by Lily White
Walking back into the kitchen I poured the cup of coffee I’d been after earlier when I’d first spotted Eve … or Sedra. My thoughts returned to everything she’d said to me, but even as I digested it, I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. She was scared, that much was obvious, but why did she insist I was someone else?
There was only one possibility for such confusion, a possibility that was an impossibility as well.
I’d been charged to this parish for twelve years now, but my life hadn’t always been in the Church. It started there with my father who was a devout Catholic. My brother, Jericho, and I were both raised with strict rules regarding our lives and beliefs. Every Sunday we were at Mass, but the other six days of the week also revolved around our faith. It was in everything we did: our schooling, our entertainment, our meals.
However, my devotion to the faith was never deep-seated or pure. I preferred science to religion, tangible properties that I could test and weigh, to the things I had to blindly accept were true.
By the time I graduated high school, I’d left the faith entirely, my family as well. Choosing to go away for college, I studied psychology and pre-medicine in hopes of becoming a psychiatrist. The human mind always fascinated me, and maybe, in truth, it was as a result of my father and brother’s devout faith.
I never made it back home to my father and brother, but I learned that Jericho had left only a few years after me. He’d fallen out of favor with the Church and had disappeared when my father chose his faith over his own son.
If Eve had known my brother, Jericho, that would be the only way she could confuse me with someone else so adamantly. However, it was impossible. The chances of Jericho ending up in the same remote part of the Appalachian mountains as me were slim to none.
Maybe she was drugged, whether administered herself or by another person, she could have been hallucinating. Except for a racing heart rate due to her distress, her other vitals appeared fine. Her eyes dilated with light, she was breathing regularly by the time she fell to sleep. Her skin had warmed almost immediately after she’d been brought inside.
Once my coffee was poured and I pulled myself from my thoughts, I walked the length of the modest church to my office.
A simple room, there was nothing more than a wood desk, a chair and the standard crucifix and degrees on my wall. I’d graduated college with my Bachelor’s Degree in psychology, but attended seminary school immediately after. For all intents and purposes, I was a bona fide priest, trained and ordained in my calling and devotion to God.
However, the weight of the true reason I was here always sat heavy on my shoulders, a burden and mistake I wore like a second skin.
I fell into work heavily, nothing occurring that dragged me from the depths of my thoughts. I had several requests for financial assistance that I had to negotiate with the Diocese. I served a poor area in the Appalachians, most people having low to moderate incomes as a result of chain grocery stores and malls that eventually led to the loss of the mom and pop shops that most of the residents owned.
Small farms and pastures were being foreclosed on daily, and big industry removed the means of these people to survive. Most only had a high school education, if that, and their struggles were my biggest concern.
Just as I picked up the phone to call a larger parish regarding the needs of mine, Sister Joyce stepped into my office.
“Father Hayle, I apologize for disrupting you, but the young lady has woken and I’ve been unable to calm her.”
Looking up, I noticed the worried expression on her face. “How long has she been awake?” Glancing toward the clock, I realized that I’d been lost in my work for several hours.
“She woke only a few moments ago. She has been demanding to see you, however…”
She paused and I circled my hand in the air to hurry her along.
“She keeps referring to you as Elijah, Father. She’s adamant that she knows who you are.”
EVE
A wife of noble character is her husband’s crown, but a disgraceful wife is like decay in his bones. Proverbs 12:4
Surprised to wake in an unfamiliar room, I must have cried out without realizing it. Almost as soon as I opened my eyes, a nervous woman entered. She was dressed strangely, a long black robe with some type of headpiece that concealed all of her features except for her face. Around her neck hung a large wooden cross, dangling back and forth over her body from her hurried movement.
“Miss, are you okay? I’ve been waiting nearby so that you wouldn’t be scared to wake up alone.”
Instantly on guard, I was unsure of the woman. Memories crept into my thoughts in vaporous waves, not quite solid enough for me to understand them, but portentous enough to warn me I was no longer where I wanted to be.
“Where am I? Where’s Elijah?” Not even my own voice sounded familiar.
“You’re at Our Lady of Serenity. Father Hayle and I found you in the front yard. You were inconsolable, so we brought you inside to allow you to sleep. We’re hoping you can help us contact your family so they can pick you up. Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?”
“I need Elijah. Bring him to me.” Agitated and afraid, I practically screamed the words at her.
Bits and pieces surfacing, I remembered running, but I’d found my way home. Hadn’t I?
Who was this woman and why was she dressed so strangely?
“I’m sorry, Miss, but there is nobody by the name of Elijah in the parish.”
Attempting to stand from the bed, I stumbled on legs that were weak and sore.
“Elijah is here. He carried me inside. I bear his mark and he’ll be angry if you don’t let me see him. He’ll have you punished if you don’t find him immediately.”
The concern on her face was replaced by shock. She nodded before quietly backing out of the room.
I wasn’t sure what came over me. In Elijah’s presence, I was a child, shaking and trembling from fear and reverence. But at that moment I felt stronger. My destiny called to me, not on a scream, but a whisper. It told me I was on the right path, that as Elijah’s wife, I wielded a small part of his power.
