by M. Mabie
“You won’t be alone.” I was certain of that. She didn’t have anyone, and I knew what that was like. Perhaps that was why I felt so strongly about helping her. Whatever it was pushing me—first into this and now forward through it—was incessant and unrelenting, and probably selfish to some degree.
Myra’s color returned, and her cheeks flushed like they’d been when I found her hanging laundry earlier. She really was beautiful. Well, what I could see of her anyway.
“Are you ready to go?” I didn’t know what it would come to at the meeting, but I was prepared for anything.
“No. I’m not allowed to go,” she explained, still nowhere near the concept of doing whatever the hell she wanted. The hypocrisy was that I was forcing her to do things outside her comfort zone, meanwhile telling her they couldn’t make her do anything.
“Of course, you don’t have to go, but I think you should.” I needed her there in the event things went badly. Of course, none of it was ideal, but I didn’t want to get caught off-guard if something unpredictable happened. The thought of leaving her there by herself when I’d put her in such a compromising situation didn’t sit well.
I closed the space between us, but this time she didn’t shrink away. Both of us were adjusting. I hadn’t talked so much in years, and my words sometimes came bluntly. So, choosing them wisely and understanding what I was asking of her, I requested, “Please, come with me.” Besides her being there for herself, having her there would only reaffirm what I was doing. I needed her there to remind me of who I was fighting for. “It’ll be okay.”
She took a deep breath like she was gathering courage and went to grab her purse off a nearby console table. Then she nodded once that she was ready. She probably felt like a fish about to jump out of water, not knowing what was to come outside.
Myra was a brave fish.
We rode through the pristine streets, past every perfectly manicured yard, but it all seemed fake to me. Pretty on the outside and ugly within; that was Lancaster.
Parking around the square block of the church was sparser than it had been for Jacob’s funeral, so I chose a spot that was open near the door.
A police officer walked across the street from the station and up the wide sidewalk to the church. It was ten minutes until two, and most everyone was already inside, which was fine with me. The less time I had to be there, with them, the better.
Before I opened my door, I glanced at my passenger. Her hands were clasped, and her eyes were shut. Was she praying again?
I supposed that was the only way she knew how to cope with stress.
I cleared my throat, hoping to get her attention without being rude and interrupting.
Her blue eyes fluttered open and met mine.
“We need to go in.”
“I’m sorry, Abraham, but are you sure I should be here?” She didn’t sound argumentative, but my nerves were too shot.
I was walking into the lion’s den, a place I’d never wanted to be, determined not to leave until I was certain she’d taken care of. She’d be treated fairly, but she had to be the one who chose what would happen, and she couldn’t do that out in the truck.
“I know this is overwhelming, but you’re coming in with me.” I sounded like a jerk, but time was running short, and so was my patience. They couldn’t do anything to either of us. They couldn’t hurt us. I wouldn’t let them.
That I was sure of.
Without another word, she opened her door and got out, doing exactly what I told her to. As demanding as I sounded, she had to see me as one of them, but I wasn’t.
We walked side-by-side into the church. The air was cold, and all the humidity from outside was replaced with dryness, and I swallowed a mouth of dust. The entrance opened to two grand staircases on either side, and we walked up them on the right.
At the first landing, I felt her hand touch my arm, and I paused.
“If I go in there with you, it’ll upset the Legacies. It’ll upset the Pastor. That won’t help.” She spoke earnestly.
I’d never been to a meeting, but I’d been in the church when they were going on when I was younger. It was only banded church brethren, older Legacies. Prominent men.
No women. Not ever.
Maybe she was right. Maybe her being in the room would make things more difficult, and I was there for her and not just my own spite. If I angered enough of them, they might even reschedule the meeting, which I’d always knew would be a possibility. And she was concerned about losing her family or being banished, so I had to play by their rules.
I had to listen to her, something none of them would do.
“Okay,” I agree, but then she quickly climbed ahead of me up the next flights of stairs.
Just outside the large boardroom, there were benches on either side. Primly, she sat on the one to the left of the door.
Before I opened it to enter, I took one last look down myself to make sure I was still tucked in. I didn’t give a shit what they thought about me, but I was there to represent her. So it mattered.
Quietly, she said, “You look very nice.” Then her head lowered, and her eyes hit the floor like they often did.
What would it be like for her when she realized how messed up this place was? She was kind and strong and deserved more than anything they’d offer her inside that boardroom, and I’d be damned if I’d let them decide for her.
I straightened my shoulders and opened the door.
Almost immediately all conversations stopped. All eyes were on me.
Where the large room had once been anchored with a massive table in the center, now it was more like a courtroom. A long table stretched the back where my father stood directly in the center. Beside him was the police officer we’d seen walking in earlier, Robbie’s dad, a few other older men in suits, who I didn’t recognize. At the end of the long table sat the grimy old-timer from my father’s office the week before. Scanning around the room, quickly I noticed one of Myra’s brothers who I’d encountered in my father’s office. Other than him, I didn’t know a soul, but I was sure they knew me.
