The Crystal Fishbowl

By Wendy MacGown

Anna Westover had no idea at seventeen, still grief-stricken from the loss of her grandmother, and back living with her horrible family, that Victor Spofford, a young charismatic Baptist preacher, would be the wrong choice, the worst choice. On her grandmothers insistence shed refused to even date the boy shed always loved, simply because he wasnt Baptist.

Annas wedding was a dream; her new life in western Massachusetts a wondrous challengeuntil mysterious letters began to arrive. Then Victor changed . . . or was it that he finally revealed his true nature? No one would believe that he abused her. He never hitat least not intentionally. And as the preachers wife, she could confide in no one.

To others, he was gorgeous, enlightened and dynamic. He knew the perfect words to give comfort or guidance. He brought scores of sinners to the Lord with his woeful childhood tales. Who was she but his meek wife, lovely yet subdued, who sat in her accustomed front-row pew each Sunday morning, gazing up at him in adoration?

He was always sorry later: crying, begging forgiveness. And she wanted to believe him. He was so pitiful in his sorrow. But after he lost his job and they returned to New Hampshire, her hopes are firmly and completely crushed when another letter arrives, and she uncovers his lies. Desperate for comfort, she turns to another man. Then the violence escalates and she must take a stand.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 29, 2007
• ISBN: 9781467827645

Wendy MacGown

Wendy MacGown’s high tech career provides excellent fodder for her fertile imagination. Though technical writing is her profession, fiction is her passion. She calls herself a writer, and is as comfortable ghost writing technical manuals for engineers, as she is crafting complex tales for the mass market. While MacGown’s first two novels, “Little Sister,” and its sequel “Big Sister,” deal with the complexities of adoption, “The Crystal Fishbowl,” depicts domestic violence within the Baptist community of the northeast. In this novel, MacGown draws on her childhood experience of growing up Baptist. Both “Little Sister” and “The Crystal Fishbowl” won honorable mention at the Arizona Author’s Association’s 2005 Literary Contest. “Little Sister” was also a finalist for ForWord Magazine’s 2006 Book of the Year contest. MacGown lives with her two daughters on Boston’s North Shore.

Book preview

© 2007 Wendy MacGown. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 10/24/2007

ISBN: 978-1-4343-3522-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-2764-5 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2007907035

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

For Peter

Prologue

Book One

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Book Two

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Book Three

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

About the Author

For Peter

Prologue

Center Harbor, at a northwest corner of Lake Winnipesauke, was where tourists and locals stocked up on weekend supplies, lingered in the E. M. Heath Grocery Store, a relic of the past, and did their laundry. Like most of New Hampshire’s Lakes Region, Center Harbor offered accommodations ranging from up-scale hotels to tent campgrounds. In the old days, it was a landing place for lake steamers and stagecoaches, making it a popular summer resort. It was also the winter home of the paddle steamer, M/S Mount Washington, the largest boat on the lake. The Native American name Winnipesauke meant smile of the Great Spirit or beautiful water in a high place, depending on whom you asked.

The town population quadrupled in the summer; yet in early June, before schools let out and Memorial Day signaled the migration of boats from barns and sheds into the water, it bustled with Saturday morning traffic.

Anna Westover, her smooth red hair caught up in a ponytail, parallel parked in the only space she could find in front of the brick medical building halfway to the docks. It was an unseasonably warm day. She’d had to scrounge in her closet for shorts and a top, and most that she’d found were way too small. She’d grown a lot in the last year, and not just up.

She reached across the front seat of the old gray Buick and touched her grandmother, who was snoring softly, her chin bobbing against her meager chest, looking frail and old. Over the past month, Granny had been failing steadily: spending more time in the bathroom, falling from dizzy spells, and gritting her teeth against pain when she thought she wasn’t looking. It was only five miles from her camp to Center Harbor, and she couldn’t stay awake. A few months ago, Granny would have been the one driving.

Good thing she’d earned her license last month when she turned sixteen.

