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“I hear,” she said, “about all the things you’re doing around the church and at school. You’re amazing.”

  “Praise His name,” I said.

  She opened her hands. “And this. I don’t think I could have played at Barry’s wedding if I were in your place.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just a wedding. I’ve played at lots of them.”

  “Don’t deceive yourself, Elwyn.” She extended her hand and I took it. She was wearing a sky-blue dress that was a cascade of fine lace. The hat on her head, tilted at a stylish angle, had the same lace pattern on it. Her hair was braided into a single long black tail. She uncrossed her legs as I helped her out of her seat. “All liars, even those who deceive but themselves, shall have their part in the lake of fire.”

  I took my hands away from hers and shoved them in my pockets. A few feet away, Barry guided Peachie’s hand in the ceremonial cutting of the cake. A camera flashed. There was applause. It all seemed very far away, as if happening in another country but being broadcast on TV.

  I turned back to Sister Morrisohn. “Peachie and I never promised each other anything.”

  “Deception, deception,” she sang in a voice that tinkled. “You can’t fool me. It must have really hurt you.” She reached up and touched the side of my face near my mouth. “Poor boy, love is often cruel.”

  I considered Sister Morrisohn’s own mouth, the way the bottom lip poked out when she pronounced a word with an open vowel sound: “you,” “poor,” “boy.”

  The devil was causing me to focus on the pink on that pulsating bottom lip and urging the physical manifestations of lust to take place within me. I reminded myself that I was strong in the Lord. The Lord reminded me that I was still in control of my feet.

  “Sister Morrisohn, I’ve got to go,” I said hurriedly.

  I left her and walked straight to my car. In a blur of confusion and emotion, I sped down familiar streets made unfamiliar by my anger at my shameful weakness. Fearing what I might do to myself, I pulled over to the side of the road, clasped my hands, and bowed my head before the steering wheel.

  Lord, I prayed, give me a sign. Show me what to do.

  My vision cleared. I looked up and saw that I had parked beside a canal. A large turtle rested in the grass on the shoulder of the water. I got out of my car. I picked up a long branch that still had some leaves on it and prodded the turtle until it retreated into its shell. I put down the branch and pondered the large animal safe inside its shell and at length concluded that if this were, in fact, a sign, then I certainly had no idea what it meant.

  At about 6 p.m., when I figured the reception had ended, I drove back to church to help Brother Al and Brother Suggs clean up.

  I would work for the Lord. I would be strong. Praise Ye the Lord!

  I was the last one to leave the church that night. And when I left, not a scrap of dirt remained behind.

  The next day was Sunday, and I fasted.

  That night, I received a call. It was Peachie, but she was crying so much that it took me a few minutes to figure out what exactly she was saying: “I made a mistake and now everyone hates me.”

  “No one hates you, Peachie. And you know God loves you. His greatest gift is that He forgives us our sins.”

  “It’s not that, Elwyn. It’s just that everyone thinks I deceived you.”

  I sat up in my bed. “What?”

  “Your grandmother makes it sound like I—”

  “My grandmother?” Of course. The truth is like a two-edged sword.

  It cuts going and coming.

  “Sister Morrisohn too, and that whole Missionary Society. They make it sound as though I—”

  “Sister Morrisohn?”

  “Yes, she wouldn’t even talk to me at my own wedding.”

  Peachie deteriorated into sobs and it was awhile before I could understand her again.

  “Sister Morrisohn is the one who pressured Pastor to kick me off the choir.”

  “But you’re pregnant,” I said. “What did you expect?”

  Peachie shouted, “It has nothing to do with my pregnancy! There’ve been pregnant girls up there before and you know it. You said yourself God has forgiven me. They wouldn’t even let me have a regular wedding. That ugly blue dress! The real problem is I offended their pet. You.”

  “Me?”

  “With all the witnessing and stuff you’re doing at school, you make the Church of Our Blessed Redeemer Who Walked Upon the Waters look good. All of those new converts. And me, your perfect mate, big and pregnant for another man.”

