Afterward (34 page)

The devil already has her,
I thought to myself.
It's too late.

“Rachel? Rachel, are you listening?” I feel an arm touch me. It's Faith, standing with the other girls her age, Caleb drifting to sleep in her arms. “Are you all right? You look like you can't catch your breath.”

“I'm okay,” I answer. “It's nothing.” Little Sarah spots Ruth and the twins and drops my hand, running off to join them.

Faith nods, continuing eagerly. “The girls and I were just saying that Mrs. Garrett wants to help us with that modesty workshop we talked about last Sunday. Focusing on biblical femininity? We set the date for next Wednesday.”

“Oh, that's good,” I say. “I'm looking forward to it.” It's what Faith wants to hear.

Faith smiles, the tears she cried during the service all gone now. Her trust in the Lord must be so strong. She glides easily from correct emotion to correct emotion, where I always have the wrong ones.

I search for the words to pray to God for guidance, but my mind's as blank as the cloudless sky. I give up, shading my eyes with my hand and looking out toward where the vehicles are parked. I watch as Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan climb into their pickup and drive away.

 

5

It's difficult to read
and knead meatloaf at the same time, but I'm attempting both when Ruth comes downstairs and finds me in the kitchen.

“Rachel, can you help me? Sarah just threw up.”

“Like throw up or spit up?” I ask.

“Throw up,” Ruth announces. “All over the floor of our bedroom.”

I exhale louder than I should and pick my hands out of the meatloaf, reluctantly taking my eyes off
A Wrinkle in Time.
I'm just at the part where Charles Wallace and Calvin and Meg meet Mrs. Who for the first time. Just before Meg helps Calvin with his math homework and they take a walk under the light of the moon. That part always makes my heart thump. I wipe my hands on the dishtowel I've tied around my waist. Pulling my gaze away from my book is much harder than giving up on the meatloaf.

“I'm sorry,” Ruth says. “Should I have helped her?”

“No, Ruth, it's all right,” I say, managing a smile. “It's just that some days it's…” I exhale again.

No. Stop it, Rachel, you're being selfish. You can do all things through Him who strengthens you.

I try to draw something out of the verse, even visualizing the words running through my muscles, forcing them to move. It helps a little.

I head up the steps to clean the mess and get Sarah into bed, placing a trash can next to her just in case. I whisper a silent prayer that her stomach is upset from something she ate and not anything contagious. Then I give her the little bell we always use when one of us is sick, so she can ring for me if she needs to.

“Ray Ray, I love you,” Sarah says, using her nickname for me. Her eyes flutter just a bit and I can tell she's drifting off to sleep, but I stop to kneel down and kiss her toes.

“I love you, too,” I tell her. She's such a peanut, really. It's hard to get upset even when she throws up. I take the clothes she's vomited on to add to the ever-growing pile of laundry that I should have tackled yesterday.

After I make it back downstairs, I peer through the cracked door into my parents' room and watch my mother shift a bit under the covers, then settle into another round of sleep. She's barely gotten out of bed since she lost Joshua—not for evening Bible study or supper or Wednesday night fellowship. What if Aunt Marjorie was right? Maybe a psychiatrist could help Mom get better faster. But Dad would never let us call one.

Ruth and I have to alternate checking on Sarah, but we manage to get a slightly overcooked meatloaf on the table by the time my dad and brothers are home. Ruth brings a plate in to Mom's room even though I know when I go to collect it, it will have only been picked at a little.

Ruth and I get the little ones washed and ready for bed—Sarah is still asleep—but when we walk into the family room for Bible time, my stomach sinks. My older brothers and father are seated in their usual spots, but instead of holding his Bible in his hands like he usually does, my dad is holding something else.

My copy of
A Wrinkle in Time.

How stupid I've been. How careless.

I left it on the counter amid rolls of paper towels and school books and dirty dishes and a dozen other pieces of evidence that I've been struggling with my job of running the household as I should.