Elijah wouldn’t want that woman to hide me. She was only a person interfering with my absolution – my forgiveness for having strayed. To bow to her would be to bow to the Devil, and I wouldn’t allow that to happen.
I couldn’t.
Not again.
Events came back to me in the silence of the room: the ceremony, my brother’s voice, my weakness for having listened and fled the compound.
How Elijah found me in this strange building, I wasn’t sure. I remembered the shed in the woods, wondered if this was just another place he’d set out from the compound for his use.
The compound where we lived was a large building that was as decrepit as it was strong. With thick cement walls and floors, it was also silent and cold. It wasn’t the first place I’d lived with Elijah’s family, but it was where we’d moved when space became an issue as the family grew.
I hated the compound when we first lived there, hated that Elijah knew the structure so well he could use the maze of halls and well placed doors to appear and disappear when he wanted. It made him seem more ethereal in his existence, more spirit than flesh and blood.
Even in the years I’d spent with him, I’d never fully grasped that he was watching me. Perhaps it was his ever-observant eyes that sent chills across my skin when I thought I was alone. Or maybe it was simply his proximity.
The trembling of my body that had once been fear became something more honest and mature as I grew older around him. Thoughts of hiding away were lost to thoughts of pressing my body to his. The sin of yearning replacing the chastity I’d been sworn to maintain.
Elijah was everywhere and he was everything. And I was just a girl becoming a woman, a girl who was too blind to see the power that lived with me since the day I’d met him.
When he entered the room, relief swept in to steal the breath from my lungs. Quest
ions flooded me - his odd clothes, this strange room - but I ignored them, my eyes transfixed by the beauty of his face. His hair, his eyes, the strength of his hands when they clutched my body to his.
It was all so wrong. So terribly impure.
My thoughts led to foolish actions, but he was my husband, maybe not in the eyes of the family, but in the eyes of God. How could I not think about what his touch has done to me?
His stride was powerful and sure. His body moved fluidly across the space, an air of fortitude and strength surrounding him. Dropping to my knees, I bowed so low that my forehead scraped the floor.
“Forgive me,” I begged.
The fall of his heavy steps stopped just before I felt his hands on my shoulders. I jumped at the contact, my breath stolen from me yet again.
“I have nothing to forgive you for, Miss. You’ve done nothing wrong.” His voice was soft, the hint of whispered power hypnotic. There were nights that listening to his voice, his sermon, had been enough to put me in a euphoric state, lost in my absolute reverence and faith.
“I was weak. Forgive me. I returned. Please.”
Precariously balanced on a precipice between pure relief and devastation, I wouldn’t let myself fail him. Doing so would only push me from my ledge to fall to the side where I would be torn apart by the wolves.
“Miss, I don’t understand. Please, let me help you up off the floor.” Strong hands grasped my arms and pulled me to my feet. I stood in front of him, refusing to open my eyes, too afraid to see an answer that I prayed he wouldn’t give.
Was he testing me now as I bowed before him?
When alone, we were free to explore the flames burning between us. He had been the one to tell me that. It was only while in view of the family that we had to remain separate, had to deny ourselves the closeness we so desperately needed, at least until the official ceremony could be performed – the ceremony I’d foolishly run from when my brother screamed.
“Elijah, please…”
“My name is Father Jacob Hayle. Not Elijah.”
My eyes opened.
Why was he refusing to admit who he was? It didn’t make sense. Terror touched my spine to remember I was being tested. Would I fail again?
“Please, sit.” Leading me to the wooden chair, he helped me down. Kneeling in front of me, his blue eyes were piercing. “What is your name?”
“Eve,” I whispered, confusion thick in my response.
He didn’t blink, didn’t give me any indication that this wasn’t normal. “Fine, Eve. Where have you come from? Where do you live?”
“With you.” Leaving my tongue on a whisper, my words sounded more like a question than a response. I feared he was telling me I could no longer live on the compound. I’d be shunned, left with nowhere to go and no person who could help me.
“No, Eve,” he answered slowly, his tone that of a parent speaking to a confused child. “You do not live here.”
“Please!” Sliding from the chair, I fell to my knees once again.
My hands found his and refused to let go.
It was stupid to keep falling down so easily, but it was the only place where I belonged. On my knees, begging him to forgive me.
Tucked inside some strange reality that was the opposite of the routine I’d followed for so many years, I felt like I was alone within the eye of a storm. To the left and right of me, above and below, I was surrounded by battering winds and slashing rain, but with him standing next to me, the storm could not close in.
Evil existed on the outside, the hearts of men turned away from God until they became filled with a vicious hunger. Money, sex, drugs, fame and greed – they were always ravenous, always wanting, always willing to tear at the bodies of the pure just to satisfy their needs.
If Elijah left me, I would be left to those men. And after time, I knew I would die by those men.
