Pocketful of Pearls (4 page)

Sheba came in through the hen door and walked across the floor like the Queen inspecting the troops. She paused at Dinah’s
feet and looked up, waiting for an invitation. Dinah patted her knee and the hen flexed her powerful haunches and vaulted
up into her lap, wriggling under the barn jacket to the warm, secure place beneath Dinah’s arm.

She cuddled the bird, finding relief and comfort. Hugging the Silver-laced Wyandotte was like hugging a big silk pillow that
talked back. Dinah would do anything for Sheba, including giving her the leftover eggs when all she wanted to do was bolt
them down herself. Never mind that she’d made herself a full breakfast before she’d brought a plate to the vagrant.

Sheba murmured something in the depths of the jacket and Dinah opened it. The bird backed out a little and then sat companionably
on Dinah’s thigh, within the circle of her arm, keeping a vigilant amber eye on her kingdom.

“Is it safe to come out yet?”

Dinah jumped, and Sheba scrambled to her feet. The hen’s head swiveled toward the hay bales as the vagrant poked his head
above them.

“I thought you’d gone.” Dinah stroked Sheba’s feathers until she settled down again, but Dinah could still feel the tension
in her feet as they gripped her skirt.

Probably a response to the tension in her own body.

“You asked me to stay here. I wasn’t sure if you meant it, but if it means getting more of those eggs, I’ll take the risk.”

He was gazing at the bowl she’d meant for the chickens, and compunction nudged her. She hadn’t even thought about her promise
to bring him seconds. The sight of Phinehas had driven him completely out of her head.

She picked up the bowl and held it out to him. “They’re probably cold.”

He climbed over the bales and she noticed that Schatzi didn’t move. How odd.

“They’re protein,” he said. “Doesn’t matter whether they’re hot or cold.” In seconds the leftovers were gone. Sheba gave him
the evil eye.

Dinah felt rather the same. “You were supposed to share.”

The hen hopped down, offended, and stalked out the hen door.

“If she hasn’t eaten since Wednesday, I’d be happy to share with her.” He scooped the last particles out of the bowl with
his fingers. “Besides, in her case there are more where these came from. I didn’t realize chickens ate eggs.”

“They eat chicken, too. They prefer it baked.”

“How can chickens eat other chickens?”

“It isn’t personal. Like you said, it’s protein. Those eggs have to be built from something.”

He folded himself onto a hay bale a little distance from her and regarded Schatzi, who gazed placidly back. “I am reduced
to the level of a chicken,” he said sadly. “My only thoughts are for protein and not getting killed by the nearest predator.”

“You’ve had trouble with predators?” She pulled her jacket more closely around her and made sure her black skirts covered
her legs to the ankle.

“Yes. The two-legged type. They had a bit of fun with my credit cards before I could find a phone and cancel them. I never
realized before how difficult it is to find a phone that doesn’t require money.”

“Do you still need to use one? There’s an extension out here.” She nodded toward the door, where the phone hung.

“No, thank you. I’m obliged to be moving on.”

“Not immediately.”

She gathered her thoughts together for an idea that had just popped into her head fully formed. Or maybe it was the logical
result of the last twenty-four hours. In any case, the more she thought about it, the angrier she got, and the better she
liked it.

He gave her a long look. “I don’t understand.”

“How would you like a job, Mr. Nicholas?”

He stared at her in astonishment. “I thought we discussed this before. Having a job requires a place to live, which requires
rent, which requires a job. A vicious circle that defeats me at the moment.”

“A place to live comes with it.”

He got up and then sat again, as though his legs wouldn’t carry him far enough to get him out the door. “Please explain. The
protein hasn’t kicked in enough to allow my brain to work.”

“You need a place to live and something to do,” she said. “I need someone to do the heavy work around here that my father
did up until the cancer made it impossible. Either I hire a boy from Hamilton Falls and have to deal with his social life
cutting into his work time, or I hire you, ready and available to start immediately. What do you think?”

