Things to Do When You're Goth in the Country

by Chavisa Woods

  “What she means is, you have such generosity, even for the basest creatures,” Betty told her kindly.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said. But it hadn’t seemed like a compliment completely.

  “What do you know about the Druids?” Ellen chirped.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Frank went to Stonehenge,” Betty said, smiling and pouring herself some more tea. “It’s all very fascinating, and the more I’ve learned about it, the more I understand that we need to be going in a different direction.”

  “The more you learn about Stonehenge, you mean? A different direction with the church . . . related to Stonehenge?” Sarah asked perplexedly.

  “Sarah,” Frank continued, “have you ever studied the history of religious diasporas?”

  She sat back and viewed him squarely. “Frank, you sound like a professor.” It occurred to her that maybe she didn’t know Frank that well at all.

  “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of reading, for years now. When my wife died, and I went abroad for the first time in my life—well, the first time not counting my time in the army—it changed me. It’s like a whole new chapter began. So, have you ever read about the world religions and how they’ve evolved?”

  Sarah smiled at him and tried out her tea again. “No, not much. I suppose I’ve seen a documentary here and there, but not much other than that, really. No. I don’t know much about it at all.”

  “Well, it’s all fascinating.” Frank rested his elbows on the table on either side of his plate, leaning in. “Everything comes from something. As you know, Protestants came out of Catholicism, and us Evangelicals, well, we came directly from Judaism.” Sarah nodded in agreement. “And when you start looking at other religions, the Druids for instance, well, they have ties to many indoctrinations of the Christian religion, as well as neo-paganism dating all the way back to the Iron Age, and maybe beyond.”

  “I didn’t know you were so interested in this type of thing, Frank,” Sarah said.

  “Well, like I said, I wasn’t, until my trip. I met some very amazing people, passionate people, in London and Wales. Did you know that there are still Druids practicing ancient rituals today, and combining it with all sorts of fascinating theologies?”

  “I had no idea.” Her eyes were wide though she was trying to mask her shock. “Druids. Today?” Sarah knew, and she knew Frank must know as well as she did, Druids were looked at as akin to a satanic cult, and this was all quite taboo, and it was extremely odd that he would speak of the Druids so casually, as if they were just another denomination of Christians, and that the other two women were reacting as if there were nothing exceptional in what he was saying at all. He was going on about all this quite coolly, and she didn’t know how to take it or how to act.

  “Yes,” Frank continued with his strange history lesson. “They can’t say for sure where the first Druids came from. The Celts, the Germans, the Welsh? It seems to have sprung up in different, unconnected parts of the world around the same time, somehow, as if there were something divine or supernatural speaking to these various, unconnected cultures. And after thousands of years, it is still a vibrant religion, because its followers have allowed it to evolve, and have incorporated it into their other beliefs. This is what I’m getting at. As evangelicals, we should be asking, what does the future hold? We should be asking what’s next? Not reenacting some tired Victorian drama!” The last sentence he spoke loudly, anger and excitement visible in him.

  Sarah watched him cautiously. “I’ve never heard you speak this way,” she said softly. “I can’t say I totally disagree with you on your last point, but I’m sorry, I just don’t understand. What are you proposing we do, exactly?”

  “Well,” the three looked at each other. Betty took the lead. “At first we thought, last week, when this came out, we thought, maybe it would be best if one of us just came forward with something, anything they’ve been needing to get off their shoulders. Some confession that would serve to appease Rick and Tracy and we could move on from all this, this . . .”

  “This nonsense,” Frank interjected.

  Betty went on, “Of course, there are still members who stand behind the pastor. It’s a conservative little area, and we all live here,” she motioned to everyone at the table. “We joined the church because we share the same values. But we do think this may be getting out of hand.”

  “It reminds me of the eighties, when we got up in arms about Satanists we thought were secretly taking over the town, and it turned out to be nothing more than some teenagers painting graffiti on the bridges. We looked like buffoons. That’s what we looked like,” Frank said. “I’ve poured a good amount of money into that church. My family’s name is on the bell tower. I’m not going to be run out!”

