Angel

As the sun goes down, I rush around our small house, trying to finish my chores. We've only got four rooms, five if you count the bathroom. Mama's room, my room, a living room and a kitchen. That's it. I know a lot of people have a lot more than that, but this is all that we need and wishing for more would be wrong.

Mama spent all day with Agatha and Mary in the reclamation shed, sifting through donated items, looking for things we could keep. It's kind of a funny thing that I bet most people around here don't know. Most of what we have was given to us, not made here or bought with money.

The people who live nearby donate huge amounts of clothes to us, dropping them off at the main gate in plastic bags that they fling toward the posts before they leave. We retrieve the bags and bring them to the reclamation shed, then pull out the things that would be useful for us. Bedsheets, towels. Sometimes scarves or table cloths. Mostly, were looking for the large pieces of cloth that we can use to make our garments. And there's not a lot of those in what we are given. Maybe five or six pieces out of every hundred?

When we find those, they are set aside to be laundered and given to the aunties in the sewing shed. Everything else goes back in a bag and one of the Masters will take it to the Salvation Army or the other Christian mission or something back in town. I have never seen the town. I’ve seen other towns in movies, sometimes in pictures in magazines. We get picture books too, and the occasional scrapbook with snapshots from all over the world. These items are not supposed to be kept but if they are donated, sometimes we will indulge. Just for a moment. Then we send them back out.

I bet the people who donated all this have no idea their stuff ends up somewhere else. Sometimes I wonder if they shop at the thrift stores and end up buying some of it back.

The house smells good, like bleach and Pine-Sol. My hands are gritty from being submerged in the soapy water for so long, but I am pleased with what I've done. The floors are clean, and the windowsills are free of dust or cobwebs. I even washed the little window over the kitchen sink that looks out over the tiny, messy garden. The sweet peas need to be picked. I have to do that in the morning.

I hear Mama on the front steps, her boots hard on the wooden slats. She comes in the door with a weary look on her face, the back of her hand already rubbing the space between her eyebrows. I turn away automatically because I want her to catch me in the act of doing housework, not just standing around. Never that.

“Dinner is started,” I let her know, hoping she can smell the pot of stew bubbling on our small gas stove. She nods, smiling weakly. Her job isn’t really that hard. Mostly it's gossiping and plotting with the other aunties, but she acts like she's been digging ditches all day.

“Did you find anything good?”

“Almost nothing,” she sighs as she shuffles toward the kitchen. I see her eyes dart around, taking in the work I've done, but she doesn't say anything about it.

“You'd be shocked what people throw away. Shocked.”

“Well, they're not really throwing it away, are they? They're donating it to us?”

She looks at me back over her shoulder, pushing her braid to the other side. Her eyes narrow slightly as she considers it. I can tell that she was repeating a conversation the aunties must have had several times over the course of the day. It sounded rehearsed. They must have all been shocked at what got thrown away, maybe holding pieces up and laughing, maybe spinning tales about people who previously owned the things we have been given. And I guess I'm the first person today to disagree.

“Go ahead and eat,” I offer.

She pulls a bowl down from the shelf and sits at the table after ladling out a couple spoonfuls of stew. Through the steam, she tips her head and stares at me. I shift from foot to foot, plucking at the long skirts that brush around my ankles.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Oh, not today…” I shrug. “I had some tomatoes out of the garden earlier. Some porridge. Really, I'm stuffed.”

She tips her head forward, folding her hands over the wide metal spoon. Her lips move as she prays for an extraordinarily long time. I know she prayed this morning too. I could hear it when her knees hit the floor. But she just goes on and on. Why does she have so much to tell Him?

I hear people moving around outside and automatically glance over my shoulder. The procession has started. The sun isn't quite down yet, but people are gathering on our little dusty path, forming in small groups, exchanging excited snippets of conversation.

“You're not going out there,” Mama announces.

I cringe. I never should have looked at the procession. I never should have let her see what I wanted to do. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

“I just thought I'd walk along. Maybe find Tulip or Abbie and see how they were doing with their gardens, you know?”

“Don't you lie to me, girl,” she hisses, slurping back a mouthful of stew and pointing the spoon at me. The room is quickly becoming dark as the sun goes down, and I can't help it but feel like it's all becoming quite urgent.

“I'm not lying… well, I'm not trying to lie. Why would I lie about that? Everyone's allowed to go where they want, aren't we?”

She smirks triumphantly, as though I've admitted to something. “Yes, Angel, everyone's allowed to go where they will. But because you're not yet a woman, you're required to obey me.”

