The Virtue of Sin Page 7

  “If I knew, I would have already done it.” I dig my fingernails into my palms so I don’t bang them on the table. “This was your choice.” Your fault, I think but don’t say.

  He scrubs furiously at a pan, sloshing water onto the counter. “Don’t worry about it, okay? None of this matters. It isn’t real. It’s just, like, playacting.”

  “How can you say that? This is my life. My future.” I jump up from the chair. “I’m not supposed to be married to you.” The words are much harsher than I intend, but he deserves them.

  “Point taken.” He braces himself against the counter, his back to me. “What I meant was, just because Daniel says we’re married, that doesn’t mean we are. The state of California won’t recognize it.”

  “We aren’t governed by the state of California,” I say. “We govern ourselves.”

  He pounds his fist against his forehead and mutters something about brick walls.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Let’s try this. How old are you?”

  “Sixteen. And you?”

  “We’re both underage, then,” he says.

  “Sixteen-year-olds can marry with consent from their parents.” I watched my parents sign the form before the Matrimony, but hope blooms, full in my chest. “Did your parents not sign?”

  “No, they signed.” He tosses a sponge into the sink, and a handful of soap bubbles go flying. “So what are our options?” he asks. “You’ve lived here longer than me, but even I can tell Daniel is not the kind of guy who takes criticism well. So tell me. How did they undo the marriage the last time someone wanted out?”

  I watch the bubbles float gently into the wall and pop, one after another, as the reality of his words hits me. As far as I know, no marriage in New Jerusalem has ever been undone.

  7

  CALEB

  The sun is just rising when I finally give up on sleep. It peeks through my curtains, red and swollen with fury. I don’t blame it. Lighting the whole world has got to be one hell of a thankless job. Like how Daniel must feel most of the time, trying to bring us all Salvation.

  I shake the wrinkles out of my pants before putting them back on, but I can’t shake the questions I have about last night. God did call on me to choose a wife. Daniel isn’t wrong. But it was Miriam. It was always Miriam. Once I mentioned her in my dream journal, Daniel came to me. Together, we prayed for guidance. And then the Lord told him I was ready to choose. And I was. I am. Except Aaron took my wife. Why am I the only one who can see that something’s not right?

  My jaw aches from clenching, and when I get to the bathroom I have to massage it in order to get my toothbrush past my lips. Aaron is the one who misspoke. Aaron is the reason I am unmarried. But Daniel seemed more upset with me. I shudder when I remember his final words last night. There’s no room for the Faithless here. As if he looked into my head and saw my worst fear: to be sent out to wander the desert like an animal, as King Nebuchadnezzar was sentenced in the Bible. As far back as our community goes, only one person has ever been Banished. It happened before I was old enough to understand or remember, but I can’t imagine Daniel having been any more disappointed in her than he is in me.

  As Daniel suggested, I spent the night on my knees. I don’t feel like I received absolution, but I did get an idea. I’m going to confront Aaron. Make him tell me why he did this. He may think he loves Miriam. But it isn’t enough to want to be with a woman. God has to want it, too. Maybe this isn’t the way things work Outside. But he lives here now. Someone needs to remind him of that.

  Or it could be he doesn’t belong here anyway. Yes, we say that we accept Outsiders. People hear about Daniel and his teachings and they come to us, looking for the Path to Righteousness. Usually, it’s a single lost soul who’s been abandoned by everyone else. They are sometimes fervent in their wish to join, which makes sense. They’ve lived the horrors we’ve only heard about. But they are often found to be Unworthy, too tainted by sin for any hope of Salvation, and cannot become True Believers.

  Abraham and Sarah and Aaron were the first family to pass the scrutiny of the Church Council. Didn’t Daniel find this suspicious? I know my father did, at least until Abraham pledged his loyalty to Daniel and offered to get him everything he needed for the renovations of the old motel. After that, all it took was one vote of the Council, and it was unanimously decided to invite them into our fold.