  Betty let out a frustrated sigh. “No one is running you out,” she said soothingly.

  “Why on earth would anyone want to run you out?” Sarah inquired.

  Frank shook his head and gathered himself. “We just aren’t sure,” Betty told her. “We aren’t sure what to do and we wanted you to weigh in. You’re the church treasurer after all. You’ve been here since the beginning and everyone trusts you, Sarah. And well, we are, unfortunately, considering the very real possibility, along with some other members, of asking the pastor to step down.”

  “Oh dear,” Sarah said, shocked.

  “Even if,” Frank told her, “someone comes forward with a confession of some sort, and this one incident is put to rest, we can’t be sure it won’t happen again. Obviously, we hope there’s another way, but right now, I just don’t see any. If the church is going to ever begin to grow and thrive like it did, we can’t have this sort of thing continuously going on. These abstract accusations, it puts people off, really, most normal people, it puts them off. It spooks them.”

  “Well, this is more than I expected. Asking Rick to resign as pastor? I need to take some time to think about all this,” Sarah told them. Worry was visible on her face.

  “Of course you do.” Betty reached out and touched her hand. Sarah took a deep breath and looked around the room again, trying to process everything she’d heard. “Asking Rick to step down is a very big decision. Couldn’t we maybe just talk to him about the way he’s handling his wife?”

  “We could,” Ellen said. “You could. He trusts you.”

  “Oh?” Sarah let out a heavy sigh.

  “He’s just gotten so paranoid,” Ellen continued. “He doesn’t even want Betty and me to have keys to the basement anymore.”

  “The basement?” Sarah asked. Betty shook her head no at Ellen. But Ellen didn’t notice, or at least pretended not to.

  “You know Betty and I clean the church on alternating Saturdays, and we have the keys to the church, as do you, of course, you’re the treasurer. You do also have keys to the basement, don’t you, Sarah?”

  “Well, yes. I haven’t been down there in years, but, yes, I do. I have the master key. All the remaining founders do.” She was becoming very confused.

  “Oh, terrific!” Ellen said. “That’s terrific. That’s what we thought.” Sarah tilted her head. “Rick is getting odd, is all. It’s more than just Tracy,” Ellen told her.

  “He’s closed-minded is what it is,” Frank said sternly.

  “He’s asked us to turn in our basement keys,” Betty snapped. “And the whole thing is just too weird for words.” She shot an angry look in Ellen’s direction. “I don’t even know why we’re talking about this, really. This isn’t relevant.”

  “Well, I happen to think it is,” Ellen snapped back. “It shows his mind-set.”

  “Why on earth,” Sarah asked, “would he give two whips about the basement?”

  “The church is consecrated ground. It was built there on the old cemetery, and the tombs in the back are precious relics.”

  “What?” Sarah had gotten completely lost. Why Frank was bringing this up, she couldn’t understand. The church was indeed built on a cemetery with family tombs dating bac
k to the late 1600s. Years before they broke ground, another church had been there, housed in a building that was not much more than a barn. The ground was a historic site, but what this had to do with anything, she had no idea. And what did the cemetery in the backyard have to do with the basement?

  “You’ve barely touched your food,” Betty told her. “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, I think I’m finished with this. Thank you,” Sarah told her.

  “How about I cut some of that lemon cake you brought and get us some dessert?”

  “That sounds just fine,” Sarah told her, her voice shrill and pinched.

  “I’ll help you,” Ellen said, rising and clearing the plates from the table with Betty. The two women disappeared into the kitchen, and Sarah could hear them murmuring in the other room.

  She sat at the table alone with Frank. The two stared at one another, Sarah keeping up a tense, disingenuous smile. Frank finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry, I know this is a lot for you to take in. We just, well, I in particular, had a feeling about you, that you would be open to hearing our ideas and concerns.”

