Anointed

by Charity B.

  I look beyond the flame to see Zeb standing next to his mother. I try to get his attention to make him stand by me like he promised. Finally, he looks up and our eyes meet. I smile at him, yet he turns away. My stomach sinks, feeling hallowed out and empty. What’s wrong? Is he angry with me about this afternoon?

  The Prophet leads Benji between the pillars, giving the rope on the right to Apostle Keaton and the one on the left to Zeb’s uncle, Counselor Cyrus. Both men throw the ropes over each pillar, and pull them tight, lifting Benji’s body as high as they can until his feet nearly leave the earth. The Prophet stands behind him, using a blade to cut his shirt open.

  “Benji Johnson. Five lashes with the holy fire, and twenty-nine hours in the box of repentance is the price to free your soul from the bonds of the Devil. I ask you again, do you accept this penance?”

  Benji lifts his head to look at the crowd. “Yes, I do.”

  I shift my gaze to the left, glancing at the box of repentance. It’s well outside the circle of the common ground and not something I ever want to experience.

  The Prophet removes his jacket to hand it to one of his nephews, rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. He takes down the locust tree whip, named because the thorns from a honey locust tree are burrowed within the leather, and takes his place behind Benji. Our earthly flesh must be broken if it is to be cleansed.

  Apostle Keaton dowses the whip in kerosene before the Prophet dips it into the blessed fire. The purpose of the fire is not only to cleanse Benji’s soul, but to remind his flesh of the Hellfire that resides in the abyss. Apostle Keaton backs up with the rest of the followers, allowing plenty of room for the strike. The Prophet’s shoulders rise with a breath as he swings his arm behind him, landing the flaming whip across Benji’s back.

  With the impact, his body arches, and he releases a loud cry. The sound blends in with the whole compound praying, “BE CLEANSED OF THIS EVIL!”

  I look back at Zebadiah to see his face harden, as he watches his father bring down the whip a second time. My eyes move to Benji’s family. Although his father remains unfazed, his mothers look as if they’re struggling for strength.

  “BE CLEANSED OF THIS SIN!”

  Tears roll down Benji’s cheeks, glistening in the fire light. Though I can’t see, I know the damage the burning whip can do. I’m sure he’s bleeding already.

  My attention is back on Zeb, and I fight the tears attempting to appear. Why won’t he look at me? What’s going on?

  Three more times the Prophet hits Benji. With the last assault, his wails can easily be heard over the praying.

  “THE SPIRIT OF ZAARON WILL BURN FROM WITHIN!”

  His head droops and his body sags while Apostle Keaton pours water on the whip, extinguishing the fire. As the fire sizzles, the smoke snakes beneath my nose. The smell of burning has always given me a sense of comfort. Knowing my mistakes can be forgiven through His grace makes me feel secure in my mortality.

  The Prophet hands the whip to his nephew. Since it can’t be used again, it will now be destroyed. Apostle Keaton and Counselor Cyrus release the ropes, dropping Benji’s body to the dirt, his shoulders shaking as he sobs.

  Benji is a bit of an odd boy, and that’s part of why I’ve always liked him. I consider him one of my closest friends. Even if he does seem to have an unhealthy curiosity about the Philistines, he’s nice to everyone, and he’s pretty funny too. I wish I could go lie next to him, tell him it will be okay, and that the worst part is over.

  The Prophet pulls him to his feet, leading him, along with the rest of us, to the box of repentance. Besides the occasional whispers, everyone is mostly quiet as we reach the place of Benji’s confinement. He groans when the Prophet releases him from the ox yoke.

  “You will spend the next twenty-nine hours praying. This time is meant for repenting to Zaaron and thinking on why you broke His spiritual law. Do you have anything you would like to say before we proceed?”

  While Benji’s voice has a nasally sound, it’s still loud enough so everyone can hear. “I made unholy choices. I am sorrowful I let down my family, my community, my Prophet, and my God… I am unworthy of His mercy.”

  The Prophet climbs the wooden plank, opening the door of the four-by-five-foot wooden shed with no windows, nudging Benji inside. Once the door is securely locked, he holds his hands up again.

