by L. J. Wilson
He leaned over the rail where Vinny remained at his wife’s side. “Hey, Vin, you ever gettin’ back to work?”
Vinny turned, waving at Sebastian, indicating he’d be right there. The wife offered a smaller, shyer wave, her hand barely rising past her breastbone. Awkwardly, Sebastian’s large hand returned the gesture. Vinny kissed his children and he kissed his wife. The menial crewman then bent and kissed his wife’s stomach.
Sebastian stepped back from the rail. The scene below was wrought with things he couldn’t comprehend—like Sanskrit or doing the drugs he shuttled. But as he came away from the rail a name bubbled in his brain. “Antonia.” Sebastian remembered the endearing way Vinny said his wife’s name… Antonia.
Fifteen Months Later, July 1977
Good Hope, Pennsylvania
It baffled Evie Neal how Hell could be any hotter than the fathers of the Right meeting hall. But the fact seemed evident to Duncan Kane, who slammed a hymnal onto the pulpit, warning of brimstone and doom. It had its affect. If you dosed off mid-sermon, the jolt, jarring as the Devil’s pitchfork, snapped you wide awake. Evie sat up straighter, though she’d listened dutifully. She had to trust that eventually she’d know what to do with the words. Not everything was meant to be revealed at nineteen.
Temptation caused her attention to dart right, a distraction from pending brimstone and the sweat trickling down her back. She did think Ezra Kane handsome with his starlight-colored hair and lagoon blue eyes. She’d decided on lagoon blue years ago, after seeing real lagoons in World Missions literature kept in the meeting hall vestibule. Evie was awed by the tropical settings, the heathen and beautiful places where religion needed to be introduced. Sin and exotic destinations—why did they always go together?
From her peripheral glance, framed in the greenish tints of the hall’s single, stained-glass window, Ezra looked particularly handsome. This was good since Evie was going to marry Ezra that fall. The Fathers of the Right, distant relatives of mainstream Quakerism, decided as much years before. It wasn’t a decree—as that would be archaic—but an understanding that the eldest daughter of Gideon Neal would marry the son of Reverend Kane. Next to Hannah Wheaton, Ezra was her closest friend. And as the sect’s women often reminded Evie, “How lucky you are… What more could a girl ask for?”
Aside from Evie’s luck, the marriage would also help to uphold the longevity of their sect. Two more families had left the Fathers of Right that year, lured into lives beyond their rural haven of Good Hope. Evie couldn’t imagine such a thing, though sometimes she did dream of venturing beyond their sanctuary. She didn’t mean to, but in her sleep the dreams would find her, and who could help that? Awake, Evie was certain no place could feel more like home than Good Hope. And it wasn’t as if they lived like the Amish— they had electricity and conservative but modern clothing, even a community station wagon. But those who had abandoned their ways seemed to have wanted something else.
Sitting in the pew, her thoughts went the way of dreams, seeing Ezra’s eyes rise from their prayerful direction. A lightning fast wink sailed across the aisle. Quick as a hiccup, she smiled back. Evie did love Ezra’s rare mischievous behavior. It released little pieces of him that otherwise Reverend Kane might smother like a demonic serpent. Wary of demonic serpents and a nudge from her father, Evie forced her eyes onto the pulpit. But a cough from across the aisle drew her glance back. Ezra mouthed the word, “Revelations.”
Evie understood that it had nothing to do with scripture.
After the sermon, Evie kept her distance from Ezra. She chatted with an assortment of girls and women, including Ezra’s sisters and mother, Adah. Evie stared at the woman who looked like she’d been etched from ivory, her devoted daughters at her side. But admiration ebbed as envy washed over Evie—a horrible thing to feel. Ezra and his sisters had a mother. Evie did not. She admonished the selfish thought. It wasn’t Ezra’s fault, nor his mother or sisters. Keeping her glance low, Evie looked toward a group of men. She held her focus on Reverend Kane, and blame settled in the pit of her stomach until Hannah plucked her from the blasphemous state. She handed Evie red-berry punch and a different conversation.