My father motioned, palms down, for everyone to sit and they obeyed.
I walked up the center and took an open seat on the aisle. All the while, my father measured me up. I was a far cry from being on point with their dress policy, but miles closer to it than I had been the week before. My cleaner image would do wonders for his ego, and I was banking on that.
As he took his seat, in the grand wingback leather chair—that I could make better with my own two hands—his brows rose, and he smirked at the papers before him.
“This isn’t our typical Legacy meeting, and we have a few guests with us today, so I’ll skip the formalities and lead us in prayer,” he announced.
20
Myra
Dear Lord,
Thank you for Abraham. Let him be heard and let him guide me to your will. Through all of this, he is the only one bringing me comfort and answers, and I can feel that it is your power working through him. Give me the strength to accept the way. Make me brave like him. My heart is an open door. All this time I thought you were asking me to invite others in. I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve been telling me to walk out. Make it known, and it will be. I will follow.
In your name, I pray.
Amen.
Sitting in the open hall outside the boardroom, the one thing I could do was talk to God. Only He and Abraham listened.
The bench faced the open grand entrance to the church, and on that story, I was eye level with a stained-glass image of Jesus. His hands were spread open to the people he prayed over. The afternoon sun made it glow, and the warm colors danced on the marble floor before me.
Open arms.
That’s how I’d move forward. Whatever was decided, I’d obey. Having someone in the room, speaking on my behalf, gave me hope. Made the situation seem less grim.
Had it not been for that big, burly man, I wouldn’t have had a voice at all. How would I ever
be able to show my humble gratitude?
If things had gone as planned by the Legacy Board, I would have done what I was told. But growing inside me was the promise that He had other things planned for me.
For once, I saw the light, felt the protection of it, and heard the voice of reason.
God sent me Abraham.
21
Abe
“All powerful Heavenly Father, thank you for gathering your flock today. You’ve brought these men to me to use for your plan. Your way will be known, and it shall pass. Show us your plan. Through these banded brothers, guide this poor helpmeet to your kingdom. Tell us how to keep her in your flock. Help us save her soul for this life and all eternity. Use her to build your glory, and we will listen.
In Jesus’s name, Amen.”
To everyone in the room, he sounded like a Pastor with good intentions. To me, he sounded like an opportunist tyrant looking for the highest bid. The meeting was nothing more than an auction for her life.
It was disgusting.
When heads rose around the room, they all faced him, awaiting his leadership. I wasn’t waiting for anything but the right time.
Myra, in her subtle, quiet way, had reminded me to stay calm. If I was going to be a force in this discussion, I needed it to look like the best option. Not for her, of course, but for them.
Mostly, for the Pastor and his legion of weak-minded followers.
However, it wasn’t a time for sarcasm or unproductive argument. It was time to be like the men I respected. Humble and strong. To speak with words packed with intention. And to not back down, no matter what that meant.
First, I’d observe. Because as I’d told Myra, I didn’t know everything, and maybe there was someone there who cared and loved her, but they too had only been following the rules.
Deep down, even someone like that wasn’t going to give her what was fair. To me, what was fair was a way out of Lancaster. A way out of the oppression. A way out of the polished prison. Their opulent holding cell before Heaven.
My father cleared his throat and straightened his papers, tapping the bottoms against the desk.
“Many of you have reached out to me on my daughter-in-law’s behalf.” He looked directly at me, and then continued, “And some of you have been compelled to show up without any warning at all, like my son Abraham here.”
The attention of the group hit me, but I’d expected as much.
He offered a phony smile—all for show—and added, “It’s a pleasure to see you again, my son. God is good.”
With as much effort as I could muster, I returned a nod and kept my mouth shut.
“Let’s begin with the circumstances, and then we’ll discuss viable options for this young, widowed helpmeet.” The Pastor slid his reading glasses on and began reading from the sheets in front of him.
“Myra Fox Hathaway is the only surviving daughter of Graham Fox, not present, and his deceased helpmeet Janice Fox. Her father and I, some months ago before his condition worsened, established a trust of sorts with assets that come along with Myra, who brought them into her recent marriage with my late son Jacob Hathaway. Myra has many well-standing brothers, none of which are yet Legacies. Along with her assets, Myra comes with many domestic skills. She quilts, cooks, mends clothing, and tends garden. Although God didn’t see fit to provide children to her within the short time she and my son were married, she’s demonstrated very likeable traits with regards to motherhood through her time and dedication to her young nieces and nephews, as well as being a loving caregiver to her father in his later years while he was still well enough to be in the home. Most of us are familiar with Myra, but it shouldn’t go without saying, she’s a healthy young woman, rarely ill, and has excellent hygiene. Her physical person is slim and active, yet nicely built for childrearing. Although we didn’t get around to having a reception for Jacob and Myra after they were married, it can only be presumed their bands were consummated. If necessary, we can have the doctor evaluate her virtue, if that becomes an issue for any possible future band holder.”
