by Anel Viz
"I don't mean for us. More for the kids' sake, really."
"A religious education?"
"Not just that. They make friends there. It gives them a feeling of belonging."
"A sense of identity."
"Yes, of knowing who they are. And a religious education wouldn't hurt either. The schools are so much more secular nowadays than they used to be. They don't teach them moral values anymore."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that!"
"It's true. You should hear what Jessie and Dennis have to say about the public schools."
"The schools are supposed to be much better here than in the South, and as far as what the Heymers have to say… Well, they don't have children of their own, so they don't know first hand, do they?"
"Pastor Rich agrees with them one hundred percent. He was asking me if I'd be sending the twins to his church school this fall."
"And you told him they'd be going back to Idaho, right? You did, didn't you?"
"You know I'm hoping this will all be over by then."
When he got off the phone, Eric looked for the interviews Liv had told him of or something like that in his local paper, but there wasn't anything. His curiosity got the better of him, and he googled Kate Ansel to get the whole story.
Pastor Rich
The rain was beating down on the church roof. The twins, unable to take a break and go outdoors to play, were more restless than ever. Liv had to make them sit on either side of her and Li'l Eric to keep them from talking.
A sudden clap of thunder made them and everyone else in the congregation jump.
"You see?" Liv told them. "God's reminding us to pay attention."
Pastor Rich seemed to find inspiration in the storm. "Rain is God's blessing, brothers and sisters," he said. "We can't live without rain. We need the rain to make crops grow. Without rain there'd be no water for us to drink, nowhere to go swimming, no washing up. But God can also use rain as a punishment." Not that far away in Mississippi, the Pearl River had overflowed its banks again and driven thousands of people from their homes.
"Listen," Liv whispered to Li'l Eric. "Now Pastor Rich is going to tell us about how Noah built the ark and brought two of every kind of animal in the world on board to save them from the flood. You like that story."
"Why only two, Mommy? Had the animals sinned against God too?"
"There was only room for two of each, sweetheart."
"Yes, but why two?"
"Shhh, dear. Listen to the preacher."
"God also punishes us for our sins with fire. Fire, too, is a blessing. It keeps us warm and cooks our food. It can light our way in the darkness, as God led the children of Israel through the desert to the Promised Land surrounded by a pillar of fire. But at the same time it is the most terrible of all His punishments. Fire and brimstone, the punishment He reserves for unrepentant sinners in Hell. It's the punishment He visited on Sodom and Gomorrah, those evil cities where every day the people committed the most unspeakable of all sins, an abomination in the sight of the Lord. When He destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah He revealed to the world what Hell is like."
A sprinkling of amens and a lone Hallelujah! rose from the congregation.
Liv felt uncomfortable. Was this an appropriate subject for a sermon when all the children were inside to hear it?
"And what does it tell us in the Bible, brothers and sisters? The Bible tells us that this sin is so terrible, so unthinkable, that God Himself couldn't believe in such wickedness. He sent His angels to test them, so He'd see for Himself. Sent two of His holy angels, and He saw. And only one man in the whole city would offer them protection. They wanted to spend the night in the street, because God had sent them there as a test, but Lot wouldn't hear of it. He took them in under his roof to keep them from the lustful mob.
"Then the mob came to his door and said, 'Bring them out to us, so that we may know them.' Lot offered to send out his daughters in their place—his daughters, beautiful young virgins. That, too, is a sin, brothers and sisters, but a lesser sin, understandable because the flesh is weak. What the men of Sodom wanted is unforgivable."
Several people in the congregation nodded their agreement, their eyes flashing with anger.
"So the Lord rained his punishment down on Sodom and Gomorrah. Not the wet, drenching rain we hear beating down outside"—there'd been another clap of thunder—"but a rain of fire, the fire that burns eternally in Hell, worse than lava that spews forth from the bowels of the earth, where Hell is. I tell you, the lava that flows down the slopes of the volcano destroying everything in its path is but a tiny sample that escapes from God's fiery furnace."
Li'l Eric tugged at his mother's sleeve. "Can it really rain fire, Mommy? What do people use for umbrellas when it does?" Liv looked at him and put a finger over her lips.
"Lot escaped. He fled from the devastation of the city with his wife and daughters, warned by the angels of what God was about to do. But when God's fearsome thunder and the echo of the city's walls crumbling to dust and the despairing cries of the people who lived there reached her ears, Lot's wife turned back. She was wistful, and regretted her days there and the comforts she had known among the most godless of sinners. For that the Lord turned her into a pillar of salt."
More chorused amens and Hallelujahs!
"Look around you, oh my brothers and sisters, and tell me what you see. Sinners like the men of Sodom parading their iniquities through the streets of our nation in obscene celebration, openly flaunting their defiance of God's commandments. And what excuse do they give for this disgusting display? Pride, they call it! Pride, the first sin that mankind committed against its Maker, a sin that only the precious blood of His Son could wash away."
Murmurs of "Shame!" and "How can we let these things happen?" and "What's the world coming to?" swept through the congregation.
"And what does the government of our Christian nation do about it?"
"Nothing!" someone shouted out.