  “That’s not how it is.”

  “That’s what it looks like.”

  I felt a great sadness for Peachie and her plight, but in many ways this turn of events served her right. These were the wages of her sin, the fact that she had wronged me notwithstanding. I could not tell her this, so I tried to change the subject.

  “Where’s Barry?”

  “He’s right here. He told me to call. He’s afraid they won’t ordain him if I don’t apologize to you.”

  “Peachie, this is ridiculous. You don’t owe me any apologies.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No, Peachie.”

  “I’m sorry, Elwyn. I am so very, very sorry,” she said. “I hope that satisfies you, you arrogant knucklehead.”

  “Oh, Peachie, don’t be that way.”

  The second day after Peachie married Barry was a Monday, but I did not drive directly home from school.

  I stopped by Mr. Byrd’s office. I was a conqueror come to claim new lands for the Lord.

  With an exasperated expression on his face, Mr. Byrd looked up from his cluttered desk. “What now, young evangelist?”

  “I feel I’m being persecuted for my religious beliefs.”

  “How so?”

  “Security broke up my prayer meeting today.”

  “Good,” he said. “I sent them.” He put his pen down and came around the desk. “The cafeteria, I believe, is a place for eating. Many of the students complain that your activities upset their stomachs so much that they can’t eat their meals.”

  “I don’t believe you. What students have complained, sir?”

  “Don’t press me, boy.”

  I had him where I wanted him. I opened my book bag and pulled out five sheets of paper. “I have a petition here signed by over a hundred students and staff who feel that we should be allowed to form a Jesus Club at this school—”

  He snatched the papers from my grasp. “I don’t see my signature,” he said. He tore the petition in half two times and dropped it in the wastepaper basket.

  “I have a photocopy.”

  “Who cares? The real issue is not your prayer meeting but your grades. This is a school, not a church!” Mr. Byrd roared.

  We stood toe-to-toe now, and he proved to be about an inch shorter than I (and I was no giant), but I was suddenly afraid of him. I shrank at the sound of his angry growl.

  “I know Christians, but you’re not one, Elwyn. You’re weak. And you use your religion to shield your weakness. You can’t make it on the football team, so you lure the best players away to your Bible studies.”

  “I’m not an athlete. They come freely.”

  “You can’t get a girl, so you preach about adultery and fornication.”

  “Fornication is ruining our women.”

  “Not my woman. And I got a woman.” He pointed to the photograph behind his desk. “A big, happy, sexy woman. Look at her smile.”

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “You should try passing your classes instead of passing out Bibles.”

  “I can pass if I want to. I’m an honors student.”

  “You were an honors student.”

  “I’m smart.”

  “Smart enough for Bible College at any rate. What SAT scores does Bible College require?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I was on the verge of tears, and I didn’t know why. “You’re persecuting me.”

  He grabbed m
e by the shoulders. “Don’t use God as an excuse for failure and unhappiness, Elwyn. Don’t think that your misery on earth is a free ticket to heaven. Have fun. Be young. Pass your classes.”

  “No!” I could not prevent the tears from rolling down my cheeks. Satan was winning. Then Mr. Byrd slapped me three times hard in the face.

  Whack. Whack. Whack.

  It stung like a revelation. I tested my lip, which had begun to swell, and I stared without anger at Mr. Byrd.

  “Now you’ll probably sue me for assault,” he said as he ushered me out of his office, with the hand that had smote me holding the door open against its strong spring.

  I did not drive directly home after getting slapped by my principal. I visited Sister Morrisohn. A Christian must be valiant, brave. A Christian who has sinned must confess.

  “I am saved.”

  “By the Grace of God.”

  “How, then, did I let go of His unfailing hand?” She forced my palms together. “Pray, Elwyn.”

  I bowed my head and closed my eyes. A sobering thought prevented me from praying, and I opened my eyes. “You never told anyone what I did that day.”