I swallowed every swear as they surfaced in my throat, but they were piling up, and the pressure in my veins throbbed at my skin.
The reading of Myra sounded more like a livestock sale note.
He continued in that thin, waxy compassionate tone that before only annoyed me. Now, it made me feel violent.
“Myra is wonderfully passive and for what I know of her, never quarrelsome or disobedient.” He punctuated his last word with a glare at me.
I was disobedient.
And as much as my skin crawled, I reminded myself that there was a woman just outside that door who counted on me to handle this for her. I slowed my breathing and thought of the deep blue in her calming eyes.
“She doesn’t require much discipline or speak out of turn and gladly appreciates her place in a household with a strong band holder, as her father and Jacob were. I’m sure we will find a suitable arrangement for this Godly young woman that will please God and the board.”
And most of all her, I’d make sure of it.
He licked his finger and switched pages.
“We’ll begin hearing from our Legacy members with suggestions, Brother Lewis, if you’d like to get us started, please.” My father gestured to the paltry old man to his far left. He wore a green suit and had thin white hair, combed from one side of his bald head to the other. Deep wrinkles and age spots covered his parchment skin.
“Didn’t God make a wonderful woman for us to lead, Amen,” he croaked and coughed. “Thank you, Pastor, for bringing us together today. As you may know, my wife and helpmeet, Gloria, went to the Lord some years ago. And since her passing, I’ve grieved not being able to add more children to our family. I have created twelve new souls for the kingdom, and I’ve been a Banded Legacy man for over two decades.” He stopped to hack and spit into a handkerchief. “My father had fifteen children, some up into his eighties. I am satisfied with Myra’s virtue, and pity any woman without the chance to fulfill her promise to our King. Knowing most of the interested parties are family, and reasonably so, I’d like to suggest the board agree to re-banding her to me, a widow myself, and thank you for the opportunity for the pair of us to further build the flock.”
It was then I was thankful Myra was outside the room, hopefully not hearing any of this garbage. It was shameful and gross, and I wouldn’t stand for it. It had to be for the grace of God that I didn’t take Myra and leave that very second, light a match and watch all that evil burn in my rearview mirror.
“Thank you, Roger. Are there any other Legacies with suggestions before we hear from her brothers?”
I scanned the room, begging God I didn’t have to hear another vile plight for her virtue. And for Myra, I hoped one of her brothers would suggest something promising or at very least humane.
No hands raised, and I exhaled a lungful of relief.
“Very well, I think we should begin with Myra’s eldest brother, Mitchell.”
Mitchell was in the front row of seats and stood, nodding first at the Legacy panel and then turned to speak to the group. “Good afternoon friends and family. Good to see all of you. God is good.”
“God is good,” repeated the men around me.
“Myra is my youngest sibling, and she’s a real treasure to us. She’s attended the last six births in my household and is very close with Carrie and my family. Before Pastor stepped in to take Myra and assist us with arrangements for father, I handled all of father’s affairs. Myra is welcome to move into my home as a caregiver and assistant to my wife, which would be a blessing.” He laughed. “My wife and I love building God’s army, Amen. And with more time and help from Myra, I feel we can expand to even heavenlier numbers.”
My muscles, one-by-one, began twitching in intervals and I shifted in my seat.
“Now, if there is some other solution to her housing.” His arm raised and gestured behind him to the old-as-hell Roger Lewis. “I can’t stand in the way of bri
nging more souls into the world. However, as the eldest brother and head of my family now, I believe her assets should be absorbed by the Fox family either way.”
Money. He loved her, but the money.
“I also hope that my show of charity on her behalf pleases God and the Legacy members, and I hope that when new Legacy Bands are brought to the table, I’m considered. Thank you.”
Who were these people? They only thought of themselves. Not Myra. Not God.
I sat there listening to another handful of brothers, an uncle, and a cousin with the same intentions. The one brother who didn’t want her last week hadn’t even bothered to attend. They all said basically the same thing, but they didn’t agree with Mitchell. Each of them, predictably, thought Myra’s assets—for what they were worth, I didn’t know—should go wherever she did.
Assets that rightfully belonged to her, same as she would to them.
From time to time, my father would just look at me as if he were puzzling over why I was there. When it was respectfully my turn, I’d tell him. As it was, when my turn came, I’d suggest to them what I thought she wanted most. If I received pushback, I wouldn’t hesitate to go to whatever lengths it took to keep her and her assets out of their hands.
The door at the back of the room opened, and collectively the group turned to see who it was. Upon hearing it, my first thought was Myra, but she wouldn’t do that. Instead of her, it was a guy about my age dressed in a suit much like mine. He looked familiar, but a lot of the people in Lancaster looked familiar due to the recycled gene pool.
“Come on in, Matthew,” my father announced. Another M name. Another brother.
After Matthew shut the door, he made his way to the head of the room reaching over the long table to shake hands with the Pastor and other higher-up Legacies.