Granny, we’re here, she said softly; and then louder, Granny, it’s time to wake up. We’re at the doctor’s office. You don’t want to miss your appointment.

Granny’s chin came up and she looked around as if scoping the best pew in church. If Anna hadn’t witnessed her decline, she’d say the sweet old thing was raring to go, her short gray hair as thick as ever, every item on her spare frame pressed or polished, making her look like a model in one of those senior’s clothing catalogs.

I’m with you, dear, Granny said, and winked. Just a little tired, that’s all. Had trouble sleeping again last night. Her expression was sheepish as she looked away.

What aren’t you saying? Anna asked for the fourth time since breakfast. Granny was great at helping other people—she ought to know—but when it came to herself, she kept to herself.

Like it matters at this point, Granny said with a tight laugh. All in good time, Anna my love. All in good time. No need putting frown lines on your pretty forehead at this point.

Oh, Granny, Anna said with a long sigh. That Granny was seeing the doctor for the second time in a week was a bad sign.

They opened their doors at the same time, but Anna slammed hers, sprinted around the front and grabbed Granny’s arm just as she was about to topple, her knees giving way. She caught her purse as it slid off her shoulder; but not before a comb and a packet of tissues spilled out onto the sidewalk.

A regular circus performer, I am these days, Granny said with a soft chuckle. Anna bent to retrieve the items, and shut the door in the same breath. We ought to charge admission. Granny grabbed her hand. Maybe I can stand on my head and juggle at the same time.

Granny! Anna laughed, though she wanted howl with rage at the unfairness of it. After four peaceful years of living with her grandmother, she should be grateful for the time she’d had. But moving back with her mother and stepfather would be like descending into hell—and she’d be losing the person she loved most in all the world.

Granny gripped her hand tightly as they climbed the steps and went inside, then shrugged her off at the door and headed toward the reception desk with all the grace and strength she could muster; Anna trailing behind. Mrs. Winter, sitting behind the desk, glanced up briefly, then grabbed a phone that was ringing. She had short, stylish brown hair and no makeup except a gash of bright lipstick across her mouth. She’d worn the same color, cherry delight, since she was eighteen years old. She’d worked for the practice for years, long after her kids were grown and gone, creating a haven for the hundreds of patients served by Doctors O’Malley, Mason and Stevens.

While they waited for her to finish, Granny gripping the edge of the desk as if her life depended on it, Anna glanced at the other two patients in the waiting room. They didn’t look up.

Mr. Goff, a thirtyish man with three small kids, owned a thriving florist shop with his wife, Georgia, who had a passion for ferns. With a bald spot and a slight paunch, he sat, elbows on knees, with his hands clasped between them, looking sad—probably expecting bad news.

Miss Fletcher, the other patient, a plump, good-natured kindergarten teacher at the regional school in Meredith, lived in town in one of those affordable condos. She was reading a romance novel, and smiling dreamily.

Hello, Joyce, Granny said to Mrs. Winter when she hung up the phone. Much of a wait today?

Good to see you, Agnes, Mrs. Winter said with a slight nod. She scanned Granny with a practiced eye. Doctor O’Malley’s running about a half-hour late—not too bad. Would you like a cup of tea? I have some cinnamon scones, too, though they don’t compare with Anna’s. She grinned at Anna, and Anna smiled back. You’re getting taller every day, girl, and pretty, too. The boys must be swarming around you. She smirked, looking pointedly at Granny. Course your grandmother must be having ten fits—what with her plans for you.

Anna looked at the floor, mortified. Did everyone know about Granny’s plans?

Okay, Joyce, Granny said with a laugh. How about that tea you so graciously offered; and don’t mind if I do about a scone. She laid a hand on Anna’s arm. You run along dear, about forty-five minutes aught to do it. I’ll be waiting."

Anna turned back as she was about to pass though the door, and in that moment caught a look between Granny and Mrs. Winter. She managed to read Mrs. Winter’s lips. Getting worse? she’d asked, and then nodded sadly. There was sympathy in her expression and resignation.

So it was true. Granny was going to die.