  I spit into the sink and scrub my face with a wet cloth. It feels good to have a plan. I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to be strong. I exercised. I lifted. I increased my stamina. Four reps became eight, eight became twelve. And so it is with this. I’ll get Aaron’s confession. And I’ll take it to Daniel. Then he will see. I’m not Faithless. I’m the one following the word of God. I’m the one fighting for what is right. Not Aaron.

  Even Marcus would agree, and he’s usually the one cautioning me to keep my mouth shut. He’s smaller than me, but he’s smart. It used to drive me crazy, the way he’d sit in Bible Study, not speaking. Even when he knew the answers. And there I was, struggling to figure out what exactly Daniel expected me to learn from all of it. Like the story about God asking Abraham to sacrifice his son. Would he really have done it? How come when we talk about that story, we’re so focused on Abraham? What about the son? How did he feel? Did he understand? Or did he think his father had gone crazy? When I asked Marcus, he just told me, “A fool who keeps silent is considered wise.” And Marcus is wise, I’ll give him that.

  Because it’s so early, I don’t see anyone in the hallway or foyer when I leave my room. But from the steps of the Council House, I can see all of the city. Daniel told us that after the Matrimony we would see with new eyes. At the time, I thought he meant something about our duties as husbands. But I’m not married, and he’s still right. New Jerusalem looks smaller somehow today, as if the metal fence that surrounds us has been cinched tighter in the dark. Even the goats on the Farm have shrunk, tiny black ants that swirl and swarm toward the barn. It must be milking time.

  I take the path down the hill, slowing as I near the Farm. My father’s words come back sharp—You’re embarrassing me—and I wince. It’s not the first time he’s said it. And it shouldn’t bother me anymore. I’m a man now. I don’t need his approval.

  But my feet move toward the barn door anyway. Maybe if I explain it to him, he’ll realize why I couldn’t choose. He’ll understand that I was only trying to follow God’s word. And maybe—finally—he’ll respect me.

  I nearly run right into my mother as I push the side door open. Buckets in both hands, she holds her arms wide and takes a few steps back, trying to keep milk from sloshing onto her brown work skirt. “Caleb! What brings you out so early? Have you had breakfast? Isaiah and Matthew have already eaten, but there might be something left.”

  “Leave him be, Judith. He’s not your problem anymore,” Father says, slapping the rear end of a goat and sending it scurrying into the holding chute between the milking pen and the pasture.

  Though this was my home my whole life, until yesterday, he is quick to remind me I am no longer welcome here. I ignore him and the gnawing emptiness in my belly that my mother has somehow named before I can. “Let me get that for you.” I grab for the handle.

  “It’s her job,” Father says. “Unless you think she’s incapable?”

  Mother smiles wearily and hefts the buckets. “I’ll leave you men to talk.”

  Father turns his back and continues to herd the goats through the chute. Now that he’s rebuked me, he sees no need to further acknowledge my presence.

  I clear my throat. “I wanted to explain,” I say. “About last night. Aaron—”

  “Aaron? I don’t want to talk about Aaron.” He curls his lip. “I want to know what the hell you were thinking. Did you give no thought to the shame your choice would bring this family? And you’ve made Daniel incredibly upset.”


  I flinch in the face of his scorn. “Why do you assume this is my fault? I’m not the one who messed up!”

  Father kicks at the last of the goats, urging them through the holding pen and into the pasture. “All you had to do was say a name. Daniel talked you through the ceremony, what? A dozen times? Honestly.” He slams the gate and snaps the lock into place. “How did I raise a son so weak?”

  I rear back, the words as harsh as any physical punishment he could’ve doled out. “I’m not weak. You know how hard I’ve worked, the reps, the practice—”

  “I meant morally weak.” Father wipes his hands on a rag and tosses it at my chest.

  When I let it drop, he takes a quick step toward me.

  I flinch, an automatic response. But Father doesn’t strike me, just shakes his head in disgust and walks away.

