“Well, if you’d been paying attention like you ought to instead of leering at the husband of a Saint, then you’d know, wouldn’t you?” She replied tartly.
Rachel gasped. “She was raptured to the King?”
When one of the Elect was assumed bodily into heaven, they were said to have been ‘raptured’, a privilege reserved for the Saints. Rachel had never seen anyone raptured, though she had heard of it happening a few times each year within the Kingdom. Family members would appear on the Spider-screens in a matter of days giving testimony to what they had witnessed, proving once more that faith, obedience, and service would be rewarded. If the woman was speaking the accepted truth and not mere gossip, this meant Rachel knew someone who had attained Sainthood. Reflecting on what she knew of Mrs. Hale over the years, she would not have been the sort of person to become a Saint. Mrs. Hale was more of the same mold as Rachel, and Rachel knew she was well on her way to Heresy. She glanced at Mr. Hale once more. He did not seem pleased, rather he held himself with a quiet melancholy. Rachel suspected that being ‘raptured’ was a code for something else entirely.
Others were glaring at her for taking so long to donate to the fund. Sighing, she scanned her Safechip and tapped the wand once, then handed it off to the man to her left. He scowled at her and muttered, “Cheap.” Rachel ignored his insult, then turned her attention to listening to the words of the Devotion Leader.
“When we rob ourselves of what God has given us to manage on his behalf, and share it with those we have taken pity on,” he told the assembly as the pipe organ played a menacing tune in the background, “most often this wealth will go for some sinful purpose, such as drugs, alcohol, or deviant behaviors. What we are truly doing when we spread our hard-earned wealth to the less fortunate is enabling them to continue in their disdainful ways that led to their poverty. Such acts are akin to forcing the King to become a letch, a drunkard, an addict, a sinner, for through such acts do we encourage sinfulness. Our King, give us strength that we may hold firm in the correct way, by giving only to the sole one we can trust, who reigns in your name until your imminent arrival, and who will use these funds in a way befitting your holiness: our Profit. Amen.”
“Amen.” Rachel mumbled softly with the congregation.
“Now we take a few minutes for silent devotion.” the Devotion Leader instructed.
Everyone bowed their heads in unison, shut their eyes, and remained silent, concentrating intently on their innermost prayers. Rachel bowed her head, but kept her eyes open, looking around the gathering. Mrs. Hale often told her about others in the community, as she was well informed and seemed to know everyone she met.
Rachel spotted Philip Young, the ten-year-old son of the Devotion Leader. He stood with head bowed, eyes shut tight, fervently praying with all his might. His small hands gripped the Devotion Browser with such force she thought it might break. Along the boy’s hands and forearms were marks and bruises, as though a larger person had systematically burned him, then beat him. Some bruises were healing while others were fresh, indicating a pattern.
Wincing, Rachel looked away. She had always found such treatment of children to be repulsive, though the Divine Word sanctioned and encouraged it. If they weren’t disciplined regularly and ruthlessly, they would become spoiled, selfish, and disobedient. No one wanted a disobedient teenager. Once a child reached age thirteen, they were expected to behave like an adult, which meant perfect obedience to the law. A teenager who rebelled against his parents would inevitably rebel against the Profit, and as such was already a Heretic in his heart. By the law of the Divine Word, disobedient teenagers were to be executed, for evil could never be allowed to take root among the Elect. The method of execution was for the community to gather stones, drive the boy to the edge of the gated community, then pummel him to death as one community. Rebellious teens “disposed of” in this fashion were considered never to have lived, and were buried outside the Gates, in the mass graves of the Convicted. The parent who permitted their child to become rebellious was remiss in their duties and responsible for the resulting execution of their own flesh and blood.
Although everyone knew this was the law, there hadn’t been an execution of a disobedient teenager in many years. The statisticians claimed it was because there no longer were disobedient children in the Kingdom. Rachel wasn’t around teens enough to be able to discern if that were true. She knew this law was explained to all children repeatedly by the Spider-screens, and every year they were required to watch footage of the last disobedient teenager in the Kingdom being “disposed of” by his family, friends, and neighbors.
