Hidden Sins Read online

  “Let’s go, Mara. We’ll come back later.”

  “We were lucky to sneak out this time. Rabbe is growing restless. If my grandfather left any information here about the gold, now is our chance to get it. So come on.”

  Before they moved, in the distance an aged white sign with black hand-lettering waved in the breeze of passing cars.

  THE SECOND CHURCH OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.

  OBADIAH REED, PASTOR.

  “What does it say?” Ethan asked quietly. “It’s in Greek, right?”

  Mara stared at the sign, stunned that she’d forgotten. After a lifetime of watching that sign from her window or hiding behind its posts as she waited for a ride into town, she’d ceased to notice the phrase. To remember the words. She turned to Ethan, amber eyes narrowed in bemusement. “It’s from Corinthians. Second Chapter. ‘But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.’”

  Chapter 10

  “I’ll be damned.” Ethan grabbed Mara’s hand and brought her over to the massive white and black billboard that swayed unsteadily on aging wooden posts. They came to a halt at the massive base. Up close the colors were more dingy gray and sooty black, mottled by the elements. The lettering seeped ink into the plywood, and the symbols beneath the words were, well, Greek to him. Turning to Mara, he caught her elbow to draw her closer. Pointing up at the twisted symbols, hope sprouted and he murmured, “Are you sure about what the words say? About treasure?”

  Mara nodded slowly. She looked over at the ramshackle house, with its peeling white paint and busted windows. Inexorably, she followed the slope of the roof to the far west corner of the structure. For most of her life she’d been forced to look at the billboard from her bedroom window. Her father’s idea of a joke, she’d assumed. When she grew older, she often hid behind its pillars as she waited for a passing truck to slow enough to hitch a ride into town.

  She’d always found the swirling Greek script pretentious, an exotic lure for the uneducated and easily duped. The scriptural reference, like a thousand other passages from the Good Book, had been drilled into her head as a child. Memory verses, scripture readings, and Bible study lessons had conspired to crowd her thoughts with pithy phrases about virtue and goodness and salvation. Lies told by a man who hated his only child.

  “Mara?” Ethan caught her hand. The slender fingers were like ice, despite the scorching heat. “Talk to me.”

  His words sounded as though they’d emerged from a tunnel, and Mara opened her mouth to respond but nothing emerged. She could hear the bellow of her father’s sermons, the raucous tumult of the choir putting his exhortations to music. What had she been thinking, to imagine she was ready to be on this soil again? To be in his space? She’d never be ready.

  Ethan chafed her cool flesh and searched the emotionless face for some clue to the churning thoughts he could almost hear. In contrast, she stood like a statue, frozen and immobile, glazed eyes fixed on the passage. Anyone else would have believed her tranquil, but he could tell that she was seeing something else. Something ugly and terrible. He held her hand more tightly, convinced if he didn’t, she might slip away from him. Worriedly, he prompted, “Come on, honey, say something. Out loud.”

  Blinking dazedly, Mara watched the sign with a fixed fascination. That the words lost a great deal in the delivery from a ranting, livid man who seemed to only half believe in the God he espoused had sapped them of meaning. When one despised the messenger, she realized, the message meant nothing. “It’s been here forever. And I never saw it before.”

  “Tell me about the passage, sweetheart. Who put it here?” Ethan’s mind swiftly sifted through the possibilities. If her father was the origin of the obscure phrase, then their grand discovery could simply be a mocking coincidence. But if someone else had planted the clue…He squeezed her hand again, harder this time. “Mara, I need you to snap out of it. Tell me what you know.”

  With a shudder, she twisted to face an impatient Ethan. Her eyes closed, squinted tight against the sun’s glare. “This one was put up by my father. But it’s a replacement. My grandfather used to have a hand-painted sign planted here. There was a hurricane in ’seventy-nine, and the rain destroyed it. A week later my father had the parishioners out here putting up this monstrosity.” She angled her head to examine the tall wooden stakes. “Made them carry the beams out of the woods. He told them they were creating a beacon to God’s children.”

