Pocketful of Pearls (19 page)

“I believe that grace is what covers us because of the sacrifice of Jesus,” he said quietly. “It’s what makes it so that we
don’t have to work our way to heaven. He paid the price for us, and now his grace makes us worthy.”

“Work our way to heaven?”
She latched onto something she recognized, pleased that he could understand. “Yes, he paid the price for us, and now his
death is an example of how we can die to ourselves.”

Why was he shaking his head?

“That’s still work. Salvation isn’t performance based, like a giant corporation where you work your way to the top. Jesus
paid the price once for all of us, and now we live free under grace.”

That couldn’t be right. If that were the case, there would be no point in wearing black, no point in long hair, no point in
her whole miserable childhood and teenage years.

No point in all that sacrifice.

No point in doing what she had done with Phinehas.

No point in her life at all.

“Worldly churches use that as an excuse,” she said finally, reeling back from the precipice and taking refuge in truths she’d
been taught since birth. “If you believe that, you can go do what you like and grace covers you. Like—like a big old insurance
policy.”

Matthew smiled. “But isn’t that where being born again comes in? The new woman born in Christ doesn’t behave that way, does
she?”

“No. She does what pleases God.”

“Yes, but does that include all these things that you call the structure, or does it mean love in its fullest sense?”

“You can’t put a finger on love.” She glanced at the baby in his lap. He was playing a modified version of patty-cake and
instead of screaming, Tamsen seemed to be enjoying it. “Love has to be concrete, like changing diapers and feeding. Love is
a service.”

“It can be,” Matthew allowed. “But sometimes the service becomes more important than what prompts it. Like changing diapers
on a baby because they’re dirty, not because you love her and want her to be comfortable. Service like that gets between us
and our Father. We’re perfectly capable of performing the service without any love at all, as Phinehas can probably tell us.”

“He would never say such a thing.”

“I can see it, though.”

She huffed a breath of laughter. “Don’t ever let him know. If you were Elect, you’d be Silenced in a second for criticizing
him.”

“He isn’t perfect.”

“No, but the grace of God covers him. You said so yourself.”

“I believe it does, but I don’t think that man is walking in newness of life. If he were, he couldn’t do the things he does.
He couldn’t abuse you.”

Dinah was silent, watching the baby’s tiny fingers in Matthew’s hands. He was becoming more sure of himself with the baby
every second. And with other things.

“You told me not long ago that God was in on it with him,” Matthew went on after a moment. “I believe that Phinehas’s worst
crime is in distorting the way you see God.”

“You have no idea what the worst is. Just like I have no idea what God is.” The words fell out of her mouth before she had
time to stop them. Then a hot flush of embarrassment washed into her cheeks.

“That’s not surprising,” he said gently.

“Oh, and I suppose you do?”

“You’re right. I have no idea what the worst can be. But the Father I love gives me strength and hope and unexpected gifts
along the way.”

“Right, like your car breaking down.” Acid etched her tone. “And those guys who stole your wallet. Those were really unexpected
gifts.”

“I was thinking more of you,” he said. “And little Schatzi, of whom I’m becoming quite fond. And of course our little voice
here, howling in the wilderness.” He smiled down at Tamsen, and the baby smiled back. “Dinah! Did you see that?”

She had. “Will she do it again?”

Matthew made a big, goofy face and the baby cackled in delight. “You see?” he demanded, his face all lit up in just the same
way. “Unexpected gifts.”

Clearly, Dinah thought, she and Matthew believed in completely different Gods. The problem was she had no idea which one was
real and which the distorted fantasy.

A
FTER REWARDING THEIR
labors with a smile, Tamsen decided to be difficult for the rest of the morning. The dry diaper wasn’t right, Dinah’s attempts
at entertainment weren’t right, and going down for a nap was out of the question. Finally Matthew did what any reasonable
man would do—he got on the Internet to look for solutions.

“It says that at four months we might try solid foods,” he reported after a trip out to the barn. “We can buy those here,
can’t we?”

“Hamilton Falls isn’t that small.” Dinah raised her voice over the sound of Tamsen’s fussing, which didn’t help the situation.
“It’s pretty nice outside. Why don’t I take her out while you go get baby food? You never know. It might work.”

