Anointed

by Charity B.

  I wish I could speak with Zebadiah. I want to know what happened after he left and how he got caught in the first place. I have been secretly praying I wouldn’t get the blood for at least three more years, because then Zeb would be a man in the eyes of Zaaron and could be bound. A man being bound that young is extremely rare, but not completely unheard of for a future Prophet. I asked Zaaron to please let Zebadiah be who He chose for me.

  That won’t ever happen now.

  My sigh fills the room…it doesn’t matter anymore.

  What will it be like to be Zeb’s mother? The thought makes me want to be sick all over the clean clothes I just folded on the bed. I wonder if we will stay friends. It will be impossible to spend the time together that we used to. I will miss being alone with him, and he will eventually start spending his time with someone else. My chest hurts. I want to cry when I think of him with another girl.

  Things with Zeb were starting to change. It was different, and though I don’t really want to admit it, I liked it…a lot. It made my body tingle with warm waves of soft vibrations dancing up my skin. Now, when I think about what our relationship will be, my throat tightens and my head hurts.

  I pull the golden knobs on the oak dresser, the drawer squealing in protest. The pale pink flowers painted on the cracked wood are chipped and worn. This has been my dresser my entire life. This is the last time I will ever use it. I rest my head against the edge, letting the tears fall into the drawer of clean clothes. I’m scared. I’m scared to be bound to the Prophet, I’m scared to have children, and I’m scared to leave my family.

  I ask Zaaron to help me want this, help me desire it. Help me realize His plan is so much greater than the small speck that is my time on Earth.

  Please Zaaron, help me be what I’m supposed to be. What you want me to be.

  Closing the dresser isn’t any quieter, and when I turn to leave my room, Mia is standing in the doorway. Tears are bulging from her eyes, about to fall at any moment.

  “I don’t want you to hate me.” Her lip quivers, and she lets herself cry. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  I want to yell at her and tell her she should have thought of that before she brought the proof of my lies to the Prophet, but I don’t have much time left with her. I will only see her during services, gatherings, bindings, cleansings, and maybe the occasional passing by, and that will be it. I don’t want hurtful words to be the last ones I speak to her. Besides, that lip quiver she does is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. I know her biggest fear is that everyone she loves won’t make it to the Paradise Star. She just doesn’t want to spend eternity without me. I don’t want to spend it without her either.

  I go to her, taking her hand and sitting both of us on her bed. “I will never hate you, Mia. Ever, ever.” I pull her onto my lap and make sure I experience every sensation of it. Her head against my chest, her bonnet ruffle tickling my chin, her warm breath against my arm, the way her legs dangle over the edge of mine. I will never hug her like this again. “I know you were just being obedient. You are a good girl. I know Zaaron is proud of you.” She wipes her nose as she looks up at me with a hopeful expression. “I will miss you too. I’ll still see you every Saturday and Wednesday, okay?”

  She nods, though she is far from being herself. “Okay.”

  “Come on. Let’s go help mothers make dinner.”

  I haven’t seen my father since last night, and when he walks into the kitchen I wish I could go hide. He doesn’t speak as he kisses my mothers and sits at the table. Nobody else seems to be paying attention to him when he’s all I’m paying attention to. I want him to look at me while at the same time, I’m terrified that he will.

  The food is put on the table, and everyone sits before Father speaks. “I know you are all aware this is Laurel Ann’s last night with us. I had prayed this would be under more celebratory circumstances, although I am still pleased she is to be bound to our Prophet. Sometimes, Zaaron’s plan is not always clear. We will all attend her cleansing tomorrow evening with the exception of your mother, Julia, who will stay back with the children.” He finally looks right at me, making me want to slide under the table. “I want Laurel Ann to be an example as to what happens when you sin against Zaaron and break spiritual law.”

  The room remains silent as Father continues in prayer, thanking Zaaron for our food, His blessings, for our Prophet, and asking that He will grant me forgiveness.

