Leaving Fishers

  “What are you talking about?” Angela asked.

  “In the hospital—when my brother was dying—” Moira spoke in spurts, barely coherent. “I ran out of his room—I yelled at God—‘I hate you! I hate you!’ It was sin, the worst sin of all—”

  “Moira, Moira.” Pastor Jim spoke from the back of the room, his voice resounding with empathy. “Don’t you know that when you accept Jesus, all your sins are washed clean? Then you are clean enough to live with God forever, to be worthy of His love. Is that what you want, to accept Jesus’ sacrifice and be saved for all eternity?”

  “Oh, yes,” Moira breathed. “I want to be saved.”

  And then her smile was back. Angela walked over and gave her a deep embrace. Pastor Jim followed, and then others were lining up, hugging her and murmuring congratulations.

  Dorry hung back, not sure if she should hug Moira or not. Nothing like this had ever happened at Bryden Methodist. She looked around, and several other kids looked uncertain, too. That made her feel a bond with them. Dorry could never have told anyone else exactly what she’d witnessed. She could picture Marissa saying, “This girl did what?” But everyone around her had seen it, too.

  The hugging ended, and everyone began singing. Moira sat there the rest of the night looking absolutely joyful. Dorry kept sneaking wondering glances at her. Had she seen God? What had it been like?

  Chapter

  Eight

  IT WAS 3:30 A.M. BEFORE EVERYONE BEGAN heading for bed.

  Brushing her teeth in the communal bathroom, Dorry whispered with some of the other girls about Moira’s conversion.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Dorry said.

  “It was like a movie,” one of the others, Janelle, said, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste. “Except she wasn’t acting.”

  “Have any of you ever felt that close to God?” Angela asked.

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “I have,” Angela said.

  And if Dorry had envied Angela before because she was rich and pretty and good friends with Brad, she wondered now if maybe there wasn’t more to it. If she wanted Angela’s confidence and self-possession, maybe she also had to have Angela’s God.

  “How—” someone started to ask.

  Angela brushed her hair in long, flowing strokes. “Just turn your life over to God. He’ll reward you abundantly.”

  “That’s too simple,” someone protested. “Sure, it’s easy to say, but—”

  “And it’s easy to do,” Angela said firmly. “You must turn over everything to God, wholeheartedly.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and began gathering up her toothbrush, toothpaste, washcloth, and towel. She walked toward the door then, hand on the knob, turned around. “Pray about it tonight. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  After Angela left, Dorry waited for someone to start making fun of her. She had sounded so sincere. If this had been a group of kids back in Bryden, people wouldn’t have even waited for her to go before they began laughing. But nobody was laughing now.

  “See you tomorrow,” Janelle said, following Angela out the door.

  “You too,” the others muttered, subdued.

  Dorry wasn’t sure if she was just tired or still awed, but she seemed to notice everything with heightened senses: the row of faces reflected in the mirror, the smell of skin cream, the hum of the lights overhead. Even her toothpaste tasted different. Had witnessing Moira’s transformation somehow changed Dorry, too? Did she want it to? She finished brushing her teeth and left, too. She was sharing a room with Angela, and she didn’t want to bother Angela if she was already in bed.

  But Angela was kneeling beside her bed, hands folded, head bowed, eyes closed, lips moving. With her hair cascading over her shoulders, she looked like an old-fashioned portrait of a little girl saying bedtime prayers. Dorry wasn’t sure what to do. Was it rude to walk in on someone’s prayers? Should she wait in the hall until Angela was done? Or should she just climb into bed and pretend she hadn’t noticed? But surely it would be rude not to say good night.

  Dorry cleared her throat. Angela didn’t look up. Dorry watched, curious now about prayer. Angela’s face was solemn as she spoke silently. Then her mouth was still and she seemed to be listening to an answer. She kept her head bowed and eyes closed. Then she smiled and began praying again. Dorry wished she knew how to read lips. After a few minutes, she tiptoed to her bed and climbed in. She was asleep before Angela finished her prayer.

