The Reformation of Marli Meade

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  Whatever the case, I didn’t feel scared. Instead, I felt confident, sure of exactly what I wanted—to see Nate—and I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way.

  My feet glided across the damp grass, the ground slippery from dew. The abundance of clothing made me hot but I didn’t shed layers, still in awe of the feel of the clothes against my skin.

  I slid along the periphery of the forest until I made it to the river. A few seconds later Nate strode into view.

  “You’re early!” I darted forward.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He held me tight.

  “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Of course I came.”

  I released a soft giggle then grabbed his hand, leading him into the forest.

  “How’d the visit with your PO go?”

  “Good. He found me a pro bono lawyer who says there should be no problem winning the emancipation. He can draw up the paperwork when I give him the green light.”

  “Did you give him the green light?”

  “I will. Tomorrow, probably.”

  “Why wait?”

  “There’s this thing with the police. I’ll see what I can find tonight.”

  “The address, you mean? To your brother’s lab?”

  “Yeah, or anything that might be helpful. That kid who OD’d a week ago? His older brother died a year ago.”

  “From what?”

  “Meth. Likely bought from Jude, too.”

  “So the family has lost two of their sons? That is so sad.”

  “I know. So I’ll see what I can do to help before someone else dies.”

  “Nate, I wish you would let the police handle this. It seems too dangerous.”

  “Jude is a son-of-a-bitch, worse than a donkey’s smelly ass. He needs that smelly ass thrown in jail.”

  “I know…but still. I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “You don’t?” He leaned into my neck, his lips hot on my skin.

  “No. But I do like that…”

  As his hands traveled to the top of my hips, his warmth spread over my body like the heat of a torch waved inches from my skin.

  But then he pulled away. “Marli, how many layers are you wearing?”

  “Oh! I have a surprise! Turn around.”

  I slipped out of the skirt and yanked off the sweater. Knowing the bulkiness of the clogs would ruin the effect of the outfit, I opted to go barefoot and sunk my toes in the cool ground.

  “Okay. You’ll need to turn on your flashlight. I don’t think there’s enough light.”

  When he did, his eyes widened. “What…? Why…? How…?”

  I twirled like a whimsical firefly, dancing in the light. “What do you think?”

  “I knew you had a nice bod, but wow!”

  I twirled again.

  He reached out. “Come here, beautiful.” His voice was husky and coarse.

  Once in his arms, he ran his hands over my arms, down to my hips, turning me around and around as he studied my new appearance. “Wow.” He whispered now. “I mean, you’re beautiful no matter what, but you look really good. Hmmm…mmm.”

  I literally blossomed, felt myself awakening like a dormant, closed flower that had waited years to bloom. How did Nate manage to eliminate the weight of every bad thing that happened to me…that happened in my life, past and present?

  I didn’t know how he did it, but I prayed I did the same for him.

  I RESTED MY forehead against the cold metal of my locker, feeling miles and miles away from the amazing place I had been this morning—with Nate, in the coolest clothes to ever grace my skin, in the chilly freshness of the mountain air. Now I was back in a long skirt and ill-fitting shirt, the hem falling down to my hips. My shoes added another two pounds to the already heavy clothing.

  Edna, as if sensing something had changed in the night, had followed me around the house spewing insults over my hair.

  The ugliest shade I’ve ever seen!

  Makes you look like a harlot!

  We should shave your head and free you from the burden of your mother’s kin!

  Charles, for his part, had me locked in his unblinking glare and did not release me from it until I slid out of the truck and hurried into the school.

  Had the morning with Nate even happened?

  The locker’s metal had long since warmed under my skin but still I didn’t move. As the warning bell clanged overhead, I sighed. When I finally stood straight, Heather was standing there watching me.

  “Oh, hi,” I stammered.

  “Do you like the clothes?”

  My gaze darted. Would she try to use the clothes to embarrass me now? Call out to the others that the church-girl had accepted her hand-me-downs?

