I had since learned the reasons for things.
“We must pray,” she howled, falling to her knees. I immediately bowed my head, sinking slowly to the ground. Following the orders as they were given.
“Pray for the souls of those who wish us harm,” Mom wailed, her hands raised upwards towards the sky. Towards the sun.
“Pray for the healing of Adam and Tyler. Let the sun bathe them in warmth and light. God’s ultimate gift to us.”
We all lifted our arms in supplication.
And still we were silent. Letting Mother speak for us. To pray for us.
There was the sound of footsteps on gravel. I didn’t open my eyes. I could sense him.
“My children. Blessed is the day God has made,” Pastor Carter murmured. I felt his hand on my head. His fingers stroking my hair before he moved on.
My stomach clenched and then retracted. I felt mildly nauseous.
“Try to forgive those that hurt us. Pray for our own immortal souls. Look to The Awakening. The sun guides our way. Adam and Tyler remind us not to waste time on those already lost. You can’t change their hearts. They will know only pain and suffering at the end,” Pastor Carter preached, his voice like a hundred bells in my ear.
My muscles were taut. My head began to pound. Remembering what lay at the bottom of the mountain filled me with an anxiety that consumed me.
But I was safe.
Here.
The Gathering of the Sun protected me.
“Blessed is the sun. Blessed is our path. Blessed is our family.”
We repeated Pastor’s words in unison. As we had been taught to.
Over and over again.
The act of repetition calmed me.
I felt Pastor’s hand on my head again. His palm warm. “Blessed is our path.”
I bowed my head further. My chin touching my chest. My hair falling on either side of my face.
“Blessed are the chosen,” I whispered.
And I felt the prayer.
There was no room for any doubt in my heart.
“What do you think happened to Adam and Tyler?” Stafford asked, his hands wrist deep in the dirt.
Caitlyn passed him a handful of seeds and he dropped them into the hole before covering it up and patting it smooth again.
We kneeled in a line. All of us. The small group of teenagers that lived at The Retreat. There weren’t many. Our family comprised mostly of adults. Children were few. The youngest being Rosie Fisk, who was six.
The path wasn’t always a journey for younger souls.
Minnie Gardner, Stafford Morgan, Caitlyn Rogers, Bobbie Mann, Anne, and I were spending our afternoon in the large communal gardens. Planting seeds. Tending to the crops we used for food. We lived off the land. We grew what we ate. It was God’s way of providing for his flock. And in turn, we cultivated what he so lovingly bestowed.
I enjoyed farming. I loved the feel of the dirt underneath my fingernails and the smell of the wet earth. It was a place of solace for me. I had a true gift for growing things. It was my duty to share it with my family.
Sometimes—only sometimes—I wished I didn’t have to share. That I could plant a flower and watch it bloom, just for me. For no one else. But nothing was mine alone. It belonged to everyone. When anyone looked at me, they saw total and complete devotion to my task. They’d never know how I resented it.