  “Did he say anything else? Did he mention the gold?”

  Mara tugged free of Ethan’s hold. “No, he didn’t. Daddy never talked about Grandpa Reed. He considered him a heathen and a disgrace.”

  Like grandfather, like daughter, Ethan thought. Mara had rarely spoken of her family with him, always glibly changing topics when he probed too deeply. If the conversation revolved around the Reed gold, she was a fount of information, but let him ask anything remotely personal, and she shut down.

  Then, he’d been willing to allow silence, since she typically kissed him into submission to aid her cause. But too much depended on what she knew. What her family knew. Still, given the grayish cast to her skin, he’d have to tread lightly. “But he was an evangelist too. Started the family business, right?”

  Fisting her hands, Mara followed the path of a semi as it barreled along the two-lane road. Dust billowed in its wake, the plumes of reddish brown dancing on the motionless air. Answer the questions, she told herself, and change the subject. “Grandpa Reed didn’t practice what he preached. He had two loyalties. Money and my grandmother. Religion was a means to a profitable end. The whole blind seer gimmick helped.”

  “Your grandfather was blind?”

  “According to legend, he saw the light of God out here on the road, a modern-day Paul. Changed his life. He gave up his sinning ways and accepted the path of the Lord.” Mara smiled grimly. “I remember seeing him preach once when I was younger. He wore these black glasses, but I swore he could see me sleeping.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Nice trick.”

  “Made sense at the time. Eyes of God and all that.”

  “Was he one of those fire and brimstone preachers?”

  “Grandpa understood sinners, being a practicing reprobate himself. Plus, he didn’t care for hypocrisy. I think the people enjoyed hearing about a kinder, gentler deity. The God he preached about didn’t mind backsliding or mistakes, as long as you tried harder the next time. Feed the hungry, clothe the sick, and try not to stay too long at the juke joint. Make your best effort and help another along the way. That was Grandpa’s complex, nuanced theology.”

  Didn’t sound like the Reverend Reed he remembered, Ethan thought with a frown. The one time he’d heard Mara’s father in the pulpit, he departed the tent revival depressed and certain a fanged, cloven-hooved Satan was primed to snatch his worthless soul from him. And that the exercise would be quite painful. He probed, “When did your father start leading the church?”

  “After Grandpa Reed died. But when Daddy took over the church, he told the mindless flock that my grandfather had perverted God’s teachings. That it was his duty to return them to the path.”

  “Is that when his religious art phase began?”

  “He concocted that after he started siphoning off more than their ten percent. Dad laid into the hell and damnation rhetoric fairly heavily. A world full of hopeless sinners that only castigation and poverty could cleanse. When he started taking his work literally, Mom couldn’t take any more.” As she spoke, the soft amber eyes hardened, cold and bright. “He believed that the Church of the Holy Spirit was God’s true family. None of the flock could ever leave.”

  “But your mother did.” Ethan braced a hip against the pole, his gaze fixed on Mara. She rarely spoke of the woman who deserted her when she was a little girl. “You were only seven when she left?”

  “Eight. She moved home to Mississippi, to be with her parents.” In a flash Mara could see herself standing at a black wrought-iron fence, rig
ht below the sign as rain streamed down, screaming for her mother to take her too. For someone to save her. But no one listened, and she had learned. That was the day she made her first rule. She was her own salvation.

  She shuddered, and Ethan took a step toward her. She seemed so fragile, he realized. He’d never noticed before how tightly she held herself. How she could be with him and so far away. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, the bones delicate beneath his touch. With a finger, he tipped her chin so their eyes met. “I still don’t understand why she didn’t take you with her. What kind of mother leaves her daughter with a lunatic?”

  Mara jerked once, then stilled. When she spoke, her voice was flat and resigned. “She wasn’t strong enough, I guess. My father wouldn’t have let me leave without a fight, and I don’t think she had the will to challenge him.”

  “I suppose she gave all her courage to you. I’ve never known braver.”