“I'm almost a woman,” I counter.

She shrugs and resumes eating.

“Almost is not the same as is,” she reminds me. “See, you get chosen for this ceremony, you don't get to insist. Father Daddy will decide when the time is right. It's as simple as that, Angel. You know that.”

I want to stretch. I want to hold my arms up or stomp my feet or something, but I know it won't do any good. It would only make this last longer. Mama has some say-so on when I'm chosen. She could delay the whole thing for another year she wants to, even though I'm older than most of the girls who have been through it.

Come to think of it, she must have asked somebody to leave me this way, to take care of the house and such for her. I’ll bet she told them she was ill or something.

Or maybe they just haven't gotten around to me. Maybe walking around without make up, dressed in what looks like a flour sack when it's hanging on the back of a door… maybe nobody noticed me at all.

Maybe they still think I'm seven or eight. Maybe when they look at all those other girls — those prettier, more outgoing girls with their wild hair, their curves blossoming so suddenly and drastically they practically burst out of their shifts like over-ripened fruit, spilling seeds from the top of the tree…. Maybe they have never seen me, at all.

I can't disobey her. She's right. It's against the rules and if she says I have to be here, that takes precedence over my right to wander around like any other Kingdom Come member.

“All right then,” I finally mumble and sit in a chair by the window. I pull my knitting out and start working on the blue scarf I've been messing around with for the last week. This way I'm working, even if I'm stealing a glance here and there at the people outside the window.

She eats noisily, banging her spoon against the bottom of the stoneware bowl to scrape up the last bits. When she's done, she gets up and shuffles over to the sink, washing the bowl and dropping it into the rack without saying anything. I can almost hear her thoughts bouncing around in her head and wonder what's going on in there. Is she thinking about conversations from today? Or is she thinking about the conversation we just had?

Then, strangely, she yawns hugely. Almost comically. When she comes back into the living room, she stretches out full-length on the sofa and folds her hands over her rib cage. Her eyes are closed almost immediately.

Her work they couldn't really have been that tough, could it?

That reminds me of a story that Abbie told me, of how her mom came home smelling of smoke and something sweet. A lot of the aunties brought in some bad habits from outside the compound, and Abbie was suspicious that sometimes the ladies got together and just did whatever they wanted. Gossiped, lied, drank alcohol or even worse. Alcohol is strictly forbidden here. Devil in a bottle, as Mama has told me several times.

And yet, she just started snoring.

The sun is down, and the crickets are loud and exuberant. The night is warm enough that everyone seems energetic. It would have been a good night for a bonfire. A good night for a dance, maybe, or one of those events where Father Daddy tells us Bible stories in his beautiful, haunting voice.

But the ceremony is all we have scheduled. It is literally the only thing happening in our compound tonight. Everyone is going except me.

And Mama, who seems to be snoring just to make the point that she doesn't care.

“Mama, are you sleeping?” I ask quietly.

She doesn’t answer, just continues to breathe. Deeper and deeper, a little slower each time. She's sinking into a comfortable darkness, letting herself succumb to her weariness. It must feel nice. But here I am, all nerves and energy.

I wish I could go out. A group of three girls in shifts has just hurried by, probably the last of everybody. Everybody's ready to go. Everybody's probably already at the barn already. Everybody but me.

“Mama?”

She continues snoring. The sound fills the room. The very clean room, which I was hoping she would have noticed.

“Mama, since I've done with everything… Would you mind if I go?”

She just snores some more. That's it.

Which means she didn't tell me not to go. She didn't answer me at all.

So without a direct order… I can go, can't I?

Before I have a lot more time to think about it and realize what kind of chance I'm taking, I drop my knitting back in the basket and stand. I'm through the front door in just three steps, silently closing it behind me.

Taking my skirts in my fist, I rush behind the group. I can only see them just barely, far up, with the light of torches bouncing back and forth like fireflies. They’re around the front of the ceremony barn now, gathered. Probably watching. Maybe hearing Father Daddy or Brother Owen make a speech. Sometimes they make speeches. Sometimes they call out words that just zing right through to the middle of my soul.

As I rush down the hard-packed trail, I see the other aunties from the reclamation shed. They don't see me. They're talking to each other, breaking into laughter every few seconds. I should probably avoid them, so I cut behind the back of the barn and around the far side. There's nobody over here, but there is also nothing to see. Everyone's on the other side of the barn and I won't be able to make my way to the entrance.