“I think you would not be getting your money’s worth. I can no more do heavy work right now than that chicken there”—he indicated
Schatzi, who had left another blue egg in the niche and was preening her feathers—“could pick up this bale of hay.”

“A few solid meals would take care of that.”

“And you know nothing about me except that I’m not very capable of managing a walking tour.”

“Possibly. But whether you can manage a grazing lease and feed cattle concerns me more.”

“I know more about chickens than cows, and that’s only because of you.”

“You can learn. And it’s interesting you should mention the chickens. You don’t frighten Schatzi.”

He glanced from the bird, who had finished preening and had hopped down to the feeder, to Dinah. “What has that to do with
it?”

“Schatzi is very easily frightened. But she’s not frightened of you.”

He sighed, and one corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “All the credits in the world, and I’m reduced to a character
reference from a chicken.”

“You’ve got ground to make up with Sheba, though, after not sharing your breakfast.”

“I will endeavor to do that.” He sounded as if he were trying not to laugh. “Since Sheba’s opinion appears to matter to you.”

“Sheba matters deeply to me.” She got up. “One thing.”

“Yes?”

“My aunt and uncle will be leaving Monday afternoon. I have no idea how long Phinehas will be here, but it could be several
days.” She pushed the thought away. “You need to keep yourself hidden out here until I can tell my mother I’ve hired you.
Come on. I’ll show you.”

She led the way back to the tack room and heard his slow steps behind her.

What am I thinking? He could hurt me.

She fought back the panic. He had all he could do to get up and walk. And there was Schatzi, who had not been afraid. She
took comfort in that and tried to calm the irrational fear.

She pushed open a door and stood aside. Matthew halted on the threshold and gazed at the room.

“Who is this for?” he asked at last.

“When we had a hired man, he stayed here.” She avoided touching him as she passed and indicated the kitchenette. “You could
do your own cooking if you wanted, but once everybody leaves it’s probably more convenient to eat with us. That’s the living
room. The sofa’s kind of old, but it’s comfortable. There’s a bed through there, and a bathroom with a shower.”

“I had no idea this was here.”

Guilt prickled, and she shook it off. “Now that you’re no longer a vagrant, you shouldn’t be sleeping in the hay.”

“I don’t know about that. Schatzi and I came to an understanding. But are you sure?” He turned to her with such an expression
of pain that she stepped back in spite of herself.

“Sure?”

“That you want to do this for me. You’ve been so kind and I—” He stopped and made a gesture of futility with both hands. Emotion
worked in his throat. “I have no way to repay you.”

“You’ll be working,” she said briskly. She absolutely could not handle his emotion. She warded off his thanks with her tone.
“I’ll bring your meals for now. You can use the time to build up your strength.”

“Right.” He took a long breath. “Hidden away in luxury. I’ll be our little secret.”

She stared at him, and the remnants of distress in his face turned to alarm.

“What? What did I say?”

“Nothing,” she choked out. Then she turned and, as pain lanced through her legs, walked as quickly as she could out the door.

OUR LITTLE SECRET.

Throughout the rest of the day, the words echoed in her head. By afternoon the voice was no longer that of Matthew Nicholas,
but of Phinehas.

You’re a vessel filled with love, poured out in secret.

It took her two hours to prepare dinner—two hours of cutting vegetables and preparing spices, two hours in which she was far
too busy to think or to acknowledge the fact that Phinehas was in the living room visiting with her mother and aunt and uncle.

Your calling is strictly between you and me and God. Our secret.

It was two hours in which to eat. She managed to sneak outside twice, under the guise of taking the compost out, and purge
herself. After dinner, it took another hour to wash the pots and clean the kitchen. It was even necessary to scrub down the
sink with cleanser and clean out the wells under the heating elements on the stove. All the while the spring of tension inside
her wound tighter and tighter.

Come to the secret place and let us worship together.

She demolished most of the leftovers in the fridge, and afterward, in the upstairs bathroom, wondered how she was going to
explain their disappearance. She’d always been able to blame it on Dad and his midnight snacks. She went down and considered
cleaning the oven, too, but at nine o’clock her uncle came into the kitchen to get her.

