The Oldest Sin (29 page)

“She’s got it pretty bad,” said Bram, his voice growing wistful. “I remember my first crush.”

“Me, too,” said Sophie, scanning several more pages. “How much older was Isaac than Ginger?”

“Close to eight years. She was twenty-two and he was nearly thirty.”

“That’s a big difference for someone her age.”

“It’s not huge, but it was definitely an issue, especially when it came to marriage. Howell Purdis taught that husbands and wives should be close to the same age. No more than five years’ difference at the very most.”

“That guy had a rule about everything.”

She lowered the book slightly and stared at him over the edge. “You got it, darling.
Everything
.” She read silently for a few more moments and then said, “The next ten or so entries all center on clandestine meetings with the mystery man.”

“Young women do have a one-track mind.”

She knocked him on the arm. “I want to cut to the chase,” she said, scanning quickly. “Now, Ginger is careful never to mention a name. It looks as if she and this guy drive to the arroyo for lunch several times a week. Then, on February sixteenth, they start going for evening walks. I remember she was gone a lot that winter and early spring. It was kind of strange. Usually, by seven, we were all sitting at our desks, studying — except for the nights we worked. But Ginger didn’t work evenings. I think I remember Lavinia telling me she’d spoken to Isaac Knox about her absences. Remember, he was the dean of students. All the dorm monitors talked to him if they had problems.”

“How convenient,” muttered Bram. “What did he say?”

Sophie scratched her head. “I don’t really remember. It was so long ago. But he must not have been very upset about it because nothing changed. After a while Ginger was never at her desk in the evenings anymore. That much I do remember.”

“Does the diary mention it?”

Sophie drew her finger down several more pages. “Not really. This is just more of the same. But you can tell she’s really getting hooked by this guy — whether it’s love or a crush, who can say? Now listen to this. It’s March third.”

It happened tonight I don’t know what to think. I knew it was coming — inevitable almost I feel — how can I describe it? Womanly. And, at the same time, frightened. I know he loves me. I can hear it in the way he says my name. Am I crazy? Is this really happening?
My Lord —
I called him that tonight. He got mad — but then I explained, and I think he understood. He said that women don’t understand how much a man needs to be close to a woman’s body. It’s like an ache. And yet now, I have a secret I don’t want to be separated from my friends, but what can I do? I can’t ted them. He says what we did isn’t ready wrong. If anyone should know about right and wrong, he should. Sometimes I think he knows everything.

“Hmmph,” said Bram, his tone disgusted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was talking about Howell Purdis. He’s the know-it-all.”

Sophie looked up. “Howell?”

“Sure. Why not?”

She entertained the idea for a moment, then rejected it. “I don’t think so. Howell had his share of personal problems, but seducing coeds wasn’t one of them.”

“You’re sure of that?”

At this point Sophie wasn’t sure of anything. “He was married, Bram. In his early sixties.” Then again, his wife was id. Had been for years. And she’d always been highly Victorian.

“So? He could have been sleeping around all of his adult life and just been discreet about it.” Poking her knee, he said, “Just keep reading. Maybe we’d find an answer.”

“Okay, let’s see. She stops writing a couple of days later and there isn’t another entry for more than a month.”

“That’s strange.”

“Not if you think about it. If she
had
entered into a sexual relationship with an older man — which is what I think she was referring to — writing about the details might have seemed too scary. What if someone found the diary?”

“Did you know she kept a diary?”

Sophie shook her head. “I kept a journal of sorts myself, but I only wrote in it when I was inside one of the prayer closets. It was the only place I had any real privacy. I hid it under my mattress.”

“Not very original.”

“I was nineteen, Bram. It took me several more years before I hit my creative stride.”

“So, what’s her next entry?”

“The nineteenth of April. It’s pretty short.”

I can’t afford to get the flu. I have a midterm tomorrow in his class — and later we’re riding out to the pier.

“Did Isaac teach a class?” asked Bram. “Sure,” said Sophie. “Most of the ministers did. Let’s see. That would have been Ginger’s junior year. Isaac taught a class on the Pauline epistles. She would have been eligible to take it.”

“Do you know if she did?”

“I can’t remember. Then, of course, Hugh Purdis taught third-year Bible. Every junior had to take that. And Howell taught Marriage and Family Living, another third-year requirement. There were other electives, but nothing comes to mind.” She turned the page. “This is dated May the ninth. Hey,” she said, sitting up straight. “Listen to this.”

Still throwing up in the mornings. I’m beginning to get worried. I missed my period last week. What if I’m — I’m too scared to even write the word. I can’t talk to him about this. I’d die! It’s the last thing he needs. He says he loves me, but the disgrace would ruin him. What do I do? There’s no one else to turn to. Without him, I’m all alone.

Sophie let the book fall to her lap. “She was pregnant,” she said under her breath. “I never knew. She never told any of us.”

“Keep reading,” said Bram. When she didn’t respond fast enough, he snatched the book out of her hand and picked up where she left off. “The next entry is three days later. The twelfth of May.” Clearing his throat, he began:

I.K. is right. We have to take care of it.

“Isaac Knox,” whispered Sophie, her gaze colliding with his. Bram continued: He’s going to set it up. This
A.M.
Harbaugh looked at me and confirmed. Nearly eight weeks. Tomorrow we’d drive to a place he knows about — a guy who does it in his basement. He says we have to take care of it now. It’s the only way. I have to be strong and trust him. I do. And there’s no other way.

“Jeez,” said Bram. “That was 1971, right?” Sophie nodded.

“Abortions were illegal back then. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like. Going to some backstreet abortionist, not being sure he knew what he was doing. She was so young.”

