Mary was glad when Bertha went away to school. When the new year came and
she was fourteen she had almost forgotten Bertha. She even forgot for
long stretches of time what Bertha had told her. But not altogether.
Because, if it was true, then the story of the Virgin Mary was not true.
Jesus couldn't have been born in the way the New Testament said he was
born. There was no such thing as the Immaculate Conception. You could
hardly be expected to believe in it once you knew why it couldn't have
happened.
And if the Bible could deceive you about an important thing like that, it
could deceive you about the Incarnation and the Atonement. You were no
longer obliged to believe in that ugly business of a cruel, bungling God
appeased with bloodshed. You were not obliged to believe anything just
because it was in the Bible.
But--if you didn't, you were an Infidel.
She could hear Aunt Bella talking to Uncle Edward, and Mrs. Farmer and
Mrs. Propart whispering: "Mary is an Infidel."
She thought: "If I _am_ I can't help it." She was even slightly elated,
as if she had set out on some happy, dangerous adventure.