Save Me, Sinners

My mother spins around, her mouth falling open she hears my door opening. I'm not supposed to do this, in her mind. Just taking a step into the living room is an act of audacity that is sure to enrage her.

But she has to be pleasant and controlled in front of Brother Owen. There's nothing she can do, and she knows it.

I watch her hands balling into fists next to her sides. Brother Owen takes a half step toward me.

“Are you feeling well? Mary suggested you were ill after work yesterday,” he says, but I know he doesn't believe any of this.

Still, I see the glint in his eye, the coldness. He's already decided that I don't have an excuse good enough for what I've done. It won't even make a difference that it wasn’t my fault.

“I feel much better, thank you,” I answer, pointing my chin in the air. I don't want to seem too defiant, but I don't want to come off like a child either.

“Silas has requested your presence. Please come with me,” he announces curtly.

I quirk an eyebrow at my mother. I'm not going to ask for permission. I'm not going to say anything. I simply follow him out the front door and into the sunlight.

My dress swishes painfully around my ankles as I try to keep up with him. I should have made the skirt just a little bit fuller to give myself more room for my legs to move. But normally I wouldn’t have to stretch like this. Owen is much taller than me, and I almost have to jog to keep up with him.

I hitch my skirt up slightly to avoid the long, almost evaporated puddles in the ruts of the path.

“I listened to the rain last night,” I observe, trying to start a conversation with him.

“Finally,” he mutters. It's almost a growl. He does not want to talk to me.

I can't blame him, can I?

I assume we are going to the barn, but he veers left and we arrive shortly at Father Daddy's small shack. The front room is his office, and I'm a little sad that we’re not going back to our place. I thought we were perhaps going to do more training, but I guess not. He pulls the door open, his gaze dark and furious. With one hand he gestures that I should enter.

The office is small and crowded, with a desk at one end and two chairs in front of it. The dark wood paneling makes it feel very closed in, like a root cellar. I almost expect to see bunches of sweet potatoes hanging from the ceiling.

“We made a decision,” Father Daddy announces. I squint into the gloom and wait for my eyes to adjust so I can see him. He sits in his chair behind the desk with his fingers steepled, balanced under his chin. I can't see his expression clearly, but the room is practically seething with his anger.

“I didn't mean to do it,” I begin. “Mama just said I —”

“It doesn’t matter now. Is that your best dress?”

“Well, yes…” I stammer. “Is it all right? Where are we going?”

“We need you to make a good impression,” is all he says.

“Am I being sold?”

My question hangs in the air. Father Daddy scowls and turns away, and I feel like I can hear him snarling under his breath.

“We need to make sure you're still intact,” Brother Owen says behind me.

I flinch, looking over my shoulder. “Intact? What does that mean?”

He hardens his gaze. It makes me feel so cold, as though he was so warm before, and now he just turned to stone.

“I need to look at your flower,” he explains in a low growl. “I need to see that it is untouched.”

I gasp, my hands flying up to cover my mouth. “Of course it is untouched!” I hear myself squeak. “No one has ever… you should know… I can't believe you would even say that to me!”

I whirl around, looking for Father Daddy's eyes. I need that connection. “You know! Tell him!”

He stands slowly, holding his hands out apologetically. “We just need to be sure. We just need to make sure the trip is not for nothing.”

I hold my breath. What choice do I have?