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Book 6: Keeping Faith

Publisher: William Morrow & Co., 1999; paperback edition published by Quill, 2000.

• A conversation with Jodi about Keeping Faith
• A short synopsis
• What others are saying…
• Book club discussion questions
• Read an excerpt

Synopsis

Somewhere between belief and doubt lies faith. For the second time in her marriage, Mariah White catches her husband with another woman and Faith, their seven year old daughter, witnesses every painful minute. In the aftermath of a sudden divorce, Mariah struggles with depression and Faith seeks solace in a new friend… a friend who may or may not be imaginary.

Faith talks to her "Guard"constantly; begins to recite passages from the Bible— a book she's never read. Fearful for her daughter's sanity, Mariah sends her to several psychiatrists. Yet when Faith develops stigmata and begins to perform miraculous healings, Mariah wonders if her daughter-- a girl with no religious background-- might indeed be seeing God. As word spreads and controversy heightens, Mariah and Faith are besieged by believers and disbelievers alike, caught in a media circus that threatens what little stability they have left.

What are you willing to believe? Is Faith a prophet or a troubled little girl? Is Mariah a good mother facing an impossible crisis— or a charlatan using her daughter to reclaim the attention her unfaithful husband withheld? As the story builds to a climactic battle for custody, Mariah must discover that spirit is not necessarily something that comes from religion, but from inside oneself.

Fascinating, thoughtful, and suspenseful, Keeping Faith explores a family plagued by the media, the medical profession, and organized religion in a world where everyone has an opinion but no one knows the truth. At her controversial and compelling best, Jodi Picoult masterfully explores the moment when boundaries break down, when illusions become reality, and when the only step left to take is a leap of faith.

What others are saying about Keeping Faith…

A featured alternate selection of the Book of the Month Club.

"Fans of Picoult's fluent and absorbing storytelling will welcome her new novel, which like Harvesting The Heart, explores family dynamics and the intricacies of motherhood, and concludes, as did THE PACT, with tense courtroom drama… These characters' many triumphant transformations are Picoult's triumphs as well."

—Publisher's Weekly

"Addictively readable, raising valid questions about religion without getting maudlin. For a novel, that in itself is a miracle."

—Entertainment Weekly

"Makes you wonder about God. And that is a rare moment, indeed, in modern fiction."

—USA Today

Book club discussion questions for Keeping Faith

1. Much is said in the story about Mariah not being a good mother. Do you think this is valid? Does Faith think she is a good mother? Is motherhood truly a "work in progress", as Millie describes it?

2. In the early pages of the first chapter, Mariah describes her marriage as perfect, yet moments after she and Faith discover Colin with another woman, Mariah says, "Oh God, it is happening again."Are there other indications in the story that Mariah refuses to see the truth that is right in front of her?

3. Mariah makes miniature dream houses, and Colin makes Exit signs. Are there similar clues to other characters' personalities through their career choices?

4. Colin's indiscretion brings on Faith's anger. Soon after, Faith has her first vision. Do you think there is a psychological basis for the appearance of Faith's "Guard"? Why do you think Faith was "chosen"?

5. As you read the story, did you trust Ian Fletcher? Discuss his multi-leveled personality: Harvard educated, yet working for a "trash"TV show, he's hiding as much in his life as he uncovers in others. What is he so afraid of? What is he trying to prove?

6. Discuss Faith's first image of her "Guard."How does it compare to your own first image of God?

7. Faith is seven years old, called the "age of reason"in the Catholic religion. It is the age of the first confession. Do you think Faith is old enough to know what is happening to her? As you read, did you think that she was directing what was happening?

8. Why is religion so difficult for some people to discuss? Would this story be different if it took place in the South or any other part of the country?

9. Millie Epstein says, "I always wondered why God was supposed to be a father. Fathers always want you to measure up to something. Mothers are the ones who love you unconditionally."Do you feel this is true? Discuss the connection between religion and family.

10. What most concerns the clergy who examine Faith: the fact that she is Jewish, the assertion that she is spouting heresy, or the fact that she sees God as a woman?

11. Why do you think that almost every adult who examines Faith thinks at some point that it's all a hoax, one that Mariah is behind? What do you think the author is saying about faith and about truth?

12. How big a role does the media play in the public's response to Faith? Does the public's right to know justify broaching Faith's privacy?

13. What is the difference between religion and spirituality? Does Faith have more of one than the other?

14. There is a shift throughout the narrative from third person to first person (Mariah's voice). One would think we'd learn more about Mariah from the latter, but is this true? Do we learn more from what she tells us, or from what her actions show us?

