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Baptism in Blood(9)

By:Jane Haddam


“Maybe they don’t seem so strange to me, Ginny. Since I’m from the north myself.”

Tiffany was fussing. Ginny adjusted her again, not really paying attention. “Sometimes what I really worry about is bringing Tiffany up there. You know. Because les­bians are homosexuals, aren’t they? And you never know what homosexuals will do.”

Right, Stephen thought. This was not a conversation he wanted to get into. His roommate his first year in the seminary had been gay, although in those days nobody got up and shouted about it. Stephen had never understood why so many people made such a noise about homosexuality.

“I just saw Carol Littleton headed up that way,” he told Ginny. “If you hurry, you might be able to catch up to her. Carol doesn’t move very fast even when the weather’s good.”

“My pastor says the Lord wants us all to accept Christ as our personal savior. That’s the important thing. But the Devil gets to some people and he just won’t let go.”

“Is that what it is?”

“Like those people who bombed that building in Oklahoma City,” Ginny went on, talking automatically now. This was like a tape she’d heard so many times, she had it memorized. Stephen couldn’t tell if she actually un­derstood what she was saying. “It’s all of a piece, that’s what my pastor says. Sin is all of a piece. It’s not like there are big sins and little sins. There’s just one sin. Disobedi­ence to the will of God.”

“I guess that would cover it,” Stephen said.

“I’m going to try to bring Tiffany up so that she never has to worry about any of that, Mr. Harrow. I’m going to try to bring her up right in the heart of the Lord.”

“I guess that’s a good idea, Ginny.”

Ginny backed away. “I’ve got to go now,” she said. “I’ve got to get up to the camp. I’ve got some typing to do and we need the money. And she wants me to come.”

“Zhondra Meyer does?”

“That’s right. I called her from Dr. Sandler’s house and said maybe I ought to forget about it today, with the weather, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’s a very driven woman, Ms. Meyer. It’s like work has hold of her and just won’t let her go.”

“Well, maybe it’s something important she’s got for you to do. Maybe it’s something that just won’t wait.”

“When the Lord breathes upon the face of the earth, everything can wait, Mr. Harrow. It has to.”

Tiffany had closed her eyes and laid her head down on Ginny’s breast. She looked achingly sweet there, soft and round and warm, the perfection of innocence.

“Hurry on up to the camp, then, if that’s where you’re going,” Stephen said. “You don’t want to keep that baby out in the rain.”

“Oh,” Ginny said. “Oh, no. I don’t. She’d catch a cold.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s a terrible thing, when babies have colds. They hate it.”

“Say hello to Ms. Meyer for me. Say hello to Carol Littleton, too. Carol should have stopped.”

Ginny started to back away up Main Street. “See you later,” she said. “You get yourself to someplace safe, too.”

Someplace safe, Stephen thought. He watched Ginny make her way in the wind, past the storefronts, past the Greek revival houses, past the churches. Tiffany seemed to have woken up again and started looking around. Stephen went up his walk and up the steps to his porch, listening for the sounds Lisa made when she was packing, the humming, the cursing, the slamming of doors.

Lisa didn’t want children. She didn’t want sex any­more, either. Lisa wanted to live here, in Bellerton, where she had grown up. There was a church coming open in Minneapolis next summer. He’d seen the notice about it in the newsletter the national organization sent out. He had even sent a letter and a vita. He didn’t think Lisa would stand for it. He saw himself at the head of a congregation full of people who believed the way he did, who loved science and art and music, who read something besides Scripture when they wanted to know how the world worked. Lisa saw herself in the cold among a lot of people she didn’t know and probably wouldn’t like. Feminists. Goddess worshippers. Liberals. Gays.

Lisa came to the front door just as Stephen reached the top of the porch steps.

“What were you doing out there all this time?” she demanded. “What could you possibly have been thinking of?”

Stephen had half a mind to tell her what he’d been thinking of.

Divorce.





4


MAGGIE KELLEHER KNEW THAT she shouldn’t allow herself to be impatient with people like Carol Littleton. Carol couldn’t help it if she was such a square, stolid, graceless sort of woman—or if she was so timid, either. As far as Maggie could tell, none of the women up at the camp could help anything about themselves. They had all led really terrible lives, full of abuse and betrayal. They had been beaten and raped, imprisoned and deserted, left on their own in honky-tonk bars, and dumped out of slowly moving vehicles. Zhondra Meyer could go on and on about what had happened to the women who stayed with her, and Mag­gie could listen—but that was different from actually hav­ing to listen to Carol Littleton, who was here in the store with her eyes full of tears and her hands full of a picture of the Madonna and child. Maggie wanted to shake her, or at least push her out of the way. The store was in an uproar. The storm was coming and they had barely gotten the ply­wood nailed over the big plate glass window. Now Joshua Lake, Maggie’s assistant, was throwing books into boxes and throwing the boxes on top of the highest bookshelves. Serious water damage could wipe them out, and there was likely to be at least serious water over the next few hours. This was simply not the time.