Anointed

by Charity B.

  “Please, can I keep this one?”

  Her face brightens a shade. “Of course, I just didn’t think they’d let you.”

  I rub my fingers over the glossy copy of her face. “They won’t.”

  She giggles. “Try to not get excommunicated again in your first week, okay?” That shouldn’t be a funny thought, and it really isn’t, but a laugh pops out anyway. “And let me get a copy of it before you…how long do you have?”

  “He didn’t say. He just told me to get my affairs in order.”

  Her eyes go glassy when she squeezes my hand. “Well then, we’d better make the most of what we have.”

  It turns out I have two ‘loose ends’: Kaila and work. Cameron is more upset that I can’t give him a date for my last day than the fact that I’m quitting. Never mind it’s been almost two weeks since I told him. He grumbles about having to hire someone on short notice and how he hopes they are more dependable. I think he’s being a little unfair. I haven’t been that bad of an employee. Sure, I’ve been late a few times, but I have never missed a day in the year I’ve worked for him and have agreed to come in on my days off plenty of times. Plus, he’s said himself I’m a hard worker. He is just like so many others in this dark, new world—unhappy with everything.

  I think of all the Philistines I have met during my time here. They all do unholy things, but they aren’t all cruel. They aren’t all killers, rapists, or thieves. They are mothers and fathers, teachers and healers. They get sad and happy, just like we do. I wonder if I should tell anyone how I feel about them now, when I go home. Home. It’s surreal that I am going to get to see Samuel and Mia, the twins, Robert, and Benjamin Jr, my mother and Benji. It’s what I’ve dreamed of for years, so I don’t understand why my stomach gets nauseous and jumpy every time I think about going back.

  I don’t know if they will welcome me with open arms or if they will rebuke me for living outside of grace for all these years. I still question if I’m able to be bound. I wonder what my purpose will be, and if I’m destined to be husbandless and childless for the rest of my days. The idea of that makes me terribly sad. I have always wanted children. I shake the thought away because that is more than I can consider right now.

  Cameron tells me he has work to do in his office, and that I can leave once I wipe down the counters and mop the lobby.

  The mop water has taken on a brown-gray hue when the bell dings from the door being opened.

  “Hel-” I look up to see Ezekiel standing at the front of the shop “-lo.”

  He looks around as he marches up next to me and speaks quietly. “Are you alone?”

  I nod my head toward Cameron’s office. “My boss is in there.”

  “Be at the east edge of town, by the city sign, tonight at sundown.”

  “Tonight?” Flutters behind my belly button have me holding my stomach.

  He crosses his large arms, and his eyebrow arches beneath the brim of his hat. “Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not. Thank you, Ezekiel.”

  In almost a concerned tone, he softly says, “Please, address me as Apostle.”

  I nod to him. Well that answers my question about Zeb naming him for the position. “I will be there. Thank you, Apostle Ezekiel.”

  I finish mopping and try my best to explain to Cameron that I won’t be returning. To my complete surprise, he pats me on the back, telling me he enjoyed my working for him. He sure had an interesting way of relaying that emotion. I smile and thank him before I leave Sturgis Country Meats for the last time. I have an odd sense of sorrow as I look back at the place that has paid for my home for an entire year. Though Cameron and I may not have been best friends, I am saddened at the fact that I won’t ever see his dorky face again.

  I get to the end of Randlett Street, passing by the church that I always see the nun coming and going from. The statue above the doorway has always intrigued me, and this will be the last chance I’ll have to admire it.

  The first time I was ever taken to a Philistine church was when I was living with one of my first foster families. No matter how much I fought them, they forced me to attend.

  “I’m not going! I won’t set foot in that evil place!”

  “You will go, and you will pray to Jesus to forgive you. You have been nothing but a disobedient pain in the ass since you came to us.”

  My foster mother, Claudine, sneers at me. She has another thing coming if she thinks I’m praying to anyone besides Zaaron.