  In the morning Dorry was awakened by someone with a wonderful voice singing, “Morning Has Broken” in the hallway. Her watch said it was only 7:30, and all she wanted to do was go back to sleep. But when she looked over at Angela’s bed she saw that Angela was already up and gone. Something like guilt drove her to stumble out of bed and to the bathroom. Angela was there, rubbing a towel on her wet hair.

  “Sleep well?” she asked.

  “Mmm,” Dorry answered groggily. “Do we have to get up now?”

  “Of course not,” Angela said. “But you don’t want to miss breakfast or any of the fun, do you?”

  She looked so concerned—so potentially disappointed—that Dorry mumbled “No” and went to get her shower things.

  Saturday passed much as Friday afternoon and evening had, with games and laughter and food, and discussions of God cropping up at every turn. Dorry had tuned out most of the religious talk at other Fishers events, but now she was fascinated by every mention. The whole group played kickball on a huge field by the lodge, and Brad accused the boy serving as ref of “legalism” when he called him out.

  “Do you think we’re saved by works instead of grace?” Brad said. “Are you trying to earn your salvation by being the perfect ref?”

  “No. But don’t you believe in confessing your sins? Just admit you’re out, and I won’t have to judge you,” the other boy said.

  “Okay,” Brad said. “You’re absolutely right. I will be meek about it.” He raised his face to the sky and shouted, “Hear that, God? Doesn’t that mean I get to inherit the earth?”

  Dorry wasn’t sure exactly what they meant, but for the first time in her life, she began to see how religion might relate to everything. It wasn’t just something that belonged in church, something you mumbled about for an hour on Sunday morning (maybe), and then forgot about the rest of the week. She was so busy thinking about that notion that she missed the ball when it came zooming right toward her in left field. She braced herself for the inevitable, “Idiot!”—or worse—someone was sure to yell at her, the way people had in every other game of kickball she’d ever played. But nobody screamed. Instead, Moira, who was pitching, shrugged and smiled sympathetically, and Angela ran over and patted her on the back.

  “Better luck next time,” she said encouragingly.

  Dorry thought what a wonderful place the world would be if everyone were a Fisher, if everyone lived by the words in the Bible.

  By nightfall, Dorry had practically forgotten there was a world outside the retreat. She felt as though she’d known the other kids forever. They had their own inside jokes, even their own pet names. People had begun calling Dorry “Chocolate,” or just “Choc,” because when Pastor Jim had asked them to imagine heaven and hell at lunchtime, she’d said, “I guess there’d be a lot of chocolate in heaven, and none in hell.” It’d gotten a good laugh, a friendly laugh.

  After dinner, everyone gathered by the fireplace again. But tonight, Pastor Jim strode to the front right away and leaned against the wood mantel. “You like each other, don’t you?” he began.

  The group laughed. Brad pointed at Angela and joked, “Everyone but her!” She threw a pillow at him.

  Pastor Jim let the hilarity die down. “The reason I ask is because if you are to become Fishers, to devote your life to God, you must also devote yourself to your brothers and sisters in Christ. They are to be everything to you; your counselors, your confidantes, your forgiveness, your friends. You must trust them absolutely, with your life.?
??

  Dorry wanted to stop him and protest, “Wait a minute. I never said I wanted to become a Fisher.” But maybe she did. Did she? She didn’t speak. Everyone else sat silent, too, waiting.

  “There’s a game we play—it’s more than a game, really, almost a test.” Pastor Jim pointed into the crowd, moving his hand slowly in a circle. Dorry felt a thrill of fear when he pointed to her, but he kept going. At last he stopped, pointing directly at Moira. “Moira,” he said in a low, confidential tone. Dorry had to lean in to hear. “We witnessed the birth of your faith in God last night. Do you also have faith in your fellow Fishers?”

  “I do,” she replied. Dorry had been to weddings where the bride and groom responded less solemnly.

  “Are you willing to do anything to prove it?”

  “I am.”

  He held his hand out to her. She clasped it and rose gracefully. “Come,” he said.

  Others began standing up, so Dorry did, too. Pastor Jim led Moira to the huge, open staircase in the middle of the lodge. He signaled for everyone else to stay at the bottom. He and Moira climbed to the top. Pastor Jim whispered something to her, then turned to the crowd.