Sadly, Philip was just one of many children whose fathers disciplined them in this severe manner. If she and John Wright had had children, would he have disciplined them so harshly? Rachel knew he would have done so, and relished the proper execution of his duty to the Kingdom. Rachel once wished she had been able to bear a child, but now sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that she had not done so. She wondered what young Philip prayed for.
“Wives must submit to their husbands, as the one body of true believers submit to the King through the word of his Profit. Women must know their place, lest they undermine the sanctity of marriage and destroy their only chance for lasting happiness.” Rachel recited along with the other females of the congregation.
“Suffer not a woman to teach,” Leader Young read, “nor to usurp authority over man, but to be in silence.”
A low moan turned into a loud cry of pain. The organ music grinded to a halt and the devotion was temporarily interrupted by the outburst. Rachel tiptoed to see over the lady to her right. People in the pew across the aisle moved out of the way. A woman of about fourteen emerged from the pew, shaking; her face contorted with pain, her hands tightly clutching the wooden beam at the center of the walkway. She wore a red dress and a black bonnet. Sewn into her bodice was the letter “H”. She panted a bit to catch her breath. She doubled over and cried out, her hand grabbing at her swollen, pregnant belly.
The lady next to Rachel whispered to her, “That’s Miss Vesta Penn.”
Rachel had heard about her both from the Spider-screens and Mrs. Hale. Last year, the girl was walking home from a purity meeting, and decided to part ways with the other girls in her group. Alone, she took a short cut through an alley. She claimed she was raped by Mr. Simon Chaneph, a wealthy Corporate Executive, occasional Devotion Leader at the Kingdom Meeting House, and a man of impeccable moral reputation presumed to be among the Saints. Mr. Chaneph immediately confessed that he had sinned carnally with the then thirteen-year-old budding adolescent, but that she had seduced him, and he had given in to her desires in a moment of weakness. His wife had died just four months prior, and his flesh had become vulnerable to the designs of the immoral harlot. He made many public demonstrations of guilt, apology, and repentance. Miss Penn was put on trial for harlotry.
During the trial, the judge asked her, “Why did you not cry out when he raped you? You were within the city gates, and there would have been people to come to your aid.” Miss Penn responded that he held a knife to her throat and threatened to kill her if she made any noise, so she was quiet until he was finished with her. Mr. Chaneph denied the allegations and Vesta Penn was found guilty of Harlotry, an offense punishable by exile beyond the Pearly Gates.
To illustrate her sin and censure her, she was forced to wear the red dress and black bonnet, colors of the Adversary, and the letter “H” for Harlot. However, she was with child, and Mr. Chaneph demanded his rights as the father to raise the infant among the Elect. Vesta Penn would not be exiled until after the baby was born.
To further complicate matters, Miss Penn suffered from a heart condition that placed her life in jeopardy due to the pregnancy. Her family petitioned the court to permit an abortion to save her life, but the request was denied. The family was placed under suspicion and interrogated, their every move watched by agents of the Profit. It was an almost certainty that though the child may su
rvive, Miss Vesta Penn would not.
The young girl fell to her knees and wiped her sweaty brow, weeping. Rachel moved to the aisle to help her, but was cut off by Mr. Paul Hale. Mr. Hale gave her a pointed look and proceeded to help Miss Penn to stand. From the front pew strode a smiling Mr. Chaneph, accepting early congratulations on the birth of his child from the men of the congregation. Following along three paces behind Mr. Chaneph was his indentured servant, Mr. Grave, who because of his debts to the Corporation, was obliged to perform whatever service Mr. Chaneph required of him until his debt had been repaid. Mr. Chaneph insisted that Mr. Grave help Miss Penn, who, though upset by their mere presence, was in no condition to refuse aid from whatever quarter it was given. Both men escorted Miss Penn from the Meeting House.
“May God punish her for her sins.” the lady whispered to Rachel, sneering at Miss Penn as she moved past her. “Would serve her right if she died, tempting an honest man like that.”
“Indeed,” the man to Rachel’s left replied, “walking without an escort, she was asking for it.”
