The Virtue of Sin Read online

  To calm myself, I think about what Daniel would say.

  He would tell me to keep faithful. That we are the chosen, the Children of Daniel. That Aaron isn’t a stranger, he is my Brother, in the way we are all Brothers and Sisters of God. And now, he is also my husband.

  Aaron is silent, maybe from the pain. Or maybe he’s asking God for forgiveness. It’s a little late for that. I turn my back on him. My mother’s eyes are shut, too, but her lips are moving. She is praying. I take her hands, and her eyelids flutter open.

  “You need to watch over him tonight. If you see signs of—”

  “This is a mistake,” I interrupt, the words finally free. I grip her hands as tight as I can. “I can’t stay here. Help me fix this before . . .” I don’t finish. We both know what “before” is.

  “There are no mistakes.” She starts to hum a song she used to sing when I was a child, about love giving us strength to try “once more,” whatever that means. I don’t plan to try at all.

  Maybe she understands, because she squeezes my hand quickly and releases it. Takes a deep breath. Straightens her back. “This is a sign, Miriam. God must have wanted this union.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Only He can answer that. You must get down on your knees and ask Him.”

  “Mother, wait. I have to know. Did you . . . you and Father. Did you know he was going to choose you?”

  She pinches her lips together and looks down at the floor. Her face is a mixture of warring emotions—love and anger; fear and resolve. Without meeting my gaze, she nods, once, and then she is gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

  I don’t know when I’ll see her again, or if I’ll be able to forgive her when I do.

  She knew. Just like I did. The difference is that she was right, and I was wrong. She married the man she knew she belonged with. I have married . . . someone else. I stand for a long time with my hand pressed against the door. When I turn, Aaron is still lying on the couch, dark eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks.

  “Why did you choose me?” It’s a reasonable question. I’ve earned the right to ask. I’m his wife, after all. But my words come out pointed and sharp, and his eyes fly open.

  He shrinks back into the couch so I have to lean forward to hear him. Even so, I can hardly believe what he says.

  “I was late. And I panicked.” He looks away toward the window, which holds no view at night, only our distorted reflections. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s been nice to me.”

  His stupid answer only fuels my anger. “Nice? You picked me because I was nice? What about God? Your dreams? Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?” I don’t actually know how it’s supposed to work. But Caleb’s messages . . . he dreamt of me. And I of him. That must mean something.

  Aaron plucks at the textured fabric of the armrest. “I never thought . . .” He leans forward and digs his knuckles into the corners of his eyes. “I screwed up. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

  “What ‘way’ was it supposed to happen?”

  “You saved me back in the desert. With the snake. I had to choose, and your name just popped out. I’m sorry I messed up your plans.”

  “My plans?” I ask. “As if my marriage, my . . . my future were just an outing I’d been looking forward to and had to cancel?” I pound my hands against my thighs until they ache, though it’s nothing compared to the pain in my heart. “You need to undo this. In the morning, you must go to Daniel and tell him you’ve made a mistake.”

  Aaron drops his head into his hands, and his shoulders shake. At first I think he’s crying, but when he looks up he is laughing. “God, Miriam. Do you really think it’s that easy?”

  “It has to be. There has to be a way.”

  “Tell Daniel I messed up.” He swallows convulsively. “Does he strike you as a forgiving kind of guy?”

  “God forgives. Daniel leads us to repentance. We need a firm hand to guide us, not a soft one.”

  “Well, soft is definitely not a word I’d use to describe him. Harsh, maybe? Punitive?”

  “He is the Prophet, reborn. Who are you to insult him?”

  Aaron tilts his head to the side, as if he can’t grasp what I’m saying. As if I’m the strange one. “The prophet Daniel. Like in the Bible.” He makes a choking sound deep in his throat. “How do you know that? Because he told you? Where’s his proof?”

  “He doesn’t need proof!” I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry before. I clench my fists and back away until I bump up against the bathroom door. There’s nowhere else to go. I’m trapped, married to a man I don’t know, a man who blasphemes our Leader as easily as he might talk about the weather.

  “Keep your foot elevated,” I finally say. “If it looks like the redness is spreading, you may need to have it amputated.”

  Then I leave him alone in our living room with his swollen foot and his empty apologies. I won’t speak to him again tonight, and I surely won’t share a bed with him. But since married women are allowed to speak, I refuse to waste the privilege any longer. I take my Bible into the bathroom and turn to Song of Songs.

  “‘On my bed by night I sought him whom my soul loves; I sought him, but found him not.’” I read aloud until my voice goes hoarse and the night sky turns a dusky gray, the stars fading into oblivion.

  5

  CALEB

  Two guards are waiting as I exit the tunnel. Abraham, Aaron’s father, steps in front of me when I turn toward the dormitory.

  “The apartments are for married couples,” he says.

  He’s shorter than me, but solid. The faint scar across his cheek is evidence of at least a passing knowledge of violence. He’s one of the few men here I don’t think I could beat in a fight, though tonight I’m itching to try.

  Maybe he can tell, because he grabs a gun from the wall and holsters it. The other man, Thomas, points his flashlight at me. “Daniel says you’re to go to the Council House.”

