Through the Darkness by Marcia Talley Page B

got them situated in a room at the waterfront Marriott. Although I don’t think they’ll be appreciating the view.”
    â€œIf Timmy disappeared from the spa, why are the police searching his bedroom?”
    â€œI don’t know exactly. But they took away his hairbrush, and some of his toys in Ziploc bags.”
    Eva nodded. “Scenting objects, I suspect. They must be bringing in the dogs.”
    I nodded. “Sometime this morning. They’re waiting for a bloodhound from Baltimore. They’re the best at this kind of work.”
    Eva fished a key ring out of her pocket, located a key, and unlocked the door to her office. “And how’s Paul?”
    â€œHanging in. We’ve appointed him family spokesman. He’s at the Academy now, making arrangements to be away.”
    â€œDid he get any sleep?”
    â€œNot much. The bags under his eyes are even darker than mine, if that’s possible.”
    Eva’s office was a small but agreeable twelve by twelve. When she pulled aside the drapes, I saw that the window overlooked the garden. “Lovely,” I said. “If this were my office, I wouldn’t get much work done.”
    â€œThat’s why God invented draperies,” she said, indicating a chair at a round conference table in the corner.
    While Eva puttered—closing the door, turning off the telephone so it wouldn’t ring during our visit—I paced, studying her walls. The wall to my left was covered with photographs and framed diplomas. In addition to a B.A. from Wellesley, Eva had earned a Th.D. at the Church Divinity School of the Pacific, and was ordained from St. James Church in Los Angeles. The wall to my right was hung with wooden, brass, and ceramic crosses, several dozen of them. In addition to the familiar Latin cross, I recognized a Jerusalem cross, a Greek cross, the cross of St. Andrew, one Maltese, several Celtic.
    â€œWhat’s this one?” I asked, pointing to a cross that appeared to be an X superimposed over a P , or vice versa.
    â€œIt’s called a Chi-Rho,” she said, pulling out one of the chairs. “Do you know the story?”
    â€œTell me,” I said, sitting down in the chair opposite her.
    â€œChi and rho are the first two letters of the Greek word for Christ. They’re also similar to the pagan emblem used as a standard by the Roman cavalry. Constantine was the chief priest of the pagan Roman religion, so when he converted to Christianity, it’s easy to see why he chose the Chi-Rho for his emblem.
    â€œIt’s a warrior’s cross,” she continued. “It urges us to follow Christ’s example, to wage war on terror, persecution, oppression, and all forms of evil. And the surest thing to overcome evil is love.”
    â€œHow can I feel love toward Timmy’s kidnapper?” I scoffed. “All I feel is a dark, gut-wrenching hate.”
    â€œI can understand that.”
    â€œAnd God’s on my shit list, too. I’m falling seriously out of love with a God who could allow such a thing to happen to an innocent child.”
    Eva smiled and patted my hand. “God is with us, Hannah, but he may not always be in control.”
    I sat quietly for a while, mulling over what Eva had said, staring at her bookcase through a film of tears. Office bookshelves have personalities, I always thought, personalities defined by that curious mix of books needed for the job and those photographs and tchotchkes that remind workers that they actually have private lives. Eva’s shelves contained Bibles in many versions, Greek and Hebrew lexicons, commentaries, concordances, and collections of sermons. On one shelf, the Quran was sandwiched between the Book of Mormon and the Egyptian Book of the Dead, and on the shelf below that, next to the Bhagavad Gita, stood a Barbie doll dressed in an alb, cincture, and pure white stole.
    I had to smile. “Since when did Barbie become a