  Nobody speaks of my cleansing again. It’s almost time, and even though I haven’t eaten since lunch, I can’t bring myself to swallow much of my food. I expect my wasting to be pointed out, especially by Sister Mary, yet I hear nothing of it. I’m not able to focus on the conversation around me, which makes me sad because this is the last night I will get to be a part of it.

  The knock on the front door causes time to halt. Everyone freezes in their positions until my father stands to answer. I know who is at the door even before I look up to see him.

  Apostle Keaton removes his hat as he nods to my mothers, and we all stand to greet him.

  “It’s time for Laurel Ann to be taken to the holding room. Is she ready?”

  No! I’m not ready!

  I want to scream how sorry I am. How I wish I could take it back. Before this moment I was worried, but now I’m so petrified that my feet are sunk into the floor, and my lips are sewn together with invisible thread.

  “Yes, she is.” My father gestures for me to stand. “It’s time for us to say our goodbyes.”

  I want to fall to the floor. I want to cry and plead, beg them not to do this, but all my younger siblings are watching, and I must be an example to them. I get up to go stand by the Apostle.

  The little children are too young to understand what is happening, and still, one by one all my siblings hug me, telling me they love me. When it’s Mia’s turn, she clutches at my apron as she cries against my stomach. “I will miss you, Laurel Ann. I love you. Thank you for forgiving me.”

  I kiss her head. “I will miss you too, and I love you. Be a good girl and keep studying hard, okay?”

  She nods at me before falling into Robert’s embrace. My mothers hug me, even Sister Mary seems sincere. My mother kisses my head while she cups my face. “Be obedient, Laurel Ann, and everything will fall into place.” The tears are choking me, so I let some of them fall. “I love you, sweetie.”

  The only one left is my father. As he looks at me, I think he’s going to let me leave without saying goodbye. Finally, he says, “Be an honorable wife to our Prophet, and you will honor our God.”

  He doesn’t hug me, he doesn’t tell me he loves me, or he’ll miss me. He just nods in dismissal. I’m not allowed to bring anything. Taking one last look at my family and home, I follow Apostle Keaton out my front door, still hearing Mia’s sobs all the way down the steps.

  The Apostle barely speaks to me the entire way to the common ground, and even then, all he says is, “Try to keep up.”

  Looking at the schoolhouse brings tears to my eyes, and my heart aches at the idea of never being able to go again. The Prophet doesn’t let his wives remain in school. Things won’t be the same with my friends; it never is when a girl gets placed. I always thought it felt like they had grown up and left us kids behind, but now it feels the opposite.

  I look at the box of repentance as we pass by the cleansing station. Benji is still in there, and soon I will be.

  We climb the steps of the tabernacle to walk into the foyer. The meeting hall has windows all along the sides, and now that the sun is beginning to go down, it casts an orange glow on the room. There are around fifteen long rows of pews all facing the pulpit at the front. Apostle Keaton leads me down the center aisle and onto the stage, taking me to the door in the back, left corner. I have never been in this part of the tabernacle before.

  The short hallway has five doors: one to our left, three to our right, and one directly in front of us. He turns to the last one on the right, guiding me into what looks like a small bedroo
m. There is a blanket and a pillow on the bed with The True Testament sitting on a small side table. There are no windows in the room, but there are two oil lamps allowing for more than enough light. An open door showing me the toilet, tells me it’s a washroom.

  Click.

  I fling around to see the closed door as the lock turns into place. I let out a sigh and take a lamp into the washroom where I pump a handful of water to wet my face. Without anyone to talk to and nothing to do, I lie down. Suddenly, I feel exhausted. I pull the wool blanket up to my chin, already wanting my own bed.

  I awake to one of Zeb’s younger brothers bringing me breakfast. He doesn’t speak a word to me as he sets the food on the table, leaving the way he came, and locking the door once it’s closed.

  I take my time eating to have something to do for as long as possible. My thoughts float to my family. I wonder if they miss me and if they’ve already divided up my things. If they haven’t, they will by this evening.