15. At what moment does Mariah begin to believe in Faith? How about Millie? Ian? Dr. Keller? Who must take the greatest leap of faith?

16. Mariah says, "You can't be a mother, can you, if your child is taken away."As you read, who did you want to win custody of Faith?

17. There are two mother-daughter sets in this book: Faith and Mariah, and Mariah and Millie. Discuss Millie. What are some of the good things Mariah learned from her? Some of the bad things? In the beginning of the story they seem to be very different people. Is this true at the end?

18. Kenzie says: "The issue in this custody hearing is where the best home is for Faith. That doesn't leave a lot of room for God."Do you agree?

19. Did you read the book as fiction or nonfiction?

20. Does the Catholic Church have the right to examine Faith, a Jewish girl?

21. If God were to appear in 1999, would He intervene, or observe?

22. Toward the end of the story, Mariah is tugged across the yard by an exuberant Faith, "following in her daughter's footsteps."Who did you learn the most from in the story? Who is the main character of the book: Mariah? Faith? God?

• Return

An excerpt from Keeping Faith

In the middle of the night, Faith wakes up and curls her
hands into fists. They hurt enough to make her whimper; just
like the time Betsy Corcoran had dared her to hold onto the
flagpole on the coldest day of last winter and her skin had
near frozen right to the metal. She rolls over and stuffs
her hands beneath her pillow, where the sheets are still
cool.
      But that doesn't help, either. She fidgets a little
bit more, wondering if she ought to get up and pee now that
she's awake, or just sit here and wait for her hands to stop
hurting. She doesn't want to go into her mother yet. Once
she'd gotten up in the middle of the night and her foot had
felt like the size of a watermelon and all tingly, but her
mother said it was just pins and needles and to go back to
bed. Even though there were no pins and needles on the
floor, and when Faith had checked, there were none sticking
out of the sole of her foot, either.
      She rolls over again and sees her guard sitting on the
edge of the bed. "My hands hurt," she whimpers, and lifts
them for inspection.
      Her guard leans forward to look. "It will only hurt
for a little while."
      That makes Faith feel better. It's like when she's hot
and sick sometimes and her mother gives her the little pills
that she knows will make her headache disappear. Faith
watches her guard lift her left hand first, and then her
right, and put a kiss right in the middle of each palm. Her
lips are so warm that Faith jumps at first and pulls her
hands back. When she looks down she can see it: her guard's
kiss printed on her skin in a red circle. Thinking it is
lipstick, Faith tries to rub at it with her thumb, but it
does not come off.
      Her guard carefully folds Faith's fingers shut, making
a fist. Faith giggles; she likes the idea of holding fast to
a kiss. "See how I love you?" her guard says, and Faith
smiles all the way back to sleep.
·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
      On Thursday Mariah spends the morning watching the
video Agnes of God, and so gets a late start food shopping.
When she pulls up to the elementary school, ready to pick
Faith up for the day, the trunk is full of groceries. The
bell rings, and Mariah takes up her usual position, beside a
large maple tree at the edge of the first-grade classroom
pod, but Faith does not appear. She waits until the last of
the children have dribbled out of the school, then walks
into the office.
      Faith is huddled on the overstuffed purple couch
beside the secretary's desk, crying; her leggings torn at
the knees and her hair straggling out of its braid and
sticking against her damp cheeks. She's stretched out her
sleeves and hidden her fists inside them. She wipes her nose
on the fabric. "Mommy, can I not go to school anymore?"
      Mariah feels her heart contract. "You love school,"
she says, dropping to her knees, as much to comfort Faith as
to block the curious gaze of the school secretary. "What
happened?"
      "They make fun of me. They say I'm crazy."
      Crazy. Filled with a righteous fury, Mariah slips an
arm around her daughter. "Why would they say that?"
      Faith hunches her shoulders. "Because they heard me
talk to… her."
      Mariah closes her eyes and makes a silent appeal-- to
whom?-- to solve this, and fast. She pulls Faith upright and
holds her mittened hand, tugging her out of the main office.
"You know what? Maybe you can stay home from school, just
for tomorrow. We can do things, you and me, all day."
      Faith turns her face up to her mother's. "For real?"
      Mariah nods. "I used to take special holidays
sometimes with Grandma." Her jaw tightens as she remembers
what her mother had called it: a mental health day.
      They drive through the winding roads of New Canaan,
Faith slowly beginning, in bits and pieces, to relay the
school day to Mariah. At the turn to their driveway, Mariah
rolls down the window and picks up the mail, marking the
number of parked cars lining the road. Hikers, or
