The Oldest Sin (2 page)

Last night, as she’d been preparing dinner — it was her week to cook the low-calorie meals the dean of women had prescribed for their “weight problems” — Ginger had walked in, looking flushed and sweaty. Lavinia Fiore, one of the other women in the dorm, had helped her to bed and stayed by her side the entire night. By morning, Ginger’s color looked terrible. She was still lucid, but refused to eat anything offered to her. Sophie felt a growing sense of panic as she watched her friend lying there, in such obvious pain. All anyone could do now was pray.

Even though there was an infirmary on campus, the doctor didn’t do much more than treat minor injuries. Bruises. Cuts. Sprained ankles. The biblical injunction was clear. If someone became ill, it was the elders of the church who must be summoned to pray over the sick, anointing them with oil and asking God to heal. If a person’s faith was strong, all would be well. Modern medicine was little more than Satan’s attempt to undermine faith. Ginger’s roommates had been praying for her for weeks. Now, since the entire student body had been told of her condition, it would become a vigil.

As Sophie passed by the front windows, she could see that a dozen or so of the other students had begun to gather in the living room. Most were quietly reading from the Bible, while some were engaged in silent prayer. Entering the apartment, she noticed that the door to Ginger’s bedroom was closed. In the kitchen, Lavinia was preparing herbal tea. Sophie could smell the spicy scent of cinnamon.

Slipping up next to her, Bunny Huffington, another dorm mate, whispered, “She’s pretty bad. I was just in to see her. I don’t think she’ll last the night.”

“Who else is with her?” asked Sophie, setting her books down on a table by the door. She removed a yellow plastic band from her long, reddish-gold hair.

“Adelle.”

“What about Cindy?”

Bunny shook her head. “I haven’t seen her all day. I can’t believe she isn’t here.”

“I guess she’s still pretty angry with Ginger.”

“Angry
hardly covers it, Soph,” snorted Bunny. “After what Ginger did to her, I wouldn’t be surprised if they never spoke to each other again. But right now” — her eyes darted to the closed door —”I think a little forgiveness is in order.”

Lavinia walked up carrying a mug. “What are you two whispering about?” She glanced over her shoulder as two more students entered the apartment. The small, sparsely decorated living room was becoming crowded.

“Cindy’s noticeable absence,” said Bunny, brushing a lock of dark hair away from her eyes. Bunny was eighteen, the youngest of them all, and the most athletic. Even though her body was solid, her muscles firm, she didn’t precisely fit the womanly image Purdis Bible College was trying to achieve in its female students. Hence, she’d been banished to the fat-girl dorm.

“Forget Cindy,” said Lavinia, blowing on the tea. “It’s Ginger who needs our thoughts and prayers now.”

“Do you think I could go in and see her?” asked Sophie. Lavinia seemed to have taken charge. Since she was Ginger’s closest friend, it felt right. Ginger’s only living relative, a cousin in Montana, had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in her at all. In the time Sophie had known Ginger, the guy had written only once, calling Ginger a religious freak and saying he wanted nothing to do with her. No, Ginger’s family was on this campus now, and even more specifically, in this apartment. The regular students lived in dorms, eating their meals at the dining hall. But for the six women of Terrace Lane, this off-campus, three-bedroom apartment was home. If Ginger was going to die, it should be here, surrounded by the people who loved her most.

“Sure,” said Lavinia. “Come on. But be quiet. Loud noises upset her.”

Sophie and Bunny followed Lavinia into the room. Adelle, the only senior woman in the group, was sitting on the bed next to Ginger, holding her hand and gently stroking her cheek. Since the outside light was fading fast and the interior light was dim, Sophie couldn’t really get a good view of Ginger’s face. Her eyes appeared to be closed. Even so, Sophie smiled a greeting. She felt awkward, not knowing quite what to do or say. Ginger was lying on her back, blankets a tangled mess around her middle. Sophie’s eyes opened wide as she noticed a dark stain on the sheets. “What’s that?” she whispered.