  I sleep for most of the morning, and when lunchtime arrives it’s in the hands of one of the Prophet’s daughters. I try to speak to her, though she comes and goes just like her brother.

  The third time I hear the door unlock, I assume it’s for my dinner. My assumption is wrong. My gaze travels to the door where Apostle Keaton is standing.

  “It’s time to prepare you for the cleansing.”

  I follow him into the room directly across from the entrance of the meeting hall. This room has a window, allowing me to see it’s about the same time as it was when I came here yesterday. It appears to be an office with a desk, two chairs, a worn bookshelf, an oil lamp, a large chest, and a water basin.

  “Sit and lift your arms.” I obey as he reaches behind my chair for the ox yoke. He lowers it over my arms, leading them through the bows, until the beam sits across my shoulders, holding me captive. He then ties two ropes through the chain rings on either side, letting the ends fall to the floor.

  “Remain in this seat until the Prophet comes for you.”

  He closes the door, and I gasp when I attempt to lower my arms, causing the beam of the ox yoke to dig into the back of my neck. The more I try to get comfortable, the worse it becomes, so I move as little as possible.

  Through the window, I watch the sky transfer from golden to purple. It doesn’t take long for the light in the room to fade.

  The time oozes away at a leisurely pace, giving my mind space to roam. It’s silly that part of me is mortified my friends are going to be watching. It’s embarrassing enough to get in trouble in school. This is going to be much worse. People will be talking about me afterward, just as I am sure they are talking about me right now.

  My neck and arms are aching as I think of what I am about to endure. I hope it makes me feel better afterwards–more grateful and not so self-centered.

  The more time that disappears, the more nervous I get, until I’m tapping my boot against the desk. The window is open, making me grateful for the cool air the evening brings. I haven’t stopped sweating through my bloomers since I came in here. This room is small and driving me insane. How long has it been?

  Finally, I hear the creak of the knob. I try to turn my head to the door as the Prophet slides into the room, and even that hurts.

  He looks down on me for a few long, torturous moments before he speaks. His voice is loud in my ears, seeming to echo in my head.

  “I am going to remove your boots and stockings.”

  I’m in no position to be pushing boundaries, but if he removes my stockings, my ankles might show beneath my dress.

  “Prophet…”

  He steps closer, narrowing his eyes and removing all traces of their softness. My stomach flips as goose bumps dance across my flesh. He kneels down to undo my laces, rolling my stockings down my legs. I feel like this should be an intimate moment, yet he’s doing it with such coldness, it causes a sense of shame.

  “You will not be the recipient of another cleansing ritual after this, do you understand?”

  I don’t really. Does he know for a fact I won’t ever mess up again? Did Zaaron tell him that?

  There is none of the kindness that is usually apparent on his face as he rests his hands on his knees. He looks into me, my heart bouncing against my chest. Is He telling him what I’m thinking?

  “I will not have sin in my home, nor will I have any of my wives be made into a public spectacle.”

  I feel myself swallow. I’m still not entirely following, and I’m also thinking I don’t want to. I nod in compliance. He snatches the ropes, pulling me up with him and pressing the beam against the back of my neck. Following him into the meeting hall, I am sure to stay close. He orders me to sit in the same pew Benji sat in. I become invisible to him when he walks away, leaving me unsure. He didn’t tell me, but I doubt I’m supposed to move. I stay still, watching Joanna Fitch, soon to be my sister-wife, lighting candles up and down the hall.

  The big wooden doors boom open as people pour inside, in their orders, moving through the pews like ribbons. When I see my family, I want to cry again. I do regret lying about the blood. If I could go back, I would do it differently, even though that’s probably because I got caught.

  The first person I make eye contact with is Samuel. He signs, It’ll be over before you know it.

  I’m not really able to sign in this thing, and I wouldn’t want the Prophet to catch me anyway, so I nod to him. I look to Mia next. Poor thing. I can see from here that she has been crying—probably since I left.