  “Ethan.” As a rule, she didn’t talk about her family, didn’t think about the two people who’d given her life. She swallowed hard, her throat gritty and dry. “I don’t feel brave.”

  “Talk to me, Mara. For once.”

  Overhead, a hawk swooped low and released a keening cry. She’d made that sound before. Mara rubbed at her chest, at the dull ache that throbbed near her heart when she let herself recall that afternoon. In low, uneven tones she described the day to him.

  Once again the rail-thin woman with sunken cheeks and haunted eyes yanked open the door to the yellow taxi. She didn’t look at Mara, didn’t hug her close and whisper foolish promises. No, her mother had ignored the tugs on her dress, the frantic clutching at her suitcase.

  Even as Mara chased the car, the big black tires spun in the mud, caking her in filth. Sinking into the muck, she’d wept for what seemed like hours until her grandmother found her.

  “She was a coward.” He spit out the word. “A spineless coward.”

  Mara responded by shaking her head. “She wasn’t strong enough to do battle with Obadiah Reed. No one was.”

  “You did,” he retorted, but his knuckles gently caressed her cheek. “You fought him.”

  Unaware, she nestled into the stroke against her skin, indulging. “I was stupid. And I paid for it. Over and over again.”

  Punishments she would never discuss with him. There hadn’t been marks on her body, but he’d known there was more than just harsh words and groundings. Back then, though, he hadn’t known what to look for. What to ask. But he’d ask questions now. “Why didn’t your grandmother take you and leave? She had to know her son was a tyrant.”

  “Take me where?” Mara laughed tightly. “Nana was an elderly woman whose career had been circus work. She had no money of her own and no family except my father and an eight-year-old whose own mother didn’t want her. No judge would have given her custody, and my father would have retaliated.”

  “So she stayed here with you?”

  “We just had each other. The Reed women stick together. Until I deserted her.” Mara yanked herself free of Ethan’s arms.

  Reaching out, he tried to touch her arm, but she scrambled out of range. “You saved yourself, Mara. What happened between you and your grandmother or between you and me—”

  “Makes me just like my mother!” Mara curled her lip, sneering. She pushed down the rise of bile, rummaging for the bravado that had always served her well. She wasn’t going to allow the truth to slice too deep. Become too honest. Instead, she scrubbed at her face, at unshed tears, and tossed her head up. “I’m a product of my environment, Ethan.”

  “A truism, Mara. But we make our own lives, our own mistakes.”

  “Well, you’ve been warned about mine.”

  “Yes, I have. And I’m still here.”

  “Because you’re a fool.”

  He cursed beneath his breath. She wasn’t wrong. Thousands of questions lingered between them, ones he refused to ask because the answers might satisfy him. And the pain, the rage, were somehow preferable. But if he was going to stand by her, he needed resolution. Questions she’d have to answer at last. “Why did you leave, Mara? I know you’re not a coward, and I could have sworn you loved me. If you’re not like your mother, why in the hell did you desert me?”

  Lies crowded on her tongue, eager to be told. Anything was better than the truth. “I wanted to go.” She angled her head to watch him while she lied again. Sunshine gilded him in a halo and cast her face in shadow. Perfect. “I didn’t want you anymore.”

  Ethan flinched at the cool delivery, the smooth rebuff. Too smooth. Too cool. “Liar.” He stepped to her, crowding her against the pole. “Why did you leave me? Because I was too safe? Too simple?”

  “No!” Startled by the question, she forgot to lie. “You raised yourself, without anyone to help. What greater risk could you take?”

  “But I wasn’t daring, like you. I calculated odds and you defied them.”

  “I ignored them. Until you got into college and I realized how little we had in common. College for you, parole for me. I didn’t want to be in your way.”

  “Try again.” Ethan set a hand near her ear, his face nearly against hers. Without the sun blinding him, he could see the widened black pupils, the fearful golden brown. The perpetual smirk faded into consternation, and whispery breath hitched in the slim column of her throat. There was something, he could sense it. See it. With the truth near, he pressed harder. “Why?”