But the book is the worst piece of evidence. The most damning thing. Because it proves not only that I am not a young woman of God, but that I've been distracted by something my father is sure to believe is sinister. And he's sure to believe that my soul is in danger.

“Come sit down, everyone,” my dad says. Dad never gets mad in an obvious way. He always keeps the same serious tone in his voice that manages to sound reassuring when things are moving smoothly and frightening when things are not.

Ruth glances at me, her eyes nervous. She's seen me reading the book before and knows it's mine. I offer a quick forced smile then sit down on the couch next to my older brother Matthew. Isaac toddles over to climb in my lap, but Ruth takes him into hers at the last moment.

“Rachel, Scripture tells us that the testing of faith produces steadfastness,” my father begins. “With that in mind, I want you to tell us what you're doing with this book.”

I swallow. Even the little ones aren't squirming. They can tell from Dad's tone, from the way my cheeks are flushing, that this is serious.

“I asked Mom to get it for me at the resale shop a few months ago,” I say, my voice steady, like I've known this moment would come. Maybe I have. And I wish for a moment that Mom was here though I know she wouldn't defend me. She might try to take some of the blame, but she would defer to Dad. “It was a busy day, and we were buying so many things,” I continue, “and I think I—I know I took advantage of that and at the last moment I asked her to buy this book for me.” With Dad's eyes on me, I can't hold anything back. Every word I'm speaking is the truth.

“Did you wonder if that was a godly decision?” Dad asks. He's staring at me, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yes,” I manage, not able to look back at his eyes, just at the space between them. “I did wonder. But I've read about the author. And she was a Christian, Dad. I looked her up in the encyclopedia. I thought she sounded like a godly person.”

My father nods like he expected this kind of answer from me. “There are many who call themselves Christian and don't follow the word of the Lord,” he says. “I looked through this book, Rachel, and it troubles me. It involves magic and time travel, among other questionable things.” I feel Ruth's eyes on me, and when I glance at her, I see her mouth has dropped into a perfect little
O
of surprise.

“You know full well that Galatians warns us that those who are involved with sorcery and idolatry will not inherit the kingdom of God,” my father continues.

“Yes, Dad, I know,” I say, my cheeks so hot they hurt. I can't decide where to look, so I choose my feet and stare at my worn-out, black lace-up boots that once belonged to Faith. Perfect Faith who feels and thinks and does everything right. Shame courses through me and I feel my eyes start to glaze over with tears. I can sense everyone's eyes looking at me, and Lauren Sullivan's resolute stare flashes through my mind. I wonder if this was how she felt when she was admonished in front of the entire congregation. That I even think of Lauren in this moment makes me feel more ashamed, and I drop my gaze even lower.

But there's another, deeper part of me that wants to jump up and cry out. To tell Dad that in the book, Mrs. Who quotes Scripture, telling the children that
the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
And that Meg saves her brother because she loves him and light wins over darkness, and isn't that something? Doesn't love of family count as good? As godly? And doesn't Proverbs say that the heart of the righteous studieth how to answer? Doesn't that mean that pondering, wondering, questioning is all right? That books that make us think should be allowed?

But Dad can't read my thoughts, and there is no point in expressing them. We must honor and obey our father at all times. And anyway, expressing any other thoughts would only get me into more trouble.

“Rachel, I don't believe this book honors the Lord, and you must destroy it,” he says. “Now.” He motions to the kitchen.

Numbly, I walk to the trash can as my father and siblings follow. Dad hands me the book, and as I rip the pages out and throw them into the garbage, I think about Meg and Charles Wallace and Aunt Beast and Calvin and how I'll never get to be with them again. I think about how delicious it felt to read the book under my blanket with the flashlight I took from the garage, and how good it felt to absorb its words for the first time. How it didn't feel evil at all. I think about how even after I'd read the book once, I could read it again and again and always find some new word or phrase or have some new understanding about it.

I try not to cry as the pages slip into the garbage can like dead leaves.

And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

It runs through my mind on a loop.

