Chapter 3

Marigold half hoped that Jonas would have forgotten about Bible study and gone to bed. It was a forlorn hope at best. He'd never forgotten--not once.

By the time Thule dropped her off in front of her house, Marigold felt both weary and jittery. She would have been happy to head straight for the shower and get some sleep. But, Jonas was still in his study, the door half open, the staccato sound of typing clear in the otherwise-silent house.

Marigold knocked hesitantly on the door, "Sir."

Jonas looked up, "Marigold. Come in." He waved her to an easy chair in the corner. As she sat down, Jonas kept typing, referring to papers on his desk periodically.

"If you're too busy," Marigold offered, "we can do this tomorrow..."

"No," said Jonas, smacking a key emphatically. "It can wait. I don't understand half of this stuff anyway. Do you know anyone who's got a really firm grasp of computers?"

"I..."

"Never mind," said Jonas absent-mindedly. "I need to do some more discovery on this before I'm ready to talk to anyone outside of the office anyway." He rose from the desk, coming over to take an easy chair opposite hers, "Have you had time to think about the current reading yet?"

"Some," said Marigold. "Not as much as I would have liked."

"So," Jonas asked. "What do you think?"

Marigold took a deep breath and tried to compose her thoughts. What did she think? The last few weeks, the readings had taken an odd turn. Generally, he assigned readings that were reflections on God's grace or exhortations to lead a good life, but lately, he seemed to have an agenda.

Lately, he'd been assigning Marigold the writings of Paul, particularly those on family, marriage, and the roles of women. It seemed clear to Marigold what his agenda was. In the four years since he'd married Marigold's mother, they'd failed to produce an heir. Now, it was going to fall on her to be a good, Christian wife to the father of the man who would inherit Jonas's estate.

About the time Marigold had gotten her acceptance letter from Harvard, Jonas had started with the writings of Paul, starting with the more reasonable ones and becoming increasingly tradition. Some of the most recent ones even verged on misogyny. It seemed particularly odd to Marigold. As far as she knew, Jonas's own Christianity, while occasionally fervent, had never caused him to treat his wife anything other than an equal.

Marigold realized that Jonas was still waiting for an answer. Not wanting him to think that she hadn't thought over the reading, she said, "It seems kind of confusing. Paul seems to be saying that people should put aside all family ties and follow only Jesus--like the apostles and, later, St. Francis of Assisi did."

"So," asked Jonas. "Why is that confusing?"

"Well," said Marigold. "Nobody does it. If Christians all did it, after one generation, there would be no more Christians."

"Why not?" asked Jonas. "You don't need to get married to make more little Christians."

Marigold knew that Jonas liked to try to shock her in order to get her to think, but she was shocked anyway. She decided to try turning the question around, "You don't mean to suggest that Saint Paul was recommending adultery, do you?"

Jonas laughed, "No. Certainly not Paul. But, let's get back to one of your points. Do you think that the fact that there would be no more Christians is enough reason to break God's law?"

Marigold shook her head slowly, "No. But, doesn't that mean that you're all sinners?"

Jonas raised an eyebrow. Marigold stammered, "I mean people who are married and have sex. Paul says that married men and women should lead celibate lives."

Jonas looked like he was waiting for her to reach some conclusion, but Marigold had no idea what it was. She wished she'd spent more time reflecting.

The phone rang. Jonas grumbled something unintelligible, strode over to the desk, and answered it. After listening for a few seconds, he said, "All right. Hold on a minute."

Putting his hand over the receiver, he asked, "Marigold, how much of the Bible is true?"

Marigold was surprised by the question, but said without thinking, "All of it."

Jonas looked at the phone, then back at Marigold, as if torn at which one to deal with first, "Is it?" he asked her, letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds. Marigold found herself nodding.

Jonas smiled at her, "I'm afraid that I really do have to take this call. This is a very important conversation, though. I'd like to finish it the next time we have a chance. In the mean time, think about that question."

Dismissed, Marigold rose and went upstairs. While it had been going on, she'd thought the Bible study had been enough to calm her nerves and get her mind off of Thule. But, as soon as she was alone in the shower, her eyes closed against the warm water needling into her flesh, his form was there, looming over her in her imagination.

Marigold tried to banish his image by focusing on the question that Jonas had asked her. But, it kept slipping out of her mind. Marigold's whole body seemed to be buzzing with Thule's touch. The places where she had been touched and kissed seemed to be quivering.

Giving up the fight with temptation, Marigold took the shower head down from its bracket. Sitting down on the floor of the tub, she spread her legs and turned the water on herself. The pleasure was intense but, try as she might, she couldn't get the shower head positioned right without touching herself.

