The Oldest Sin (13 page)

Ethel’s sad eyes rose to Sophie’s. The loose folds of skin around her forehead made her look perpetually worried. Today, however, Ethel had chosen to add a slight baring of the front teeth to her image.

“Look, sweetheart,” said Sophie excitedly. “She’s smiling at me. I just love it when she does that.”

In silent dignity, Ethel sniffed Bram’s socks. Sometimes life threw you a curveball. If you were lucky, it was green and bounced. If you weren’t, well… you could always pretend an expensive leather wingtip was a chew toy.

Life had its compensations.

“Everyone, please. If I could have your attention, I’d like to call this meeting to order.” Lavinia stood behind the head table, tapping her fork against her water glass. “Perhaps we should give the wait staff another minute or two to clear away some of our dishes before we begin.”

Sophie and Bram watched from their own table as they finished breakfast. Bunny had joined them as soon as they’d walked in the door, introducing herself to Bram with characteristic gusto and announcing that Cindy would be along any minute. They’d grabbed a spot in the back and waited, but for some reason, Cindy never appeared. All during the meal, both Bunny and Sophie kept glancing at the door, but still no Cindy.

The rest of the room was packed with at least ninety excited, boisterous conventioneers. From what Bunny had said, this business meeting was a command performance for all the D.O.S.S. officers. As national treasurer, Cindy was required to attend.

Lavinia looked remarkably elegant today in a red-and-black linen suit. Peter was with her. He seemed terribly solicitous of her needs, pouring water and coffee and generally making sure she had anything and everything she needed. Sophie was so curious about their interactions, she found her eyes sliding in their direction more often than good taste would allow.

Before Lavinia called the meeting to order, Peter had left the room briefly. He’d returned a few minutes later carrying a small plastic box. Sophie saw some people whispering about it, even pointing, though no one seemed to know what it was.

“What’s she got up her sleeve now?” said Bunny, stabbing at her last bite of eggs Benedict. “She’s giving me an ulcer.”

Bram nodded his sympathy. “You have no idea what this morning’s surprise is all about?”

“None. Except that it has something to do with the convention. After last night I shudder to think what she’s done now.” Bunny pushed her plate away and folded her arms over her chest in a gesture of uneasy resignation.

“Shouldn’t she consult you on business matters?” asked Sophie. “After all, you’ve always been one of the driving forces behind the organization.”

Bunny gave her a sour look. “Tell
her
that.”

It was only now that Sophie noticed the hint of acrimony in her friend’s voice. She wondered what it had been like, living in Lavinia’s shadow all these years.

“Could you believe what Lavinia said about Ginger last night?” continued Bunny, watching the waiters pour a last round of coffee. “What the hell was she thinking?”

“You know,” said Sophie cautiously, “I’ve really been remiss about keeping in touch with all of you. Just my usual card or letter at Christmas. But you two are still so close. It seems odd to me that Lavinia would keep something as important as this to herself.” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them. By the wounded look on Bunny’s face, Sophie could tell Lavinia’s lack of openness had hurt her deeply.

“If I could have your attention now,” called Lavinia again, tapping the fork against her glass several more times. “We need to start, otherwise some of you will be late to your panels.” She waited for complete silence.

Bram caught Sophie’s eye and whispered, “Show time.”

“Before we begin the business meeting,” continued Lavinia, her eyes sweeping over the crowded room, “I’d like to introduce all of you to my new husband. Peter, will you stand up, please?”

Looking self-conscious, Peter rose from his chair and grinned boyishly at the assembled group.

The surprised murmurs began almost instantly.

“After a whirlwind romance, Peter Trahern and I were married two months ago in a private ceremony. I must tell you, these last few months have been the happiest of my life.” She grinned at him. “You’ll all have a chance to talk to him a little later. Thanks, honey.” As he sat down she motioned to a young woman standing in the back. A moment later the same young woman pushed a large-screen TV set and attached VCR into the room. As she plugged in the power cord Lavinia continued, “I have something I want to show all of you. It’s a video Peter and I produced together, arid needless to say, I’m not only very excited about it, but also very proud of what we’ve done. Before we start, let me tell you that this will be on sale at the D.O.S.S. information booth, right along with the newest edition of my cookbook.”