Adelle put a finger to her lips. “She’s bleeding,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Has been since this afternoon.”

Sophie was appalled. At nineteen, she’d never been around someone who was dying before. It was one thing to view death in the abstract, to think of God’s plan and what awaited the firstborn of the spirit during the resurrection. But it was another matter entirely to see death at work right in front of her eyes. She swallowed back a wave of revulsion and then perched on a cracked red Naugahyde chair by the window. As much as she didn’t want to stay, she couldn’t leave.

Lavinia bent over Ginger and offered her the tea.

The young woman’s eyes fluttered and then burst open. “He’s coming,” she shouted, her voice clear and strong. A look of tension spread over her face.

“Who’s coming?” asked Lavinia.

When Ginger didn’t respond, Bunny said, “Maybe she’s talking about the Second Coming.”

Lavinia nodded. “Could be.” She attempted to straighten the blankets.

“The fire and the wood!” cried Ginger, her voice once again rising to a shout.

“It’s okay,” soothed Lavinia, touching her on the shoulder. “You’re here with us. We’re all going to stay and take care of you.”

“Agh,” cried Ginger, wincing in pain. “The ram,” she coughed. “Moriah. Send them …” The end of the sentence was mumbled.

“What did she say?” asked Bunny. She’d moved over next to Sophie, settling her solid frame against a desk under the window.

“Something about a ram,” said Adelle. She felt Ginger’s forehead. “She’s got a fever.”

“My fault,” mumbled Ginger again. “My … but how —” She kicked her feet, as if she were trying to get away from something.

“She’s not making any sense,” said Lavinia.

“Isaac,” called Ginger, knotting the sheets and blankets around her stomach.

“Isaac?” repeated Bunny. “Maybe she wants us to call Mr. Knox.”

Isaac Knox was the dean of students. In emergencies, medical, personal, or otherwise, he was always the one who was called on to visit the student dorms. Most everyone liked him. Since he was in his late twenties, he didn’t seem so far above the rest of the students. And he was so passionate about his commitment to the church and the college that most assumed, one day, he would become an evangelist-rank minister right alongside his best friend, Hugh Purdis. Hugh was the heir apparent. The firstborn son of Howell A. Purdis, God’s apostle to a godless nation. “Is that what you want, Ginger? Should we call Isaac Knox?”

“Yes,” she wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’ll get the ram.”

“She must be in terrible pain,” whispered Sophie, her voice low and thick. She felt her own eyes burn with tears.

“Go call him” said Lavinia, looking over at Adelle.

Adelle immediately left the room.

“Don’t care about… stars.” Ginger continued to mumble. A few words here and there were intelligible, though mostly, she just seemed out of it. It didn’t appear she was going to leave this world peacefully.

A good half hour later Isaac Knox entered the room, followed closely by Adelle, carrying his briefcase. He was tall and skinny, with a sandy-blond crew cut and intense gray eyes. His manner was normally very sober and reserved.
Lean and hungry
was how he liked to describe himself. It was meant to be humorous, but it was too accurate to be funny.

He nodded to everyone and then knelt down next to Ginger. In the light of the one dim lamp, his face looked utterly serious. He focused every ounce of his attention on the young woman before him. Removing a small vial of oil from his coat pocket, he unscrewed the cap and dabbed some onto his right index finger. Then, touching it gently to Ginger’s forehead, he closed his eyes and prayed out loud, “Father in heaven, we ask that You would heal Ginger Pomejay of her sickness. She is Your child, the first fruits of Your spirit, a faithful member of Your church, and a loving friend to everyone here.”

As Sophie bowed her head she felt her body begin to quake. Sensing someone move up next to her, she looked up and saw Adelle backing away from the bed. Their eyes locked for only an instant, but in that brief second Sophie could see a startling hopelessness in her friend’s expression.