After approaching orgasm for the third time and feeling the pleasure dissolve away, Marigold discovered that she didn't care whether what she was doing was self abuse. She reached down and spread herself open to the water. She shuddered at the intensity of it, then pulled her hand away as if burned. But, after a few seconds of frustratingly muted pleasure, she reached down again and felt the water running over her sensitive clit.

Once she had committed her hand to the job, Marigold found the old rhythms coming back to her quickly. It had been a few years since she'd allowed herself to masturbate with abandon, but she didn't think she'd forgotten a thing. Now, in addition to the old tricks, she tried to emulate what Thule had done with his tongue.

She came quickly, shuddering. It was all that Marigold could do not to cry out. She'd never brought herself off so intensely before. Panting, she reluctantly slid her hand out from between her legs. She meant to get up and go to bed, but instead found herself sitting langorously in the tub, holding the shower head in one hand, making a few desultory attempts at washing herself.

A sharp rapping at the door brought her fully awake even before she realized she was half asleep. Marigold gave a little cry of surprise.

"Marigold, honey," came Jonas's voice, laced with concern. Are you all right in there? Did you fall asleep?"

Marigold's voice quavered despite her best attempt to keep it steady, "What? Yeah. I'm all right. Thank you, sir."

"Get some sleep," Jonas said firmly. "You promised to be at the bake sale tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," she called more clearly. Standing on shaky legs, she wrapped herself in a big, thick towel, stumbled into her bedroom, and fell into bed, wanting just a minute to rest before she changed into her pajamas.

Marigold woke in the absolute stillness of pre-dawn. Her hair was still wet and the towel had unwrapped itself, leaving her naked in the moonlight. Her hand still lay between her thighs, feeling her own warmth. Before she even awoke, she had begun langorously touching herself again. Now fully awake, she recoiled. The pleasure receded quickly into panic. For the first time, she understood the insidious evil of what she'd been enjoying. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it. When fully aroused, she was downright wanton. Once they'd gotten started the night before, she had wanted Thule to do what he was doing to her, wanted him to do more. Under the force of the shower nozzle, she hadn't cared whether what she was doing was right or wrong, only that it felt good. Reverend Lofton had always warned her that sin could worm its way into an incautious heart, but she'd never fully understood what he meant before.

Dragging herself out of bed, Marigold dressed quickly, picking her biggest, baggiest sweatshirt to throw over her regular outfit. Taking a comb, she attacked the knots in her hair until tears came to her eyes.

Sometimes, she wished Jonas had never married her mother. Her father had died while she was in the seventh grade. Jonas had married her mother the following summer with what some said was unseemly haste. For a while, it had been great. But then he'd found religion. Soon, her mother was attending services every week with him.

Marigold had rebelled at first. Her father had been proud of his atheism and tried to instill it in his little girl. She'd loudly proclaimed that she didn't believe in God and damned well wasn't going to church every Sunday. Her mother had started to react, but Jonas had restrained her, saying, "It's the girl's choice, Holly. We may not like it, but we have to support it."

Through the remainder of eigth grade, Marigold had stuck to her guns. Jonas, in his own way, supported her throughout it. He never yelled or got angry, just got a pained, faraway look on his face when watching her sometimes.

That summer, she'd started smoking and drinking. She'd given in to Elliot's insistence that they "do stuff." She had apparently not been very good at it. Everything they tried, they tried only once. When she tried to show him her breasts, he'd shielded his eyes and told her they made her look like a cow. Worse, no matter what she'd done to Elliot's penis, it never became more than semi-erect.

Finally, he'd shouted at her that everything she was doing was wrong, that she had no idea how to turn a man on. Angrily, he'd masturbated in front of her, eyes tightly closed, bringing himself off in under a minute.

Marigold had screamed back at Elliot, said some horrible things to him. They broke up after that. She went with another boy for a while, one who had no trouble getting aroused for her. She'd lied to Thule about being the first one who'd seen her breasts. She'd spent so much time pretending that he didn't exist that she'd managed to briefly forget that he did.

After the other boy had broken her heart, Marigold had cried in her room for days. In the end, she'd told Jonas that she wanted to go back to church. There, she'd seen Elliot again. By the first week of sophomore year, Elliot had declared that they were boyfriend and girlfriend again and that he intended to marry her. It was like nothing had ever passed between them. And, Elliot had been a perfect, Christian gentleman ever since.

Comparably, Thule was a savage. Just because he'd forced Marigold to give her consent, it didn't make her feel any less violated than if she'd been raped, she decided. Lying on her bed, now fully dressed, she entertained fantasies of turning him in to the police or turning the tables on him and forcing him to do what she told him. She found herself unable to come up with anything suitably humiliating to tell him to do.

Seeing that the sun was now tinging the eastern sky pink, Marigold headed downstairs. Jonas was already down at the kitchen table, looking over some sort of reports. For a man in his position, he seemed to do an awful lot of the sort of work that he should have subordinates for.