“Please don’t make me leave, please don’t.” Tears broke free of my eyes, my thoughts giving in to the horror of being exiled. The trembling of my body betrayed my fright, my fingers squeezing his, aching from how hard I held on. “Please. I’ll do anything, Elijah.”
Pulling his hands free, he inched back to place distance between us. His eyes locked to mine, narrowing in rejection and doubt. I was flayed open by that rejection, rendered useless and tossed aside.
“Eve. I need to contact your family. Do you know where they live?”
“Here! They live here. Why are you doing this to me? I don’t understand.” My words were broken apart by my tears, my throat shredded by the volume of my voice. I couldn’t turn away, couldn’t allow him to shun me so easily. Life was not worth living if I was cast aside, the moment of my weakness would become an eternal cross to bear.
A thought came to me, an explanation for what he was doing.
I’d been the one to leave. I’d been the one to run so easily away. How could I expect him to welcome me back with open arms?
I’d rejected him by not believing, Joshua’s voice the catalyst that spurred me on.
Elijah wanted to know I knew better. That’s why he kept asking me these questions, that’s why he made me repeat myself over and over again.
He needed assurance that I knew my place was by his side.
“Please, Elijah. I’ll do anything.”
Crumpled on the floor like a child, I begged as he watched me.
“I bear your mark,” I reminded him. “I took on the pain of your stamp, and I was transformed by your love. You watched me change. You saw everything. I want you. I want this. I’m not afraid anymore. How can you brush me aside? Is there no mercy inside you?”
Silence was a heavy blanket between us. Stifling and hot, I trembled beneath its weight.
With a quiet voice he attempted to appease me. “I’m not making you leave. I just need to know how to help you.”
A soft hand touched my shoulder, his body heat seeping through my clothes to warm my skin. My body trembled more, large waves of fear and terror crashing over me as reality took hold.
“Please, Elijah. Please.”
Could he hear my hushed voice? Did he understand how his words had crippled me, crushing me into a fine dust that could be swept so easily from the room? I was nothing without him. Not anymore.
Strong hands lifted me again. I glanced down to see that my knees were red from where they’d hit the floor. I couldn’t scream, so I whispered as I pled with him to forgive me. “Please. I’m faithful. I’m only loyal to you.”
Reaching up, the palms of my hands met with the strong muscle of his chest. Sliding them higher, I wrapped my arms around his neck. Desperation not to be cast aside tightened my grip. I wouldn’t let go – couldn’t. My life was in the compound. The outside world was too frightening to walk alone.
Weakness overtook my knees. The room was spinning. Parched and on fire, my throat refused to work. How could I convince him to keep me? How could I prove my faith? How could I prove I was sorry for running away?
“Elijah…” My voice trailed off when my mouth brushed the warmth of his neck. Salt from his skin stung the fissures where my lips had cracked from lack of water.
Every muscle of his body stiffened as soon as my lips touched him.
“Miss...” His hands moved to push me away, but I clung to him tighter, unwilling to release my hold until he promised to take me back.
“Finish the ceremony, Elijah,” I begged.
He was too strong.
I was pushed aside, my arms jerked from around his neck. I fell helplessly to the floor. Crying out, I lunged forward, crawling towards him as he stepped back.
The door slammed shut before I could reach him, a metal lock slamming into place. Broken apart, I remained huddled over my shaking body, my entire world fracturing before my eyes.
My heart – my soul - was left to splinter into small, repentant shards.
JACOB
A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. Proverbs 17:17
Her crie
s were audible through the thick wood of the door. Standing in witness, I listened to her pleading still. My body was tight with anxiety, my mind grasping to understand how she could confuse me with another.
“What is wrong with her, Father? Should we call for an ambulance now?”
A long sigh escaped, evidence of my own confusion. “Yes. I think we should. She’s delusional, Sister Joyce. At least, I believe she is. I don’t want to burden her family with the price of her treatment.”
“Perhaps the church can fund her convalescence.”
Darkness ran across my thoughts, carrying with it the frustration and anger that I held towards the organization of which I was part. What good was the parish if it could not assist its own members? Fighting against cursing the church itself, I bit my tongue hoping not to distress Sister Joyce with my struggle.
“I’ll go make the call.”
Stepping away from her, I was followed by the echo of my steps through the seemingly abandoned building. My breathing was heavy for reasons that were unfitting of a celibate priest. I wanted to deny to myself that her touch had affected me, to deny that for a split second I’d wanted to pull her into me rather than force her away.
Shaking myself of the thought, I remembered the reverence in her expression when she looked at me, the way her green eyes had danced beneath the low light of the room. Her hair hung heavy down her back, dark and thick, a reminder of a past I’d left behind.
“Father Hayle? Will you be able to look at the gardens to approve my work? I won’t get paid until the Church hears from you.”
Pulled from my thoughts, I turned, my eyes searching over the haggard appearance of George Whitaker. An elderly man, his clothes hung from his emaciated body, the years of manual labor worn like a shadow over his frame. “Yes. Of course, George. I need to make a phone call and then I’ll be out to approve.”
When I stepped away, he called out, “Is that young lady okay? The one from the cult?”