birdwatchers, probably; taking to the field across the road.
They get that up here quite often. She continues to drive
and then she sees the crowd that surrounds the house.
      There are vans, and cars, and for God's sake, a big
painted Winnebago.
      "Wow," Faith breathes. "What's going on?"
      "I don't know," Mariah says tightly. She turns off the
ignition and steps from the car into a throng of nearly
twenty people. Immediately cameras begin flashing, and
questions are hurled at her like javelins. Is your daughter
in the car? Is God with her? Do you see God too?
      When Faith's door cracks open, the questions stop.
Mariah watches her daughter get out of the car and stand
nervously on the slate path that leads up to the house.
Lining it are a dozen men and women in caftans, who bow
their heads as Faith looks at them. Standing behind, and
slightly apart, is a man smoking a thin cigar. The face
seems familiar to Mariah; with a start she realizes that
she's seen him on TV-- Ian Fletcher himself is leaning
against her crabapple tree.
      Suddenly Mariah knows exactly what is going on.
Somehow, some way, people are beginning to hear about Faith.
Feeling sick, she wraps an arm around her daughter's
shoulders and steers her up the porch. She pulls Faith into
the house with her and locks the door.
      "How come they're here?" Faith peeks out the
sidelight, and is yanked away by her mother before she can
be seen.
      Mariah rubs her temples. "Go to your room. Do your
homework."
      "I don't have any.""Then find some!" Mariah snaps. 
She walks into the kitchen and picks up the phone, tears
already thickening her throat. She needs to call the police,
but dials a different number first. When her mother answers
on the second ring, Mariah lets the first sob out. "Please
come," she says, and she hangs up.
      She sits at the kitchen counter, her palms spread on
the cool Formica. She counts to ten. She thinks of the milk
and the peaches and the broccoli sitting in the trunk of her
car, already beginning to rot.
·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
      Ian Fletcher is very good at doing his job. He is
ruthless, he is driven, he is single-minded. So he fixes his
eyes on the little girl, this next subject of his, and
watches her get out of the car.
      But his attention wanders to the woman beside Faith
White. The look of fear on her face, her unconscious grace,
the instinctive slip of her arm over her daughter all draw
Ian's eye. She is small and fine-boned, with hair the color
of old gold. It is pulled back from her face, which is pale
and free of makeup and quite possibly the most naturally
lovely thing Ian has seen since climbing the falls in South
America. She's not classically beautiful, not perfect, but
somehow that only makes her more interesting. Ian shakes his
head to clear it. He carouses with models and movie
stars… he should not be swayed by a woman with the face of
an angel.
      An angel? The very thought is traitorous, ludicrous.
It is the goddamned Winnebago, he decides. Spending the
night on a foam coat, instead of a deluxe hotel mattress, is
aggravating his insomnia to the point where he can't think
straight; to the point where anyone with a pair of X
chromosomes becomes attractive.
      Ian focuses on Faith White, walking beneath her
mother's arm. But then he makes the mistake of glancing up--
and meets the gaze of Mariah White. Cool, green, angry-- Let
the battle begin, Ian thinks, unwilling and unable to look
away until she firmly shuts the door.
·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
      "Name one other thing-- other than the existence of
God-- that we take on blind faith," Ian challenges, his
voice rising like a call to arms over the small group of
people gathered to listen. News of Ian's presence has by now
attracted a number of onlookers, in addition to several
members of the press. "There's nothing! Not a single thing.
Not even the sun rising every day. I know it's going to be
there, but that's something I can prove scientifically."
      He leans against the railing of a wooden platform
hastily erected beside the Winnebago for media moments like
these. "Can I prove God is there? No."
      He watches people from the corner of his eye,
whispering to each other, maybe even second-guessing what
made them come to see this miraculous Faith White in the
first place. "You know what faith is, what religion is?" He
looks pointedly at the scarlet-suited members of the Order
of the Great Passion, gathered close with scowls on their
faces. "It's a cult. Who gives us religion? Our parents
brainwash us when we're four or five, and most receptive to
fantastical ideas. We're told we have to believe in God, so
we do."
      Ian raises a hand in the direction of the White
farmhouse. "And now, the word of a little girl whom-- I
might add-- is just at the right age to believe in fairies
and goblins and the Easter Bunny, as well-- is enough to
convince you?" He levels the crowd with a calculated gaze.
"I ask all y'all again, what else do we believe in with
blind faith?"
      At the profound silence, Ian grins. "Well, let me help
you out. The last thing you believed in with absolute,