  “Your Jesus was a blasphemous, false Prophet, and I will never utter a word of praise to his name.”

  She brings the back of her hand across my face. “You watch your mouth! You just lost your right to a bed tonight.”

  I don’t care if she makes me sleep with the dog. I refuse to do what she demands.

  “When your flesh melts from your body and your screams of agony never end, I’ll be with my family and my God in the Paradise Star. So, make me sleep wherever you want, filthy Philistine!”

  Her face puffs up with rage as she pushes me up the sidewalk. Her son, Marvin, is around my age and has gotten quite the thrill from watching me and his mother butt heads. He is a gluttonous, pimply boy who is self-centered and full of demons. He snickers behind me, and she shoves me in front of their ‘church’. A white, stone woman in a veil and gown looks down on us at the entrance. Her hands are frozen open in a welcoming gesture, and I wonder if the living version of her will be inside.

  “Please be quiet, and do what we do.” My foster father whispers in my ear. He hasn’t been unkind to me, but he doesn’t stop his wife from treating me like dirt either. It seems that she treats him just as badly sometimes. Marvin though, he gets away with everything. The way she coddles him is nauseating. He speaks to her with horrible disrespect, and she still acts like he’s perfection personified.

  “Who is that?” I point to the statue before my foster father ushers me inside.

  “That’s Mary. If you don’t want to pray for your own sins, maybe you could ask her to do it for you.”

  That’s not going to happen. I don’t care about a nonexistent, pretend God that has no bearing on my soul.

  The flesh of her is not inside, but a woman in a black veil and dress trimmed in white stands at the pulpit reciting their lies. Her dress and demeanor are to be revered, and I find myself unable to take my eyes from her until a man in black with the white square on his neck takes her place. He drones on and on about their evil prayers and demonic Bible. I try to block out the words, yet I can’t deny the familiarity of the ritual and the bond apparent in those with like beliefs. He speaks of love and forgiveness, though if my foster parents are any indication, it’s not being heard.

  I make it through their ‘mass’, wasting no time getting out of there. I don’t even wait for my foster family. As soon as we’re dismissed, I rush back outside, turning to look at their ‘Mary’.

  “Don’t you dare murmur a single word of your poisonous prayers for me. It is I who will pray for you.”

  I gladly sleep on the floor. I won’t let them break me.

  I will not let them tarnish my soul.

  “Are you all right?”

  I jump at the voice regardless of its softness. My eyes are connected with hazel ones not much older than mine. It’s her. The ‘nun’.

  “Oh, yes. I was just thinking.”

  She lightly places a hand on my back, leading me to the building next to the church. ‘Parish Hall’ is written in black letters on the brick building. She sits on the steps and smiles at me. “It looks to be something confusing from your expression.”

  These people really like their statues. There’s a small, gray one on the top stone step of a bald man holding a cross. I don’t want to sit next to the statue, but I feel odd towering over her, so I sit on the step beneath her.

  “It shouldn’t be.”

  “Is it something you want to talk about? I’m a fantastic listener.”

  I laugh. Seeking advice on my soul from
a Philistine. That’s quite comical.

  “Do you like being a nun?”

  She smiles. “Yes, however, I’m not a nun yet. I’m a Sister.” I’m shocked at the title. It’s the same as adult Anointed women. “I have dedicated my life to The Church, and there is no doubt in my mind that it’s what God desires for me. So yes, it makes me very happy.”

  I know my mouth is hanging open. I can’t believe that I can relate to this woman.

  “Do you really believe you’re right? That your God exists, and you’re not damning yourself?”

  Now it’s her turn to gape. Slowly, she pulls her lips back into a smile. “Well, yes, I do know that my faith is placed in the one and only God. I absolutely believe that he exists, but…”

  “Do you believe that I am going to Hell because I don’t believe in your false God?”

  Her nerves are apparent in her chuckle. I don’t know why I’m grilling her. I’m angry over my feelings about going home, not this woman’s belief system.