She sprinted out the door, wanting to cry. But crying would do no good. She’d learned that the hard way, living with her mother. And tears wouldn’t put food in the empty refrigerator or cupboards. She had to face it eventually. By next year at this time, she’d be in Concord . . . and Granny . . . she didn’t want to think about that. Granny had always been there for her. So every moment for the rest of Granny’s life, she’d be by her side.

Traffic was moderately heavy, with horn blaring and pedestrians, many of whom she knew, passing down both sides of the street. It was only ten. By three or four in the afternoon, everything would be closed.

Her breath caught as she moved past Granny’s car. Was that Jason Marcos heading toward her on the opposite sidewalk, past the hardware store? He was moving quickly, the lean, tanned muscles of his arms and legs flexing a red t-shirt and blue jean cut-offs. He was of Greek heritage, his angular face more interesting than handsome.

She looked closer. It was Jason. She’d had a crush on him for as long as she could remember. Two years older, he was the twin brother of Mia Marcos, a good friend and the senior class president. Jason was no slouch when it came to sports, but academics were not his forte. He worked with his dad in the family construction business.

Anna, he said, smiling as he strode toward her crossing the street. He took her hands, grinning as if he hadn’t seen her a few days ago in school.

Hi Jason, she said, clasping his hands and then dropping them, trying to act nonchalant. It wasn’t easy. Last year, she would have talked his ears off, but something had changed between them.

Where you heading? he asked, moving along with her past a pet store and a filling station.

Grocery shopping, she said. Granny’s at the doctors. She shot him a significant look.

Is she okay? he asked, his eyes narrowing.

She shook her head, and winced.

Are you okay? he asked, then stopped her with a hand, and spun her around beneath the shade of a massive oak, his other hand on her waist.

Yes, I’m fine, she said, smiling into his eyes, wanting to stay in the shade with him forever. Her breath was coming fast. He moved closer, and brushed her hair back with his hand, his gaze taking in the blush that had to be spreading up her face. She couldn’t help it, not with her coloring. But somehow, she didn’t care. She sighed softly as he moved even closer, looking ready to kiss her.

Jason! Anna! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Jason. They stepped away from each other as Mia ran toward them, her legs and feet flailing out as she tried to sprint. She’d never been much of a runner.

Anna, I can’t believe you’re here, she cried. She took Anna’s hands just like her brother had done, then pulled her into her arms. Are you coming tonight? she asked, holding her away, her face bright with excitement. Like Anna, she wore faded shorts, a bright halter-top and worn flip-flops. She had black curly hair, like her brother, and his bright blue eyes.

Why? What’s going on? Anna asked, looking from one to the other.

Jason, looking bemused, stood with his arms folded across his chest. There’s a party at the Smith’s tonight, he said. Warren’s expecting just about everyone. It’s probably the last time we’ll get together before finals.

Anna smiled, thinking of Warren Smith, the class clown, who was always joking about something. Center Harbor’s winter population was so small that until a few years ago, they’d all gone to the same one-room school house. Though Warren would graduate with Jason and Mia, he was just one of the kids in town.

I’d love to go, she said, forgetting for a moment her evening responsibilities. Then Granny came to mind. How could she possibly leave her alone, even for a few hours? But I’m not sure if I can, she added, looking to left at Mia’s face.

You’ve got to come, Mia said with a pout. We hardly see you anymore.

They’ll be a band and tons of food, Jason added quickly. He slung an arm around his sister’s shoulders. Mom’s making a huge pan of spinach pie, and other things, too. She’s been cooking all week.

Anna’s mouth watered. His mother made fabulous Greek food in huge quantities and delighted in urging her to eat, claiming she was too skinny. I’ll try, she said, then glanced at her watch. I’ve got to run. Twenty minutes had already passed.

See you tonight, they called out as she sprinted away. She waved at them over her shoulder.

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Early that evening, after she’d helped Granny to bed for a nap, stowed the groceries, and prepared a light supper, she was about to call Granny to the table when the telephone rang. She set down the pot holders she’d used to remove the baked chicken from the ancient gas oven and went to the phone.