My heart sinks as I realize I missed my chance. And for what? Risking punishment to stand at the back of the barn and see nothing?

I'm about to give up what I notice an amber blade of light falling on the dark rushes in front of me. Carefully I edge up to it and notice a space between the boards of the barn. Light pours through it and I sneak up to the side, pressing my hands against the weathered boards, pushing forward.

My breath catches in my throat. I've never seen this before. No one is allowed to see this, actually. The ceremony has already begun. The barn door has already been closed. Through the gap in the boards, I see the interior of the barn, lit from the strings of lights across the rafters. Father Daddy and Brother Owen are on their thrones to the right side. Gina walks up slowly with four aunties surrounding her. She looks nervous. But then she also looks like the bossy brat I've known all my life.

But then one of the aunties takes her arm and whips the back of her dress up, twisting it into a cable that she uses to pin her arms behind her. Gina starts to look different.

My heart begins to race. What is this? What are they doing to her? I've never seen anything like this… is this the ceremony?

And yet, only Gina is afraid. Everyone else seems to know what's going on. It must be all right. Father Daddy and Brother Owen would never harm her. They must be teaching her a lesson.

I press forward further, pushing up on my toes to see more. Two of the aunties mount the platform where Father Daddy and Brother Owen are seated. They slide around behind them and stroke their shoulders, reaching to the front and untying their robes. Father Daddy's eyes sweep the room, and I hold my breath, almost positive he's going to be able to see me. He knows things. He can see right through you. So many times his eyes have almost found mine, but then skated right over me.

I want to him to see me so badly. He's the holiest man in the whole world. He knows everything. He's been given the divine light, and I ache for him to share it with me.

Father Daddy and Brother Owen stand at the same time. The aunties drag the robes off their shoulders, letting them fall to the floor. I almost cry out. There they stand, in all their glory. Both completely nude, muscles rippling, shining in the light.

Their eyes are intense, almost furious as they stare at Gina. The aunties push her forward, positioning her between them. One of the women reaches around to the front of Father Daddy and wraps her fingers around his manhood. I can't believe it. It's so big, thick like a whittled hickory branch. It curves upward, pale and solid as wood. He doesn't even seem to notice it. He's not even looking at it. Yet, it's almost the only thing I see.

I need to focus, to see through the crazy confusion. I want to memorize all of this. Gina stands between them, until someone tells her to get on her knees. She kneels in front of Brother Owen and then opens her mouth. Is she singing? Is she going to say something?

But no. She leaves her mouth open and Brother Owen leans forward, drawing his own manhood across her lips. I'm astounded. What is that supposed to do? Is it a blessing of some kind? I've seen the diagrams and books and I know that is definitely not an act of procreation. Is she supposed to taste him?

But I don't have any clues. And it's over. He backs away, holding his member in his hand. His eyes are dark as he scowls into the corner, wrapping his hand around his member and clenching his jaw. Is he in pain? Does it hurt when a man goes all wooden like that?

But the ceremony is still happening. The aunties lay Gina down in front of Father Daddy. They take her by her arms and legs, pulling her limbs into a star shape, as though they're going to pull her apart. But then they stop.

Father Daddy leans in front of her. His rod is glowing, thicker than it was before. Pink at the tip and sparkling. He kneels between her open knees, leaning forward with his weight on his hands. All of the muscles in his thick arms flex together. The aunties say something.

“Take this flower,” I hear them.

Take this flower? Take it where?

And then I see it. His manhood dives into her womanhood… her flower. Slowly it sinks into her, like a knife into bread. Like a dart into fruit. Something aches in the middle of me, like it probably aches in her. I almost feel it. I almost…

“Angel!”

I jump back, holding my hands up defensively. Mama rushes toward me, her hands out in front of her and curled into claws. She snatches me by my dress and my hair, yanking me away from the space in the barn boards.

“I told you!” she hisses, her voice trembling with rage but still quiet so that no one can hear her. She doesn't want anyone to know what I've done.

Dragging me back to the far side of the barn, she pauses at the last moment, grabbing a handful of willow saplings right out of the ground. She throws me against the barn and rips up the back of my dress. I feel the first lashes sting across my backside as she whips me three, four, five times, snarling furiously some words I can't even hear. I just grind my teeth together and try to hold completely still, trying not to make it any worse.

When she's exhausted herself, she shoves me away from the barn, back toward the dirt road. Without even looking to make sure she's following, I gather my skirts and run as fast as I can, back toward home, back into my room, and throw myself on my bed.