  The Prophet stands in front of me, behind the pulpit. I glance over to the front row to find Zeb taking his seat with his family. He sits awkwardly, holding his stomach, looking pained. Is he ill?

  The Prophet holds up his hand, the small amount of chatter and whispers immediately dying down.

  “The Devil is trying to take over the adolescents of this compound. He is attacking us through our youth. Children of Zaaron, we must fight this evil. Twice in three days’ time, one of our flock has been led astray.” Distasteful head shaking across the hall almost makes the room look as if it’s pulsing. “Laurel Ann Henderson, arise, child.” I obey, and he gestures for me to stand by him. “In the darkness, Zaaron’s light burns bright. He blesses us while the Devil attempts to doom us. His holy voice has made it clear that Laurel Ann’s soul is in peril. To protect her place in the Paradise Star, He has commanded I make her my wife.”

  Everyone instantly begins clapping. There are whispers of Praise Zaaron! as hands raise to the heavens all across the meeting hall. The Prophet allows them a moment to rejoice then he continues, “However, before we can receive the blessing of a binding, we must wash away the filth of sin.” He turns to me. “You were given the gift of blood, yet you rebuked that gift by lying to me, your family, and everyone in the Anointed Land.” My face and neck are hot. I never considered I was betraying everyone I’ve ever known. How many of them hate me? “Do you deny this?”

  “No, Prophet.”

  “Do you understand this is a serious transgression that requires the holy fire of Zaaron to rid you of the stain on your purity?”

  “I do.”

  “Will you accept this penance?”

  “Yes, Prophet.”

  The room erupts into praise and cheer as he leads me between them. Every pull he gives on the ropes nearly causes me to fall and my ears to burn in humiliation.

  Once the pillars of the cleansing station come into sight, bile raises into my throat. Sweat bursts through my pores, and my vision blurs, on account of my heart pounding behind my eyes and the unavoidable tears. He leads me down the rough steps of the tabernacle as I nearly trip off the last one, my feet slipping in the soft dirt. Squeezing my eyes shut, I allow the tears to fall on my cheeks.

  I will get through this. Zaaron wouldn’t ask His children to do something they couldn’t. I chose to act outside of His grace, and this is how I am to remain inside of it. The air is cool in my nostrils as I inhale. I want to be pure. I want to obey Zaaron’s laws, an
d I definitely want to remain in the Anointed Land. I can do this.

  I have to do this.

  The Prophet leads me to the cleansing station as the Apostle and the Counselor stand on either side, throwing the ropes over the pillars. Slowly they pull, until my head threatens to be pushed off my shoulders. Though my toes are touching the earth, I have to stand on the tips of them to relieve the pain in my neck. The murmurs sound loud in my pounding ears, causing the agony in my shoulders to shoot to my stomach. Attempting to lift my head, I make eye contact with my father. He looks just as he did at Benji’s cleansing: passive and neutral. I could be a complete stranger. My mother has tears streaming down her cheeks, glittering from the light of the fire. Her face softens when she realizes I’m watching her, and she signs, I love you.

  Almost my entire family is here, and I’m grateful they are standing in front of me when the rip, rip, rip of my dress from the Prophet’s knife allows the air to whip across my bare back.

  Zeb isn’t in my line of sight, so his eyes must be among those I feel on my exposed skin. I know this isn’t meant to be pleasant, still, I want nothing more than to disappear. I’m confident this humiliation is a worse punishment than the pain.

  “Laurel Ann Henderson. You will receive eight lashings with the holy fire and thirty-eight hours in the box of repentance. Will you pay this price to be purified once again?”

  My breathing burns through my chest and shoulders.

  The burning hasn’t even begun.

  “Yes, Prophet.”

  In my periphery, the Prophet removes the whip from the pillar. Although I can’t see him soaking it in kerosene, I can hear the slosh, slosh, slosh of something wet and the whoosh of the flame igniting the whip.