Hello? she said tiredly, looking across the wood-paneled kitchen to the living room area beyond, with its upholstered sofa and brick-fronted fireplace, cataloging her remaining chores.

Anna, it’s Jason. Aren’t you coming? Everyone’s here. His gravely voice was breathless. He sounded slightly exasperated.

She pushed at the pain between her eyes with two fingers. I can’t go, she said. I’m sorry.

Why not? he asked.

My grandmother’s not feeling well. I don’t dare leave her right now. She closed her eyes. She was being a coward.

What’s wrong? he asked. Did you find out?

She’s not telling, she said, and crossed her fingers. On the way home Granny had gone into excruciating detail about her condition, down to her funeral arrangements. She just couldn’t talk about it. Not right now, anyway.

I’m sorry, he said, maybe some other time.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. The pause was awkward, as least for her. She had to say something. She had to end this before it began.

How about next week? he asked. Maybe we can see a movie, or go for an ice cream or something.

I’m so sorry, Jason, but I can’t, she said, thinking of the gentle lecture her grandmother had given her on the ride home. There was no one on earth she trusted more than Granny.

You can’t? He sounded baffled. I’ve known you most of my life. You aren’t serious.

Her heart pounded. Granny had made her plan sound so reasonable over the years; but she hadn’t counted on love. And it had to be love because her heart was breaking. I can’t date someone who isn’t Baptist, she said, wanting to cry. Granny won’t allow it.

You mean her plan that you marry a preacher? he asked. I thought that was a joke.

It’s no joke, she said, wanting to hurl the phone against the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied her grandmother coming out of her room. She wasn’t limping. Her eyes were bright. She was gesturing for her to hang up.

I’ve got to go, she said. Granny’s calling me.

I’ll see you around then, he said, sounding determined. I thought you liked me, he added softly. I thought we could have something, you and me.

I . . . I do like you, she whispered, glancing at Granny, who was tapping her foot in annoyance, a slight smile on her lips. Just not like that.

Her hands were trembling when she hung up the phone. She’d done the right thing, hadn’t she? Then why did she feel like she wanted to curl up and die?

Supper’s ready, she said, tears filling her eyes. She couldn’t even look in Granny’s direction.

Granny’s hand came down on her shoulder. The right one will come along, she said softly. You’re still very young, my dear; and you know it’s for the best.

Anna covered her gnarled hand with her own, trying to be grateful for her guidance.

Book One

Service of Saints

1971 - 1973

Chapter 1

The air was crisp and cold. Stars twinkled in the moonlit sky. The earth, frosted clean and smooth with white, rose majestic toward craggy mountain peaks. Beneath them spilled the undulating backdrop of the lesser hills, where a stream of busses filled with fervent teens lumbered up the snow-clad road. In the evening stillness, one could almost hear them sing their hymns of joyful gladness, the journey almost done.

They came from all over the northeast, eager for winter sport and the word of the Lord. For most, it was not so much the draw of fellowship, but the freedom from parental censure. They were bound for Snow Camp, tucked deep in the foothills of the Adirondacks, where sin and salvation would be carefully explained to those trembling souls who yearned to believe.

In single file they came, each bus chugging to a halt in a barely plowed lot. Pure and deep, freshly fallen snow shrouded the spot lit cluster of buildings where lights glittered from welcoming windows. To the left of a clearing were two white buildings, a sprawling one-story with immense windows, and further back, a three-story Victorian, complete with a pair of crenellated towers. To the right of the clearing was a nondescript gray building that was longer than the other two buildings combined. Forming a U at the far end of the clearing was a second gray building, as immense as the other. Wide paths, made by the previous week’s campers, crisscrossed the clearing.

It was late, well past ten. Several busses had already arrived, with more coming. Campers and counselors spilled out onto the lot, their coats of winter hues: bright blues, greens, reds and sporty stripes. They toted suitcases or duffels, along with skis, skates, and even a few sleds. They laughed and shouted, forming tight groups, greeting old friends as they gathered their belongings and headed toward the buildings.