As Lavinia switched off the overhead lights the screen came alive with music and sound. At first it seemed the video might be a tour of Lavinia’s new house in California. It was a beautiful interior, open and airy, with high ceilings and expensive modern furniture. Also, it appeared to be right on the beach. The voice-over — Peter’s voice — talked about California living. Health. Sun. And, interestingly enough, fitness. As the camera moved upstairs to a small room off the master suite, Lavinia suddenly appeared, huffing and puffing as she jumped rope to the sound of the Beach Boys. She was dressed in fashionable exercise clothing, a sweatband around her head.

“Oh, my God,” whispered Bunny, her mouth dropping open. “What the … she couldn’t —”

The music ended as Lavinia began to explain the importance of the warm-up.

“It’s an exercise video?” said Bram, looking confused.

“It’s
grotesque
,” said Bunny, not even trying to keep her voice down. No one would ever accuse Bunny Huffington of beating around the bush, especially when it came to expressing an opinion. Several of the women at a nearby table turned around to glare.

The music swelled again as Lavinia began a series of aerobic dances.

“Don’t you see?” said Bunny, leaning close to Sophie and whispering with an urgency that bordered on rage. “This is completely against what our organization stands for. For years we’ve been trying to get women to
stop
dwelling on their bodies, on how they look. This just buys into the same cultural narcissism we’ve tried so hard to fight against.”

Sophie did see her point. Then again, it wasn’t wrong to be physically fit.

“Shhh,” said one of the women at another table. She gave Bunny a nasty look and then returned her attention to the front.

“Can she do this?” asked Bram. “Without anyone else’s knowledge or approval?”

Sophie gave him a helpless shrug. She had no idea.

“Someone’s got to stop her,” said Bunny.

For one frightening moment Sophie had the distinct impression Bunny was about to do something violent. From the limited contact she’d had with her over the years, Sophie knew that she felt passionately about the philosophy behind the organization. And why shouldn’t she? She’d formulated most of it.

Bunny watched for a few more seconds in smoldering silence and then abruptly threw down her napkin, pushed back from the table, and got up. Without so much as a backward glance, she grabbed her briefcase and stomped out of the room.

“Boy,” said Bram, touching his fingers to his tie. “I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall when those two finally talk.”

Sophie gave him a sickly smile and then pressed her fingers against the side of her forehead. This reunion weekend was starting to give her a splitting headache.

Adelle gazed listlessly around the crowded Lindbergh Room, her eyes rising to the fresh flower arrangement she’d ordered for the stage. Sabbath services were about to begin. Folding metal chairs had been set up by the hotel staff to accommodate the church members now filing quietly into the room. As hotels went, she supposed, this one wasn’t bad. The Maxfield had a certain gangster charm. But a hotel was a hotel. As far as she was concerned, she’d spent too much of her life living out of suitcases. This year, if she’d had her way, she and Hugh would have celebrated Tabernacles Week at home.

Oh, well, she thought to herself with an ennui born of far too many Sabbaths spent away from her friends and family, it would be over soon. Besides, this decision to spend the week in St. Paul might just turn out to be downright fortuitous.

As befitting his status, Hugh had chosen seats for them in the front row. He was sitting next to her now, intently reading through the general announcements he’d make right after the opening songs. Adelle couldn’t help but wonder what sort of special announcement Howell Purdis had on the agenda. From what Hugh had disclosed to her last night, Isaac Knox would no longer be in charge of the morning service, nor would he be giving the first sermon of Tabernacles Week — or any other week.

Hugh and Isaac had been friends since childhood. They’d both been raised in the church, both attended the same high school in Altadena, although Hugh was seven years older. Adelle knew that, ever since Isaac’s late teens when his parents had died in a car crash, Hugh had taken him under his wing, thought of him as a younger brother. As a young man, Isaac had been passionately committed to the teachings of Howell Purdis. That commitment, it would seem, had now ended. Isaac couldn’t blame anyone but himself for the position he was in. To be on the safe side, however, Adelle wanted to point that out to him one more time.