“Dinah, Phinehas is starting to call you our little Martha, you’re so busy out here. Come and be Mary for a while, and have
a Bible study with us. It’s the Lord’s day tomorrow, you know.”

She had no choice but to go.

Fortunately, the Bible study lasted an hour and fifteen minutes, during which it was perfectly acceptable to keep her eyes
on the Bible in her lap while she listened to Phinehas interpret the Scriptures. Her fingers, under her Bible’s worn leather
covers, were rigid and cold.

After a final prayer, she slipped into the downstairs spare room where her aunt and uncle were staying—Phinehas slept upstairs,
in the large front bedroom that overlooked the river—and took a couple of blankets out of the closet. Then she pulled the
last of the funeral leftovers out of the fridge. When everyone was busy getting ready for bed, she stacked the food and the
blankets on one arm and slipped out to the barn.

The chickens murmured when she passed them, but she didn’t stop to stroke Sheba as she normally did at night. Her feelings
would communicate themselves to the birds and their eggs would be bumpy and stressed in the morning. She knocked on the door
of the hired man’s apartment.

“Mr. Nicholas?” she whispered.

He opened the door, an indistinct dark shape. “Please, call me Matthew.”

She’d rather not call him anything. “I brought you some blankets. And some casserole. It’s cold, but there’s a microwave in
the kitchenette.”

“Thanks very much.” He took them. “I’m sorry if I offended you earlier.”

“Offended me?” There was no room in her mind for such petty things as offense. Not when the spring under her solar plexus
was wound so tightly she’d begun to have difficulty breathing.

“Yes. I think I said something that upset you. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t even remember what they had talked about. Silently, she went back to the house and climbed
the stairs to her room.

There was no point in locking the door.

She hung up her dress and folded her underclothes neatly into their drawers, then got the embroidered white batiste nightgown
from the bottom shelf instead of the comfortable black flannel one she usually wore in the winter.

There was no point in getting into bed, either.

The slow moments ticked by while people used the bathroom and brushed their teeth. The toilet flushed. Bedsprings creaked.
The moon had moved halfway across the expanse of her window and she could hear Uncle John snoring when it came at last.

Her door breathed open.

The floors in the ranch house were solid and thick and did not creak. Neither did any of the hinges. She’d made sure of that.

The lock snicked. The spring inside her uncoiled with a snap and she began to tremble.

“‘Behold, thou art fair, my love; thou hast doves’ eyes.’” The whisper was smooth and confident. “Say it.”

She was silent while the spring uncoiled the rest of the way and she began to float.

“Say it, Dinah.”

“‘I would lead thee,’” she began, and her throat closed up.

“‘And bring thee into my mother’s house,’” he prompted.

There was no help for it. “‘And bring thee into my mother’s house, who would instruct me: I would cause thee to drink of spiced
wine of the juice of my pomegranate.’”

The moon was so lovely. She would float out the window and up into the moon.

“Two months is far too long.”

His breath was warm on her neck, but she was no longer in her body. She was drifting up toward the moon, so clear, so cool,
so far away.

“Undo the buttons, Dinah.”

But she was gone, and in the end Phinehas had to undo the buttons on her nightgown himself.

T
HERE CAME A
point when even the most disembodied person had to admit that the moon had hard edges and it was too bright to sleep.

Not that she ever slept afterward.

When Dinah came back into her body, she was lying crossways across her bed. Her hair hung down in a tangle off the edge of
the mattress and trailed onto the floor. He insisted that she take it down beforehand, as though they were some kind of married
couple, and she complied only because when she didn’t, he wasn’t quite so careful about not hurting her.

She stirred, and this time, when she tightened her thigh muscles and pulled her knees together, it worked. Sometimes she wondered
how long she could stand the pain in her legs caused by years of futile attempts to keep him from pulling her knees apart.

But neither could she imagine trying to explain it to a doctor. Particularly when the doctor all the Elect went to in Hamilton
Falls, Michael Archer, was one of themselves, and a member of Phinehas’s flock.