  My body is throbbing with a rage so deep and so consuming, for a second I can’t breathe. Then I snap, howling out my pain and my anger. “I’m the weak one? I’m the disappointment? I’m your son!” I scream and I punch and I kick, gaining no satisfaction from the sound of the fence post splintering or the physical impact.

  “Caleb. Caleb!”

  I stop, leaning against a wooden beam to catch my breath.

  Mother reaches out a tentative hand, brushing a tear from my cheek. Then she looks down at my hands. Behind us, a goat bleats repeatedly.

  Mother turns, and with a small exclamation, hurries to the pen, where one straggling goat has been left behind. It quivers in the corner and sinks down into the dirt, as if witnessing my temper has exhausted it. Mother enters the pen, clucking soothing nonsense words until she can get close enough to gather the small animal in her arms.

  “Is it okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

  “He’s fine,” she whispers, rubbing his belly. Her eyes meet mine. “But son. Your anger . . .” She shakes her head. “You can’t let it get the best of you.”

  I close my eyes. She’s been telling me this for as long as I can remember. She could say the same to Father. But she never does.

  “You know I’m right. It scares me, the way it takes over.”

  “I’m fine.” I hold out my hands, palms down. “See? Only scratches.”

  “It’s not just you I worry about.” She buries her face in the goat’s neck, then sets it on wobbly legs and clicks her tongue until it bounds out into the pasture. “If you keep this up, you’re going to end up hurting someone you love.”

  My anger deflates as I watch her walk away, leaving me empty and wobbly. Just like the poor goat. The only difference is he has my mother to comfort him. I have no one.

  8

  MIRIAM

  WHOEVER SPREADS GOSSIP BETRAYS SECRETS; THE TRUSTWORTHY KEEP A CONFIDENCE.

  —Proverbs 11:13

  I attempt to tie my head scarf for the third time, then yank it off and stare at it in disgust. The same piece of fabric I used to wear around my neck with no problems now seems ridiculously small for the amount of hair I have. They should come in other sizes. Our shirts and skirts do, but that’s so we can wear them loose to keep from revealing too much of our shape. Apparently we don’t need the same consideration for our head coverings.

  When I hear Daniel’s voice, my heart flutters and drops to my stomach. I ball up the scarf and press it to my mouth to hold back the scream. The mirror above the sink reveals white knuckles, tumbleweed hair, and eyes shiny with fear. But what do I have to be afraid of? Aaron and I didn’t . . . do anything, last night. But Daniel doesn’t know that. And he doesn’t know I’ve dreamt of Caleb. Even if he did, it only proves I’m supposed to be with him. It’s a message from God. My reflection nods, mirror-Miriam looking much more confident than I feel. My mother used to sing me a song about the girl in the reflection being different from the one inside, and now I finally understand.

  I toss the scarf onto the back of the toilet.

  “New wives, the Lord has called you to Lessons. New wives, the Lord has called you. Report to Lessons.”

  It’s only the speaker, calling us to yet another obligation. Strange. My mother told me we wouldn’t have to go to Lessons the first few days after the Matrimony. For once, I wish she was right. I’m anxious to see Rachel and Delilah and find out who has chosen them, but I don’t know if I’m ready to face the rest of the girls, for them to know I’ve been given to the wrong husband.

  Am I the first woman to ever think this? Am I the only woman who believes this after last night? Perhaps this sort of suffering is commonplace among the Elders. But how could that be? That’s why we’re here, in New Jerusalem. Because it’s the only path to Salvation. To eternal happiness. We pray, and God answers.

  And what if Aaron prayed for you? Dreamt of you? a tiny voice whispers in my head. What then?

  I shake this thought loose. Only God knows how to make all His children happy. It isn’t for me to say. No matter if I think I know better.

  When I leave the bathroom, I notice the front door is open. I’m drawn toward the sun as it peeks over the mountains, warm tendrils of color slipping through rocky crevices. The scent of mildew mixed with butane wafts from the fountain in the middle of the lake, where the fire burns eternally in the bowl on top, even as the water flows around it. It’s a message, a reminder that evil exists, even in the midst of goodness.

