I eventually moved fully into the modern world. I got a driver’s license, and a car with the money I earned at school-year part time jobs, and at summer temp jobs. I still drive that little brown hatchback. I bought a laptop computer. It wasn’t the top of the line, but I needed it for the workload.
Still, the old life would come creeping in at odd times, and bring me up short. Going into a club I would pull back my hand for an instant before the man at the door stamped it, for fear that stamp was the mark of the beast. A guy would glance my way, maybe stop to flirt with me and I would blush, worrying I was leading him to sin by making him lust after me. Most troubling of all, late at night, I could still hear my father’s voice counting up my sins, then assuring me I was headed for hell.
My senior year I set to my most rebellious act ever. I read the Bible. Just sat down and read it, every night, for an hour. Cover to cover. The dull parts, the bloody parts, the interesting parts, the parts my father had glossed over, and the parts he had driven into me so hard I could say them in my sleep. Every word. I know it sounds innocent.
Among the Unbridled Holiness, only adult baptized members were allowed to read and study the Bible on their own. All other members are supervised by Walton Taylor, studied with Walton Taylor, and are preached at by Walton Taylor. I had never been baptized Unbridled Holiness, and so had never studied the bible on my own, except with Pastor Fritz before my baptism and confirmation in the Lutheran Church. I found so much more than I ever suspected was there. Enough to silence the voice of my father, even in the night. Most of the time.
Ten
The next morning I hauled myself downstairs early, very much looking forward to a quiet cup of coffee and making a pancake breakfast for everyone. Instead of an empty kitchen I found a chirpy Dory churning out enough breakfast for a battalion. I was in no place to deal with her sarcastic pancakes and seething muffins.
Linus had, apparently, put his foot down. There would be no more hiding up in her room instead of dealing with her daughter. Dory’s every movement showed her displeasure. This was a family matter requiring privacy. So I grabbed a cup of enraged coffee, and left for a trip to the fabric store, with breakfast in town maybe following.
Out front I found the second person I had not planned on dealing with that morning. After closing the front door, I got down three of the porch stairs before I saw him. Too late to turn back. For Porter stood next to a dark blue, late model sedan, which he had parked on the road. I decided I would meet him head-on. I tried to walk out to him looking confident and busy.
“Good morning. Did you need something?”
“I was hoping I could get you to come out to the new church building with me. I’d like to show you around and tell you about our plans.”
“I’ve seen it.”
Porter noticeably straitened his stance. “Still... I think it would be a good thing for you to see what we have planned. A guided tour, with an informed tour guide.”
“Thank you, no. I’m as informed as I wish to be on the matter.”
“I find that hard to believe. Walking over the site would hardly inform you of our plans and hopes. Listening to the local gossip would hardly give you a full picture. It only seems fair of you to give us a hearing.”
“Fair? Gracious is the word you are looking for. It would be gracious of me to give you my time. Unfortunately for you, I’m not feeling that gracious today.”
“Gracious? To honor your father by bending to his wishes? To continue in the faith which you were raised in? To follow the leadings and wishes of your spiritual head? Right and proper, Keziah, is what I would call it.”
I would like to be able to say that at this point I drew myself up and walked away with my dignity. Perhaps got in the car and went to run my errand. I instead stood there on the Brandt’s lawn, arguing with a fool. I don’t exactly remember what was said. I am left with the impression that we canvassed all the topics my father and I were used to hitting. However, it is possible that I am being unfair to Porter. Likely even, that I heard what he had to say only in the light of what my father had said to me so often before.
We couldn’t have stood there for long. The juggernaut of my rage drove me. It also deafened me to an argument in the house, slowly growing in volume, which could have been heard plainly through an open kitchen window, if I’d been listening.
“This will not be acceptable behavior when we are married. You will learn to bend to my authority,” yelled Porter.
“Mother. You couldn’t have thought you could hide this,” yelled Ivy.
“We will not ever be getting married. Now. Leave me alone,” I yelled.
“Don’t talk to me that way! I was doing what was best for you,” yelled Dory.
Then silence — thick, hot, and heavy. I got in my car and drove away.
*
I was still running on left over adrenaline when I hit the fabric store. My discussion with Porter had sent me back into the previous night’s mental trench. Which explains how fifteen minutes later I came back to reality with a jolt. As I scowled at the thread display in Sew and So, someone had touched my arm and said my name.
“Keziah, are you alright?” asked a vaguely familiar voice.
“I’m fine,” I said, looking up into the concerned face of Pastor Brett. I was left with the impression he’d been trying to get my attention for several minutes.
“Good. Picking up things for the paraments?”
“Yes. What about you?”
“Buttons,” he said holding up two cards of different sized black buttons. “They keep popping off my clergy shirts. Which looks more official?”
“What size are the buttons on your shirts?”
“I don’t know. About medium, I guess.”
I snorted. “You need to know before you buy buttons. I usually just bring in the button I’m trying to replace,” I said.