  “We have not lost a child of Zaaron this night. Benji Johnson has been washed of his sins and transgressions. Let us rejoice in Zaaron’s gift of forgiveness. Have a blessed evening, and may the holy fire of Zaaron cleanse you!”

  “MAY THE HOLY FIRE OF ZAARON CLEANSE YOU, PROPHET.”

  Everyone begins to disperse, making their way back to their homes, but I really need to see what’s wrong with Zeb. I scan the crowd, finally finding him standing next to his father. I raise my hand to wave though when I do, I realize they are making their way toward me.

  My heart beats rapidly against my chest, so I inhale a calming breath. I’m being silly. I’m sure this has nothing to do with this afternoon.

  “Prophet.” My father shakes his hand. “Zaaron has once again shown His compassion and grace through you.”

  He nods and removes his hat. “May I have a word, Brother Benjamin?”

  “Of course.” Pa glances at Sister Julia while I keep my eyes on Zebadiah. I’m starting to really worry now. He won’t even look at me.

  Pa, the Prophet, and Zebadiah all walk far enough away that I can’t hear anything they’re saying. After a moment, Pa’s head whips toward me, his scowl making a lump grow in my throat. I attempt to swallow it down as they shake hands, and he glares his way back to us.

  “Back home. Now. All of you.”

  He speaks low and angry, making my skin clammy. We hurry back in our order as we try to keep up with him. The closer we get to the farm, the more ill I feel.

  We shuffle into the kitchen, and when the door slams behind us, I jump around to see my father stalking toward me.

  He points to a chair at the table. “Sit!”

  I automatically lower to obey as he towers over me. “You get one chance to answer. Have you received the blood of innocence?”

  My tongue folds in my mouth, making it impossible to speak. The dread of what will come of this has me shaking my head in a lie. His nostrils flare as he scratches angrily at his graying mustache, looking at me with a disappointment I have never seen.

  “You have disgraced this family in the eyes of our God, our Prophet, and me.”

  My mother takes his arm. “Benjamin, please. Why would you think she would keep that from us?’

  “Are you questioning our Prophet, Grace?”

  Her head shakes hard enough that her bonnet strings whip around. “N-no, of course not.”

  At that moment, there is a rap, rap, rap at the door.

  I think I might throw up when my father answers and says, “I apologize that this incident requires your assistance this evening, Prophet.”

  I look up, not knowing if I can stop the tears, when I see Zebadiah holding my stained bloomers and petticoat.

  He…told.

  He told on me.

  MY MOTHER BOWS HER HEAD before shaking the Prophet’s hand. “Blessed evening, Prophet.”

  He clicks his tongue as he removes his hat. “I do wish it was a better one, Sister Grace. It does not give me joy to punish,” he turns to me, “but it is the task bestowed upon me by our God, Zaaron.”

  My mother nods, backing away to give him room. Everyone is watching, and I’m sure at least a few of my younger siblings have snuck out of bed to hear what’s happening.

  The Prophet walks over to me to take my hand. “Stand, my child.” Even with my legs feeling too weak to support me, I wouldn’t dream of disobeying. He reaches behind him with his free hand. “Come over here, Zebadiah. Show Brother Benjamin what you were attempting to dispose of this afternoon.” Zeb still won’t look at me as he hands my bloomers and petticoat to my father. The Prophet asks, �
�Are these Laurel Ann’s?”

  I don’t think my father really knows if they are mine because he looks at my mothers. Sister Mary and my mother both nod in answer.

  I close my eyes as if it will hold off what’s coming, yet the Prophet’s voice forces them back open. He takes my garments back from Pa and holds them out to me. Everyone handling them is humiliating. I want nothing more than to flee this room.

  “Are these yours, Laurel Ann?”

  I can’t make myself say yes. I want to, I just can’t. I don’t want to lie, especially to the Prophet! My heart hammers against my chest as I take a deep breath.

  “No, Prophet.”

  His lips thin out with his glare. “I will ask you once more. Are these yours?”

  I pray for strength to do what is right. To be honest.

  Please Zaaron, I want to be pure, I want to be good. Help me be a holy example of your truth.

  I wait, and I still can’t say the words.