"You're up early, pumpkin," he said. "Couldn't sleep?"

Marigold shook her head in the negative.

"Anything troubling you?"

Marigold considered the question for a moment. She'd been able to talk to Jonas about a lot of things. But, this one, he would never understand. He didn't understand her obsession with Harvard and medical school. He'd tried on several occasions to convince her to go to a college where she could become more "well-rounded." He would insist that Thule be turned over to the police.

"No," she lied. "I just couldn't sleep."

Marigold found herself having trouble staying awake during the bake sale. Despite the cold metal of the folding chair against the backs of her legs, she cought herself sliding downward several times. When Jonas half-jokingly offered her a cup of coffee, she accepted and loaded it with sugar and milk.

Marigold looked up when the sun seemed to go behind a cloud. It turned out not to be a cloud, but Vladi Aptakarev. As often seemed the case, he was standing two steps behind Randy Vandevoort.

"Good morning, Mr. Tarr," Randy said. "Raising money for the church?"

Jonas nodded pleasantly enough, "Can I interest you in something?"

Randy turned back and up to his companion, "You want anything, Vladi? A donut maybe?"

Marigold winced at the implied joke. Vladi had been the star quarterback at Mannsborough during her freshman year. He was a local police officer now and dressed in his blue uniform.

Vladi didn't seem phased by the question, though. Instead, he leaned down as if the table were too far away to be seen. At over six and a half feet and almost as broad at the shoulders, Marigold realized, it might be. The man was huge.

"Coffee," said Vladi, "and a piece of coffee cake."

Randy took a stick stack of bills out of his pocket, "Take the whole cake. You can bring it back to the station house... with my compliments."

Vladi nodded. Randy turned his attention elsewhere, "Good morning, Marigold. You're looking lovely today."

Marigold glanced at the big floppy sweatshirt and said, "Thank you, Randy. Ready for the game today?"

Randy smiled, revealing two rows of perfect, white teeth, "Always ready. Will you be in the stands, cheering me on?"

"I can't," said Marigold, feigning disappointment. "I've got a ton of work to do this weekend. Good luck, though."

Randy nodded. He seemed to be about to say something else to Jonas, but paused. Thule was there, suddenly, standing next to him. Despite the fact that he was almost as tall as Vladi and, if nowhere near as bulky, still a big guy, Marigold hadn't noticed his approach. By the look on Randy's face, he hadn't noticed either.

"Good morning, Mr. Tarr," Thule said. "What's good today?"

Jonas smiled, "Mrs. Carmichael's made some of her famous chocolate chip cookies."

Thule winced, "She still making them unleavened?"

Jonas laughed, "She only did that once. I think she burnt them this time, though."

Thule smiled, "Do you have any of those brownies your wife makes?"

"With and without nuts," offered Jonas.

Thule opened his wallet and pulled out a five, "A half-tray of the ones without nuts, please."

As Jonas began cutting the brownies loose from the tray, he said, "So, I noticed we still haven't seen you at church. Still weighing your options?"

"No answers yet," said Thule. "If I find them, what day are services again? Is that Thursdays?"

"No," said Jonas seriously, "Sundays. Sunday morning." Then, realizing that he was being put on, he laughed.

Thule turned to Marigold, "Mari, do you know if we're expected to read up on pointer math for the test on Tuesday? I know it was covered in class, but it wasn't really clear if we were going to go into more depth. It's not really covered on the AP test."

Marigold had no idea what she answered. But, after she stammered it out, Thule nodded as if she had said something profound. Then, he turned to Jonas, "If you ever have another Wednesday-night class, let me know. I learned a lot."

"Will do," said Jonas.

Thule nodded and smiled, then slapped Randy on the shoulder, "Good luck out there today, chief." Then, he walked off.

Totally upstaged, Randy kept a half-smile on his face, turned, and tapped Vladi in the center of his chest so that they both walked off.

When they were out of earshot, Jonas turned to Marigold, "I didn't know that you knew Bartholemew Roemer."

Marigold's laugh came out a little bit wan, "I've told you about him before. He's going to be salutorian."

It took Jonas a moment before a look of realization came over his face, "That's Thule? From the way you described him, I expected him to have bright red skin and horns."

"But..." Marigold started to defend herself.

"Marigold," Jonas said, using his patient voice. "What have I told you about judging people? Bartholemew's family may not be well-to-do, but he's an outstanding young man. He's got a lot of ambition and he's a seeker after knowledge. He may not be a believer, but I suspect that he'll find his faith eventually. It wouldn't hurt you to spend some time getting to know him. He could learn from your example."

Marigold was stunned at how completely Thule had taken Jonas in, "I... uh, yes sir."

