Chapter 15
Nina
Five Reasons Why I Should Have Suspected Uncle Aaron, but Didn’t:
We moved every few years, right as Uncle Aaron’s church was really starting to take off, just as the money was really starting to roll in.
That was the life of a missionary, Uncle Aaron always claimed.
We could never stay put for long. But then, we never kept in contact with the people we left behind, either.
The name of the church changed everywhere we went. To reflect God’s new purpose for him, was Uncle Aaron’s excuse.
Uncle Aaron was firm about controlling any mentions of him on social media.
If a parishioner tagged him in a photo or caption, the post was removed quickly after his lawyers got in touch.
Uncle Aaron preferred to have control over his image, he said; it mattered more to him than others, because he was a representative of God.
Despite Uncle Aaron talking a lot about the vow of poverty he’d taken, there’d always been money. A big house. Nice clothes and watches and shoes and jewelry. Lavish vacations. The Lord has blessed us, Uncle Aaron always said.
Uncle Aaron isn’t a kind person. He claims to be a follower of Christ, but Christ was kind and compassionate.
Uncle Aaron is shrewd and spiteful. He is not forgiving.
He does not turn the other cheek. He is a cruel, cruel man, and even though I’m surprised to find out he’s under FBI investigation, it’s not a shock, not really.
I know more than anyone that he is not who he pretends to be.
The Orphan Girl and the Man with Two Faces
When the Orphan Girl first arrived at her aunt’s house, she thought it was an answer to her prayers.
Aunt Hope looked so much like her mother, the Orphan Girl assumed she would have a heart like her, too.
The house was big, beautiful, and filled with cousins, whom she hoped would become like her siblings, and her uncle was important and charming and made a big fuss when she arrived.
There was a film crew at the house, recording her arrival and asking lots of questions, most of them to Uncle Aaron.
“In this tragedy, we’ve been blessed by a great gift from God,” Uncle Aaron told them, “a chance to expand our family and to demonstrate what it is to live a charitable Christian life.”
The Orphan Girl realized that she was the great gift Uncle Aaron was referencing. She’d been so sad and so frightened when her parents died, but it seemed that everything would be all right now. She’d found her happy ending.
For the first few weeks, the Orphan Girl did feel like a great gift.
She was a novelty to her cousins, who all fought over whose turn it was to play with her.
If they made her play their games and follow their rules, the Orphan Girl didn’t mind, because it was so nice to be included.
If they made a point to remind her the toys belonged to them, she told herself not to care, because it was only the truth.
At church, Uncle Aaron would talk about her from the pulpit, and in the same breath he would preach about charity and how it must start in the home.
The Orphan Girl tried not to notice that she didn’t sound so much like a gift anymore, but more like a burden—not something to be treasured, but something to be borne.
She told herself she was being ungrateful.
But as the family grew accustomed to the newness of her and settled into their routine, the Orphan Girl noticed some changes. They were subtle at first, so subtle she could tell herself she was imagining things. But soon they became difficult to ignore.
The Orphan Girl didn’t eat dinner with the family. Dinnertime, she was told by Aunt Hope, was for family only. The Orphan Girl had thought she was family, but apparently not in the same way as everyone else. She ate in the kitchen, sometimes with the housekeeper, sometimes on her own.
When the other children finished with their independent study, they got to play.
They had so much time to play they could complain about being bored.
Not the Orphan Girl. When she wasn’t studying, she was helping around the house or minding the younger children.
The Orphan Girl didn’t know what it was like to be bored, because she always had something to do.
Sometimes she daydreamed about what it would be like if she could just have an hour to herself, uninterrupted.
As the year came to a close, the whole family was excited for Christmas. There was going to be a big service at church, followed by a feast. All the children would be getting new clothes. Their lists for Christmas presents grew every day, as they thought of more and more things they wanted.
The Orphan Girl wasn’t sure what her place was in all of these Christmas traditions her cousins took for granted.
She didn’t want to impose. She had been given so much already.
So she felt guilty for wanting a new pretty dress, too, and for envying the new toys and books and treats her cousins were going to receive.
She hoped she would be included in some way, but she worried this was one of those times when she wasn’t really family.
So she was surprised one day when Aunt Hope called her into her bedroom. “You haven’t given me your list yet,” she told the Orphan Girl. “We’re almost out of time.”
The Orphan Girl couldn’t help it—she burst into tears. She hadn’t realized what being included in Christmas meant to her, truly, until Aunt Hope asked her. It wasn’t only about getting presents. It was about understanding that this was really her home after all.
Aunt Hope looked at her in astonishment, not understanding. “There’s no need to cry,” she chastised her. “Just get it to me by tomorrow.”
That night, the Orphan Girl carefully crafted her list. She thought about the types of things she’d heard her cousins asking for.
She didn’t want to be too presumptuous and ask for anything too expensive.
She didn’t want her list to be too long.
She remembered that Miriam had asked for some new hair bows, so she asked for those; and Harmony had asked for a doll, so she wrote that down; and her other cousins had asked for things like books and sketch pads and colored pencils, so she added those things, too.
On Christmas morning, the children excitedly took the presents from underneath the tree and passed them to whom they belonged to.
The Orphan Girl helped, and she was too busy doing so to notice that none of the presents had her name on them.
But when all the presents had been distributed, the Orphan Girl saw there were none in her pile.
She froze, uncertain how to react. Uncertain what it meant. Why had Aunt Hope asked her for a list if they’d never planned on giving her any gifts?
Don’t be ungrateful, she told herself, over and over. Her new mantra.
Her cousins were too excited about opening their own presents to notice. Before they could tear into the wrapping, though, Uncle Aaron raised his hand. Everyone in the room fell silent, waiting dutifully.
“Before we begin, I want each of you to take one of your gifts. Choose any gift.” He waited until his children had done so. “Now give it to Nina.”
The Orphan Girl froze. Her cousins, usually so quick to heed their father, froze, too.
“Give it to Nina,” her uncle urged. “Too late to change your present. Hand her whichever one you picked up.”
He didn’t have to shout or say it too sternly. In the months the Orphan Girl had been living with them, she’d already learned that her uncle could say more with a silence, and hide more with a smile, than most people could by ranting and raving at the top of their lungs.
Her cousins obeyed, even though the Orphan Girl could see in their expressions how much they resented doing so. I didn’t choose this, she wanted to tell them. This isn’t what I want.
But she knew Uncle Aaron wanted her to remain silent. He was trying to make a point, and he was using her to do so. “Open them,” he ordered her.
With everyone watching, the Orphan Girl opened each of the gifts she’d been given.
Many of the items were things she’d asked for, but she could not muster up any excitement for them, knowing they hadn’t been meant for her and that she’d only received them by taking them from someone else.
The silent resentment of her cousins pressed down on her.
When she finished opening the last present, Uncle Aaron spoke to his children. “Remember that there are sacrifices for living a Christlike life. You have been called to serve and to give. What do we always say about charity?”
“It begins in the home,” her cousins grumbled back.
Then Uncle Aaron looked straight at the Orphan Girl. “And remember to show gratitude where it is owed. Remember where everything you have comes from.”
He did not need to say it directly for the Orphan Girl to understand, even at such a young age.
Everything came from her family. She was not owed Christmas presents, or new dresses to wear to church, or anything else.
She only received what they were willing to give her—and every time she was given something by them, she was taking something away from them, too.
After that, the Orphan Girl was not surprised to learn she had not been made a new dress, and that she would stay home while the rest of the family went to the special Christmas service and party. There were some things that were just for family, after all.
And she’d already taken so much.