  “Jason?” he called.

  A burly boy weaved through the crowd and mounted the stairs. He joined Pastor Jim on the fourth step down. Moira stood at the very top, facing away from Pastor Jim and Jason. Only her toes touched the floor. The heels of her boots hung in empty air above the step below.

  “I ask you again—do you trust us?” Pastor Jim’s voice rang out, echoing against the lodge’s cathedral ceiling.

  “Yes.”

  “Will you prove it?”

  “Yes.”

  And then, without so much as a glance over her shoulder, Moira let herself fall backward. Dorry wasn’t the only one who gasped, picturing Moira’s thin body tumbling down the dozens of stairs. But before her head hit the first step, Pastor Jim and Jason had her in their arms. There was a cry of relief from the crowd. Pastor Jim and Jason took turns hugging Moira. Then they released her and she turned toward the crowd. Dorry saw that there were tears streaming down her face, but with her victorious smile, they looked like tears of joy.

  “Janelle?” Pastor Jim called.

  There were whispers in the crowd, as everyone realized that others were going to be asked to fall. Dorry stepped aside as Janelle, looking white-faced but resolute, pushed toward the stairs. Two others, a boy named Mark and a girl named Becky, joined her at the bottom. They climbed the stairs together. Janelle’s “I am” and “I do” sounded more frightened than Moira’s, but she let herself fall without hesitation. Mark and Becky caught her and hugged her just as carefully and joyously as Pastor Jim and Jason had hugged Moira.

  “Not me. Please, God, not me,” Dorry prayed without quite realizing what she was doing.

  Seven others went, falling and being caught in turn. Then Pastor Jim called Dorry’s name. Blood pounded in her ears. Brad and Angela stepped up behind her. Angela put her hand on Dorry’s back, gently guiding her forward. Dorry wanted to protest, to say no. But how could she? She’d look like a coward. Brad and Angela would think she didn’t trust them. She stumbled toward the stairs. Her legs trembled as she climbed. Brad and Angela were on either side of her, each holding an arm to steady her. Then they let go, and Dorry realized she was at the top. Brad and Angela backed away. She couldn’t see them behind her.

  I hate heights, she wanted to say. I don’t have to do this, do I? Maybe she could make it into a joke, say something like, “I’d rather have chocolate.” But everyone else had been totally serious. The somber mood in the room felt like a weight on her chest.

  Angela’s clear voice asked behind her, “Do you trust us?”

  “Yes,” Dorry mumbled.

  “Are you willing to stake your life to prove it?”

  “Yes,” Dorry mumbled again.

  And then Dorry was supposed to fall backward, but she couldn’t make herself do it. She remembered once when she’d been nine or ten, and Marissa had talked her into going up on the high dive at the Bryden pool. She’d stood at the edge of the diving board, looking down at the blue, blue water, which seemed miles away. All she was supposed to do then was jump, feet first, facing forward, but she hadn’t been able to. She’d backed down the ladder in shame, jeers ringing in her ears from the older boys waiting in line behind her.

  “Dorry,” Angela said behind her, so softly that probably no one below them heard. “We want you to be one of us. But if you aren’t willing to trust us, we can’t trust you.”

  Dorry squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head back. Before she had decided if she was going to let herself fall entirely, Brad and Angela’s hands were on her back, lifting her up. She was safe. It was over. Dorry wanted to cry and laugh all at once. Angela hugged her tight, and then Brad did, too, just as if she’d really fallen, really proven her trust. They held her hands climbing down the stairs. Their hands were warm and strong. She felt like a little girl safe between her parents. She felt overwhelmed with relief and joy and—though she tried to hide it—shame. Why hadn’t she let herself fall? She did trust Brad and Angela, didn’t she?

  Dorry barely watched the others repeat the ritual. Everything seemed to be happening at a great distance. Even if someone had fallen without being caught, had tumbled down the stairs and landed right at her feet, she wouldn’t have had the energy to help them, or even to step back and let someone else help.