"Worse than nothing, brothers and sisters! It gives them children, innocent children, to raise and corrupt. It allows them to teach in our schools. It tells them they have the right to sin, to disobey God and turn all of Nature and everything holy on its head! And we stand there and watch and put up with it. TV sitcoms pretend it's harmless. They joke about it and call those jokes entertainment, and we gawk and laugh. Will we go on looking when God empties His arsenal of fire and brimstone on their abominations? Go on looking and be turned into pillars of salt?"
"How come he doesn't tell the story?" Clara whispered. "He just talks about it like we know it already."
Liv shushed her daughter and turned to Li'l Eric. "Do you understand what the preacher's saying, angel?"
He shook his head no, and she felt reassured.
Patty and Clara
Patty had exciting news for her father when he called. "Li'l Eric wet the bed!"
"Did he, honey? I hope you didn't make fun of him."
"No, Daddy."
"Are you kids having fun in Georgia?"
"Yeah. It rained yesterday, and Rags got all wet and muddy and had to stay on the porch. He smelled awful. Miz Jessie wouldn't let him come in the house."
"You like playing with Rags?"
"Not when he stinks."
"What else did you do yesterday? Did you go to church?" He hated asking that; it made him feel as if he was spying on Liv. But he had to know.
"Of course. We go to church every Sunday."
It was as he suspected. "Do you like it?" he asked.
"It's okay. We get to wear the new dresses Mom bought us for church, but Li'l Eric doesn't like what she bought him. He says it doesn't feel good. And we get to play outside with the other kids too, only yesterday it was raining, and we had to stay inside for the whole service. They call it a meeting here. I got bored. So did Clara."
"Don't you like the singing?"
"Some of it. And I like some of the stories Pastor Rich tells."
"What kind of stories?" He could hear Clara talk
ing in the background.
"Yesterday he told about a lady who got turned into a pillar of salt because she looked back. Quit it, Clara! You'll get your turn. Okay, I'll ask him. Daddy?"
"What is it, honey? Does Clara have a question? Don't fight with your sister."
"We weren't fighting; she was interrupting. She says I should ask you why it's bad to want to know angels. Mom says we wouldn't understand."
Eric's heart sank. "I give up, honey. Why is it bad to know angels?"
"It isn't a riddle, silly. It's part of the story Pastor Rich told us. These people in the city of Sodden Granola want the angels to come out of the house so they can get to know them, so God sends a confla… I can't remember the word, but it means a big fire, and He sends it to destroy them."
"Conflagration."
"Yeah, that's it—and He sets fire to the cities and their airplanes. Anyway, Pastor Rich says that what they did was an adnomination, or something like that. He uses very big words sometimes."
"Maybe that's why Mom says you won't understand. Let me speak to Clara now, and then I'll talk to Li'l Eric and then Mom. Okay?"
Eric couldn't get his son to tell him much about church; the boy didn't want to talk about it. He said that Pastor Rich's sermon had scared him and gave an even more garbled version of the story than his sisters had, something that sounded like God "burning up all the sodden granola."
"It's only a story. Do you know what 'sodden' means?"
"Uh-uh."
"It means soggy. Tell me about Rags."
"He's a dog. Can we get a dog?"
"Who would take care of it? Mommy and I both have to go to work. You know that." The kids had been nagging them for a dog even before they went to Georgia.
"She doesn't work in Macon."
"That must be nice. She has lots of time to spend with you."
"She doesn't take us to Grandma's anymore. She says the house is all packed up."
* * * *
The next time Eric spoke to Liv, he told her, "I'm worried about Li'l Eric. I don't think he's happy there."
"He's just tired. You should call earlier."
"Yesterday Patty said he wet the bed."
"So? It happens. He's just a little boy, after all."
"I don't think he's happy in Macon."
"He'll get used to it here. It seems strange to him. Do you know what he said the other day? That people in Macon talk funny. He meant their accent."
"I understood that."
"And he said that I'm starting to talk like them. Can you imagine?"
"You are."
"Am I really? Well, I always had a bit of an accent."
"It's gotten much stronger."
"Has it? I hadn't noticed. Well, I guess that's normal enough. I'll lose it back in Idaho."
"When are you coming back, Liv? There's nothing left to do in the house. Li'l Eric told me you finished a while ago."
"You know the answer to that. When this matter's been settled. Not until then."
"Patty said something else. She says you go to church every Sunday."
"Is that so very bad?"
"Going to church? No. But you didn't use to go every Sunday, and I'd prefer they went to our church—yours and mine."
"That would be good. We ought to go to church more often. For the children's sake."
"Yes, we've been through that already, and I'm good with it, but from what the girls tell me, it doesn't sound like I'd feel at home in the church you've been going to."
"It's the same religion." Liv must have realized she sounded defensive, because she added in a joking tone of voice, "Except that people talk funny here, like Li'l Eric says."
"It doesn't sound like the same religion to me," Eric said. "I get the impression that what the girls hear there confuses them."
"It wouldn't if they paid attention and listened to the preacher. They're always fidgeting and whispering to each other."
"And Li'l Eric?"