Heads turned as a slender red haired girl paused at the top step of a newly arrived bus. Her face was painfully lovely, as if sculpted by an unworldly master. Even in bulky winter clothes, her shape was discernibly female. Her cheeks were flushed; her gray eyes sparkled with excitement. She looked around in amazement. More than a few admirers swallowed heavily or caught their breath, unable to look away. She wore a lavender ski jacket, with hat, gloves, scarf and pants in a lighter hue, looking as if she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. Some whispered, noting the writing on the side of her bus—Calvary Baptist Church, Concord, New Hampshire. She seemed oblivious to the attention.

Snow Camp, Anna whispered, ignoring the stares and the frozen way people acted around her, as if she were someone special. It didn’t matter how she looked, or at least she hoped it didn’t. Just for the weekend, she wanted to be treated like a regular kid just out for some fun. Finally, she could be herself—not Maryjean’s daughter or April’s sister—just another regular ordinary kid.

She winced as a snowball smacked the side of her bus.

Move, Westover! shouted one of the boys in line behind her.

Sorry, she called back, and then leaped down the steps. But not before she caught a glimpse of Todd Heath’s angry red face over her shoulder. He was a freshman, and had a crush on her—lots of boys did—not that she cared. They were mere children, protected by doting parents. None of them could even imagine what she’d been though.

She searched the milling crowd for her best friend, Karen, who had shoved ahead of her in line. The dry, cold air stung her nostrils; and she was grateful for the new clothes her mother had purchased—though they were more the result of Maryjean’s fear of what others might think than motherly concern.

She waved to her brother, Rob, who appeared suddenly in a break in the crowd. His face was aglow; he looked like someone’s beloved son. The smile froze on her face. Would he even acknowledge her? That morning in the car, they’d suffered Maryjean’s tirade in silence, looking out the window or straight ahead—not at each other, avoiding her slap. How different from when they were small, when they’d lived at the lake with Granny, before Maryjean had remarried. Rob had been her buddy then, her constant companion. Their stepfather, Henry, had changed everything.

She watched as he met up with friends, a rowdy bunch who’d owned the back of the bus the entire trip. When he waved back, she couldn’t help but gape; then closed her mouth, feeling like a fool. He grinned, making her insides ache; and she searched the hard planes of his maturing face for the little boy who’d followed her on the shores of the lake. It was a face much like her own, but a masculine version, like Daddy’s. A strand of dark red hair escaped his Icelandic hat. When he turned away, she did too, aching for what they’d lost.

After Henry came, things had changed; and then all of a sudden, Maryjean had shipped her back to Granny; with Rob and their half sister, April no longer part of her life. She sighed, her thoughts turning to that horrible night, picturing Rob’s small worried face peering around the corner. She’d been twelve and he’d been ten. Did he still blame her for Henry’s lechery? Had he even understood what had happened? If only he’d gone with her to Granny’s camp.

Come on! Karen shouted, startling her. She was behind the bus, standing impossibly close to Jeff Baker, a boy from their church. He and another boy were unloading bags, luggage and an assortment of crates. Smiling, she headed toward them, her cares evaporating. Rob wouldn’t be worrying about her.

What’s the hurry? she asked, coming up beside Karen. No one’s going to sleep for a while yet. She flashed Jeff a tight smile. At sixteen, he was tall, meaty and already played varsity football. He was a little scary.

None at all, Karen said with a laugh, then dove between the boys, swinging her shapely rump as she reached for her duffle. Just wanted to make sure you were around. Her smile was brilliant as she emerged.

Watch out, Jeff said, backing away in obvious annoyance. He raked a hand through his sandy hair, his gaze returning to Anna.

Thanks, dear, Karen said huskily, squinting up at him from her five-foot vantage. I appreciate your concern. She flipped her thick, honey-brown hair away from her face, though it didn’t matter. His attention was riveted on Anna.

Karen sent her a sharp look.