Inwardly, Rachel was sympathetic to the girl’s plight. She knew the girl’s only crime had been innocence. She felt a heavy spiritual burden fall upon her like a massive weight. Was she the only one who saw how immoral their treatment of Vesta Penn was? Were there others, afraid to speak out, but knowing this was wrong? Was it possible to somehow organize and-Rachel stopped herself from finishing the thought. Thinking of changing a perfect Kingdom was Heresy. And it was said that Heresy received the worst of all punishments.
VI.
The service had resumed as though nothing happened. Rachel muddled through the rest of the liturgy with the assembled mass, but with a heavy heart. Mrs. Hale, her only Devotion Day companion, was gone forever, and an innocent girl died that day who didn’t have to. Before departing that evening from services, the Devotion Leader happily announced her death, and the birth of a healthy baby girl named Tamar Chaneph. Consequently, the Kingdom Agents exiled Miss Penn’s remaining family beyond the Pearly Gates, advising them that they were fortunate not to be hauled in for the attempted murder of Tamar Chaneph. They left without a fuss.
Upon arriving home, Rachel changed into her nightgown, sat in front of the Spider-screen, and accessed the Web. Although it was getting late and she was emotionally exhausted, Rachel wanted to figure out a way to meet with Temperance again without suspicion.
“What can I find for you?” the Web Navigator inquired. The Navigator’s voice patterns were a facsimile of a human voice, indicating that there was no human being searching the Web on her behalf, but rather it was an automated service.
“I want information on the Vestal Order, please.” Rachel replied. The screen displayed millions of pages. She clarified, “The Vestal Order of my community.”
The Spider-screen displayed three pages, one of which was accessible with a Pass Code which only Perpetual Vestals possessed. The first page was an Encyclopedia entry, which Rachel glanced over. The second page was the official page of the local Order. There were pictures of girls, young women, and elderly widows engaged in hanging banners for Motivation Week, posters for Freedom Day (which occurred the day after Thankful Day), and distributing cookies to the Kingdom Youth. Temperance was in most of the pictures and appeared to be very active in the Order. She reportedly even gave the speech to the incoming recruits every Freedom Day.
Rachel knew she ought to be having doubts about Temperance’s sincerity towards her, given her high level of activity within the Order. But she didn’t. There was a distant look in Temperance’s eyes in each of the photos that convinced Rachel that Temperance wasn’t inwardly as devoted to the cause as she appeared to be. The calendar of events listed various functions that Temperance might, or might not, attend. Rachel sighed in frustration. Without knowing whether Temperance would attend, Rachel didn’t want to commit to any of the events.
“Do you wish to commit to an event?” The Web Navigator asked her.
“No,” Rachel replied, “I’d like to think about it first, then decide which would be the best to attend.”
“They are all the best.” The Web Navigator insisted in a flat monotone manner.
“That will be all for tonight.” She told the machine.
It turned the Web Navigator off, then resumed its regular incessant programming. Tonight, there was a documentary on about the leaders of the Glorious Revolution, Kingdom Heroes such as Mr. Gerald Autumngood, Mr. Patrick Swallowchild, and Mr. Jamison Dobbs. Rachel had seen and heard the documentary dozens of times, and had no interest in watching it again. If only there were options.
Rachel went to bed, blocking out the documentary and trying not to dwell on Miss Vesta Penn, Philip Young, or the exiled Penn family. She practiced breathing in a soothing, rhythmic pattern to relax. She tried to picture her father’s face in her mind, and his expression of love for her. Finally, she drifted off to sleep.
She was perhaps six years old. She had to complete an assignment for school, that involved the stars in the night sky. Her father took her to the roof top of their two-story home in the city. They used binoculars to more closely look at the heavens above.
Her memory of the night sky couldn’t have been right, though. It was a deep, dark blue; so dark it bordered on black. Her father told her that the sky was even darker, the stars brighter, further away from the city lights. God had scorched the skies due to man’s disobedience to the Profit and the Divine Word. Since then, the night sky was a blanket of deep purple and gray. But when had God scorched the heavens? Perhaps that hadn’t happened yet when Rachel was a child.
“Daddy,” little Rachel had asked in the dream, “where’s Polaris?”
