A few of the old women nodded, arms crossed and expressions stony. Delilah raised her paper cup in a mock toast and took a sip without breaking eye contact with Abel.
He grinned, real slick, like he thought I’d just handed him the mic.
“Much obliged,” Abel said, stepping forward like a man born to strut across pulpits. “Brothers and sisters, we’ve gathered in a house once sanctified and sincedefiled?—”
“Nope,” I said brightly. “Let’s not start there.”
The room hushed. Even the children stopped fidgeting.
Abel blinked at me…as if he’d never once in his life been interrupted, let alone by a woman.
“Sorry,” I laughed, “but…this is one of the first things I want to establish. In this house, our relationship with faith is aconversation. We’re not just…receptacles for your ideology—or mine, or anyone else’s.”
Abel let out a laugh. “It ain’t ideology, Miss Fontenot. It’s God’s word.”
“Audacious of you to assume you get to speak directly for God,” I said.
That got a few hums from the crowd, some genuinely surprised. I didn’t look at Silas, but I felt his eyes on me—the way the air shifted.
Because this…? This was well within my wheelhouse.
I’d been taking on men like this my whole life, and I wasn’t about to let Abel Trent makeanyoneafraid or ashamed.
“It’s not assumption,” Abel said. “It’s Scripture. And Scripture says?—”
“Scripture also says not to wear blended fabrics and that women should cover their heads in worship,” I said lightly. “And…correct me if I’m wrong, Abel, but I think that’s a polyester tie you’re wearing.”
A few people laughed outright at the tie comment—including Beau, whose laugh seemed to empower everyone else to lighten up a little too. Abel, on the other hand, looked furious.
“You’re makin’ jokes now?” he asked.
“I’m making a point,” I said. “You don’t get to cherry-pick Scripture to justify control. If you’re going to quote the Bible…well, I hope you’ve wrestled with all of it. Because I have. Every word.”
I let that land.
“I’ve studied Greek…and Hebrew, andcontext.Not just the kind you get from a commentary written in 1953 by a man who never washed a dish in his life.”
“Amen,” Francine muttered.
Abel’s smile vanished.
“Oh, so now you’re a scholaranda preacher?” he asked, voice loud, sharp, brittle. “What’d you do, take some classes at a fancy school and decide you were qualified to rewrite the Bible?”
He looked around as if daring someone to back him up.
No one did.
Delilah rolled her eyes so hard I thought she might tip over. Birdie looked like she was praying for a reason to swat him with her purse.
“I didn’t rewrite anything,” I said calmly. “I just read it. Closely. With humility.”
Abel scoffed. “Humility? You up there struttin’ like a rooster in a henhouse, quotin’ Greek like it makes you special.”
I felt Silas shift behind me—just a step. Just enough that I could sense the weight of him, the crackle of his anger under his skin. He was about to explode, but I needed him to stay calm…
…because I had this.
Because I’d never met Abel Trent, but Iknew himlike I knew my own family, and I knew exactly what would make him crack.
