Daniel glanced up at him helplessly while trying to coax Annabeth to drink some water. “I don’t know, sir. She’s still too upset to speak.”
Glaring down at his son’s principal wife, the diviner held his peace as Daniel patted her on the arm and admonished her softly to calm down.
Annabeth eventually peeped up at all the faces hovering nearby. Her mouth tried to form words, but no sound came out.
Daniel sat down on the edge of her chair and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. “Annabeth, take a deep breath and tell us what happened. We can’t help you if we don’t know what the trouble is.”
She cast a stricken look at her husband before burying her head against his chest. Between renewed sobs, a few words managed to escape. “It’s the baby... He’s dead!”
Chapter 34—False Gods
Annabeth creaked back and forth in her rocking chair, oblivious to the passage of time. She refused to move the chair from its position next to the empty crib. Her chronic mental stupor was only interrupted by the periodic appearance of one of the consecrated brides silently bearing a food tray. The women avoided speaking to her as if her grief might be contagious. Hours after its appearance, each tray would be noiselessly collected—its contents untouched. Annabeth felt no appetite. Whenever she forced herself to take a few bites, the food invariably tasted like sawdust in her mouth.
Aside from the food deliveries, the only other intrusion of the outside world came in the form of her husband, Daniel. He paid regular visits in a pointless effort to engage her in conversation. They would pass a few uncomfortable hours together each morning before he gave up and fled to his beloved library.
A sharp rap at the door cut her musings short.
“Come in,” she said languidly, not attempting to rise. The smallest motion cost too much energy.
Mother Rachel entered. Judgment cascaded from her tall form in waves of mute disapproval. “How are you today?” she asked curtly. It was a pro forma statement that held no trace of personal concern.
Annabeth glanced vaguely in her direction. “I don’t know. Most of the time I feel numb. What day is it?”
“It’s Thursday. A week to the day since we buried your son.”
Without waiting for an invitation, the old woman dragged a wooden chair across the room and placed it squarely in front of Annabeth’s rocker. She sat down and unabashedly scrutinized the younger woman’s face. “Hmmff,” she sniffed. “You look thinner and paler than usual. Have you been eating?”
Sparing herself the effort to speak, Annabeth merely shook her head.
“This isn’t acceptable,” the elder woman said flatly. “You need to rouse yourself and do something useful to take your mind off things.”
“Things,” Annabeth echoed bleakly. Her dead son was now being described as a “thing” she needed to get over.
“The diviner has indulged your moping long enough, Annabeth. You’re an able-bodied member of this community, and you should be doing your part like the rest of us.”
Without showing any sign that she had heard, Annabeth’s mind drifted to another topic. “Mother Rachel, have you ever lost a baby to crib death?” she asked instead.
“No.” The old woman drew herself up. “I’ve always found favor in the eyes of the Lord.” There was a hint of self-congratulation in her tone.
Annabeth scowled briefly. “I don’t think I’ve ever found favor with the Lord.”
“Of course not,” came the abrupt reply. “Just look at your behavior.”
Rousing herself from her torpor, Annabeth peered at Mother Rachel with an attitude approaching interest. “What makes you say that?”
A grim smile formed on the old woman’s lips. “It’s no secret that you idolized your boy. Everybody commented on it. And God, in his righteous anger, has chastised you.”
Annabeth blinked once in puzzlement.
Mother Rachel elaborated. “Read your bible. It’s all right there in the commandments. ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’ You certainly adored that child as if he was a god and your behavior was an insult to Our Lord. Remember what He says in Exodus Twenty, Verse Five. ‘You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation.’”
The old woman crossed her arms with an air of finality. “Why, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. The Lord made good his promise that the child would pay for the sin of the parent.”
Annabeth recoiled in shock. The thought hadn’t occurred to her that she, herself, might have brought this terrible fate down on her son. “But surely God wants us to show affection to our children,” she murmured in disbelief.
Mother Rachel rolled her eyes. “Who’s been filling your head with that rubbish? Back in the days when I was young, consecrated brides were discouraged from coddling their children. It puffs the young ones up with a false sense of self-importance. Only your husband or the diviner himself has a right to bestow praise—and only if it’s earned!”
She fixed Annabeth with a baleful glare. “When Adam and Eve were cast out of the garden, the Lord cursed the woman and told her that all her affection should be toward her husband and that he should rule over her. And Adam was only a mortal man. Think how much greater your duty is toward your own husband since he’s descended from angels. Daniel is your one true path to salvation. You and I are nothing more than mortal women, no different than the Fallen. It’s only because God selected us to be the mates of his angelic offspring that we have any hope of a place in His Kingdom.” She paused with an air of disgust. “Instead of securing your heavenly future, you turn your back on your husband and dote on a