“I should have thought of that.”
“If you’ve never done it before, why would you?”
“Cold hard logic?”
I chuckled, and the tightness in my chest loosened. The feeling of rage and despair letting go. “Totally overrated,” I said.
“Are you going over to the church today?”
“Nope. I’m going to grab some breakfast at Boyd’s. After that I’ve got plans with Ivy for the rest of the day. I’ll probably take care of the paraments on Thursday.”
“Haven’t eaten myself yet this morning. Mind if I join you?”
“Sure. The company would be good.”
I quickly found what I needed, while Pastor Brett put the button rack back in order. At the cash register the owner, Mrs. Sank, made odd faces at me. Lots of winking and grinning. I thought she was losing her mind until I got out on the sidewalk with Pastor Brett strolling along beside me and realized she’d been trying to offer me encouragement. Bah.
“I guess I should clear the air up front and tell you I’ve heard quite a bit about your father and his church,” said Pastor Brett plainly.
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’m sure most of what I’ve heard is exaggeration.”
“It’s not.”
Again, the transparent nature of his personality let me see the depth of his shock, but he recovered quickly. “You don’t know what I’ve heard.”
“Try me.”
I watched him mentally catalogue the stories, and suspected he decided to start in the medium range, leaving him room to work up and down. “He yelled at your kindergarten teacher for using a stamp pad to stamp the back of your hand.”
“True. He has always felt they were indoctrinating us to take the mark of the devil without question.”
“Wouldn’t let you cut your hair.”
“Mostly true. I could get it trimmed, but I had to keep it waist length and wear it up in a bun. All the women in the congregation do.”
“But why?”
“If a woman has long hair it is her glory.”
He sighed deeply. “First Cori
nthians.”
“And taken out of context, too.”
“Then why not have the women cover their hair?”
“You’re a pastor. If you don’t know now, you’ll soon find out, there is only so far you can push people before they rebel. My father knows how to push people right up to their limit. He’s a master at it.”
“Publicly shamed you when you left his church by following you around, calling for your repentance.”
“Still does sometimes when he gets the chance.”
“Tells people they are going to hell.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to hell, Keziah?”
“Me? Probably not. You?”
We paused outside of Boyd’s and I looked up at him. He looked sad. Deeply, deeply sad. I could have confused the look on his face with pity, if I hadn’t been looking closely.
“No, I’m not going to hell.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Interesting.”
We went inside and found a booth at the back. He sat across from me. Except for two regulars at the counter, we were the only customers. Mary Ann, the owner, approached us and took out order. Coffee, eggs over hard, hash browns, and toast for me; coffee, oatmeal, and bacon for him. I made sure to ask for separate checks. No point in sullying his reputation right out of the box.
“So, what made you leave? Or — maybe a better question — what helped you leave?” he asked, after Mary Ann left to put in our order.
“Lots of things. Most of them not at all noble.”
“Like?”
“I wanted to go to college, and he wouldn’t let me. I wanted a job, and a house, and a life. I didn’t want to wait around until he found somebody for me to marry, and then take care of three people instead of just two for the rest of my life. Besides, I was so exhausted. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Couldn’t take what anymore?”
“You don’t understand if you’ve never lived it, and it’s so hard to explain.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you tried anyway. You’d be doing me a real favor.”
I looked at him. A stranger to my land, or at least to my mental landscape, and I wondered how many people in town could have explained why I was so tired. Even Ivy would have had only the vaguest of ideas.
“Why do you want to know?”
He considered this for a moment. “Think of it like this. I am going to minister in this town for the next three to five years, at least. Not tomorrow, but eventually, there may be another person who leaves your father’s sect. How do I help them when they show up at my door? The more you tell me, the more I’ll have an idea of where to start.”
I almost told him to take a hike. That there was no way I was going to coach him on stealing my father’s sheep. I wrestled with my need to defend my father, and what I actually believed intellectually to be a reasonable request. It took a minute, but intellect won. Just barely.
“I was afraid, and I was tired of being afraid. My father always stressed that God could return at any second. So I lived my life trying to be perfect. Because if I wasn’t perfect, that would be the second that God would come back, or I would die, and I’d be sent to hell for the unrepentant sin in my life. It’s overwhelming to try and live like that. Trying to keep even a sinful thought from flitting through your brain. I wasn’t strong enough to live like that.”
“Keziah, it’s never supposed to be about what we do, it’s supposed to be about what God does.”
“I know that. I mean I know that in my head. God’s promises. Forgiveness. Our loving Father. I know all that. I could probably quote you chapter and verse. I believe it too. I do. It’s just...”
“You want your father to love and respect you,” he said.
“Well, isn’t that what we all want?”
“Probably.”
Then I saw the humor in the situation and snorted a little. “And look who I’m talking to about it.”
“What?”