  Aaron is standing on the balcony, a mug of something in his hands. When he sees me, he straightens and holds up the cup. “Can I get you some tea?”

  He’s naked. From the waist up, at least. “No.” I shake my head. “Thank you,” I add grudgingly. I wish he’d stop being nice to me, especially now that I know it’s just an act, a directive from his mother. But mostly, I want him to put on some clothes. “Where’s your shirt?”

  “It’s going to be a hot one,” he says, leaning his arms on the railing.

  I don’t want to talk about the weather. Daniel says idle chatter breeds sinful thoughts. Usually, he’s saying this to me. Is that why God wants me married to this Outsider? To show me where all my talking might lead?

  “That’s why you need a shirt. The heat’s much worse without it. The fabric absorbs your sweat, keeping your skin cooler. And it prevents your skin from burning. You’d know that . . .”

  “I do. Thanks, though. I appreciate your concern.”

  If you were one of us, I was going to say. But he isn’t, and if he doesn’t care, then I don’t either. Certainly not enough to worry about him. “I have to go to Lessons.”

  “I heard. That seems odd, doesn’t it?” He sips his tea, watching me over the rim. “Your mom said we wouldn’t have to.”

  “My mother isn’t a liar.”

  He widens his arms, and I have to look away from his body. “Hey, nobody’s calling anyone a liar. I just wondered why the sudden switch. Almost like Daniel’s making it up as he goes.”

  His constant criticism of our Leader is starting to grate. “Maybe he wouldn’t have to, if you hadn’t chosen so poorly.”

  Aaron winces and rubs his face. “Point taken. But listen. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be saying that to people. You could get us both in trouble.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  We both know this is a lie. He’s my husband. He can make me do almost anything. But he shrugs and ducks his head, as if agreeing. All part of his plan to charm me, I suppose.

  It isn’t going to work. I won’t listen to him. I’ll tell whomever I want about my mistake of a marriage.

  I grab my journal, wincing as I remember I never recorded any dream. Too late now. Maybe in the wake of last night’s excitement, Phoebe won’t bother to collect them today.

  I stomp down the stairs, following the paved path past the Lake of Fire and the courtyard, slowing behind some of my Sisters heading in the same direction. We’ve done this every day of our lives, except for the Lord’s days. Yet somehow, today
is different. Is it because we’re married now? Or walking from the apartments, instead of the family housing circle?

  In front of me, Leah and Eve bump hips, whispering and smiling, and I realize what has changed.

  They are happy.

  And suddenly a new thought barges in: Is one of them Caleb’s wife? I’ve been thinking this problem involves three of us—myself, Caleb, and Aaron. But there is a fourth. And I don’t even know who she is. Does she love him? Did she want him to choose her? Did she want to be married?

  And then another, more insidious question. Caleb left me messages that said he would choose me. But when Aaron called my name first and I was no longer a choice, he had to make a decision. How long had it taken him to utter another name? How many seconds before he replaced me?

  The questions make me dizzy, and I have to stop to catch my breath.

  “Miriam.” Rachel runs up behind me and links her arm through mine. Her dark hair is pulled back, a white scarf tied neatly around her curls. Married women must wear head coverings in public.

  I clutch at my own bare head.

  Rachel smiles. “Miriam, Miriam. How did I know you would forget?” She reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out an extra scarf. “It’s our first day. I’m sure Daniel will allow you one transgression, but maybe we shouldn’t risk it.”

  Between talking to two different boys before the Matrimony and dreaming of a man who isn’t my husband, I’ve already reached my limit on transgressions, but I don’t tell Rachel. Though we are nearly the same age, she has even less patience with my failings than my own mother. Instead, I hug her, quick and fierce. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’d probably be thrown to the lions. Now hold my journal and turn around so I can tie this.”

  “You can try, but it isn’t going to fit,” I say, pushing at my wayward hair.