Matthew took the truck, and Dinah wrapped Tamsen in the stained but clean aqua blanket and took her out into the front yard.
March had gone out like a lamb, and the early April sunshine held the promise of relief from the cold and new life springing
up from the unfriendly soil. The Traynell property sloped away to the road, and on the other side of it, down to the river
in a gentle roll of grass and scrub pines and weeds.

Half a dozen chickens, led by Schatzi, had found some dry ground close to the house and were busy giving themselves dust baths.
Tamsen, who had fallen silent the minute Dinah had stepped out on the porch, made a sound Dinah translated as interest in
what the birds were doing. She sat on a stump and told the baby all the birds’ names and why dirt was flying in every direction
as each bird happily hollowed out its bath and sent swathes of dust over its back.

When she heard a car’s engine a few minutes later, she couldn’t believe Matthew had gone to town and back so fast. Maybe he’d
forgotten something.

She swiveled on the stump and saw Claire Montoya climb out of her discreet, compact sedan.

Claire?

But Claire had never come out to the ranch for anything other than a young people’s meeting or Gathering. They’d bunk together
at Summer Gathering, maybe, or share a booth at the café if they both happened to get the same lunch hour. But there their
commonality ended. Claire Montoya had normal parents who lived normal lives. Dinah . . . well, Dinah put on an act that looked
reasonably normal and kept her mouth shut.

Claire picked her way across the wet grass in her neat black pumps. Her black suit was wool crepe and cut so nicely she probably
hadn’t made it, but had ordered it from Nordstrom or Bloomingdale’s. She worked at the bank—in fact had taken the position
Dinah had had to give up when Dad got so sick he couldn’t run the ranch. Her blouse was black but made of something like satin,
a sensuous, worldly fabric that wouldn’t escape the old ladies’ hawk eyes.

From her expression, she’d already heard about the baby’s arrival. Was she coming to check out the rumor before she spread
it any further? Dinah supposed she should be grateful. The Elect grapevine was highly efficient, but not too picky about accuracy.

“Hi, Dinah.” Claire greeted her with a smile, but her fascinated gaze was locked on the baby.

“Hi. What brings you out this way?”

“Is this your new niece? Linda Bell told me you were looking after her.”

Which pretty much answered the question.

“Her name is Tamsen. It’s Cornish for ‘a person who is free.’” So said Matthew, anyway, who could reasonably be expected to
know, since he had been born and raised in Cornwall. She wondered if Tamara had known that when she’d named her.
Free.

Claire tickled the baby’s fingers. “I never heard it before. It’s unusual. But then, from what I hear, just about everything
about her is unusual.”

Dinah attempted to be civil. “So did you come to find out what her name was, or is there something else I can do for you?”

Claire seemed to give herself a mental shake. “I’ve been hearing the strangest things and thought I’d come out and have a
Visit.”

A Visit. Oh, dear. Not a small-v visit like most of the world enjoyed. A capital-V Visit meant that someone thought you needed
encouragement or help. That maybe your service was slipping a bit. Of course, sometimes it was simply an offer of a shoulder
to cry on, though she and Claire weren’t really on those terms.

In any case, she didn’t need Visits from anybody.

“Are you busy?” Claire asked after a moment.

“I’m trying to get Tamsen to settle down enough to have a nap. For some reason nothing is making her happy today.”

“Is she hungry?”

“No.”

“Dry? Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing is poking or hurting her? No gas?”

“She uses disposables and she burped after her second breakfast.”

Claire nodded briskly. “Sometimes you have to just let them cry. It’s good for them. Builds their lungs.”

Dinah eyed her. “You haven’t heard Tamsen cry. I’d have to move out and go in the barn.”

This seemed to throw the switch on Claire’s train of thought. “Is it true you hired a vagrant and he sleeps out there?”

Was she always this abrupt and nosy?

“I hired a former university professor and he’s living in the hired man’s suite.”

“I heard he was a homeless man.”

“Well, you might want to check your facts. He isn’t.” Not now. But Dinah wasn’t going to go into details. Matthew’s life was
his own business, not fodder for the Elect women to chew on.

