentarily that perhaps she hadn’t removed all of the makeup, but she didn’t dare check the little mirror in her purse. Vanity was even worse a sin than gluttony.