  “Goodness… Okay, well, first of all, my name is Sister Emma. I feel like you should know my name before I confess this to you. Second, I don’t believe that people do or don’t go to Hell based on their religion. I think trying our best to follow our conscience and being kind to others is all that God really asks of us, though many will not agree with me. While my principles and the answers to my prayers tell me I am to devote my life to God, I know not everyone will have that calling. There are evil men in The Church, and there are good and pure men who have never stepped foot inside a chapel.”

  I don’t know what to say because I know she’s wrong, but she says it with such conviction, I don’t want to tell her so. Nothing she can do at this point can save her soul. What’s the harm in letting her live blissfully in her ignorance?

  She gestures behind us. “It’s pretty warm out here. Would you like to come inside and cool down?”

  The truth is, a part of me does want to stay and talk with her. I just don’t have much time left, and I want to spend it with Kaila. Plus, there is no way I am going inside that building.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. Thank you for your kindness.” I stand, brushing off my dress before I hold out my hand. “It was nice to meet you, Sister Emma.”

  She looks a bit disappointed, yet curious. “The pleasure was mine…”

  “Laurel Ann.”

  “Laurel Ann. That’s a beautiful name. Please, come back anytime.”

  I’m delighted to have met her and enjoyed speaking with her. I don’t want to soil that by telling her I won’t be returning. Flashing her a smile, I turn around to finish my walk home.

  Kaila is sitting on the couch filing her nails, watching the television set, when I walk in. My heart aches as she smiles up at me. This is the very last time I will ever come home to this. How am I supposed to tell her that I’m leaving? That after tonight, we will never be able to laugh, talk, or eat burnt popcorn together ever again.

  “Hey, Laur, what’s up?” She holds her hand out, admiring her work. She must be satisfied because she sets down the file in exchange for a cigarette.

  “Hey.”

  My voice sounds mopey and whiny, even to myself. She scrunches her eyebrows, patting the couch. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

  I flop down, hearing the springs groan. “Zeke, Zeb’s Apostle, came in today. I’m leaving tonight.”

  Ripping the cigarette from her lips, she looks at me with heartache. “Tonight?!”

  Breathing in through my nose so I don’t cry, I quickly nod. “Yes. At sundown.”

  “I can’t believe this.” She shakes her head, taking a drag. “What in the hell am I supposed to do without you?”

  She’s attempting to be strong, yet her voice cracks, and tears leak down her face. I wrap my arms around her as I break down, giving us both permission to cry.

  “I will never forget you. You will forever be my best friend.”

  “I can’t believe you’ll be gone.”

  There isn’t a single thing I can think of to make this easier. “I would say, ‘I’ll write you’, but…you know.”

  “Can I at least wait with you until you go?” She sobs against my shoulder, and I wish I could tell her yes.

  “I’m sorry. I must meet them alone.”

  She looks toward the window, then to her phone. “We only have a few hours.”

  “You do understand why I’m doing this, right?”

  She wipes her nose as she snuffs out her cigarette. “Understand it? Yes. Like it? Fuck the fuck no.”

  “Must you curse so often?”

  “See? Who the fuck is going to say shit like, ‘Must you curse so often?’ to me now?” I laugh in spite of her filthy mouth and hug her again. “Do you need to pack?”

  “No. There’s nothing I can take with me. Your photograph is all I’m bringing, and it will be hidden beneath my dress.”

  She pulls back from our embrace. “This is what you truly want, right?”

  “This is what I need. For my soul.”

  She rests her head back on my shoulder, squeezing me tight. She doesn’t let go until the sun begins its descent. It breaks my heart to peel her fingers from their grasp.

  “I’m sorry, Kaila, I have to go. I love you.”

  I try to be strong for her as I shut the door behind me. I keep my composure until I’m across the street, where sobs overtake my body. I have to mourn her now because being seen crying could be mistaken for uncertainty in my choice.