“But Dinah, isn’t it dangerous?”

“What? Matthew? Of course not.”

“Well, look at you.” Claire waved an arm at the grass and the river. “All alone out here, now that your mom’s gone to Pitchford.
Anything could happen.”

Anything could and already had happened. Matthew could only improve the picture.

“I’m not worried,” she said mildly. “He’s a very nice man. He’s gone to get baby food for Tamsen, in case you were wondering.
You’ll probably pass him on the highway on your way back.”

That was about as pointed as she could bring herself to be, but Claire didn’t take the hint.

“Maybe he’s not a physical danger, but what about, well, your reputation?”

Dinah blinked at her, and waited.

Claire had the grace to look a little uncomfortable. “You know. All alone out here with—with him. A worldly man, nice or not,
is still a worldly man.”

“Claire, he’s an employee. We’ve had hired men off and on for years.” Dinah settled the baby more comfortably in her lap.
“Why does it matter to you?” she asked finally. “We’ve never really been the best of friends. My behavior has never worried
you before.”

“You never gave anyone anything to worry about before.” Claire’s voice held something Dinah couldn’t identify. Her lashes
veiled her green eyes, and her hair—which curled around her forehead and temples in a way that Dinah could only envy—was pulled
back in a heavy chignon at the nape of her neck. On Dinah this would have been fatally ugly. Claire could have been a nymph
in a Greek frieze.

“I’m not giving anyone anything to worry about now,” she said quietly. “I’m in a weird situation and I’m making the best of
it.”

“I believe you.” The words seemed forced out of her, and Dinah frowned. “But people are talking.”

“What, about me and the hired man? Good grief, Claire, I just lost my dad, my mom had a stroke, my sister dumped her baby
on me, and I have a ranch to run. I don’t have time to—to have an affair, if that’s what people are thinking.”

To her amazement, Claire lifted her head and grinned—a real grin, not the fake smile that had been holding up the corners
of her mouth until now.

“Put like that, it does sound a little unbelievable.”

“That’s because it
is
unbelievable. Honestly, don’t people have anything better to do?”

“Here, why don’t you let me have her for a bit?” Dinah handed the baby over and Claire sat on the stump without, it appeared,
a single thought for her wool-crepe skirt. “Aren’t you the cutest little thing?” she cooed and gave Tamsen her wristwatch
to play with before returning to the conversation. “The thing is you’re from a favored family, and people like to talk about
them the way magazines talk about movie stars. I guess it’s because we look inward at ourselves instead of outward at the
world.”

“How would you know what magazines say about movie stars? I’m shocked.”

Claire rolled her eyes, and Dinah began to see that her motives for coming out here may have been sincere. Her suspicion lightened
a little.

“There’s nothing wrong with reading a magazine. Julia used to do it so she could talk about movies with her worldly friends
at school.”

Dinah couldn’t imagine prim and proper Julia McNeill doing such a thing. But then, she’d run away with that biker, hadn’t
she? Obviously the signs had been there.

Then she gave herself a mental slap. What signs? Like reading a movie magazine was some kind of evil seed that had manifested
itself in her behavior later? If that were the case, what would grow from her use of the computer? Absolutely nothing—except
a wider knowledge of baby care.

“Speaking of Julia,” Claire began.

As opposed to actually speaking
to
her,
Dinah thought,
since she’s Out and none of us are supposed to have contact with her any more.
“Yes?”

“I was talking to Rebecca about her apartment.”

Something tugged under Dinah’s breastbone—a sense of impending loss. Cold crept over her skin as she realized the real purpose
of Claire’s visit. “Were you?”

“I want to move out of Mom and Dad’s and Rebecca needs a tenant.” She looked up from the baby. “She said that she’d discussed
it with you, but you hadn’t made a decision. So I thought I’d come and talk with you about it, and see what you were going
to do.”

Bless Rebecca for giving her another chance. But there was no decision to make. “If you want it, you should take it, Claire.
I can’t leave here now. We’re going to be taking the cattle to the auction pretty soon, I’ve got Tamsen to think about, Mom
will come home next week, and . . . and I don’t think Rebecca really wants a dozen chickens digging up her prize roses, do
you?”