unshakeable conviction was… Santa Claus." He raises his
brows. "No matter how impossible it seemed, no matter how
much evidence to the contrary, when you were a child you
wanted to believe, and so you did. And as rude as the
comparison sounds, it's not all that different from
believing in the existence of God. They both grant a boon
based on whether you've been naughty or nice. They both go
about their work without being seen. They rely heavily on
the assistance of mythical creatures-- elves in one case,
angels in the other."
      Ian lets his eyes touch on one of the cult members,
one local reporter, one mother clutching an infant. "So how
come y'all don't believe in Santa, nowadays? Well, because
you grew up, and you realized how impossible the whole thing
was. Santa Claus went from being a fact to being a real good
story, one to pass onto your children. The same way your
parents told you about God, when you were a kid." He
hesitates for a moment, letting the silence thicken. "Can't
you see that God's a myth, too?"
·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
      Millie Epstein slams her car door violently. Mariah's
beautiful old farmhouse is flocked by lunatics, from what
she can see. At least twenty people are milling on the long
driveway, some even bold enough to trample the grass edging
the front porch. These include a handful wearing bizarre red
nightgowns; a few curious locals; and two vans with
television call letters spangled across their sides,
complete with reporters. Millie shoves them all out of her
way until she reaches the porch, where she finds the chief
of police. "Thomas," she says. "What kind of circus is
this?"
      The police chief shrugs. "Just got here myself, Mrs.
Epstein. From what I can tell, based on the reporters over
there, there's one group saying that your granddaughter is
Jesus or something. Then there's another guy who's saying
that not only is Faith not Jesus, but that Jesus doesn't
exist."
      "Can't we get them off Mariah's lawn?"
      "I was just about to do that myself," he admits.
"'Course, I can only keep 'em as far back as the road. It's
a public venue."
      Millie surveys the group. "Can we talk to Faith?" a
reporter shouts. "Bring her out!"
      "Yeah!"
      "Bring out the mother, too!"
      The voices crescendo, and, horrified, all Millie can
do is listen. Then she crosses her arms over her chest and
stares out at the crowd. "This is private property; you
don't belong here. And you're talking about a child. A
child. Would you really take the word of a seven-year-old?"
      From the front of the crowd comes the sound of someone
clapping, slowly, deliberately. "My congratulations, ma'am,"
Ian Fletcher drawls. "A rational statement, right in the
middle of a maelstrom. Imagine that."
      He comes into Millie's line of vision, continuing to
walk forward until she can see that it is Ian Fletcher, the
one from the TV show, and that as handsome as he is and as
mellifluous his voice, she knows that she's made a horrible
error in judgment to have ever found him attractive.
Millie's tossed the crowd a crumb of doubt, just so that
they'll have something to feed on other than her
granddaughter. But this man… this man scatters doubt in
order to have them all eating out of the palm of his hand.
      "I suggest you leave," Millie says tightly. "My
granddaughter is of no interest to you."
      Ian Fletcher flashes a smile. "Is that a fact? So, you
don't believe your own granddaughter? I guess you know that
a child who says she's talking to God is just that… a child
who says she's talking to God. No bells, no whistles, not
even any miracles. Just a group of fawning cult members who
are already three shades shy of reputability. But that's
certainly not enough to create a frenzy over, is it, now?"
      His words are honeyed; they run over Millie and root
her to the porch. "Ma'am, you're a woman after my own
heart."
      Millie narrows her eyes and opens her mouth; and then,
clutching her chest, falls to the ground at Ian's feet.
·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
      Mariah throws open the front door and kneels over her
mother. "Ma," she cries, shaking Millie's slack shoulders.
"Call an ambulance!"
      There are a few scattered camera flashes. Ignoring
them, Mariah bends over Millie, leaning her ear close to her
mother's mouth. But she feels no breath; no telltale stir of
her hair It's her heart, it's her heart, she knows it. She
squeezes her mother's hand, certain that if she lets go just
the tiniest bit, she will lose her.
      Moments later the ambulance roars up the driveway,
spraying gravel, getting as close as it can given the
melange of vans and news trucks and the Winnebago. The
paramedics race up the porch stairs. One gently pulls Mariah
out of the way and the other begins to do CPR.
      "Oh, God," Mariah whispers, her voice tiny. "Oh, God;
God; oh, my God."
      Oh, guard. Guard. Oh, my guard. From the hiding spot
where she has been huddled since sneaking out of the house,
Faith's head swings up. And her summons sounds so much like
her mother's that for the first time, she realizes all along
what she's been saying.
