The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [40]
She waited until we could neither be seen nor heard by those inside. Flickers of light from the house played across her face. “Fascinating, wasn’t it? Welcome to polite Philadelphia society.”
“You heard?”
“Elias would have been audible in New Jersey. He loathes modernity, an unfortunate point of view for a man seeking posterity by endowing a hospital. He’s never had to be polite to anyone, so he isn’t. Dr. Osler is hardly the first person he has repulsed with his behavior.”
“An odd choice to persuade Dr. Osler to remain here,” I offered, daring to show nothing of the attraction I felt for her.
“My father had little option. Elias insisted on being present. After all, it is his money.”
“Lachtmann too seems an ill-considered choice.”
Miss Benedict moved to the far side of an elm, even deeper into the shadows. “Jonas can actually be quite effective and even charming when he chooses to be.”
“He did not choose to be this evening.”
Miss Benedict smiled. Her lips seemed luminescent. “I believe I am in large part to blame. I infuriate him, but he is afraid to cross my father.”
“The portrait?”
“No, no. He detests the portrait, of course, but his is a far more powerful dislike.” Her bitterness was palpable. “Jonas holds me responsible for the moral dissolution of his daughter. Rebecca does not comport herself to the standards of a proper Philadelphia young lady, at least as defined by her father. That is why she is currently in Italy.”
“Are you responsible?”
“For her moral dissolution?” Miss Benedict laughed, as if at the absurdity of the term. “Actually, I am not, although it is not outlandish of Jonas to think so. The only difference between me and Rebecca is that I am open about my behavior and she is surreptitious.”
I was bewildered. “You mean that Miss Lachtmann was sent to Italy to paint?”
“To paint?” she asked incredulously. “Is that what you think?” She sighed. “No, Dr. Carroll, I do not mean to paint. I mean this.” With that, Abigail Benedict put a hand to my cheek, pulled me to her, and kissed me, deeply and rapturously.
She pulled back, studied my face. “You are an interesting man.”
“I want to see you again,” I said, the words coming out more as a gasp.
“Aren’t you moving to Baltimore?” she countered lightly.
“Baltimore is not far,” I replied.
“I suppose we shall find out just how far,” she said. “But if you wish to see me again, why don’t you call on me tomorrow? I’ll take you on an outing. Shall we say, about eleven?”
“Yes,” I replied eagerly. “By all means. But might I come by at one instead?”
“One? Ah, of course. It’s Sunday. You go to church.”
“Yes, I do. Perhaps you would care to join me?”
“One will be perfect,” she said.
CHAPTER 7
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I ATTENDED services at the Third Congregational Church. I had chosen this particular flock because of Reverend Powers. Rare among theologians, he mirrored the spirit of impassioned inquiry that I so admired in the Professor. His choice of subjects for sermons would have shocked Reverend Audette, who took a literal view of Scriptural commands, whereas Reverend Powers preferred that his parishioners consider the meaning of any passage they encountered. This enlightened approach to God’s teachings seemed more suited to my majority and present surroundings, just as Reverend Audette’s had been to my childhood in provincial Marietta.
This morning’s sermon was entitled “The Role of Conscience in Christianity.” Reverend Powers began by recalling the recent conflagration over slavery and noted that both those who held slaves and those who demanded abolition had cited Scripture to justify their views. After reading passages favored by each side of the question, Reverend Powers closed the Bible and leaned forward on the pulpit.
“They could not both be correct,” he observed, “for as Aristotle demonstrated, two opposites cannot exist simultaneously without one giving way. If that is true, then how is the Christian to choose the proper alternative?