  The N is on my lips as Mia bursts into the kitchen. Every wisp of air is sucked out of my lungs when I see her holding the box she gave me earlier.

  “Just tell them the truth, Laurel Ann…please?”

  I know she thinks she’s doing the right thing. In fact, she is. That still doesn’t change how angry I am with her in this moment. I want to scream and yell at her, tell her I won’t ever trust her again! She has never betrayed me before, and I have never felt this fury toward her.

  The Prophet crouches down to one knee, holding his hand out to her. “Bring me the box, my child.”

  Her eyes flash to Pa then to me before she slowly walks across the kitchen. I can’t look at their faces, so I watch the hem of her nightgown swing around her ankles as her bare feet walk across the floorboards. The Prophet opens the box, his eyes searing into me after he shoves my bloomers and petticoat inside.

  I quickly flip my eyes to Zebadiah. He’s finally looking at me too. His eyes are deeply sad and wet with tears. He’s either trying to tell me that he’s sorry or to forgive him. Maybe both. He just got caught…like I’m getting caught right now. He didn’t tell, not like Mia. I give him the slightest nod I can.

  “Laurel Ann.” I snap my attention back to the Prophet to see him holding the box under his arm. “These are serious transgressions against Zaaron.” His face becomes stone, and I think his eyes darken as he seethes, “He has bestowed upon you a gift! Why do you repay Him with evil and selfish actions?”

  He’s right. Why did I do this?

  I know why. Because I’m not ready, because…

  “I-I’m scared.”

  “Your fear is misplaced, child. You should fear the condition of your soul. I will not allow impurity within the walls of the Anointed Land. You should fear all the evil in the world outside the protection of this compound.”

  He wouldn’t send me out there, would he? He and other members of the holy bloodline are the only ones permitted to brave the dark, new world since before my father was a boy. If anyone knows how bad it is out there, it’s the Prophet. He’s threatening to cast me away without my family, without my friends, without Zaaron, and without Zeb. I can’t let that happen.

  Excommunication is not an option.

  I nod my head as fast as I can. “Yes, Prophet. I want to do whatever it takes to be pure again. I yearn for forgiveness. From you and from Zaaron.”

  Suddenly, he closes his eyes, turning his head to the ceiling. He stands that way for a long time. I’ve seen him do this before. He’s speaking to Zaaron. Everyone in the holy bloodline is kin to our God, but only the Prophet can audibly hear His voice.

  After what feels like an eternity, he lets out a long slow breath and murmurs, “Thank you.” Opening his eyes, he looks into me. “I know what must be done to rid your soul of this evil.” He turns to my father. “There is no need for her to live in the placing dorms.”

  Pa tilts his head to the side. “I apologize, Prophet, I don’t understand. Why?”

  He looks back at me, and when he smiles, I don’t feel the comfort I should feel from my Prophet.

  “Because she has already been placed.”

  For a second it feels as if I’m falling backward. It’s like I’m not breathing, regardless of my chest beginning to heave. There’s nothing I can do. This is Zaaron’s will. If I want to remain in His grace and protection, I must honor it.

  Clasping his hands together, my father cries, “Praise Zaaron!” Sister Mary is equally thrilled. My mother though, she doesn’t look happy or sad. She is a statue of herself.

  My father rarely smiles, and if he does, it’s subtle. Right now, he’s grinning like little Phillip did when he got into the bowl of icing Sister Mary left on the counter last summer. “This is fantastic news! May I ask who is to be her husband?”

  A soft, small smile creaks from the Prophet’s lips. “I am.”

  WHAT?!

  Zeb’s face falls in horror as he jumps toward him. “Father!” The Prophet glares, stopping him cold. He drops his voice to a whisper, slowly shaking his head. “No, please…”

  “You have served your purpose here. Go home to wait for me. You and I also have much we must discuss.”

  They stare at each other until finally Zeb mumbles, “Yes, Father.”

  He walks to the door, turning to me one last time before walking out. This can’t be happening! Why would Zaaron want this? Zebadiah is my closest friend. I can’t be his mother! I look over at Mia, and I hate her for this. I rationally know it isn’t her fault, but I may have been able to lie my way out of it otherwise.