Anna looked at her feet, trying to hide her irritation. It was already beginning, this unfathomable envy that Karen brought to their friendship; as if she could control how people reacted to her. It wasn’t fair, especially when she only wanted to be left alone. She rolled her eyes, trying to appear nonchalant as she took her duffle from Jeff, playing a little tug-of-war game with him until he relented. His face burned as she thanked him softly.

Any time, Anna, he said, looking dazed.

She moved away, wishing he’d shoot his stupid looks in Karen’s direction. They were perfect for each other—focused on themselves.

Cut it out, Karen said as she pulled Anna away.

What? Anna said, warmth spreading across her cheeks. I didn’t do anything, Karen. I can’t help how he looks at me. It’s not my fault. She folded her arms across her chest, her breath coming fast. This is supposed to be a fun weekend. Please don’t start.

Don’t play dumb, Karen said, her eyes cold. She whacked her playfully on the shoulder. If you don’t want him, Anna, at least point him in my direction.

I tried, Anna said with a heavy sigh, knowing her protest was futile. She shifted her bag to the other hand. Typically manipulative and frequently vindictive, Karen Wilcox no longer resembled the sweet little girl she’d left behind when they were twelve. She bit her lip, wondering how to pacify her this time. Without her, she’d have no friends. Concord High was a noisy, sprawling school, where kids drank wine from lockers, draft-evading teachers claimed to be one’s friend and cliques formed in fifth grade were impenetrable.

Forcing a smile, she kept pace with Karen as they ran behind Shirley Noyes, one of their counselors, toward the nearest gray building. Warm air blasted as she stepped inside. She looked around in shock. The place was cavernous and barracks like, with row upon row of two-tier metal bunks. She wanted to gag at the smell of mold and mildew leaching through a recent application of cheap detergent. It was like a prison ward, a bad dream, and not the cozy mountain cabin she had imagined.

E-ew! Karen cried. She dropped her bag on the floor. This place sucks!

Karen, Anna warned, glancing at Shirley as she stifled a giggle. They’d just arrived, and Karen was already using foul language. They’d be in trouble for sure.

I . . . I need to find out . . .. Shirley looked around in confusion. She shot Karen a strange, crumpled look, then ran toward a cluster of clipboard-toting counselors assembling at the far end of the room.

The poor thing didn’t know what to do, Anna said, gazing after Shirley with sympathy. It was easy to like the dark-haired woman. However, like all the other well-meaning adults who felt called to mission to teens, Shirley would soon fade into the anonymous swirl of the past.

She’s a pushover, Karen said, her eyes brimming with mischief.

Anna sucked in her breath, thinking of the time Karen had launched paper airplanes from the balcony during evening church service. She could still see Maryjean coming at her with fury in her eyes. Her arms had been black and blue for weeks.

No bad reports back to the parents, she said, careful to sound neutral. She watched Karen out of the corner of her eye as she stepped aside, letting a couple of girls pass by.

She’s picked her bed, Karen whispered, pulling her arm. Come on. Let’s bunk nearby.

Beside those windows, Anna said, pointing to the bunk next to where Shirley sat engrossed in a stack of papers.

All of a sudden, girls poured into the room, talking and laughing as they staked their claim on bunks. Excited voices reverberated off the room’s shell-thin walls. A line was forming at the entrance to what looked like a small bathroom.

Let’s go, Karen said. She pulled on her arm.

Anna sprinted with her ahead of another throng of girls who were running in the same direction. She reached the bunk first and threw down her bags, as Karen claimed the bunk on top.

I need the ladies room, Karen said, squirming, her face flushed. She looked at Anna expectantly. Right away.

Anna took a step back as Maryjean’s face came to mind, an order just flipped off tip of her tongue, waiting for her to catch. She stared at Karen wondering why she was so eager to obey this girl, her supposed best friend, who didn’t really care about her at all. She crumbled inside, feeling sick and panicky. She was tired of always having to decide when to be strong, when to obey and never getting it right. A cacophony of voices roared in her ears. She wanted to claw at them, to make the sound go away.