·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
      Ian watches Mariah White tearfully argue with the
paramedics, who refuse to let Faith ride along in the
ambulance. The chief of police intercedes, promising to
bring her daughter down to the hospital as soon as backup
arrives to get everyone off her property. With his hands in
his pockets, he watches the ambulance roar out the driveway.
      "Nice work."
      Ian startles at the voice and finds his executive
producer holding out a set of car keys. "Here you go. You'll
get network coverage tonight, for sure."
      For badgering an old woman into cardiac arrest. "Well,
now," Ian says. "Can't ask for much more'n that."
      "So what are you waiting for?"
      Ian clutches the keys. "Right," he says, falling
quickly into James expectations and looking around for the
producer's BMW. He doesn't even bother calling for a
cameraman, knowing they'll never be allowed to step foot in
the hospital. "Don't y'all go drag racing my Winnebago," he
shouts, then speeds off.
      In the ER waiting room he watches the fuzzy-reception
TV, tuned to kiddie cartoons. There is no sign of Mariah
White. Faith arrives ten minutes later in the company of a
young policman. They sit a few rows away, and every now and
then she turns in her seat to stare at Ian.
      It's downright disconcerting. Ian hasn't got much of a
conscience, so his work rarely puts him in a contemplative
state of mind. After all, the people he usually upsets the
most are the goddamned Southern Baptists, of which he was
once one and who, in Ian's mind, are so busy swallowing
their daily doses of Jesus that they need to come up choking
on their self-righteousness from time to time. Once, a woman
fainted clear away in the middle of his Central Park
speeches, but that isn't at all the same thing. Faith
White's grandma-- Ian doesn't even know her name-- well,
what happened happened partly because of something he'd
said, something he'd done.
      It's a story, he tells himself. She's no one you know,
and it's your story.
      The policeman's beeper goes off. He checks it, then
turns to Faith and asks her to stay put. On his way to a
bank of phones, the cop stops at the triage nurse's desk and
speaks quietly, no doubt asking the woman to watch the kid
for a minute.
      When Faith turns to stare at him again, Ian closes his
eyes. Then he hears her small, thin voice. "Mister?"
      She is suddenly sitting beside him. "Hello," he says,
after a moment.
      "Is my grandma dead?"
      "I don't know," Ian admits. She doesn't respond, and--
curious-- he glances down at her. Faith huddles against the
armrest of the chair, brooding. Looking at her, he doesn't
see someone touched by God. He sees a scared little girl.
      "So," he says, uncomfortably trying to ease her mind.
"I bet you like the Spice Girls. I met the Spice Girls," he
confides.
      Faith blinks at him. "Are you the reason that my
grandma fell down?"
      Ian feels his stomach clench. "I think I am, Faith.
And I'm very sorry."
      She turns away. "I don't like you."
      "You're in good company." He waits for her to move, or
for the policeman to claim her, but before this can happen
Mariah White walks out of the ER, red-eyed and searching.
Her eyes find Faith, and the girl jumps out of her seat and
into her mother's embrace. Mariah stares coldly at Ian. "The
policeman… he was… " Ian stumbles over the words,
gesturing down the hall.
      "You get away from my daughter," she says stiffly.
With her arm around Faith, she disappears back through the
swinging doors of the ER.
      Ian watches them go, and then approaches the triage
nurse. "I assume Mrs. Epstein didn't make it."
      The nurse doesn't glance up from her paperwork. "You
assume right."
·   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·
      The thing about tragedy is that it hits suddenly, with
all the power and fury of a hurricane. Mariah holds Faith's
hand tightly as they stand beside her own mother's body. The
ER cubical is empty of medical personnel now; and a kind
nurse has removed the tubes and needles in Millie's body for
the family's private goodbye. It is Mariah's decision to let
Faith in. She doesn't want to do it, but she knows it is the
only way Faith will believe her when she says that her
grandmother is dead.
      "Do you know," Mariah says, her voice thick, "what it
means if Grandma's dead?"
      Before Faith can answer, Mariah begins to cry. She
sits down on a chair beside Millie's body, her face in her
hands. At first she does not pay attention to the screeching
sound on the other side of the gurney. By the time she looks
up Faith has managed to drag the other folding chair over.
She stands on the seat, her cheek pressed to Millie's chest,
her arms awkwardly wrapped around her grandmother's body.
      For a moment Mariah feels the hair on the back of her
neck stand up, and touches her palm to it. But her gaze
never wavers from Faith-- not when Faith lifts herself up on
her elbows; not when Faith places her hands on either side
of Millie's face and kisses her full on the mouth; not when
Millie's arms rise stiff and slow and cling to her
granddaughter for dear life.