“Well, look at you. You are a pastor. Your folks must be ecstatic. I bet they tell everyone they know about ‘our son the pastor.’ It’s like they hit the Christian jackpot for children. The only way you could be a better son is if you marry the perfect Lutheran girl and have at least two sons that also become pastors. You’re totally set.”
“That would be true, were my parents Lutheran.”
“They’re not?”
“No. United Brethren.”
“Whoo. How did they take it? Were they mad?”
“Not mad. Confused. Like robins that accidentally raised a cowbird. Like they love me, but I’m a changeling.”
A strange sense of recognition flooded over me, and I teared up. It had been so long since I’d felt like I wasn’t alone. I’d known many people who had left Christianity altogether, and become Muslims, or Buddhists, or Atheists, or nothing at all. They all had reasons, political agendas, or bad experiences. Something. But to leave the denomination you were raised in to join a more old fashioned or traditional denomination? It was like moving backwards somehow.
The arrival of our food saved me, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed that I’d teared up. The moment passed, and the conversation moved on.
“How’s Mrs. Clack?” A loaded question.
“She is as she ever was.”
I laughed.
*
When I arrived back at the Brandt’s, I found Ivy and Linus out on the back deck. They were drinking coffee, sitting quietly at the round iron patio table. Linus motioned me to the third chair, and Ivy poured me a cup from the white carafe sitting between them. Ivy had been crying.
I took a sip of my coffee. “I can go. It’s no problem. I totally understand.”
“Don’t be crazy,” said Ivy.
“We love having you here,” said Linus.
“But sometimes a family needs privacy,” I said.
“I want you here,” said Ivy. That seemed to close the subject.
After a deep silence and a long sigh, Linus looked at Ivy. “Your mother promised me when we married that if the day ever came when you had reason to suspect that she’d tell you everything. I’m sorry she’s not being more forthcoming. She really hadn’t planned for you to ever find out. I won’t make her tell you what she doesn’t want to. But if you have questions I can answer, I’ll try. I know it’s not the same.”
“It’s something,” said Ivy.
Linus nodded and sipped his coffee.
“She didn’t trap you did she? I mean you knew when you married her right?”
“About you?” asked Linus.
“Yes.”
“Of course.”
“Was she seeing both of you at the same time, or was it...? I don’t know how to ask it? Did she beg you to marry her, or what?” asked Ivy.
“She was in the choir, they both were, and even then I was the director. I showed up early for a rehearsal and overheard her tell Dylan that she was pregnant. He told her to get rid of it. They fought. When I realized the next day he had simply left town, I drove straight over to her Aunt’s house and proposed to her.”
“So she never really came clean with you. You just knew what was up,” said Ivy.
“She tried to tell me. But I stopped her, and explained how I’d heard the fight. She didn’t need to tell me the rest. We were married three days later.”
“I can’t believe she’d just marry you. Did she even really know you? Did she love you? How mercenary!”
“Don’t be so hard on her. She was a just a girl alone in the world. You’re older now then she was then. Think about it. What if it had been you? What if you’d turned up pregnant your sophomore year of college?”
Ivy sighed. “I guess you guys would have helped me. You wouldn’t have been happy about it, but you would have stood by me,” she said.
“Yes. But now what if it had been Kay here who turned up pregnant at twenty?”
They both looked at me, and I felt mysel
f go a bit pale at the thought. “I couldn’t have gone back to my father. He’d have taken me back, but it would have been no way to raise a child,” I said.
“Exactly. Dory didn’t have anyone except her Aunt Susan. I know you never really knew Susan, so you’ll have to trust me. She wasn’t a kind woman.”
Ivy disengaged from the conversation by leaning back in her chair and taking several long sips of coffee.
“She’s been a good wife to me. I’ve tried to be a good husband to her.”
Ivy did not answer him, or look at him. When it became clear that she was done with the conversation Linus turned to me, and continued on with what he had to say as if she had not just ignored him. He often used this tactic when we were younger to get through to Ivy. Speaking to her; looking at someone else. Looking at me.
“You must not think I saved her. She saved me too. Maybe even more than I ever saved her. She gave me the family I’d always wanted, the sort of home I’d always wanted. No matter what you think at first glance it’s not false. We’d known each other, well, all her life. We both knew what we were getting. It is love. Me for her, her for me. We do love each other.”
I nodded, and tried to look empathetic but Linus and I knew it did no good. Ivy had already cast the villain of the piece. Not the bolting boyfriend. Not the bitter maiden aunt. Not the lonely old bachelor. Oh, no. Her own mother, and no one else.
Eleven
After Linus went back to his work, Ivy and I needed to find neutral ground. We tried the craft co-op first. I did buy the green sweater; Ivy had been right, it suited me. But the co-op was too close to home. Porter could have spotted us, or Mrs. Clack, or a dozen other people. I couldn’t relax, and neither could Ivy. Neither of us was in the mood for small talk. So in the end we headed to the nearest mall. What could be more neutral than a mall?
The Color of Ordinary Time Page 8