  “There was no point in ruining your reputation.”

  “I would have lost my position in the church, like Peachie.”

  “You didn’t really sin,” Sister Morrisohn said. “Peachie sinned.”

  “I did sin.”

  “But you prayed for forgiveness.”

  “So did Peachie. And she confessed openly. I didn’t so much as do that. Open confession is good for the soul.”

  “God knows the heart. That’s enough, don’t you think? Let your little transgression be a secret between me, you, and God.”

  “But the secret is driving me crazy.” I was at a crossroads of faith. I had to either do what the Bible said was right, or not do what was right at all. It was now 4:15. Sister Morrisohn wore a red sundress. A half hour ago she had removed her shoes. I had been there almost an hour.

  I had told her the devil had got ahold of me and made me love her. She had raised her eyebrows and then removed her shoes. Another revelation. She had beautiful feet.

  “There are many secrets in the church. Those who confess are no worse than the rest, but they suffer for their forthrightness.”

  “The Bible says open confession is good for the soul.”

  “Everyone will treat you like a backslider. You don’t want that.” She closed her eyes. “Some will even laugh at you.”

  “Laugh?”

  “You’re so much younger than me. They would find that amusing.”

  “Did they find it amusing,” I asked, “when you married Brother Morrisohn?”

  This seemed to catch her off guard. Her face underwent a series of quiet transformations, from disbelief to anger to resignation, before she spoke again: “How old are you, Elwyn? Sixteen?”

  “Almost seventeen.”

  “I’m twenty-six years older than you.” She rose from the couch where she had been sitting for the last half hour and walked in her stockinged feet to the other side of the room and stood beneath the portrait in oil of her and Brother Morrisohn on their wedding day. It was a painting in broad strokes and drab colors: black, gray, a rusty brown, a pasty yellow where there should have been white. “I was married for nearly twenty years to a man close to forty years my senior, and I loved him every second of that marriage.”

  “You’re saying it doesn’t really matter, then, the age difference.”

  “It matters a little. Oh, there are times when it matters.” She laughed suddenly into her hands. “I’m so flattered. I just can’t believe that at your age—well, just look at me.” Sister Morrisohn lifted her arms like wings and spun in gay circles, revealing herself from all sides.

  I gazed unabashedly. She had dancer’s calves, a slender waist, arms that were thin as a young girl’s.

  “I see nothing wrong with you.”

  “Look at me again.” Now she grabbed her hem with both hands and raised it above her dimpled knees. “All of these imperfections that come with age.” She spun. Her sundress spread out like an umbrella, exposing thigh-high garters and the black silk panties of mourning.

  I saw no imperfections.

  When I looked at my watch, it was 8:00 p.m.

  “Elwyn, this is a secret you’d better keep.” Sister Morrisohn rolled over and hid her face in my chest. She laughed out loud and then she cried, soaking my chest with her tears.

  I ran my fingers through her beautiful hair.

  After that, we scrambled to end it, to get back to our lives. What pieces of our clothes we could find, we put back on, and then we knelt at the foot of the bed to pray for the forgiveness of our sins. But she was too close to me, and Satan won the battle again. My hand went under her dress and touched her.

  “Oh God,” I said. “Lord,” she said.

  And then we sinned again—me and the woman who smelled like spring blossoms, whose slender waist fit so pleasingly into my palm, the woman who did not weigh much when she fell. Me and the wife of my deceased benefactor and friend.

  Afterward, she said, her cheek against my neck, “How are we going to do this, Elwyn? People may begin to wonder.”

  “I could be giving you piano lessons twice a week,” I suggested. “Good,” she said. Then: “Only twice a week?”

  I called home once more. “I’m still at the mall,” I told my mother. “Witnessing.”

  “Don’t forget that dinner is waiting for you,” she said. “Or are you fasting again?”

  “I’ll be home in a little while. I’m hungry. My fast is over.” I looked at Sister Morrisohn. She turned her head away.