“Do you see the Little Bear, Ursa Minor?” he asked, pointing to it. “Polaris is the brightest star in Ursa Minor. It’s also called the “North Star”, because it’s close to the North Pole. If you’re ever lost at night, you can look at Polaris, and know where north is.”
“Daddy, it’s right next to that Big Dipper!” she said, excitedly. “Is the Big Dipper used to pour out the rain?”
He laughed. “No, honey, those are stars, and they are very, very far away from us here on earth. It’s not a real dipper, like the soup ladle your mother uses. The stars just form a pattern that looks like a Big Dipper to us here below.”
Her mother stuck her head out the window and called out to them. “Hey, what are you doing up there? Joshua! I can’t believe you took our baby up there on the roof! That’s so dangerous.”
“We’re in trouble.” he whispered to Rachel.
“Joshua, are you listening to me? You bring my baby back to safety this instant!” She insisted. “And dinner’s ready.”
“Coming.” he replied. “And it’s not that dangerous. The slope is negligible.”
Her mother steamed, “At any moment, you could both topple off the roof and break something, or God forbid, put your eyes out with the binoculars!”
When it came time to climb back down the trellis, Rachel was afraid.
Her mother’s dire warnings had sunk in. They were at a high place, and harm could come to them if they weren’t careful. Her father put her on his back and carried her down. Rachel’s tiny hand curled around his hair. She never felt safer than when she was being carried by Daddy. His words calmed and reassured her as they descended to the ground.
At work, Rachel tried to hang on to that sense of security she had felt in her dream. Had that been normal back then? It certainly wasn’t a normal feeling now. The Kingdom was continuously under threat of attack by its enemies. The Kingdom Soldiers and spies tirelessly worked to disrupt their supply of credits, new recruits, and weapons. But, even as a group was thwarted and dismantled, a new terror group rose to replace it. Most of the time, the destruction happened in foreign lands involving those interests vital to the Kingdom abroad. At times, the terrorists were lucky, and managed to wreak havoc inside the Kingdom. This was the case in 9-11, the Bowling Green Massacre, the Mass Destruc
tion of 2017, Freedom Day 2018, and most recently, the incident known as “Megiddo” in Ground Zero Purgatory that led to John Wright’s untimely death.
The officials never explained to Rachel what circumstances led to her husband’s death. They wouldn’t answer her questions due to “Kingdom Security Protocols”. What had John Wright been doing in Purgatory that day? It was a question she long wanted an answer to, but had failed to get one.
“Mrs. John Wright?” a male voice asked, tapping with his knuckles lightly on the wall of her cubicle.
Startled, Rachel gasped. It was Mr. Christian, the attractive gentleman from the shop. She smiled and laughed nervously. “Sorry, Mr. Christian, I was just thinking.” She glanced at the screen. “About my next toil project, of course, and how best to serve the King.”
He grinned, entering her cubicle. He whispered, “I’m not a spy. Everyone here seems to think so, but I’m just a normal person, just like yourself.”
Rachel didn’t really believe him, but it didn’t matter. “So,” she asked, “what did you need, Mr. Christian?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I was sent to tell you that Mr. Hale wants to have a word with you in his office.”
“Alright.” she replied. “Thank you for passing that along.”
Once he had left, she went to Mr. Hale’s office. Mr. Hale helped her get her job with the DOC after John Wright’s death. He was Director of Weaver Operations, which was a fancy way of saying he was her boss’s boss. Although his wife, Mrs. Hale, had been fond of Rachel, Mr. Hale rarely spoke to her. Rachel was worried about what the meeting might be about. Was she not productive enough? Was she in danger of losing her job? Without an income, she would be forced to either wed or commit a desperate act that would place her outside the Pearly Gates.
Mr. Hale’s office was large, windowless, dimly lit, and kept at a cool temperature. He silently closed the door behind her and motioned for her to sit in the rose-colored chair across the desk. He picked up a remote control and pressed a button. To Rachel’s astonishment, the Spider-screen went dark and silent. She blinked a few times in disbelief. Mr. Hale sat the remote down on the desk, leaned back in his office chair, and placed the tips of his fingers together as he watched her reaction. She composed herself and folded her hands in her lap.
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