Summer Sanctuary (4 page)

We walked back toward the library in perfect stride. This time we took the trail all the way around to the front of the library where my bike was parked.

“The library's closed tomorrow,” Dinah reminded me.

“Then I'll meet you outside the back door of the church around 3:00. There's never anyone around on Sunday afternoons.” I hesitated. “Do you want me to bring you something to eat?”

“That's okay … I've got cans of stuff to open, and I can pick up some bread outside the bakery at closing time. Thanks for lunch, though. And for a safe place to sleep tonight.”

T
HAT NIGHT
,
AS
I was lying in bed, I searched my mind. Mark's steady breathing was pacing my flow of thoughts.
Inhale—exhale. Inhale—exhale. Di—nah. Di—nah.
There was a Dinah in the Bible. I pulled my flashlight out from under my bed and began leafing through the Old Testament. There she was. Genesis, Chapter 34.
Dinah and the Shechemites. Shechemites. Sounds like they're checking for bugs
. I began reading: “Now Dinah, the daughter Leah had borne to Jacob, went out to visit the women of the land. When Shechem son of Hamor the Hivite, the ruler of that area, saw her, he took her and violated her.”

“Whoa!” Dinah's voice from this afternoon echoed through my brain. He
violated
her. I read the entire chapter about Dinah. Turns out Shechem actually loved Dinah, but her brothers were mad about the whole thing. They tricked Shechem into thinking he
could marry Dinah as long as he and all of his men agreed to be circumcised. Shechem agreed, but after they all got circumcised and were in too much pain to fight, Dinah's brothers killed them all.

I remember when Johnny came home from the hospital. The first time I saw Mom changing his diaper I asked her what was wrong with his dobby. (That's what Mom calls it. Boys have dobbies, and girls have mollygobblers.) “The doctor circumcised Johnny,” Mom told me.

“Why?” I asked, trying to figure out what the word meant.

“So it's easier to keep him clean,” Mom explained.

“Am I circumcised?” I asked.

“All of my boys are circumcised,” Mom said. But I don't remember it. I guess it's a good thing, because I bet if you remember it, it really hurt.

I turned back to Genesis. Funny—there's nothing else about Dinah. Nothing about how it felt to be violated. Or whether she decided she loved Shechem, too, after the whole violation thing. Or how she felt about her brothers killing him. Their father Jacob wasn't too happy about it. He thought all of the Canaanites would be mad and destroy his whole family.

My family says the Bible has all the answers. So why did it always leave me with more questions?

Last March when Dad was away on a mission trip, Grandpa gave the Sunday sermon. The title in the bulletin was, “The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth.” I tried to pay attention because Grandpa always liked to discuss his sermons. Mostly he just talked about the Bible being the Word of God.

Afterward at dinner he asked Mom, “So what did you think of the sermon?”

“It's always good to get a different perspective,” Mom replied.

“Perspective-uh!” Grandpa bellowed. “It's not about perspective-uh! Almighty God-duh said it and that settles it.”

Mom looked at me, and then back to Grandpa. “What if there's more to God than what a handful of Jewish men could put into words?”

“Blasphemy!” exclaimed Grandpa. He pounded his fist on the table as he said it. That scared Johnny, and he started crying.

“If you'll excuse me,” Mom said. She stood up and picked up Johnny. They walked away from the table
with Mom bouncing Johnny on her hip until he quieted down.

“Would anyone like more mashed potatoes?” asked Grandma.

“No, thank you,” Mark and I said in unison.

Grandpa turned to me. “Son, you know-wuh that the Bible is the absolute truth-uh, don't you?”

“Yes, sir,” I managed to say. I could feel my ears burning.

“Everything you ever need to know is right there in the Good Book,” said Grandpa.

“Yes, sir,” I remember saying.

So I read the story of Dinah again, looking for clues. Then I flipped through the rest of the book of Genesis. There was definitely nothing else about Dinah. If all of the answers to my questions were there, I sure couldn't find them.