  As if sensing where my thoughts were going, Heather huffed. “Look. I’m not going to embarrass you. I just want to know if you like the clothes.”

  “Why are you being nice to me?”

  She watched a group of students huddled together at the end of the hall. “I don’t know. I feel bad for you, I guess.”

  “Why?”

  “I tried to put myself in your shoes. Believe it or not, I’m not a mean person.”

  “I know that.”

  Shock spread across her face as if she were surprised I could think that. I was a little shocked myself.

  “It’s not always easy being the popular girl.”

  “But your life seems so perfect.”

  Heather snorted and shoved her hands into her designer jeans’ pockets, jeans not too dissimilar from the ones she’d given me. “I have to be perfect all the time but that doesn’t mean life is perfect.”

  “Why do you have to be perfect all the time?”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “You’d never understand.”

  “Oh, I bet I would. I have to be the perfect Christian daughter all the time. One slipup and there is no telling what would be done to me. My grandmother has slapped me, pinched me, forced me to clean the church from top to bottom, locked me inside it overnight with no lights. And that’s only for little offenses. If I did something really bad? Who knows? She’d probably drown me in the river trying to wash away my sins.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding. I have to keep a side of myself locked away because the consequences…” I shuddered.

  Heather studied me for several moments until I started to fidget, never comfortable under scrutiny even though I had been scrutinized my entire life. “Can you not wear the clothes?”

  “I can’t be seen wearing them. But…” I closed my eyes, reliving the feel of them against my skin. “I love them. I put them on when no one is around.” I didn’t tell Heather about Nate or the morning hike. Some things were better kept secret, as if that made them sacred. “I have them hidden in my room.”

  Heather’s gaze shifted again as the tardy bell rang. “Well, I gotta go. Good luck…you know. With everything.” She walked away.

  There was more to this popular girl than met the eye. If only the other students could see the same in me. I sighed, a heavy, weighted sound, and made it to class as the teacher was starting the lecture.

  CHARLES WAS QUIET during the ascent up the mountain, his hands clutching the steering wheel like it might roll away. His skin was paler than usual, the pink of his lips faded to a purplish white.

  Outside our home, he threw the gear shift into park. “Get inside the house.”

  “Yes, sir.” I scrambled out of the truck.

  Charles started toward the path that led to the church, the black box tucked under his arm.

  Edna stood on the porch wearing a black dress that made her arms and legs and torso seem overly long like she’d been stretched at all angles. She was an ugly contrast against the blooming wildflowers that popped up in the grass.

  “Put on your funeral attire.”

  My knees locked. “Did someone die?”

  “No. When you’ve changed your clothes, come into the kitchen.”

 
I didn’t like the sound of her tone. I was to dress for a funeral but there was no funeral. I was to meet her in the kitchen but it was too early for dinner. The vibe she was giving off was more sinister than a haunted ghoul’s on All Hallows’ Eve. What was going on here?

  Now that I thought about it, Charles had been wearing his funeral clothes, too.

  Agitated, I hurried into my room. Something bad was about to happen, brewing on the horizon like an oncoming storm. To say I could feel it in my bones was an understatement. I could feel it in my soul.

  Outside, dark clouds were flying low across the sky like they were running from something terrifying, oncoming like a rabid monster. In the distance there was a crackle of thunder. It was spring and storms were common, but there was something different about today.

  I needed to be careful. Very careful.

  The best thing for me to do was get dressed, keep my head down and my mouth shut.

  Don’t draw attention. Be the preacher’s daughter they want me to be.

  I slipped into my one black dress, the sleeves falling past my wrists, the hem to my ankles. I braided my hair down my back to give Edna no cause to complain, and brushed my teeth. Steeling myself for whatever was to come, I walked into the kitchen.

  Edna stood by the sink, her shoulders rigid. “Sit down.”