  Tears begin to form in her eyes, the ribbons used to curl her hair bouncing as she rushes to me. “Laurel Ann—”

  “Thank you for your honesty, Mia. It’s time for you to be in bed.” Pa pats her head and slightly raises his voice. “The same goes for the rest of you hiding in the hallway, listening!”

  Sure enough, a bunch of little giggles and foot patters sound.

  The Prophet chuckles, “The joys of children.” He gives me a quick glance and adds, “It breaks my heart when they disappoint us.” I hate having to listen to them talk about me when I am sitting right here. “Before Laurel Ann can come into my home and bear my holy children, her soul must be cleansed.”

  My father listens to the Prophet as if he’s terrified to miss a single word, nodding his head in full agreement.

  “Of course.”

  In a quick motion, the Prophet pulls on his right ear and wipes his mouth before he says, “Her cleansing ritual will take place at six p.m., Wednesday evening. As you know, during the time of questioning, she is not permitted to leave this house.” He stands next to me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Our union will protect her eternal existence. She has clearly been tempted by the Devil, yet my holy influence will help her to remain pure. We will hold the binding celebration Saturday afternoon, following services.”

  I don’t care about the soul cleansing ritual. All I can think about is Saturday. Saturday is when everything will change. It doesn’t matter what I, Mia, or anyone else did or didn’t do. Because Zaaron’s will is impenetrable.

  “While I am ashamed by the actions of my daughter, this is still such glorious news. I am grateful to you and to Zaaron for your overwhelming forgiveness and kindness. Thank you, Prophet.”

  The Prophet flicks his wrist to toss away my father’s words. “It is my blessing and purpose.”

  His hand slides off my shoulder, his fingers sending a cold shudder through my skin as he slowly moves them down my back. He steps away, leaving me with my stomach turned to sludge as it rolls around, climbing its way to my chest. I slowly breathe in through my nose, so I don’t vomit in front of the Prophet.

  He turns to my mothers. “Have a blessed evening, Sisters.”

  They all nod as they mutually respond, “Have a blessed evening, Prophet.”

  He shakes my father’s hand. “His plan burns through all evil, Brother Benjamin. Have a blessed evening.” He walks to the door, carrying the box with the la
st of my childhood as he faces us. “May the holy fire of Zaaron cleanse you.”

  “May the holy fire of Zaaron cleanse you, Prophet.” I say it with them because I know my father is watching.

  As soon as he walks out of my house, the air instantly weighs a thousand pounds, requiring all my strength to remain upright. My father’s face, which moments ago was soft and understanding, is now pressed into hard lines. His rage pours from his eyes as he marches toward me, ripping his belt from his trousers.

  My mother rushes to stand in front of him. “Benjamin, please, this isn’t necessary. She will pay her penance at her cleansing. And now we have a daughter who will give birth to children in the holy bloodline.”

  I love my mother so much for trying to save me. Having a person of your family be bound to someone in the holy bloodline is a high honor, but having a daughter that will birth the Prophet’s children? It’s the most any family could hope for. She’s reminding him of that.

  He ignores her as he folds the belt in half. His eyes are on me, and while every single part of me wants to run, my feet are melted into the floor.

  “I did not raise you to lie and hide from your calling as a woman of Zaaron. You have outright disobeyed Him, your Prophet, and me. You will pay for your sins against our God and the Prophet with your cleansing, and now you will suffer for your sins against me.”

  He grabs me by my dress collar to turn me around, and shove me to my knees. I know what’s coming. This isn’t the first transgression I’ve committed against Zaaron and my family. Still, the eruption of pain from the impact makes me cry out. He is very angry, so there isn’t any relief of time between blows.

  Shoulder.

  Neck.

  Waist.

  Back.

  The intense sharpness shoots through me, the volume of my screams is the only way I can tell the individual hits apart.

  My mother is crying, begging him to stop, yet it’s like I’m hearing her through a window…far away and small. Finally, the intense bolts of agony disappear, and all that’s left is a dull radiation of pain spreading across my back. His heavy footfalls are loud, and although I can’t lift my head to look at his face, I am able to see his boots.