A gigantic yawn overpowered my thoughts. I slipped the flashlight and Bible back under my bed. My mind drifted from Dinah in the Bible to my Dinah, back to the Canaanites. From the land of Canaan. Land of Canines. And that night, I dreamed about Dinah and old Mrs. Miller's dogs.

S
UNDAY SCHOOL AND
church took forever. I kept looking around for signs that Dinah was there, had been there. The whole thing seemed like a dream. Mark's elbow in my ribs brought me back to the service. “Watch it!” I whispered loudly. Mark stuck his tongue out at me as he passed me the offering plate. I handed it to Mom, keeping it out of Johnny's reach.

During the sermon I looked at all of the people in the sanctuary. None of them had any idea that our church had its very own houseguest. I didn't think God would mind. He would want Dinah to be warm and safe and dry. And I liked the feeling that God was in on the secret.

Dinah was waiting for me at 3:00 behind the church. She had her backpack over her shoulder, but it didn't look nearly as full as it had the past two days. “Hey, Matthew!” she smiled.

“So what do you think?” I asked as we walked in the back door.

“It was weird at first,” Dinah admitted, “but I fell asleep pretty early and didn't hear anything until the timer went off at 6:30.” She pointed to the stove. “I think my favorite part was waking up to a bathroom and fresh water.” Dinah led the way to the rec area and pulled out two beanbags for us to sit on. “So, welcome to my new home,” she laughed. As I sat down beside her she asked, “Are you sure we won't have any other visitors this afternoon?”

“Definitely,” I assured her. “I always come on Sunday afternoons to practice piano, and there's never anyone here until Dad comes back at 6:30 to get ready for the 7:00 service.”

“Can I listen to you practice?” Dinah asked.

“Are you sure you want to?” I didn't mind playing in front of the church, but the thought of playing for Dinah suddenly made me nervous. “I mean, I can practice later.”

Dinah was already up and pulling me up with her. “I definitely want to hear you play. You lead the way.”

My mind raced through my entire musical repertoire as I led Dinah up to the sanctuary. By the time we
reached the piano, I had decided to pull out my classical piano solos book. Beethoven's
Für Elise
—that would be good. Seems like half of Johnny's toys play the song, which sounds pretty good even as electronic beeps. At least she might recognize it.

Dinah settled into the front pew, as I began playing
Für Elise
. She remained completely silent through the whole piece. Then when I was done she gave me a standing ovation. “That was great!” she exclaimed. “Keep practicing.”

I turned to
Londonderry Air
, another traditional piece that I thought she might recognize. I'd only played the first four measures when she jumped up and cried, “That's
Danny Boy
! What key are you playing in?”

I looked at the music—no sharps or flats. “C,” I said.

“Can I play with you?” asked Dinah, as she pulled a harmonica out of her pocket.

“Sure,” I replied, trying to hide my surprise. I didn't know anyone who played the harmonica. As I began playing again, the harmonica sweetly echoed the melody line I was playing. Dinah added a little riff at the end, and I stood up and applauded for her. “That was
really good,” I complemented her sincerely. “Did you just play it from memory?”

“Kind of,” Dinah said. “Are there any other songs in that book I might know?”

Dinah joined me on the piano bench, and we began looking through the index of the songbook together. “This is all classical stuff, isn't it?” she asked looking a little disappointed.

“It is, but you might recognize some of it. How about
Ode to Joy
?” I asked flipping through the pages.

“Ludwig von Beethoven,
Symphony Number 9
, 4th Movement,” Dinah read from the songbook. “Never heard of it,” she said shaking her head. “How's it go?”

As I started playing, Dinah started nodding. “Yeah, I have heard that before.”

“We sing it at church,” I said, and began singing, “Joyful, joyful we adore thee, God of Glory, Lord of Love.” I had to quit playing because I can't sing and play the piano at the same time.

She put the harmonica to her lips and began playing with her eyes closed. I stopped singing and turned back to the piano. When I tried to play with her though, I sounded awful. “What key are you playing in?” she asked.

“Two sharps—key of D,” I said.