  In the middle of the floor was a chair, sitting alone like a solitary soldier awaiting orders. There was no part of me that wanted to sit on that soldier. The pinch to my arm, fast and sharp, changed my mind, though, and I fell onto the hard surface.

  Edna fumbled around on the counter behind me. I turned to see what she was doing only to find her putting on clear plastic gloves to protect her hands from whatever pungent-smelling mixture she was stirring in a plastic bowl. To the side of the sink sat a box with a woman on the front, her hair oil-black, shiny and clean.

  Edna was going to dye my hair.

  “Grandmother, wait!” I shot out of the chair, but Edna’s bony hand clutched my shoulder so hard I cried out. “That hurts!”

  “Sit down.”

  “You can’t dye my hair! I’ve braided it. It looks respectable!”

  “Shameless harlot. Just like your mother.” She shoved me down in the chair with the strength of a gladiator and leaned into my face. “That hair makes you too much like your mother. We get rid of it, we’ll get rid of her evil influence.”

  Get rid of it? Was she going to cut it too? My back broke out in a cold sweat.

  “If you move, I’ll cut you.”

  I went rigid, like someone had paralyzed me with a stun gun, my insides screaming as Edna came at me with a long pair of scissors. She grabbed handfuls of my hair and yanked it straight, then she cut and cut and cut. Long orange wisps floated to the ground like little helicopters.

  Tears poured over my cheeks.

  She can’t hurt me.

  She can’t hurt me.

  She can’t hurt me.

  This chant replayed over and over as Edna poured black hair dye all over my red hair.

  Forty-five minutes later, the dye was washed out, and when I looked at my reflection in the faucet, I saw zero trace of orange, only black—as black as an oil slick, matching the color of my dress and the inside of my heart perfectly. It was an odd thing, to no longer resemble someone I knew…knew myself to be. My fingers shook as I reached up to touch the leftover strands. The length was also gone, now falling only to my chin.

  Edna walked to the kitchen door. “Clean up then meet me outside. There is a punishing tonight and we can’t be late.”

  A punishing?

  Numb, I swept the floor, put the chair back under the table, and avoided every possible reflective surface. Then I met Edna on the porch. The congregation was filing up the mountain trail toward the church like ants, all dressed in black, all doing exactly what they were told to do.

  Leading the string of congregants were Mrs. and Mr. Lowe with Mary held between them like a prisoner being led to the guillotine. She was the only one in the entire group who wasn’t wearing black. Instead, she wore white from head to toe with a short veil flowing over her hair. Her face was pale, like someone had taken a brush to it, covering every inch with paint. The white dress only added to the severity of her skin color.

  I clutched the porch railing, oblivious to the splinters that pricked my palms. I tried to catch Polly’s eye as the group drew closer, but she passed in front of the house and veered straight toward the church like she was in a trance.

  A huge lump sprouted in my throat with such force I started to choke, bursting out into a violent cough.

  Bringing up the tail end of the congregation was the Stone family, their hands folded in prayer. Mr. Stone’s lips moved and his eyes were lifted toward the church. Mrs. Stone followed behind. When she saw me, her lips spread wide, reminding me of a demonic clown. Clearly, she preferred my hair lobbed off and dyed black.

  I felt sick.

  When Josiah saw me, his eyes widened and his lips formed a stunned O, then his expression fell into something akin to sadness. He didn’t wave or smile. His head toppled forward, like he couldn’t bear to hold it upright.

  With a dark, aching, sorrowful heart, I fell into step with the congregation and followed Edna to the top of the mountain.

  VOICES ECHOED OFF the walls of the church as congregants passed inside, the sound rising and falling in a vocal undulation that more resembled a Halloween haunting than a holy service. I did not know this song, but it was not lost on me that the adults seemed to, as if they had sung this hymn before.

  The candles’ flames flickered along the walls like grasping fingers, as if they were reaching for our souls. As the door closed with a definite and resolute click, I was overcome with the sudden urge to run, to flee for my safety, maybe even my life.