“And,” said Sophie, her face hardening with anger, “at the mercy of some sexual predator who put his career and his reputation before everything else. There’s no doubt about it now. Isaac was Ginger’s lover.”

“Except,” said Bram, his eyes dropping to the book, “if we’re going to get technical, it never actually says that.”

“Sure it does,” said Sophie.

“No,” said Bram. “It doesn’t. Not directly. If this were the only record and it was argued in a court of law, a good attorney could drive a truck through the ambiguity.”

“Maybe the diary says something else. What’s the next entry?”

“That was the last,” said Bram, slipping his arm around her shoulder.

Of course, thought Sophie. The twelfth of May. Ginger died the next day.

“And wasn’t that precisely Lavinia’s problem?” continued Bram. “This diary is incriminating, but not crystal clear.”

“It’s clear enough for me.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. But even if it’s all true, the only thing Isaac was guilty of was buying an illegal abortion. The fact that it was botched — and what Ginger potentially died of — wasn’t his fault.”

“Of course it was,” said Sophie, anger rising in her throat “She needed medical attention. He murdered her just as sure as if he’d put a gun to her head.”

“But your church didn’t allow physicians to treat members.”

“But …
something
should have been done. He could have taken her to a hospital. Someplace far away from campus where nobody knew them. I mean, he slept with her out of wedlock.
That
wasn’t allowed. He fathered a child with her and then convinced her their only option was an abortion — none of that was allowed either. It didn’t bother him to break the rules when it was to his advantage.”

“You’re right.”

“It
was
murder,” said Sophie, staring straight ahead. “The real reason he didn’t get her to a doctor was because he wanted her to die. With her out of the way — and some stooge doctor to falsify the medical records — he was home free. No one would ever know what he’d done.”

She got up and walked over to the mantel, pausing to collect her thoughts. Staring into the cold hearth, she said, “Don’t you see? We’ve finally found the answer to everything that’s happened here this past week Isaac hasn’t changed. He still needs to hide what he did. If Howell or Hugh Purdis found out they could use that knowledge against him.” She turned to face him. “I didn’t mention it before, but it looks like Isaac is trying to gain support from the evangelists for some sort of battle against the Purdis family. I don’t know the specifics, but some of the evangelists appear to be on Isaac’s side, some on die Purdis’s. If the word got out that he’d fathered a child by a student back in die early Seventies and then had it aborted, his credibility would be ruined.”

“It’s an interesting theory.”

“It’s more than that,” said Sophie, not even attempting to hide her frustration at his reticence. “Once again, it’s self-interest, pure and simple. Isaac still needs to protect his position in the church. It’s his whole life. So what does he do? He poisons Lavinia.”

“But …” Bram hesitated. “This may sound kind of picky, but how did he know she liked those cheese balls? And where did he get the recipe?”

“How should I know? We need to concentrate on the main points. Lavinia was the only one who’d seen the diary — the only one who knew for sure what had happened back at college. She came here to talk to him — and talk to him she did. He told me as much on Sunday morning. Except, I’ll bet he denied everything.”

“It didn’t matter,” said Bram. “If she had the diary, she was still a threat.”

“Exactly. If I know Lavinia, she probably told him she was going to find out the truth, no matter how long it took. And then she was going to hang him with it.”

“But, Sophie, just take a breath and think for a moment. All of this sounds plausible, I agree, but you’re constructing a house of cards based on only one comment. Two small initials. Let’s say they
were
his initials. All it really says is that he took her to an abortionist. It never says he was her lover.”

Her eyes shot fire. “You’re being willingly obtuse.”

“No I’m not,” he said firmly. “I’m just trying to step back and see if your theory holds water.”

“Of course it does.” She glared at him.

Attempting a placating smile, he said, “All right. Fine. I don’t want to fight. What do you say we continue this discussion over dinner? I’ll pop the food into the ‘wave, uncork some wine, and —”

“I’m going upstairs,” she said abruptly, stomping over to the couch and grabbing the diary. “If I have to read it through ten times, I’m going to prove to you I’m right.”

“But —”

Marching resolutely out of the room, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to feed Ethel. I hope the two of you have a perfidy scintillating evening.”

By the time Sophie and Bram went to bed that night, Sophie had come to the rather painful conclusion that her husband’s reticence was justified. While the diary clearly stated that Isaac Knox was the one who’d taken Ginger to die illegal abortionist, nothing — not one word — specifically named him as her lover. Sophie had simply jumped to the same conclusion Lavinia had. Not that Isaac wasn’t still die prime candidate. He saw Ginger every day that winter and spring. And, interestingly, after the first few days at her new job, she never again mentioned him by name. For Sophie, that fact alone seemed highly suspicious.

Then again, she couldn’t dismiss the fact that two other ministers had offices in the administration building. Howell Purdis and his son, Hugh. If there
were
other candidates besides Isaac, these two men were at the top of her list. The bottom line was, all three of these men had motive, means, and opportunity. They all had a car, so they could easily whisk a coed off campus. And they all saw Ginger nearly every day. The motive was the clearest of all — casual sex with a naive young coed, someone who was already impressed by their power and position, and ultimately, easy to manipulate and seduce.

As Sophie tossed and turned, unable to shut off her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if Ginger’s weight had also played a part in her seduction. The message the women at Purdis Bible College received was clear. Unless you looked and acted a certain way, no man would ever be attracted to you. If you were fat, forget it. Ginger’s self-esteem was in the toilet, as was pretty much the case with everyone who lived at Terrace Lane. Consequently, when a man finally did show interest — a minister to boot — she must have been dumbfounded, amazed, and ultimately thrilled by her good luck. That growing attachment probably provided her with a kind of vicarious self-worth — the worst kind, in Sophie’s book.