“Can you play it in the key of C? I only have a C harp,” she said holding out the harmonica and pointing to a little C on the front to the left of the holes.

“A C harp?” I asked. “I thought you were playing a harmonica.”

“Harmonica—blues harp—same thing,” said Dinah. “They come in all different keys. C's the most common. Mine's a C harp.”

“So you can't play in D?” I asked. This time I was disappointed.

“No. I'm trying to learn to play cross-harp so I can play things in the key of G, too, but it's kinda harder than I thought it would be.” Dinah ran her fingers across the black piano keys and then back across the white keys. “I thought you could play in any key you wanted on the piano.” The back of her hand had little cuts and bruises all over it. I looked at her other hand holding the harmonica. There was a Band-Aid on her left pinkie.

“Well, I have to play in whatever key the song is written in. I know professional musicians can look at a song written in one key and play it in another, but I
can't,” I confessed. “I'm still working on being able to play what's written in front of me.”

“So what do you have written in the key of C?” Dinah asked. I started flipping through the songbook trying to find something else in C. Something that I could play.

“I know lots of hymns in C,” I offered doubtfully. I mean, Dinah didn't seem like the hymn-playing type.

“So play something,” she said.

I pulled out the hymn book and turned to
The Love of God
, a hymn that I'd practiced a lot to play for a special during the offering last month. Dinah watched my fingers and dipped her shoulders gently in rhythm. “I can do that,” she said and began playing the song with me. This time she started out playing some kind of an accompaniment, but it wasn't long before she was playing the melody right along with me.

“Wow!” I said, staring at her when we were through. “Did you know that song, too?”

“Nope,” she said. “Never heard it before.”

“You can sight read music that well the first time through?” I was even more shocked.

“Nope,” she said. “I can't read music at all. I just play by ear.”

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Well, that song really only had 3 chords in it—C, F, and G. I started out playing the chords, then after I heard the melody, I started playing that, too.”

“That's amazing!” My voice echoed through the sanctuary. I was so impressed. Just looking at her, you'd never know that Dinah was some kind of musical genius.

“It's the same chord progression they use in blues and country and the old rock songs, too. It's not that amazing, Matthew,” Dinah grinned. I couldn't tell if she was pleased with herself for impressing me so, or amused that I didn't already know that.

I continued flipping through the hymn book selecting songs with no sharps or flats that I could play without butchering. Dinah would listen to the melody and be able to play along by the second time through. I got so distracted listening to her that I made more mistakes than she did.

I couldn't believe it when I looked up at the clock behind us. It was after 5:00. “Hey, I better go before my mom sends Mark to get me for dinner.”

“Okay,” said Dinah. “See you at the library tomorrow?”

“Definitely. I gotta get started on my summer study project.”

I
WAS ALREADY
buried in science books when Dinah arrived at the library that Monday morning.

“What are you studying?” Dinah asked as she sat down at the table across from me.

“Time dilation and the speed of light,” I said, propping my head up in my hands.

“What for?” asked Dinah, examining the book closest to her.

“I have this theory that I'm hoping to prove, but it's turning out to be way more complicated than I thought.” I flipped the book in front of me shut and sighed. “Did you know that a light year is a measure of distance, not time?”

Dinah shrugged. “So what's your theory?”

“I started reading Einstein's Theory of Relativity and how the only constant speed we know of is the speed of light.” Dinah raised her eyebrows and opened her eyes wide, trying to take it all in. “It's like this,” I
explained. “Suppose I throw a ball to you at 50 miles per hour. The ball's traveling at 50 miles per hour, right?”

“Okay,” agreed Dinah.

“Now suppose we're riding on a train that's traveling 50 miles per hour. I'm holding the ball, so you and me and the ball are all traveling at 50 miles per hour on the train, right?” I checked to make sure she was still with me.

“Right,” Dinah said.

“Okay, now suppose I throw the ball to you at 50 miles per hour. You and I are still traveling at 50 miles per hour, but the ball is traveling at 100 miles per hour, right?” I was nodding, but Dinah wasn't convinced.