*   *   *

After I destroy the book, Dad tells me I need to sit down at the kitchen table with the Bible and find five verses that speak about witchcraft and sorcery and copy them each down ten times. Several of us have had to do this before, like when Matthew was caught looking at swimsuit magazines in the grocery store. Dad even made him eat alone in the garage for three nights after that. The last time I had to copy Scriptures as punishment was a few years ago, when Dad found me watching television at an appliance store downtown. I feel trapped in the kitchen alone while the rest of my family hums along with its usual bedtime activities. Ruth has been left to tend to all the little ones, and I work as quickly as I can to find the verses because I don't want her to be overwhelmed with so much to do. Sometimes being part of a big family feels suffocating, but when you're purposely kept out of it, it feels terribly lonely.

Finally, I find one more verse and scribble it down on the piece of paper Dad's given me. I go back into the family room and hand it to him.

“I'm so sorry, Dad, that I've disobeyed you and the word of God,” I say. I squeeze my fists tight as I say this. I want to believe it so very much. But I can't ignore the other part of me that wonders just why my behavior is so disobedient.

Dad takes the paper and gives me my nightly blessing, then looks at me and says, “Rachel, I love you so much, and it's my duty to make sure you don't stray from the word of the Lord. You understand, don't you?” He frowns slightly, perhaps worried he hasn't made his point.

“Yes, Dad, I do understand,” I say. I know his attention to our protection and salvation is foremost in his mind at all times. I should be grateful.

As I pass my parents' bedroom on my way to my room, I see the light is off. I wonder if Dad will tell Mom what's happened. I wonder if she'll have the energy to care.

The little ones are asleep, and I quickly brush my teeth and wash my face before slipping into my nightgown and crawling into bed. I think Ruth's sleeping, but as soon as I curl up with my pillow, I hear her voice.

“Rachel, can I come over?”

“Sure,” I whisper.

She tiptoes over and slides in next to me, and I realize it won't be much longer before we'll be just about the same height.

“I thought you might be frustrated with me,” I say. “I'm sorry you had to put everyone to bed without my help.”

“No, it's all right,” Ruth says. “I'm just worried. For you.”

I freeze. We're laying so close, but I feel a silence growing between us.

“You're worried for me?” I ask.

Ruth nods seriously. “Yes. For reading that book, Rachel. Shouldn't … I mean, didn't you think it wasn't a godly book?”

I can't look at Ruth when I answer. “No,” I say. “I mean, I thought Dad would be upset, yes. I knew he wouldn't think it was godly. But honestly, Ruth, it's a really good book. I just don't understand how it can be evil when it quotes the Bible and talks about Jesus and the characters aren't bad at all. I don't.”

Ruth frowns. “Really? You mean you really don't know how a book with magic and time travel can be bad?”

“Yes,” I say. “I mean yes and no. I know that Dad doesn't like it. I know the Bible speaks out against it. But the Bible also speaks about pondering things and loving your family and … fighting the darkness. And all of that is in the book, too. So which is right?”

Ruth frowns. “Dad is right. I think we have to trust him.”

Suddenly, little Sarah shifts in her bed and cries out. Ruth and I pause, holding our breaths, worried she might be getting sick again. But soon our little sister settles back down to sleep.

“Rachel, you promise you won't read something like that again, right?” Ruth asks, turning her attention back to me.

I nod. I've been caught, and I know there's no chance that I'll ever be able to read about Meg and Charles Wallace or anyone like them again.

“I promise I won't,” I say.

“Really promise?” Ruth asks. “Never again?”

“Ruth,” I say, “I wouldn't lie to you.”

Ruth smiles, reassured. “Good, Rachel. That makes me feel better.”

“I'm glad,” I say. “Now go to sleep.”

“Mmm hmmm,” Ruth manages, and soon she's lightly snoring while I stare up at the ceiling, remembering how Meg Murry called herself the oddball of her family and wondering if I know just how she felt.

*   *   *