  “Okay, yes, I was tired of you.” She feigned boredom, rolled her eyes. “You wanted Austin, I wanted New York.”

  “A minute ago, I would have believed that. But you’re lying.” His eyes gleamed with determination. He would have this mystery solved. “Why did you run away from me, Mara? When we were so close to having what we wanted, why throw it all away?”

  “Because I had to!” The plaintive words burst out and she planted her hands on his chest and shoved. Ethan didn’t budge. That she was grateful would occur to her later, when she wondered over the reasons she continued to speak. Her voice rose on a shout, loud enough to drown out the myriad excuses she’d used to punish herself for a decade.

  Damn him, she decided wildly. If he wants honesty, by God, he’d have it. “I left for you. I got home that night and my father was waiting up for me. One of his followers had taken the job seriously. Deacon Bellamy, the man on your slab? He’d trailed me into town. Saw us at the movies and at your place. Reported to my father that I was no longer pure.”

  “He saw us?”

  “Evidently. Because when I snuck into my room, Dad was waiting for me with Jessup and a few others.” The story spilled out, played out in her mind’s eye. “They were wearing white and one of them had a black box. I started to lie to my father, but he slapped me. I shut up.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Honey, that was just the warmup.” The syrupy drawl she’d shed as a child returned, slowing her words, elongating the retelling. “Daddy recited Matthew 5:29 in a litany. I’d never heard him sound like that before.”

  “Like what?”

  Mara paused and looked at him. “Happy. Almost gleeful.”

  “What was he saying?”

  “‘And if thy right eye causeth thee to stumble, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not thy whole body be cast into hell.’”

  “He was going to kill you?”

  The laugh chilled Ethan. “No. I was just an unclean vessel, a woman betraying him like all women. But you were the eye that offended. You defiled his daughter, and they decided that you had to die.”

  “You aren’t serious.”

  “Very serious.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, a poor shield against memory. “They grabbed me and lashed me to the bed. Daddy kept ranting about purity and chastity. About salvation. He convinced himself that unless you were dead, you would continue to corrupt me and condemn the entire Second Church of the Spirit to hell.” Caught up, she reached for the waistband of h
er borrowed khakis and snatched at the fabric.

  Ethan tried to still her hands. “What are you doing?”

  “Showing you who I am.” Pushing his hand away, she shoved the fabric low on her hip to the ridged scar at her hip: .

  “Kappa. Alpha.” He calculated swiftly, “Twenty-one? What was twenty-one?”

  “Overwhelmed by sin. Lost to salvation. Basically, a vessel of evil.”

  “He burned that into you?” He trained his eyes on her, reading for the first time the shadows that lurked in corners. “You could have told me, Mara. We could have left together.”

  Eyes dry and burning, she retorted, “And go where? To Austin with you? I wasn’t enough for you.”

  Ethan raised his hand to her face. To the stubborn chin and silken skin that captivated him. “You had no right to make the choice for me.”

  “I had to. Because unlike my mother, I gave a damn about someone other than myself for once. I was stronger than she was. Between my father and your chance at college, there wasn’t really a choice. If you came with me, you’d lose your chance and he’d keep chasing us. But if he thought I’d deserted you, I’d be another faithless woman and you’d be an innocent victim. So I left to save you.”

  “Why didn’t you write? Call? Something?”

  “Because I wasn’t good enough for you, Ethan. You were brilliant and noble, and you would have taken me with you. Or worse, you’d have come after me.”

  “Would that have been so bad?”

  “Probably. The first time I stole, I was eleven. I swiped a pack of gum from the drugstore.”

  “Hooligan.”

  “I enjoyed it. The rush of taking what wasn’t mine, of breaking the law. Mr. Harper had made fun of me, so I decided to show him. The next time it was a clock radio. By the time we were in high school I’d graduated to lifting wallets and sliding bills out of purses.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course not. You could only see the good in me. I loved that about you. And I knew that one day you’d see the real me and hate me. Or worse, you’d be disappointed.”