“The Reverend was on a tear this morning, and with it so hot in the hall, I thought for certain the Widow Vale would pass out at the piano.” Both Evie and Hannah looked toward a woman past her prime—at least thirty-five. Even so, she was attractive with delicate bones and a natural curl to her earthy-toned hair. She had a gift for music, leading the sect’s choir. It was how the Widow Vale provided her worth to Good Hope with no husband to do it for her, no children to add to their future. “If Nolan Creek had been nearby to catch her, it might have been worth fainting,” Hannah whispered.
“And what good would that do?” Evie asked, sipping the punch.
“Everyone knows it’s as good a match as the Widow Vale and Brother Creek will ever find. Why it hasn’t happened by now…” Hannah shook her head. “My mother said she’s baked Brother Creek a pie for every fruit that’s come into season.”
Evie glanced at Nolan Creek who stood apart from the other men. “I don’t think Brother Creek favors… pie.”
“What a silly thing to say. And why is that? Everyone loves pie.”
Evie’s mouth gaped as she held the punch glass midair. Her understanding wasn’t clear enough to articulate. But Evie had once overheard Brother Creek in deep prayer, alone in the meeting hall. Or at least he thought he’d been alone. With solemn, pained words, he begged God to smite him blind if he continued to lust for other men. Evie thought she’d heard wrong. Such a thing had to be impossible. But watching Brother Creek skirt away, yet again, from the approaching Widow Vale, she supposed she might have heard right. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, shrugging at Hannah. “Maybe when a man gets to be his age—what is Brother Creek, thirty-two? With no wife, I suspect he’s set in his ways.”
Hannah accepted the answer and took Evie’s hand in hers, drawing the two into a tight corner. “Tell me something else. Is it true that Ezra’s going to be gone for an entire week?”
“That’s what he said. He’s going with his father to meet with the other sects—common Quakers. They’ll decide if they want to fund a full mission for the Fathers of the Right.”
“And this doesn’t bother you? To marry Ezra knowing he’ll be gone from Good Hope so much of the time? I don’t know what I’d do if Tobias were gone more than a day.”
Evie knotted her brow, her stomach muscles following. Hannah was that way about Tobias Blyth. She suspected if Tobias were to ask, “Will you—” Hannah would reply, “Yes!” before he could finish saying “pass me the salt.” Evie tugged at the braid draping her shoulder. “Ezra will be back,” she said firmly. “Do you really think it’s the Reverend’s plan for us to marry, only to send my new husband away? Besides, when I’m Ezra’s wife—”
“When you’re Ezra’s wife, you’ll be Reverend Kane’s daughter. I should think, without Ezra, living in the Kane house will not be like living in your own,” she said, pointing to Gideon Neal.
That much was true, her father being a subdued, obedient sect member. Evie shook her head. “We’re to live in the cottage behind the Kane house. It will be Ezra’s and mine. It’s not as if I’ll be living with them while Ezra’s gone.”
“Perhaps not,” Hannah said, sipping her punch. “But I still wonder whose house you’ll obey—the Reverend’s or your husband’s?”
Evie didn’t reply, uninterested in debating any man’s rules— another notion Hannah wouldn’t understand. But nibbling on a corn cake, the question hung in her head. Evie pushed back her shoulders and looked toward her intended husband. With Ezra’s sweet nature it wouldn’t be that way. She was sure of it.
Adah Kane appeared beside the two girls, having floated in like the Holy Spirit. “I know this surely isn’t gossip. But it might look that way to watchful eyes.”
Evie looked toward the men, her father’s glance concerned. The Reverend’s hard stare wa
s more on point, and Evie looked away. “Not gossiping, just talking about your corn cakes, Mrs. Kane. They’re so delicious I was thinking about having another.”
“I thank you for the compliment, Evie.” A blush colored the woman’s pale cheeks. “But I say with certainty that two would be indulgent.” She paused. “And put a knife to your throat if you are given to appetite.”
Evie’s mouth hung as Hannah, a better student of verses, offered the proper reply. “Proverbs, 23-2.”
Adah Kane smiled and shooed the girls toward the other women. The verse was a reminder about moderation. Plain language, social order, temperance, and simplicity, these were ideals that connected their sect to the common core of Quakerism. The things that didn’t separated the Fathers of the Right from not only Quakers but the outside world.