  My mother said, “Well, I’ll keep your plate warm. Bye, Elwyn.”

  “Bye, Mom.” I hung my head in shame.

  Father, forgive me.

  His All-Seeing Eye

  Peachie should have been happy.

  She was married now, Praise the Lord, so the baby would have a name. In time the Faithful would forgive her too.

  She had a husband, Praise the Lord, so they did not have to sneak around to do it anymore. They could do it anytime they wanted, and they certainly did. This was the honeymoon period, the best part of being married everyone had always told her.

  Praise the Lord.

  So why was happiness eluding her?

  Barry snored beside her contentedly. Peachie touched his shoulder, but he did not awaken.

  It was still early, barely past midnight, but Barry would not awaken until morning. In the old days when they were sneaking around, she and Barry would talk on the phone until 3 or 4 in the morning. But now he was an early sleeper, she had come to learn, especially after sex.

  During this first week of marriage, she had come to learn many things about Barry, many of which she did not like. For instance, he was a bit on the sloppy side. He only showered every other day. And he had a way of being very condescending when he became angry, and he seemed to get angry for such stupid little things and so often. And he expected her to cook for him, even though his mother was perfectly willing to do it and Peachie was perfectly uncomfortable cooking in a strange kitchen.

  “Well, I have a wife now, or don’t I? I sure do remember marrying her,” he said one evening, and Peachie did not like the tone he used at all, or the fact that he had addressed the comment to his mother when she, Peachie, was standing right there beside him in the kitchen.

  But she still loved him, of this she was sure. It should not matter so much that he was at times insensitive. There was a lot of pressure on him as a young preacher in a situation like this. But he should not make her feel as though she had ruined his life. They were in this together. They were a team. A husband should protect his wife from bad feelings, and if he didn’t, then what did that mean?

  Tomorrow they would be moving to Lakeland to begin their new life together. She would not have her parents around anymore to protect her. Could she trust Barry to be there for her? She needed to talk to someone.
She shook him again and said his name, but her husband continued to snore. She said to the darkness, “Barry, I love you. Do you love me? Barry? Barry? Barry!”

  The snoring was replaced by a low, grumbling sigh. “What is it now, Peachie, honey, sweetie, dear wife of mine?”

  There was that tone again, which she ignored. “Do you love me, Barry?”

  “I married you, didn’t I?” he quipped. “And I am sleepy. We have a long drive ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “It’s only 12.” She shifted her abdomen carefully so as not to hurt the baby and stretched her arms across his bare chest. She put her face against his neck. “I think,” she said, “that we could love each other more. I think there are things we could do so that our love would be the perfect love that King Solomon wrote about in the Song of Solomon. Our love could be a shining example to the Faithful.”

  “Example,” he snorted. “We sure started out on the wrong foot.”

  “Is it wrong to fall in love?”

  “It’s wrong to fornicate.”

  “Is that all it was to you?”

  He snorted again, dismissing her. “A woman should remain a virgin for her husband. It’s in the Bible. Read it. Now I’m sleepy, Peachie, honey, sweetie, dear wife of mine.”

  “Then go to sleep, knucklehead.” She pushed away from him and got up from the bed.

  “Where are you going? Come back to bed. Peachie!” he called, but he did not even bother to get up to attempt to follow her as she left the room. He put the pillow over his head and rolled over, grumbling, “A wife. This is some wife. I need this, right? Heavenly Father, what did I get myself into?”

  She did not slam the door because Brother Philip, Barry’s college roommate, was sleeping on the couch in the living room. He was there to help with the move in the morning. She walked quietly through the living room past the packed boxes stacked in twos, the large, polishedmarble coffee table, the upright piano she had been trained on, and knocked lightly on her mother-in-law’s door.

  “Sister McGowan,” Peachie whispered. The tears were already falling. She felt so alone in the darkness. She had to talk to somebody. She just had to. “Sister McGowan!”

  Sister McGowan opened the door in a housecoat she held closed with one hand.