Jonas nodded, then said absentmindedly, "I do wish he'd cut that hair, though."

Marigold fretted some over what Randy might say about having seen her talk to Thule. The words had certainly been innocent enough, but she impregnated them with deeper meaning, imagining that Randy could figure out everything that was going on from those few words and was already passing word down the grapevine that she was sleeping with a dreg.

By Monday morning, Marigold had formulated a plan. She would do what Thule asked of her. She had no more of a choice than she had from the very start. But, she would do no more. And, the next time he forced himself on her, she would fight the pleasure, remember that she was being violated, and not play along.

Walking up the front steps, she stopped on the highest full-sized landing where the cheerleaders and associated girls gathered in a loose circle around Brianne. Thule stood up next to the front door, surrounded by geeks, stoners, dregs, and theatre nerds. From time to time, Marigold glanced up, but if he paid her any mind at all, she never caught him.

Steeled with her resolve, Marigold grimly ground through Monday morning, daring Thule with her mind to try anything, aching for the chance to prove that she wasn't so easily corrupted. They had all four classes together, but he never spoke to her. By fourth period, she was starting to wonder if he'd forgotten their arrangement or lost interest in it. But, her resolve remained strong. On the lunch line, he stood four people ahead of her, but didn't look for her, seemingly engrossed in conversation with two others, a short pimply sophomore whose name she didn't know and a tall junior girl with oily red hair who was equally anonymous to Marigold. He walked off with them to have lunch at his usual table. Marigold wondered if he just expected her to trot after him like a little dog. Well, if he did, he had another thing coming. After waiting to make sure that he was paying her absolutely no attention, she resumed her normal lunch company.

The topic of conversation was Brianne's prom dress. The inanity of the conversation soon lulled her into a near-hypnotic state in which she watched Thule and his friends across the cafeteria. Whatever they were talking about, it was much more animated and involved than the vagaries of taffetta. On top of that, the oily-haired girl seemed to be touching Thule an awful lot, not intimately, but very frequently.

Maybe that was it. Thule was ignoring her because he'd found someone else to torment. Marigold tried to imagine what Thule could have on her or what could threaten to take away from her to get what he wanted?

Marigold shook her head to clear the thought. What would Thule want with a greasy-haired, gangly, geek girl, anyway? Besides, he didn't seem to be touching her much. She seemed to the one doing all of the touching.

It wasn't until she was leaving the cafeteria that Thule caught up with her, "Did you have a good lunch?" he asked from behind her. She felt a little frisson of fear when he said it, as if there were a warning in his voice that only she could hear.

"Yes, thank you," Marigold managed to blurt out before fleeing his presence.

The afternoon was a repeat of the morning. They had all but one class together. Even when Marigold asked a question in AP programming that she knew he knew the answer to, Thule didn't speak up. That evening, Marigold did her homework in the newspaper office, which she sometimes found more peaceful than home. No one came in and she ended up taking a cab home.

Tuesday morning was more of the same. Marigold started to feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She wracked her brain for anything that he might have said that could possibly be construed as an order that she had failed to carry out. By lunchtime, she was actively jittery, watching him across the room for any sign that there was something brewing. She was so engaged that she was unable to even nod and say, "uh-huh" at the appropriate times.

"Marigold," Brianne said sharply, drawing her out of her reverie, "Jesus Fucking Christ. What's gotten to you? Are you in love with one of the geeks or something?"

Marigold knew she had hesitated a second too long, even as she answered, "No. I'm just wondering what they're doing over there."

Brianne wrinkled her nose, "Doesn't look like much. Just a bunch of nerds talking about nerd stuff. They're probably playing Dungeons and Daggers or something."

"Dungeons and Dragons," offered Dawn, recently allowed back at the table. Marigold winced for the younger girl.

Brianne scowled her disapproval, "I guess you would know." Dawn's smile faded slowly as the table quieted, waiting for her response. Marigold could feel the vultures circling.

Before Dawn could respond, Marigold spoke. "Brianne," she said evenly. "You should really shut the hell up."

"I knew it," said Brianne, almost leaping to her feet in excitement. "You are in love with one of them. Which one is it? It's that dreg, Thule, isn't it?"

Marigold ignored the red flush rising in her face, "I'm not in love with anyone." She tried to say it calmly, but she was almost shouting, "but I'm tired of sitting with you... you... hen." Flipping her hair as if she were dismissing Brianne, she said, "I'm going to see what they're talking about."

So saying, she lifted her tray and marched over to the table where Thule was holding court. It seemed like half the cafeteria was watchin her. Almost there, Marigold's legs started to tremble. She realized with horror that she was about to give the undesireables, people she had probably made miserable at one time or another, a chance to embarass her as badly as she'd ever been. She couldn't imagine was would be lower than being rejected by the geeks.