WHEN ADAM MADE IT BACK to the warehouse, his clothes were sticking to his body horribly with sweat. It was unusual for it to be this hot in late September, but it did happen on occasion. He still had hours before Martin would be ready to go to the gypsy camp, so he figured it would be a good time to take a swim to cool down.
After soaking in Taylor Creek for about an hour, he climbed out up onto the dock and used his shirt to dry off before heading upstairs to the living quarters.
“Good afternoon, son,” said Emmanuel from his favorite chair, putting down the book he had been reading. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought for sure you would be off somewhere enjoying your freedom to its fullest this afternoon. I brought my own things in off the line by the way, so there’ll be a few less items for you to carry up later.”
“Were they already dry?” asked Adam.
“In this heat?” Emmanuel looked surprised. “Of course they were.”
“It’s so humid, though,” Adam countered as he walked back towards his bedroom to change into dry clothes.
“It is humid,” Emmanuel called to him, “but I think the heat of the sun was enough to do the job anyway.”
Within a few seconds Adam came back into the sitting room and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs at the dining table. He used the shirt he’d had earlier to wring out his dark, wavy hair. He knew Emmanuel didn’t like for him, or anyone, to sit on the upholstered furniture with a wet head.
“So what plans do you have for the rest of the day?” Emmanuel asked.
Adam finished shaking his hair until it was mostly dry, then draped the shirt across a chair before coming over to rest on one of the cut-velvet settees in the main sitting area.
“Well,” he answered, “Martin told me there’s a gypsy camp set up just north of town. We were thinking of heading over there around dusk to see what they’re up to.”
“Gypsies?” Emmanuel frowned. “Good heavens, I’ll tell you what they’re up to. They’re up to no good. I’d keep far from there if I were you.”
“I reckon that means you don’t like ’em much, then,” Adam said. He was amused by his grandfather’s response.
Emmanuel made a sour expression at him and shook his head. “Definitely not. I was taken in by some of their schemes when I was a foolish young man, but these days I’ve enough sense to steer clear, and I recommend you do the same if you know what’s good for you!”
“Whoa there! I’m not interested in their schemes, or whatever it is you’re talking about, and I sure don’t plan on being taken in by them. I just wanted to see what they’re like. It’s something to do. Anyway, sounds like they’ve got some different entertainers—musicians, acrobats, all sorts of things. Oh, and Martin said he wants to see some fortune-teller they’ve got over there.”
He rolled his eyes to show his grandfather that at least he wasn’t interested in seeing the fortune-teller.
“Of course Martin wants to see the fortune-teller. That foolish boy, I’d expect no less of him, but you ought to know better than to consort with that kind of person. You know what the Bible says about divination for goodness’ sake!”
Adam was taken aback by his grandfather’s reaction. He was used to Emmanuel warning him about things, but it seemed this business with the gypsies had really struck a nerve with him.
“I haven’t read that part recently,” he said. “Remind me.”
“The Lord calls the fortune-teller’s craft an abomination.”
“I don’t remember. What does it say exactly?”
Adam thought he might be able to find a loophole in the passage. He should have known better, though. While he had grown up in a family that considered themselves Christians, he had been taught little of what the Bible actually said about anything—except the really big, common prohibitions, like not stealing or murdering or fornicating. Emmanuel, on the other hand, had lived a reckless life in his youth but was converted before he turned thirty and had committed himself to reading and studying the Scriptures and great theologians at every opportunity.
Emmanuel seemed pleased to have this opportunity to open his Bible and thumb through it before reading the passage to Adam.
“Listen. It says right here in the eighteenth chapter of Deutoronomy, verses nine through eleven, ‘When thou art come into the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not learn to do after the abominations of those nations.’”
His grandfather raised his finger to emphasize the verse he was about to read.
Oh boy, thought Adam, here we go.
“Listen here: ‘There shall not be found among you anyone that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer.’”
Adam thought about it for a moment and looked for an exit. “But that’s talking about Israel, right? I mean, ‘coming into the land’? Isn’t that about that whole thing with Moses and the Ten Commandments and all that?”
“Yes, he’s talking about Israel, but this is applicable to the church as well.”
“Why?” Adam asked, exasperated. “I mean, we don’t go by all the same laws that are in the Old Testament, and there were some strange, sad laws in the Old Testament. Can you imagine not ever being able to eat pork?”
Emmanuel wrinkled up his face in frustration at his grandson. “I’m being very serious with you, Adam. I’ve told you before that while some of the ceremonial laws were abolished, the moral and ethical laws are for all time. They will never go away. That means God is just as displeased with divination and enchantments today as he was then.”
“Alright, fine,” said Adam. “But you know I don’t even believe in fortune-telling. Those gypsies are just trying to make some money, and there are plenty of gullible—or stupid—people around willing to pay it to hear something that gives them something to look forward to about their future. Something to hope for.”
“Then their hopes are pinned on the wrong things,” said Emmanuel.
The conversation was exasperating to Adam. “Fine. You visited gypsies when you were a young man, and it sounds to me like all they did for you was to help you part with your money. That’s unfortunate for you, but I’d like to think I know better,” Adam insisted. “I’m honestly just bored and I want to do something different tonight. That’s all. Enjoy a little diversion, see a little entertainment.”
“There are better means of entertainment,” Emmanuel said. “After all, what fellowship hath light with darkness?”
Adam was getting exhausted hearing his grandfather hit him over the head with Scriptures.
“Why are you doing that so much lately?” Adam asked.
“Why am I doing what?”
“Preaching at me—all the time!” said Adam. “We’re on the same side of things, you know. I’m not some heathen—even if I don’t know as much about the Bible as you. It just seems like you’re always trying to hover over me these days, warning me off of one kind of sin or another. It’s not like if I go with Martin to the gypsy camp tonight that God will strike me right down where I stand.”
Emmanuel took a deep breath, then closed his Bible and held it in his lap. “Son, you are nineteen and a half years old. In about a year and a half you’ll be free of your apprenticeship—or if I don’t live that long, even sooner than that. And if you want, at that point you’ll be able to go your own way. Since the first seventeen years of your life you were so dreadfully malnourished in terms of any spiritual instruction, I have felt as if I have a lot of catching up to do—especially as you insist on spending so much time with Martin Smith. Now you can take heed of what I say to you about this matter, or any other matter, or not—that’s entirely your choice—but at least I will know I have done what I can to train you up in the way that you should go.”
Adam knew his grandfather meant well, but he was just so old-fashioned.
“I understand why you’re concerned, but you don’t have anything to worry about—not with me, anyway. If I even go out there at all, I’ll just be going for the show. I mean, this is Beaufort. It’s not like there’s anything else going on here right now.”