  “And I am. And I also share some of your concerns,” she assured him.

  “Yes, well,” Frank placed an elbow on the table and leaned toward her, “even more than that, I’ve always thought you were someone very special. You seem like an open-minded person.”

  Sarah shifted in her seat. She didn’t quite know what to make of the way he was talking to her. She didn’t want to like it, but some part of her that she couldn’t deny did like it very much. She blushed and looked down at her plate. “Thank you, Frank. You flatter me.”

  He laid his palm on the table near her. “I can be open with you, can’t I, Sarah?” She looked him in the eye. He was gazing quite intently at her, with a trace of a soft and, she couldn’t help but think, flirtatious smile lighting his lips.

  “Of course, Frank. Of course.”

  “Right. I’m just going to tell you, we’ve been meeting in the basement on Saturday nights, having a sort of prayer gathering in the fashion that many of us would like to see the church becoming more open to, and we’d like you to join us.”

  Her mouth clamped shut and her skin tingled. What was he talking about? Was this really happening? He couldn’t be implying what she thought he was implying. “You’ve been having prayer meetings at the church . . . in the basement? Why didn’t you announce it to the entire congregation?”

  “No,” he whispered and shook his head. “Not everyone can know.” He paused and sat back up straight, folding his napkin in his lap. “Rick and Tracy can never know.”

  “What?” she asked again, astonished. The sound of Betty and Ellen’s footsteps prompted Frank to place his finger to his lips and pantomime a “shhh.”

  “Here it is. What a lovely dessert!” Betty proclaimed, as she and Ellen placed the plates of lemon cake in front of Sarah and Frank and resumed their seats. “Dig in.” The other three scooped up the yellow cake with their forks, white frosting mushing between the prongs. Sarah sat motionless, a stunned expression on her face, processing what Frank had just said to her. She was still staring directly at him, though he was no longer paying her any attention and had taken to vigorously enjoying his desert. She didn’t know how to proceed. She leaned farther back in the chair and took an account of the three of them, going on as if everything were normal.

  She shook her head and looked around the room again, and once more noticing the strange object on the shelf, she turned to get a better look at it.

  It was made of a greenish stone. It was a male figure that could have been, she thought, an African tribesman of some sort with a small round head, and his mouth wide open, sitting cross-legged, holding up what appeared to be a rope in one hand, and from his head was growing what she thought looked like deer antlers, but it was hard to make anything out for sure from where she was sitting. “What is that thing?” she let out, sounding more obviously disturbed than she would have liked. The three others stopped eating, Ellen in mid-bite, and regarded her with worry.

  “That’s nothing,” Betty said, waving her hand. “Just a little thing I picked up.”

  “Betty,” Frank put down his fork and stood, “it’s fine. Let’s tell her about it.”

  Betty sighed and lifted her shoulders. “Well, all right, it is odd. But, well, it’s an artifact, really, an antique.”

  “It’s mine.” Frank lifted it from the shelf and displayed it for Sarah.

  “It’s yours? Why is it here then?” Sarah asked shrilly, her voice trembling.

  “Frank . . . umm, he loaned it to me,” Betty said.

  “Loaned it to you? For what?”

  “Just so I can . . . ” she was at a loss for words and becoming visibly frustrated although trying to keep a pleasant look on her face in spite of everything, “so I can enjoy it, until he needs it again.”

  “Needs it again?” Sarah snapped. “What would he need it for?”

  “Why are you so upset?” Ellen asked.

  “It’s hideous,” Sarah said, shaking her head no.

  “Maybe we should take a break. Go out back on the porch and get some fresh air,” Betty tried. “We’ve given Sarah so much to think about. It’s been such an emotional day.”

  “Nonsense,” Frank said, walking toward Sarah and setting the statue down on the table in front of her. “This is nothing to be upset about. Take a look. It’s just an antique. It’s a stone figure is all. You see?”