Isaac continued, “Heal Ginger of her sins. We know that our faith in You and the power of Your might will bless our lives. We humbly ask Your help. We are weak and sinful, and fall short of Your glory. Forgive us, Father. Show us the strength of Your mercy. Ginger accepts Your will for her life, as do we all. We ask for Your help and for the blessing of Your profound love. In Jesus’ name, Amen.” Except for the twitching of a small muscle in his cheek, he didn’t move for almost a minute. Finally, removing his hand from her forehead, he leaned back on his heels and asked, “How long has she been like this?” His tone had grown more demanding. Even a little anxious.

“She’s been really sick since last night,” answered Lavinia. “She’d told me she’d gone to Pastor Heim twice last week. He anointed her both times. But… tonight, when she stopped making sense, we didn’t know what else to do. So we phoned you.”

Knox nodded and then stood up. “You did the right thing.”

“She was calling for you,” said Adelle.

He jerked his head around. “She what?”

“She said the name Isaac. We assumed she meant you.”

From her chair, Sophie watched his reaction. Mr. Knox seemed truly surprised. Well, not surprised exactly. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was frightened.

“What else did she say?” His posture had become ramrod straight.

“Just some mumbling,” said Lavinia.

“She talked about a ram,” said Bunny.

“A ram,” he repeated, a confused look on his face.

“We couldn’t make much of it out,” said Adelle, shrugging apologetically.

He rubbed the back of his neck, giving himself a moment to think. “I understand. She looks feverish. Nothing she says now will have much meaning.”

Sadly, everyone agreed.

In the presence of death, Sophie felt mute. Even so, she needed to ask, “Is there something else we should be doing for her?” She felt so helpless. So utterly useless.

“Just pray,” said Isaac. He glanced back down at Ginger, then checked his watch. “I’m needed elsewhere, but —” He paused. “Perhaps I should stay.”

“Oh, could you?” said Lavinia, her face brightening. “That would mean so much.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” asked Bunny. “Some tea?”

“That would be fine,” said Isaac, pulling a chair up close to the bed.

Bunny scurried out.

Sophie moved over to a small desk chair in the far corner of the room. Cindy should be here, she thought to herself. There were rules. Women students weren’t supposed to be out unescorted after dark. As she sat back and watched Isaac Knox, his kindness and concern focused completely on Ginger, an almost fatherly look on his face, she felt an acute sense of guilt. Unlike her friends, she would have preferred that he leave. She was selfish and would have to ask God to forgive her. Bowing her head and closing her eyes, she offered up the most heartfelt prayer she’d ever prayed. Ginger had to get well. She just had to.

Two hours later Ginger opened her eyes and smiled. And then she was gone.

The Present

Hildegard O’Malley gazed across her desk at the elderly man who had been shown into her office just a few minutes before. Even though he looked vaguely familiar, perhaps someone she’d seen on TV, someone she was supposed to like, his rather abrupt, almost imperial manner instantly put her off. He had snow-white hair and a pleasant, even kindly face, but thirty-two years spent in hotel management had taught her not to trust first impressions. Hildegard prided herself on her sixth sense about people. It was a must in her line of work. And the bottom line was, this man wasn’t what he appeared to be.

For one thing, he hadn’t mentioned money. Most people who came to the Maxfield Plaza in downtown St. Paul to discuss holding a convention on the premises always talked money up front. After all, if you couldn’t afford the price, there was no point wasting each other’s time.

“So, if I understand you correctly,” she continued, leaning forward and touching the tips of her fingers together, “you’d like to see our conference facilities.”

“One of your larger meeting rooms.” His voice was deep and formal. A briefcase and a narrow-brimmed man’s fedora rested on the chair next to him. “I represent God’s church. The Church of the Firstborn.” He said the words proudly, as if she should know the organization. And to be honest, it did ring a faint bell somewhere in the back of her mind.

“That brings me to my next question, Mr. —”