  As I took my seat, the singing ended with an abrupt halt, like the song died a sudden and instant death.

  The Lowe family moved to the front of the church with Mary held firmly between her parents. She shook so violently, the sound of teeth knocking against teeth ricocheted off the walls.

  “Brothers and sisters.” Charles’s voice was deep and booming in the stillness of the room. “The devil has entered our flock and threatened to steal one of our lambs.”

  Mary’s knees buckled but her parents prevented her fall with iron hands clasped around her thin arms.

  “It is time to expunge this evil from our midst.” Charles’s unblinking eyes reflected the red flames of the candles, making them glow like a serpent’s.

  Cries of Amen pierced the air.

  “Brother and Sister Lowe have seen this devil firsthand, have seen it extend its long grasp into their fold. Evil has latched onto one of their own, and we are here today to pull her back from the clutches of Hell, to purge her of her sins, to sever the devil’s steely grasp.”

  Amen…

  Amen.

  Amen!

  Charles lifted his hands, palms upward, and started to chant. His voice echoed through the air like a cold, creeping mist, hovering over them as if waiting to consume them alive.

  Betty Jean lumbered forward, taking her place close to the pulpit. She closed her eyes and raised her hands as she called the Holy Spirit to order.

  Mary sobbed. Tears flowed over Polly’s cheeks and suddenly over mine, too.

  Soon the Holy Spirit descended and overtook Betty Jean. Charles grew quiet, mouthing his chants while Betty Jean’s voice soared. Three men, the same as before, gathered nearby.

  Betty Jean stepped before Mary, her voice growing louder with each word. When she rested her hand on Mary’s forehead, Mary started to scream as if the palm was fire against her skin.

  Incomprehensible words tumbled out of Betty Jean’s mouth as Charles moved forward to rest a hand on her broad shoulder. Edna put a hand on Charles’s shoulder, mirroring his stance until the three stood in a connected row of vengeful holiness.

  With her screams coming to an abrupt halt, Mary’s head rolled bac
k, then to the side, her eyes showing nothing but white.

  Fear clutched my heart, for surely there was nothing holy about this ceremony. If anything, it was the purest evil I’d ever witnessed.

  If only that had been the end of the ceremony…if only…then it wouldn’t have been so bad.

  But that wasn’t the end.

  Releasing his hold on Betty Jean, Charles moved to the pulpit where he lifted the now-familiar black box from a nearby table. A hush descended upon the congregation. Mary appeared to have fainted, but when Charles opened the box and lifted a long, black snake out of its dark depths, she began to scream again. Charles lifted the serpent high above his head, allowing all congregants to see. It curled around his hand, its flat head and beady black eyes staring outward. Polly grabbed her younger siblings, shielding their faces against her stomach.

  “To each who has sinned, a judgment must come!” Charles bellowed as he held the snake over Mary’s head.

  She fought against her parents, thrashing, lashing to be released, but as Charles lowered the snake, weaving it around her shoulders, she froze, paralyzed, immobile.

  “Let God judge the sheep within his fold!”

  The snake slithered around Mary’s shoulders like a scarf come to life. Its head lifted, tongue splayed out toward the audience. It turned back, its eyes inches from Mary’s.

  The snake slid over her chest creating a black path along a white backdrop, its length easing around her shoulders until it created a moving circle.

  Then it started down her left arm but stopped and splayed its red tongue again. A soft hissing noise, a sound surely plucked from Hell itself, wafted through the room.

  Endless minutes passed, the congregation suspended in silence. No one moved. I doubted anyone was even breathing. I certainly wasn’t.

  Eventually, Charles eased the serpent off Mary and held it high.

  “Mark sixteen verse eighteen tells us, ‘They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’” He studied the snake for several moments.

  “The child is forgiven! God has forgiven this little lamb. He will strengthen her faith! She will walk in his lighted path!”