  The sense of melancholy I get walking through Hobart is unexpected. For the first time, I wonder if I have grown to love it here more than I want to realize or admit. This was the first place I saw outside of the Anointed Land. I spent three years living here with my foster parents, Curtis and Jordan, and went to Hobart schools for the majority of my Philistine education. I’ve lived here with Kaila for years. Never seeing the familiar buildings and people again makes me mournful for reasons I’m not sure I understand.

  I brush my fingers over the stone of the Hobart City sign and allow another tear to fall. Softly wiping it from my face, I press my finger against the sign, imagining it seeping into the rocks, keeping a part of me forever.

  The outline of the horse and buggy shows in the distance. Although the horizon behind him is darkening his face, I know it’s Zeb. Air pushes out of my lungs with relief while my heart picks up pace. I was worried he would send Ezekiel, or worse, Jacob to bring me back.

  How long am I going to feel this way around him? Before, our relationship was fluid like a river—natural and peaceful. Now I don’t know what to expect from him. So much time has passed, and he’s much colder than he used to be. What is he expecting to happen once I’m back inside the gates? Has he prepared the followers?

  The horse brays as he tugs on the reins and jumps down from the buggy. He isn’t wearing his hat, and in the street lights, I see his smile.

  “Hello, Laurel Ann. Are you eager for your return?”

  He’s happier than I’ve seen him since we were kids. I look up to his face, and he startles me when he pulls me to him, wrapping me in an embrace.

  “I have dreamed of this,” I whisper.

  He releases me, and his smirk brings back the Zeb I remember. “As have I.” He takes my hand, guiding me into the buggy. Being back inside of one makes the bubbles in my stomach pop. He climbs in behind me. “Are you hungry? I know it’s late, but I thought we could have an evening picnic. I don’t know when the next chance for privacy will arise.” As if trying to convince me, he adds, “I brought you some of my mother’s strawberry-rhubarb pie.”

  This is a completely different Zebadiah than the one who was at my home and the butcher shop. This is how I pictured him in my dreams. I feel the smile stretch my cheeks as the lit lantern hanging in the back casts a shadow across his hopeful face.

  While I think I’m too sad, excited, and nervous to eat, the fact that he planned a picnic fills me with glee. It’s almost like a date a Philistine would go on. ‘Dat
ing’ doesn’t exist in the Anointed Land. Once placed, the binding will occur within the week. Unless a woman is a first wife, her personal time with her husband is reserved for their bedroom.

  If I would have stayed, would we have found ways to sneak off and have secret picnics? Now that I’m coming back will we?

  “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

  We are still about a mile from the compound when he tugs on the reins, causing the horse to whinny as the buggy slows to a stop.

  “Here we are.”

  He turns to unhook the lantern, handing me a couple of blankets and picking up a large wicker basket. He holds up the lantern, and it gleams off his eyes, making them sparkle when he grins. Gesturing his head for me to follow, he leads me into the field. It’s almost completely dark, and with no one else around we stay close to the buggy. He puts the lantern on the ground, smoothing out one of the blankets next to it.

  He points to the other one, made of thick lamb’s wool. “In case you get cold.”

  “Thank you, Zeb.”

  His grin melts from his face, revealing a glare in its place. “I have told you, you are to address me as Prophet. Once you’re back within the gates, I won’t tolerate it. I can’t give you special treatment. You need to understand that.”

  I resist my desire to cower in embarrassment by holding my head up high. I truly do understand. That still doesn’t change the fact that it hurts. I don’t even know what else I expected from him. Of course, he has to uphold spiritual law, regardless of our friendship. I’m struggling to see him as my Prophet, but he’s right. It is borderline blasphemous to call him by a name other than his title, unless it is done so by his children or his wives.

  I sigh. I don’t want to make this harder on him than I’m sure it already is. “I do. And I apologize. I must confess to feeling a little conflicted with your position. It won’t happen again.”