"You know Li'l Eric. He's an absolute angel in church."
"I tell you he doesn't sound happy."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I?" Eric hesitated a moment before going into specifics. Liv might think he was angling for another argument about gays; worse yet, she might start one. Well, that was her problem. "Do you know that the Sodom and Gomorrah story frightened him?" he asked.
"It did? I wasn't happy that Pastor Rich told it when all the children were in church. I didn't know how to answer their questions."
"I told Li'l Eric it was just a story."
"I'm not sure that was a good idea. The kids are too young to be told that not everything in the Bible is true. It'll only confuse them."
"We wouldn't have to face that problem if they went to a different church." Eric decided to go for broke. "You know, Liv, I've been thinking it would be a good idea if I came down and brought them back to Idaho as soon as I can get a couple of days off."
"That's crazy! Who would take care of them? You have to work."
"You don't have a job anymore, Liv."
"I told you that I'm staying here for now. Do you want to take my children away from me?"
"I'm not taking your children away. I'm taking them home. To your home."
"This is where I need to be. Can't you understand that? This is all about Li'l Eric wetting the bed, isn't it?"
"Of course not. It's how he sounds. As I said, I'm worried about him. And the kids will have spent the whole summer without seeing their friends. I promised to take them fishing, remember?"
"Dennis took Li'l Eric fishing. Didn't he tell you?"
"No." That, too? Eric hoped the guy had only talked to his kid about fishing, not politics and religion. He'd have to sound Li'l Eric out on that later.
"I'm surprised. He helped Jessie cook them afterwards. He had a blast."
"I'll bet he did. But let's get back to bringing them home. What about school?"
"Are you afraid I'll send them to the church school? Well, I won't, because you asked me not to. I don't cross you, Eric. I listen to what you say."
Eric ignored her reply. It was her way of going on the offensive. "You haven't answered my question," he said calmly. "What about school?"
"I thought I'd home school them for a while. Jessie said she'd help."
"You know what I think about home schooling. Kids need to be with other kids. School is where kids go. I thought you agreed with me on that."
"Honestly, Eric. It would only be a stopgap measure. Anyway, school doesn't start for another three weeks. We can think about it again when the time comes."
"I don't like the idea."
"I said we can think about it. In the meantime, I think it would be a good idea if you did take a couple of days off and came to see the children. They miss you."
"And you?"
"What a foolish question! Of course I miss you!"
Scott Ballard
Eric left a message for his lawyer.
"Scott, this is Eric Redding. I think it's about time we did something. She's gone too far. Everything I was afraid was happening is happening. Call me when get a chance, okay?"
Scott Ballard had handled many divorce cases. In fact, he did little else, although he'd never intended to make it his specialty. He represented women more often than men, and he almost always managed to get them very generous settlements, so much so that, on the whole, unless they were unusually wealthy, he felt sorry for the men who were up against him. This case was different, and not only because he'd be acting on behalf of the husband. Redding didn't care about the settlement; he was willing to pay through the nose if he had to. What he wanted was custody of the children, a trickier thing to arrange, especially given the grounds for the divorce.
The grounds were unusual too. "Irreconcilable differences" was common enough, but that generally meant sex or money or in-laws or the like. He'd never had a client where political differences were at issue or the couple was at loggerheads over fundamental moral values.
<
br /> "It almost sounds as if you've taken on gay rights as a personal cause," he told Eric.
"Not by a long shot, but at this rate I may. Say that I've made it a personal cause not to be roped into the fight against them."
So Ballard had counseled prudence, that they follow a wait-and-see policy. He saw no reason to rush things, and Redding hadn't actually decided he wanted to go through with it. On the whole, he thought his client was exaggerating. Now it seemed he wasn't. Not according to him, anyway. He'd have to wait to hear what had happened.
If Redding was right about his wife's homophobia, if it was really that virulent, then Scott tended to side with him. Unfortunately, his own mild liberalism wouldn't make any difference. The courts rarely ruled against the mother when it came to custody. And if the wife responded by filing for divorce in Georgia, the man didn't stand a chance, not even if they forgot about the homophobia and tried claiming abandonment or that Livia was an unfit mother. She hadn't abandoned the children, after all, nor did they have any cause to believe she was neglecting them while she pursued the matter of the house or that she was putting them in harm's way by staying there.
The results might well be the same in Idaho. The State Constitution expressly forbade same-sex marriage and did not recognize civil unions, including those contracted abroad or in another State, nor could same-sex couples adopt a child.
Public opinion would be against them. So your kids grow up hating homosexuals—big deal! So you're acting on principle. So is your wife, and, frankly we like her principles a lot more. His client would do better to ask his boss for a transfer to Massachusetts or Vermont or New Jersey, or even right next door to Washington or Oregon, where domestic partnerships were legal. Idaho? Forget it!
They could make it a question of religion, but the courts would still favor the wife. All in all, it seemed best to wait and hope the whole thing would blow over when she lost the house and came home. It was conceivable they'd be able to work things out once her current mania had passed. Ballard couldn't imagine that the latest development—whatever it was—was a real crisis. But the decision was Redding's.