She scanned the bathroom’s growing line, vomit rising in her throat. She didn’t need to use the bathroom, and couldn’t imagine waiting with Karen, pretending a lightness that was miles from what she felt.

You go ahead, she said, and pressed her hand to her mouth, praying she wouldn’t embarrass herself. Please, she said, seeing Karen’s closed-in look. I need to go outside and get some air. Do you want to come? she asked, hearing the sickening whine in her voice.

No, Karen said, looking irritated. I want you to come with me. Now.

It was an order. It hung between them like the noxious odor wafting up from the floor.

I’ll see you, then, Anna said, wanting to cry, as Karen marched over to the bathroom without a backward glance, then joined a laughing discussion. Popular and daring, she led their clique at school.

Anna sighed, already regretting her refusal. Isolation blanketed her as she looked around at the other girls. No one looked as miserable as she felt. Her stomach lurched and she scrambled for the door.

Outside, the cold night air washed over her, bringing immediate relief. She shoved her hands into deep pockets, and strode away from the lights and noise. At the edge of the parking lot, she headed down a poorly shoveled trail.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the moon’s wan light. Pines stretched out on either side of her. She reached wide with both gloved hands, unable to touch them. Her boots scrunched through the snow, its thin top crust giving way to six inches of puffy, dense white. The wind was at her back.

Taking long, deep breaths, she crossed a small skating pond, which lay cold and black beneath a skim-coat of snow. She slipped twice before stepping back onto solid snow-clad earth and laughed at her clumsiness. A large building loomed ahead, a gymnasium or a barn. Small lights hung from its front and sides, setting it apart from the surrounding snow, apart from the other buildings, a sad and empty place.

Just like her, she mused—though for her it was only a temporary condition. Someday she’d be part of something wonderful, a mission perhaps, adored by the laity and cherished by her husband.

Her heart lightened as she reached down and scooped up puffy white snow in both hands. It fell apart like dust, too crystalline to form into a ball. She laughed as it blew from her hands, a mini-blizzard in the stiff frigid wind.

Someday starts right now, she said with a laugh. She had a whole weekend to enjoy, despite Karen’s censure. Smiling, she headed down another, broader path that circled past a small maintenance shed, and back to the parking lot. Now walking into the wind, she bent her head against the biting cold.

It’s the rules, guys, a deep male voice said as she approached. She slid behind a pine tree and, peering around it, spied a group of men gathered beside a bus. The speaker was tall, muscular and in his twenties. His voice sounded familiar. She tried to look more closely, but his face was turned away. Something in his tone gave her pause. Secrets were being revealed—adult secrets. She’d kept many of those over the past few years.

Yeah, but no one told us, said a huge man dressed in hunting gear. It was Dave Noyes, Shirley’s husband. Broad-bearded and burly, he kicked at the dirty icicles that dripped behind the bus’s chain-wrapped tires. There were six other men, not counting the leader, grumbling in agreement, stomping their feet like restive horses in the cold night air, bags and suitcases piled in a heap beside them.

She hunched down, making herself as small as possible.

Hey, guys, think about your service to the Lord this weekend, the leader said. What kind of example are you setting? Just because you can’t sleep with your wives?

Easy for you to say, one of the men said with a chuckle. A few of the others echoed him.

It was about sex, something she’d rather not think about. It was for grownups—a disgusting act that women had to endure—though her mother seemed to like it well enough. She shuddered, picturing her mother and Henry kissing. They didn’t any more, thank goodness; but when she’d been five, she’d seen them going at it more than once. She shuddered, thinking of Henry’s pale blue eyes, and the way he liked to sneak into her room not long after he’d started seeing her mother. She shoved the memory away, and focused instead on the men in the lot. Someday, she’d marry a preacher who’d be kind and gentle—not a creep like Henry.

Come on, guys, we’re here for the kids, the leader said. "Isn’t saving one soul worth the sacrifice? We’ve got to keep the boys away from the girls;