  “What on earth is it supposed to be?” Sarah asked, leaning in to get a closer look.

  “This is Cernunnos, or the Horned God, who was, and is still, worshiped by the Druids, and sacred to a number of religious people all over the world.” Sarah leaned back, away from the thing. “He’s nothing to fear. He’s a hunter, a forest creature, a man—”

  “Does it have an erection?” The words just came out of her thoughtlessly, in a harsh, angry whisper. Betty’s eyes were wide with worry. Ellen sat across from her covering her hands with her mouth as if she were a child being caught at something.

  “Yes, Sarah, he does have an erection,” Frank told her matter-of-factly. “In many heathen cultures, an erection is nothing to be ashamed of. Not everyone views sex in such a strict light as we do here. For some, it’s a simple, pleasant function of the human body, and for some even, an activity enjoyed together, amongst many . . . in a group.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you think of that?”

  “Those heathens,” Betty said shrilly, “what will they think of next? Of course, they don’t know any better.”

  “My god, Betty!” Sarah said, locking eyes with her friend.

  Betty finally stopped smiling and her expression revealed despair. She placed her hand over Sarah’s and grasped it tightly. “Sarah, please,” she whispered. “I just thought you would—”

  “Thought I would what?”

  “Understand!” Betty pleaded. Ellen shoved her chair back and left the room. Sarah didn’t look away from Betty.

  “Please don’t be like this. It’s nothing bad.”

  Sarah felt pity for her friend and saw the desperation in her eyes. She couldn’t help thinking that just an hour before, she herself feared being persecuted, even ostracized, for her own transgression. But this was different, wasn’t it? They knew what they were doing. What were they doing? A part of her wanted to know more, while she tried to tell herself she’d heard all she needed, much more than enough.

  She was deeply relieved to know that the darkness in the church did not reside with her, after all. She never would have thought it was so insidious and specific a secret as what she’d discovered.

  “It’s nothing bad?” she hissed at Betty. “Just some, what? Orgies in the church basement? Is that it? My god! And this thing.” She pushed the statue away from her and covered her face with her hands.

  “You’re being such a prude!” Betty squealed, slapping the table with the palm of her hand, and biting her lip.

  “
Ladies, ladies,” Frank said soothingly. He stepped up closer behind Sarah, who was hunched over, still covering her face with her hands, and began massaging her shoulders. “It’s been a difficult conversation. We’re all worked up.” Sarah wanted to pull away from his touch but his strong hands on her neck and shoulders sent a sensation through her body, and she felt like she was melting, and though she tried resisting, she gave into his touch, and even relaxed. “Let’s take a deep breath,” Frank went on. She felt dizzy, overcome, and her mind was absolutely racing. She kept beginning to cry, then stopping and nearly hyperventilating. Frank breathed in deeply, and exhaled slowly. Her head was awash with contradictory emotion. “Sarah, everything is fine, there’s nothing to be upset about. You’ve known us almost all your life. You don’t think we’re bad people, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

  “Come now,” Frank said, pulling her back so that her head rested against his torso. She placed a hand over his where it rested on her shoulder. “How could you do this?” she murmured.

  “I think we all just need to calm down and clear our heads. Betty’s right.” He slid his thumbs up and then down Sarah’s shoulders. Sarah sighed, despite herself. She was appalled, but at the same time, though she hated to admit it, she was excited. She wanted to get up and run away, but she also, in spite of herself, wanted to stay and find out what exactly they wanted with her. Why had they decided to let her in? Was it simply because they wanted her keys to the basement, or was it something else, something they’d seen in her, like Frank had said, something exceptional and strange about her, that she also knew, and often feared she possessed, some restlessness that was a lust and more than that, a deep need for more, more of anything from life?

  “I feel dizzy,” she said. “I feel sick. I feel just sick to my stomach.”

  Frank shook her gently. “Come on. Let’s all go out on the porch and take in some fresh air. That’ll help. How does that sound?”