  It makes sense. It’s where Daniel lives, along with Phoebe, the only other unmarried person in the community.

  “Caleb.” My mother’s soft voice is the last I expected to hear. She’s standing in the shadow of the guard shack, near the road. My youngest brother, Matthew, is perched on her hip, his sleeping face buried in the curve of her neck. The others must still be at the celebration.

  “Mother.” I don’t want her here to witness my act of defiance. While she would never punish me—that is Father’s duty—her disappointment will almost be worse.

  “Let’s go.” Thomas waves the flashlight toward the road. “I’ll take you.”

  “Of course.” Mother bows her head and turns to follow, but falters when I don’t move.

  “I know the way.” I’m keeping my temper in check, but just barely. “And I don’t need an escort. I’m a member of the Security Council. Just like you.”

  “Are you, though?” Thomas asks.

  Matthew squirms in Mother’s arms, and she shushes him as she shoots a nervous glance between Thomas and me.

  I stand taller, careful not to let them see my fear. The boys were all assigned their Vocational Duties last week. Tonight was to be the official announcement, but that’s just a formality. My marital status has nothing to do with my job on the Security Council. Does it?

  Abraham claps Thomas on the shoulder. “I think they’ll be all right.”

  Thomas glares at me as he flicks the flashlight off and on and then off again. Finally, he shrugs off Abraham’s hand. “Fine. Go on, then.”

  I should be grateful to Abraham, but I’m not. Most of this is his fault. He brought his family here, after all. He’s also the one responsible for the new apartments, along with all the added work and the renovations that followed. Sure, Daniel had already been concerned about where the newly married couples were going to live. Abraham wasn’t even the f
irst to suggest that we renovate the old motel. But he was willing to do more than talk, and that lit a fire under the Council. Soon after the vote to accept his family, we received deliveries of paint and lumber, along with a new van to haul it all.

  Miriam is probably in one of those apartments, right now. With a man who isn’t me. I scan the terrace, and the lighted windows beyond, aching for a glimpse of her. Until Abraham clears his throat. When I look back, Thomas has gone inside the shack, but Aaron’s father is standing in the doorway. Watching me.

  “Caleb,” Mother calls softly.

  She starts down the road and I follow, feeling Abraham’s gaze on my back long after we’re out of sight.

  We pass the now-darkened Medical Shed and the Gymnasium and the Kitchen before Mother speaks. “Why did you do it?” she asks. “You can’t live on your own. Without a wife. Who will take care of you?”

  Her voice seems unnaturally loud in the empty streets, but it can’t be, because Matthew doesn’t stir. Still, I hear the admonishment. In what she says, and in what she doesn’t. How could you be so foolish? Why would you make a decision like this without thinking it through? What did you think would happen?

  “I don’t know,” I mumble, kicking a chunk of rock, and then another. She wouldn’t understand, even if I were allowed to tell her about the dreams, about the hours spent in prayer with Daniel, waiting for a sign from God. The farther into the city we go, the more alone I feel, which makes no sense. Mother and Matthew walk beside me. We’re inside the gates, safe. Headed to Daniel’s house, the holiest of places. Usually, the thought of Daniel is enough to calm me.

  Not tonight.

  It’s like there is an invisible rope pulling at me, tugging me back toward the apartments. To Miriam. It’s so strong, I know that if I follow it, I will be able to find her. I want, no, I need to see her.

  It would be so easy to go back. To find Aaron. Punch him. There’s a physical pain inside me that won’t be appeased until I do. But Daniel ordered me to the Council House. He must want to talk to me. I should do the right thing and keep walking there, all the way up the path. It’s the wrong thing that got me here.

  Mother stops at the walkway leading to the Farmhouse and turns to me. “Come inside. Let me make you something to eat. Daniel will understand, won’t he?”

  Part of me wants nothing more than to run up to the Farmhouse, just like normal. Follow Mother inside. Let her make me tea and brown-sugar toast.

  But I don’t belong here anymore.

  “Thank you,” I say, kissing her cheek. “But Daniel is expecting me. I shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

  “I know,” she says. “It’s just . . .” She blinks back tears. “This path you’re on . . . can you really make it on your own?”

  Past the barns and grazing pasture, the path to Daniel’s house winds steep and potentially hazardous in the dark. But this isn’t the path she’s talking about.

  “I’ll be fine.” I turn away so the darkness hides my lying face. “You go on home. Put Matthew to bed.” And because I’m a man now, she does what I say.

  * * *

  • • •

  The Council House is Daniel’s home, a three-story, gleaming white building topped with a domed roof. It sits on a hill in the far corner of the city, opposite the front gates, so that he can keep watch over the whole community.

  I stop to catch my breath at the bottom of the steps. The pillars stretching above me always make me feel small. They represent the angels from Daniel’s visions, the ones who urged him to lead his followers away from sin and depravity. The dome on top is an almost perfect sphere. It’s left over from the first settlers, who used it for something called radio, which Daniel says is an ancient technology no longer in use. Marcus says it reminds him of a soap bubble, but Daniel likened it to the firmament in Genesis and so built his house around it.

