I couldn’t think otherwise of someone I loved so much.
So I didn’t ask her where she was taking it.
I turned off the lights in the dining hall and made my way back to the house I shared with my mom. It sat just off to the side of Pastor’s large dwelling. I could see the soft glow of a lamp through the windows of his house. The moonlight glinted off the glass of the solarium. Clement, Stanley, Fiona Pearl, and Tabby Jones were leaving as I walked by. The elders raised a hand in silent greeting. I bowed my head in respect.
I noted my mother wasn’t with them. I thought I could see her just behind the curtains. With Pastor Carter.
She wouldn’t be home for a while.
I walked into our one-room home on weary legs. Anne was right. Itwascold tonight. I lit a small fire in the fireplace in the center of the room. I hated the smell of the smoke as it billowed out. The chimney needed cleaning.
I was slow in my movements. My limbs felt heavy and my joints ached. It had been a long day. More strenuous than most.
I tried not to think about Gabby in The Refuge. How cold she must be. How scared. Hopefully she prayed. Hopefully she found guidance. She would stay there until she found her path. It was the only way for some of us.
It had been the only way for me.
And I was thankful for it.
I was thankful…
The pain twisted my gut again and I smiled.
I had to.
It was either that or cry.
Mom came back well after midnight. I hadn’t fallen asleep yet. I spent most of the night reading my worn Bible and underlining passages to share with Pastor Carter at our next session.
He’d appreciate my diligence.
Mom came into the room on careful feet, tiptoeing to avoid creaking floorboards.
“You don’t have to be quiet. I’m still awake,” I said, sitting up.
I raised the wick of the oil lamp on my bedside table so she could see better. While there was electricity in the main buildings, our homes were without lights. Pastor Carter felt it unnecessary.
“Our homes are personal sanctuaries. The less modern intrusions the closer to God we become.”
None of us mentioned the electricity that ran inhishouse. Or questioned why his sanctuary was different to ours.
“You should be asleep. The sun’s blessing is only a few hours away.” Her voice was barely a whisper. I watched her in the flickering flame as she began to undress. She unpinned her hair and it fell in thick folds down her back.
She looked so young. Her face flushed and a grin painted on her lips. Hardly old enough to be mother to an eighteen-year-old.
It was easy to forget that Daphne Bishop was a step away from divinity. In these quiet moments she wasn’t an elder. Or a holy voice. Or Pastor Carter’s right hand. Just my mother.
She laughed to herself as if remembering something perfect. She rubbed a finger over her lips and briefly closed her eyes.
Daphne was only my mother. And with love splashed on her face—all too human.
It was a love that went beyond devotion and prayer, though no one would ever speak of it or acknowledge it. Physical love was unnecessary. It served only as a disruption. A temptation that could turn us from God.
Mom, of all people, should know better than to give her heart to a man.
Yet, Mom worshipped Pastor Carter above all things. Perhaps that made her the greatest sinner of us all.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted.