Evie listened to a wider circle of women vigorously discuss the oversized quilt they were working on. It was to be sold at the North Good Hope fair, an annual undertaking that brought nearly a thousand dollars to the sect. There wasn’t a Quaker, Amish, or Mennonite who could compete with Fathers of the Right quilting. Evie paid attention, though she knew her contribution would be close to nil. She hated sewing of any kind and would spend most of the project trying to keep her bloody, needle-pricked fingers on the red squares of fabric.
Adah led most of the quilt talk, Evie sinking into the soft lilt of her voice. It was reminiscent of her mother’s. Elizabeth Neal died in the coldest part of last January. It was thought to be a stroke, but no one knew for certain. Medical intervention was strictly forbidden. Evie had been bold, outspoken, suggesting a hospital in Philadelphia or even Lancaster. It might have made life “God’s will,” as opposed to death. As Evie kept vigil with her languishing mother, the Reverend, her father, and prayer, she’d openly raised her demand about medical treatment. It had led to nothing but a stinging backhand from Reverend Kane.
Renouncing medical aid was a core principle and part of what drove the group from mainstream Quakerism. The Reverend’s father—Ezra’s grandfather—founded the Fathers of the Right. He’d forsaken medicinal interference and proved it by way of his three wives. Each died, in turn as Malcolm Kane proclaimed it to be God’s will, not man’s choice. For his part, he’d stayed true to his foundation, leading by example in his own passing.
Only since her mother’s illness and death had Evie thought to question the unyielding belief. If God allowed everyone else in the twentieth century to survive—with regularity—things like fevers and child birth, why would He want a member of the Fathers of the Right to die? Her father’s reaction had been equally troubling, Gideon Neal so accepting of his wife’s fate. And that night, from the wooden floor where the Reverend’s slap had landed her, Evie blinked up at her father. She faltered, losing respect for a man who had not intervened in Evie’s life or her mother’s death.
Revelations’ nose was deep into a bucket of oats, Ezra scratching his ears when Evie slipped through the crack of the barn door. She watched the two gentle souls, feeling as if she were interrupting. Finally, she cleared her throat. Ezra didn’t look but stared toward the dark of Revelations’ stall. “I spy a sweet for the prettiest girl in Good Hope.”
“Then I’ll fetch Rachel Pruitt. She’d do double time to the barn if I told her Ezra Kane and a sweet waited for her.”
He turned, smiling. “She’d be disappointed.”
“Why’s that?” Evie asked, poking into the thick of a bale of hay and peeking into the tack room on a casual search. “She’s made it clear that turning your attention from me wouldn’t take more than a snap of her fingers.”
“I promise you, it’d take a lot more than that,” he said, leaving the horse and heading toward the loft ladder.
“Not in her mind.” Giving up on the tack room, Evie moved toward a storage area. She peered between discarded household items and under old quilts saved for the horses. “Rachel said you and I made as much sense as snow in June.”
“Did she?” Ezra mused. “Well, did I mouth ‘Revelations’ to her during service this morning?” He took a step up the loft ladder and Evie leaned, guessing where the sweet was hidden. “I don’t suppose I did.” He scrambled up the rest of the way.
Before following, Evie looked into one of several mirrors—some cracked, some not—in the storage area. These objects, along with other household items like a hair dryer, portable television, and electric can opener—some broken, some not—had been left by those who’d abandoned the Fathers of the Right. Most modern conveniences were frowned upon, and mirrors reflected vanity. On the other hand, convenience was hard to resist, especially with five children. Evie knew that Hannah’s mother had taken a microwave and hidden it in her pantry. Televisions, however, were another argument entirely.
Glancing in a mirror, Evie knew that Rachel Pruitt was the hands-down beauty. She supposed that’s what you got for looking. The girl was a hot-house flower, blooming brighter in hundred-degree heat. Evie traced her fingers over her cracked reflection. “Charm is deceitful, beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” That verse she knew.
Despite the heat, she only wanted to look nice for the boy she was going to marry. What was so wrong about that? “Nothing…” Evie decided, shuddering at her candor. Ezra’s father would be outraged by her free-thinking while Ezra’s mother might try to distract her with a cross-stich. As it was, Evie had made a solid excuse about leaving the meeting hall, needing to run home and tend to loaves of rising bread. She wasn’t much of a seamstress, but Evie had a way with food. In the years to come, Ezra might find himself in rags, but he’d be well fed. While precious time ticked and Ezra waited, Evie wasn’t ready to let go of hopeful vanity. “Wilted… plain,” she said, brushing beads of sweat from her forehead, hoping for something different. She tugged a rope-like, blonde plait, thinking of town girls she’d seen in Our Daily Bread.