Right after breakfast, while Hugh was in the bedroom praying, she’d called down to Isaac’s room hoping to find him in. She was surprised when he answered on the first ring, and then disappointed as he explained that he couldn’t speak to her right then. He was in die middle of an important meeting. By his abrupt manner and the general strain in his voice, Adelle assumed Howell Purdis had finally caught up with him. Since it was imperative that they talk, she insisted that he meet her in his hotel room at noon. Reluctantly, he’d agreed.

As Adelle touched the back of her red hair, she turned and noted that Roger Laybourn and his wife had taken seats on the other side of the aisle. Roger was in his early thirties, the pastor of the Milwaukee church. Leaning over to her husband, she whispered, “Is Roger replacing Isaac this morning?”

Hugh nodded, continuing to flip through his notes. “Father told me to arrange it.”

“I thought he fired you yesterday.”

Hugh peered over his bifocals, giving her a pained look. “Apparently I’ve been rehired.”

As she was about to make another choice comment on her esteemed father-in-law’s general mental disintegration, she saw Howell emerge from the rear of the stage, followed closely by Isaac Knox. Howell’s jowly face looked unusually puffy and flushed.

“Look,” she whispered, poking her husband’s leg. “What’s
he
doing here? I thought you said your dad was going to disfellowship him.”

“He was. I mean, he is.” Hugh removed his glasses and stared as the two men walked briskly toward die front. Once Howell had taken a seat on the other side of Adelle, Hugh glanced furtively at his wife, unable to hide his shock and confusion, and even, it seemed to her, a brief moment of panic.

This was not the way it was supposed to work. Normally, when a member of God’s church was disfellowshipped, he was never again allowed to attend Sabbath services or mingle with the faithful. Yet here was Isaac, carrying his Bible, looking for all the world as if he was about to call for the opening prayer. This made no sense. Unless …

She snuck a quick look at her father-in-law, noticing that his hard, unblinking eyes were fixed straight ahead. Was it possible? Had Isaac changed his mind? Silently, Adelle began to weigh the possibilities.

From the very beginning of her marriage to Hugh, she had steadfastly refused to be drawn into church politics — all the changing alliances, who was in favor one minute, and who was the next. She simply couldn’t be bothered. Over the past year, however, she’d begun to listen a bit more closely.

Adelle had slowly come to the realization that the church was fast becoming a hotbed of doctrinal dissension. There was no precedent for something as radical as disagreement in the Church of the Firstborn. From the very beginning, whatever Howell Purdis wrote in his pamphlets or preached from the pulpit was considered God-inspired truth. Recent, she’d begun to catch whiffs of this dissent in the most unlikely places. The president of the college women’s club had wondered out loud about the necessity for third tithe. A local elder just in from the field expressed concern over the church’s stand on certain child-rearing practices. The buildings-and-grounds manager suggested that Christ died on an almond tree instead of an alder. Everyone, it seemed, was challenging one or more of the church’s long-standing beliefs.

Hugh had turned a blind eye to most of it, choosing instead to be a force for unity. For good or ill, he’d spent the last year flying from city to city, attempting to put a lid on potential defections. He and Adelle didn’t always see eye to eye, but on this one point, they were united. It was their son’s legacy that Hugh was protecting — a legacy Joshua wanted almost as much as they wanted it for him. Hugh had never been particularly interested in assuming the top leadership role himself, though of course he would do so after his father’s death. Yet Hugh was sure he’d never be anything more than an interim leader. Eventually, he would become an adviser to his son. Whatever problems and questions that might arise in the church right now needed to be handled by the newly established doctrinal committee. Hugh promised the field ministry that he would back this committee with the full weight of his power and position. He’d see to it that it continued to be a viable forum for doctrinal discussion, and thereby an alternative to defection.