  At the end, Pastor Jim went around hugging everyone who had been caught. Then he stood back and proclaimed, “You are all ready.”

  His words were like a blessing.

  He led them all out the back door of the lodge, down the steps from the deck, and into the dark ravine. Dorry stumbled over roots and rocks, but every time she almost fell, Brad or Angela caught her arm. Finally, when the crowd stood at the bottom of the ravine, beside a roaring brook, Pastor Jim stopped them.

  “The early Christians met in the catacombs of Rome,” he said. “It was probably about this dark.”

  High overhead, practically hidden by trees, Dorry could see a thin moon. It went behind a cloud.

  “But Christians, true Christians, are not afraid of the dark. We know the true light.” Pastor Jim struck a match and it sprang to life. He touched the match to a candle and the glow lit up his face. “All of you know about the salvation Jesus offers you. You know that you are steeped in sin, that, as you are, you are filthy and despicable and unfit for the sight of God. You know that only Jesus’ intercession, his mercy and sacrifice, can redeem you. He said, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father, but by me.’ He said, ‘You must be born anew.’ Will you come? Will you renounce your former life, your sin, and your evil and be born anew?”

  Dorry thought about getting rid of her shame over not truly falling into Brad and Angela’s arms. And beyond that—if she was born again, would she be free of feeling fat and ugly and undesirable? Would she be as happy as all the Fishers? Maybe they weren’t crazy, as she’d thought. They just focused on what was truly important—God.

  Nobody spoke. Pastor Jim placed the candle on a rock. “This will be our altar,” he said. “Will you come forward and leave your sin behind? Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior? Will you be cleansed for all eternity?”

  “I will,” a girl called out. She stepped forward and Dorry saw that it was Janelle.

  Others followed, tentatively at first, then in bunches. They crowded around the rock, kneeling and praying.

  Dorry bowed her head. “God?” she called silently. “Will you save me?” She didn’t hear a clear voice, the way Angela evidently did. But she suddenly felt a sense of peacefulness like she’d never felt before. She wasn’t worried about anything anymore. Was this what the Holy Spirit was like?

  Angela gently pushed her forward. “You’re ready, Dorry.”

  Dorry knelt with the others. Pastor Jim lay his hand on Dorry’s head and called out, “Dorry Stevens, your sins are f
orgiven. You are a new creation. ‘The old has passed away, behold, the new has come.’”

  And it really seemed that it had, that she was a new person.

  Dorry wasn’t sure how long she knelt there, not really praying, not even thinking. She was barely aware of Pastor Jim laying his hand on others’ heads, calling out the same words. Then on some cue Dorry missed, everyone began standing up. Someone started singing, “We Are Climbing Jacob’s Ladder,” then “Kum Ba Yah” and other songs. Pastor Jim led them out of the ravine a different, flatter way. When they reached a road, the Fishers’ vans were there waiting. Pastor Jim directed them to climb in.

  “Where are we going?” Dorry whispered to Angela.

  “Ssh,” Angela said. “Don’t talk. Trust us.”

  In the van there was more singing. Dorry tried to hold on to the feeling she’d had when Pastor Jim laid his hand on her head, that she was totally forgiven, totally pure and totally clean. She must not do anything bad or think anything bad again.

  The van stopped and Dorry realized with a jolt that they were at the apartment-complex clubhouse where the Fishers’ parties had been. She turned to Angela and started to ask, “Wh—” Angela silenced her with a shake of her head.

  Everyone trouped into the clubhouse. What seemed like hundreds of people were silently waiting for them. Dorry passed through a gauntlet of hugs, mostly from people she barely recognized or didn’t know. But the feeling of love and belonging was overwhelming. She was surprised to end up by the side of the indoor pool. Pastor Jim was in the shallow end, the water halfway up the legs of his jeans.

  “The Bible says, ‘Repent and be baptized,’” he proclaimed, his voice echoing in the atrium over the pool. “Jesus himself was baptized by his cousin, John the Baptist, in the River Jordan. If you are to follow Christ, you must do the same.”

  Becky and Mark led Janelle down the steps into the water.