  I push open the tall doors and step into the dark foyer. I’ve never been here at night. Only during the day, when sunlight streams through the tall windows and shines on the marbled floor. Now, everything is black. Even when I flip the light switch, shadows still blanket the staircase that climbs the wall to the second- and third-floor balconies.

  Abraham told me to come here, but he didn’t tell me what to do next. What would make Daniel angrier? Waiting for instruction? Or taking initiative and choosing my own room? Be a man, they said. So I will.

  The first floor is taken up by Council business in the left wing and Daniel’s personal rooms on the right. There is a small kitchen in the back. I climb the staircase. The second floor is where Phoebe lives, alongside several other unoccupied rooms. I’m not sure it’s appropriate to share a floor with her, but taking a room on the third floor, so far from Daniel, feels cowardly, and I can’t give in to fear. I’ve already given up too much. I choose an empty bedroom to the left of the staircase, separated from Phoebe by the balcony that runs the full width of the foyer. That should be acceptable.

  It’s furnished with only a bed and a desk, which don’t offer much distraction. I circle the plain room, muscles tense. What I need is to move, to push myself, to feel the burn as I struggle against the weight machine. That struggle I know I can win. I’ve worked hard to hone my body, though as Daniel reminds me, my strength is a necessity and a gift from God and should never be viewed with prideful eyes. It doesn’t matter tonight; my weights are back at the Farmhouse.

  I drop to my knees on a threadbare rug and begin a set of push-ups. I try to lose myself in the rhythm, but the blankness won’t come. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in the cave. The flickering light, the bodies pressed tightly together.

  Newcomer. Must. Choose. First.

  Each word a thought. Each thought a hard, upward thrust.

  Why?

  Don’t. Question. Daniel’s. Word.

  But. Aaron. Is. Late.

  Then. Marcus.

  He pushes his way to the front. Climbs the podium. Takes the microphone.

  Even from far in the back, hidden in the shadowy pit near the ladder, I can tell by the set of my brother’s shoulders that something isn’t right. When he says Susanna’s name, Daniel moves forward. As if to stop him.

  My arms cramp. I’ve lost count. Forty? Forty-five? I keep going, keep pushing on. Marcus has loved Susanna forever. Surely God knows that. So why did Daniel seem surprised? Speaking your wife’s name is the first step. Pronouncement. Marriage. Consummation. It’s the only Path to Righteousness.

  My arms go slack.

  I should be starting down my own Path tonight. With Miriam. Instead, Aaron has somehow laid claim to her. So I’m here, alone. Unmarried. What will happen to me? Will my name be stricken from the Book? Somewhere on the other end of the city, Miriam is lying in a strange apartment. In a bed just like mine. With Aaron.

  That thought pushes me to my feet. I want to break something, to hurt something. Feel something other than this twist in my gut that’s like a tight muscle I can’t loosen.

  “Caleb. The disciple whom I love.”

  Daniel’s voice interrupts my thoughts. He stands at the door, and my heart swells, edging out a little of the anger. No admonition for the room choice. For once, I’ve made the right decision. And now he will make this better. The way he does everything. I may be imperfect, but he still loves me. He just said so.

  “What happened tonight?”

  He knows what happened. But he wants to hear it from me. “He must have misinterpreted . . . somehow.” I catch myself. Daniel interprets. It will do me no good at all if he thinks I’m laying blame at his feet. “Why would God send us dreams of the same woman?”

  “Misinterpreted? Are you suggesting for even a moment that he didn’t know exactly what he was doing? This was no accident. This was deliberate.”

  Deliberate? Why would he . . . ? “Are you saying he ignored God’s word? And chose Miriam instead . . . inst
ead of . . . ?”

  Daniel cocks his head. He does this in class sometimes, when one of us has said something very intelligent. Or very stupid. I have no idea which I’ve done.

  “You’re referring to Aaron.”

  “He chose Miriam. I was supposed to choose Miriam. You told me that was what my dreams meant.” The anger boils again, my skin going hot. I think I’m even madder than Daniel . . . Wait. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Are you suggesting,” he says, pressing his fingers together as he paces the room, “that somehow I am at fault here? When the rest of your Brothers and Sisters are happily married? While you and Delilah remain stubbornly unwed?” His peppered hair skims the collar of his purple ceremonial robes. He came here directly from the cave without stopping to change. I’m not sure if I’m flattered or terrified. “You claim that Aaron stumbled. But what about you? God spoke to you, did He not? Called on you to choose a wife? You yourself told me you were ready. Worthy. Yet when the moment came, you refused. Why do you see the speck in your Brother’s eye but not the log in your own?” His eyes blaze with something other than the fervor he usually carries. This looks a lot like rage, an emotion I know well. Maybe we’re not so dissimilar, Daniel and I.

  It shouldn’t surprise me, the swift shift of blame. I’ve seen him do it to others. I’ve watched my Brothers talk themselves into corners—and worse—too many times to defend myself now. I refused to name a wife only because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because the dream God sent me was of Miriam. And I couldn’t choose a woman who was someone else’s wife. Or a wife I couldn’t love.