Two years ago, Reverend Kane deemed it God’s will that they add an ice cream parlor to the sect-owned bake shop, doubling profits in summer months. The women’s pies and cakes already attracted buyers from miles away, tourists who invaded the area to eat, gawk, and wonder how such simple lives were lived. Along with curious crowds and revenue, the ice cream parlor drew town girls—North Good Hope girls who went to public high school and dances and read glossy-covered magazines. While working the counter, Evie was often distracted by them to the point of mixing the sherbet scoop with maple walnut.
Giggling groups poured through the door, defying heat with their skimpy clothing and permanently waved hair. They wore jewelry and fingernail polish and bold unapologetic attitudes. Evie once matched their nerve, asking where they purchased their jewelry. Women of the sect wore none—not even a wedding ring. A red-headed girl with unnaturally glossy pink lips looked Evie up and down. Then she’d laughed. “The mall, stupid. Haven’t you ever been to the mall?”
Evie’s face still burned, recalling the ridicule from within the safety of Good Hope, almost damning the barn mirror. She licked her pale lips and pinched her cheeks with unadorned fingers. She tried to capture wisps of humid hair. It wasn’t wavy like Ezra’s or lush like Rachel’s, which was darker than Revelations’ coat. Brown, ordinary eyes and an upturned nose, not a freckle on her face or anything that might strike a soul as interesting. She turned the mirror away, shutting out her simple image and the girls from North Good Hope.
“Evie!” She looked up, seeing Ezra hang over the side of the loft. “Are you coming? Won’t be another twenty minutes and they’ll send out a search party.”
Strict courting was a rule—nothing beyond public hand-holding before the wedding night. Certainly private moments were forbidden. But like the Wheaton’s microwave and vanity, it was a rule Evie and Ezra had already broken.
Evie and her knee-length, blue skirt shuffled up the ladder, her heel catching her hem on the last rung. It sent her tumbling face-first into the hay. She thought Rachel Pruitt to be not only beautiful but less clumsy. While Ezra laughed, he was
quickly at her side, asking if she was all right. She pushed up on her hands. In her ankle-high sightline a purple and pink sugar-dusted flower twirled. It was as shiny and tempting as the girls from North Good Hope. “Where did you get that?” she said, examining the unusual sweet. She did love Ezra’s thoughtfulness.
“My father had one of his meetings in North Good Hope—that lot of ruffians from down toward Philadelphia. He never likes me to be around, he even sends the other Brothers on errands while he meets with them. Father says they’re so far from salvation he’d be afraid we’ll catch something. I must admit, his bravery is remarkable. Not even Brother Creek goes.”
“That is surprising. I thought Brother Creek attended all sect matters.”
“I’m sure my father has his reasons. Perhaps he’s trying to find a wife for him through his Philadelphia connections.”
“If Brother Creek wanted a…” Evie quieted. “From what you’ve said, they don’t seem the type your father would welcome here, even if it were to save Brother Creek from his own cooking.”
“True enough. And if Brother Creek would only give the Widow Vale a chance…”
Evie nodded and remained silent. It wasn’t her place to suggest ideas to Ezra. “Tell me where you came across such a beautiful thing?” she said, twirling the treat. Ezra grinned, which Evie did love.
“You’ll be pleased to know I took the time in North Good Hope as my own.”
Evie smiled back.
“The meeting went on longer than usual. They are a tough-looking bunch—thick accents. As for the flower, a group of Mennonite women were selling them. I managed this one all the way back without crushing it. You know Duncan would rather see me share soup with the devil than purchase something from Mennonites.” Shameful as it was, Evie loved it when Ezra showed sparks of defiance—interacting with Mennonites and calling his father by his first name.
She sat up and sniffed the flower, sugar dust filling her nose. Evie was pleased, not only about the flower but Ezra’s daring use of time. Last year he would have waited in the station wagon even if it were a hundred degrees. “Is it for eating or for looking at,” she said, examining the delicate work of art.
