Absence of Faith Read Online Free PDF

down his street as the
last streams of the sun cast a burnt orange glow on some of the
houses. A cool breeze blew off the ocean carrying a briny smell
into the neighborhood. There was a breeze almost all the time
because most of 19th century homes in this tiny coastal town were
built on streets running perpendicular to the coast and high on a
hill. The layout created a funnel that channeled the ocean breezes
westward past the homes and their front porches. Their house was
closest to the edge of the hill and setback from the road several
feet. The next house was set several feet closer to the road. It
looked like the builders made a mistake, but everyone had a view of
the ocean from their porches.
    He hurriedly grabbed three bags of
groceries, walked up the steps to the wraparound porch, and opened
one of the antique French doors. He entered the kitchen and placed
the bags on the oval cherry wood table in the breakfast
nook.
    "Hi," Linda said kissing him on the
lips and placing her bags next to his.
    "Hi," he mumbled.
    "What's the matter? You have that
puppy dog face."
    "I had an argument with Stokes
today," Carson said dropping his eyes.
    "Stokes? Want to tell me about it?"
she asked.
    "Yeah...well, I can't believe that
I had an argument not only with Stokes, but with one of the senior
doctors there. How could I be so stupid? I don't understand how
Graber ever got through medical school with his preoccupation with
religion. He tried to explain away Mrs. Whitehead's symptoms as an
act of God and Stokes seemed to agree with him. Could Stokes be a
religious fanatic? This is not what I expected of the man who is a
pillar in the community, the man whom I admired and looked up to
all this time.”
    "Maybe, he was having a bad day,
too," Linda suggested. “I take it Mrs. Whitehead was one of your
patients?”
    "I'd hate to see one of his good
days. You know I chose Ocean Village because of Stokes. Stokes had
publicly denounced the government in the 1970s when those four
students were gunned down at Kent State for protesting the Vietnam
War. He had kept the younger people of those years from straying
from their roots, from their beliefs, and their religion. He was a
powerful man, a persuasive man, a man who said things that were
important, but now he appears to be a ridiculous religious fanatic.
I wanted to live here because I wanted morals and values in our
lives, and I wanted to pass them down to our children."
    "We don't need to live here to pass
them to our children," Linda explained. "We just have to have them
and teach them to our children when the time comes. It doesn’t
matter where we live."
    "I guess so."
    "Don't worry about it," Linda said
kissing him gently on the cheek. "Stokes will probably forget about
it in the morning. He's got more important things to think
about."
    "Yeah, I guess you're right. What's
for dinner?"
    "Chicken, fish, or
spaghetti?"
    "Chicken."
    "Chicken it is. I just got a new
recipe for your favorite from Flora. She lives two houses down.
That's why I went to the supermarket."
    “Chicken Cordon Bleu?”
    “That's it!”
    "Thanks honey."
    Linda unpacked one of the bags and
noticed a few items on the floor near the garbage can.
    "You know, Carson, I really wish
you would put these paint cans in the basement now that the kitchen
is done. They're just in the way," Linda said.
    "Sure. I'll do it now."
    Carson picked up the two used cans
of latex paint, and entered the narrow stairwell into the basement.
The aching wooden stairs went straight down, and then made a sharp
left turn, and stopped at a dirt floor. The air had a musty, damp
dirt smell. Carson's hair touched the ceiling as he carried the
paint cans toward the back of the cellar. He had to stoop slightly
to avoid hitting his head on the large oak beams that crossed the
ceiling. The dirt cellar had walls of earth with six by six inch
wooden beams placed strategically throughout the space to hold up
the house. The wall facing the ocean had been