She came and sat down on my bed. I could smell roses and soap on her skin. She had bathed before coming home. Water still clung to her skin. Her long blonde hair, the same color as mine, tickled my arm as she leaned over me and kissed my forehead.
“There’s nothing so great that God can’t handle,” she murmured, tucking the blanket around me as if I were still a child. “It’s cold in here, we should start another fire.”
She got up to gather wood from the corner of the room. I loved her when she was like this. Attentive. Caring. Only mine.
It happened so rarely that I learned to cherish these moments.
“How was your meeting?” I dared to ask. Sometimes she’d speak to me about being an elder. About the burden of caring for the family’s spiritual wellbeing. She’d recite the words spoken by our leader in hushed tones. She’d share the things she saw and heard during her silent devotions.
I felt closest to her then.
“We spoke of recruiting new disciples. Of the importance of spreading Pastor’s teachings to those who need it most.”
I nodded, agreeing with this old discussion. Pastor didn’t do a lot of mission work. He felt that those who were fated to walk the path would find their way to us eventually. I knew there were videos on the internet though. That was how Mom found him. How most of the disciples found The Gathering.
But he did take his sermons to the outside once a year. He spent two weeks visiting places he felt needed his word. They were usually areas affected by a downturn in the economy. Places experiencing depression and fatigue. He found the lost and sometimes he brought them home.
No one ever went with Pastor. He said it was his solitary journey. A road for him to travel alone. No one questioned him.
Why should we?
He knew what was best.
“Will he be leaving soon?” I asked.
Mom pulled on her floor length nightgown—a dowdy piece of clothing that hid all of her. She tied her hair up into a bun at the nap of her neck and got into the single bed across the room from mine. “He doesn’t share his schedule, Sara,” she chastised sharply.
“Of course,” I demurred, biting my tongue. Severing it in half before saying something to annoy her. I learned early on how to navigate her precarious moods. I had become an expert at tiptoeing through Daphne’s minefields.
The wind blew outside. It rattled the windows, indicating an approaching storm. Minutes later, rain splattered the glass. Lightning flashed. I pulled my blanket up to my chin.
“How long will Gabby be in The Refuge?” I asked and instantly wished I hadn’t. I pinched my arm. The same spot Mom had pinched many times before. Hard enough to draw blood.
I expected Mom to explode. To get out of bed and fly across the room in a fury. I braced myself, barely able to breathe.
Heavenly Father, forgive my sins…
“Gabby doesn’t concern you. She doesn’t concern any of us,” was all Mom said, rolling onto her side. “Not anymore,” she added.
“Not anymore?” I questioned. What did that mean?
“Some people are meant to walk the path. Some aren’t. Gabby would never be Awakened. Her soul would never be pure.”
I lay there, muscles rigid. Gabby’s soul wasn’t pure. But she was only a child.
“Did she and her family leave?” I asked, my voice sounding so, so small.
“They aren’t our family. They have to make their own way. It will be dark and it will be lonely, but we can’t have that kind of negativity here. This is our sanctuary. This is our haven.”
“Where did they go?” Why was I pushing this? Why was I pressing her for answers when I knew the outcome?
“Don’t you dare presume that you deserve to know the inner workings of things!” Mom screamed, her voice too loud. I felt it reverberating in my skull. So at odds with the silence we lived by.
If Pastor Carter could hear her he wouldn’t be pleased.
I curled in on myself. Waiting for an attack. Waiting for violence that I knew would come.
One minute passed.
Two minutes.
I lifted my head and could see my mother still in her bed. I was surprised she had restrained herself. I wasn’t normally so lucky.
Heavenly father, forgive my curiosity. I know it is not my place to question.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean to presume anything.”
I needed to apologize. I had to. Disciples were meant to obey. Defiance wasn’t allowed.
I heard Mom sigh. She sounded exhausted. “Turn off the light, Sara.” I heard another shattered exhale. As if she too was encumbered by a heavy weight. “You need prayer before sleep. Your mind is too full of things you shouldn’t be thinking about.”
With shaking hands, I lowered the wick of the lamp, expunging the light. Giving way to the dark.
And in the silent, silent night, I fought back tears I would never let fall.
Pastor Carter walked into the gathering room a little before sunset. It was crowded with disciples. Most of our family were congregated together in the cozy room reading scripture, discussing God’s words.
Anne and I were reading Bible stories to the youngest disciples. None of them seemed particularly interested and Anne was attempting to keep them focused by asking them questions. It was obvious none of them were paying attention. When asked why God flooded the Earth, Dakota said because he had to pee really badly, making the others giggle.
“Dakota, enough. You don’t want anyone to hear you making light of the scripture,” I warned sternly. I didn’t want to scare the kids, but if an elder heard their disrespect, they’d find themselves cleaning the shower room or scrubbing floors. And depending on the elder’s mood, they could even find themselves in The Refuge for the night.
Dakota’s face went white. He understood what I hadn’t said.
Anne put an arm around his shoulder. She was always the first to give comfort where she could.
I was being groomed to lead. Anne was groomed to heal. It was one aspect of her path that she embraced totally.
“Let’s try that again. Why did God flood the Earth?” Anne prompted softly, giving an encouraging smile.
“Because people were sinful and corrupt. God wanted to punish them for straying so far from his word,” Dakota answered, his voice shaking slightly. The other kids stayed quiet, eyes wide.
“The world is a sinful place, is it not?”
All of us startled at the sound of Pastor Carter’s calm, soothing voice. He stood just behind me. I had to crane my neck to look up at him.
The kids all nodded vigorously, quick to agree with anything Pastor said.
“God will smite the wicked. He will destroy the world. Why are we here, children?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets, smiling beatifically down at them.
Little Rosie Fisk, only six years old, with a head of blond curls and a cute-as-a-button nose raised her hand timidly.
Pastor put his hand on her head. “Yes, Rosie?”
“We must live without sin in our heart so that when we are Awakened we will join our heavenly Father and all those that are pure,” she said in such a teeny tiny voice.
Heavy words from someone so small.
No one spoke. Rosie stared up at Pastor, waiting for him to tell her she was right or wrong. We all did. We all waited for him to decide.
Our lives hinged on his approval.
He went down on his haunches and kissed Rosie on top of her head. “Very good, Rosie. You’ve been listening to Sara and Anne. You’re walking the righteous path. I’m proud of you.” Rosie beamed, her face alight.
All the children began to speak at once. Telling Pastor the things they knew to be truth. Reciting his sermons back to him to prove they too deserved his praise.
Everyone scrambling for a piece of what only he could provide.
If I sat back and looked objectively at the scene in front of me, it would seem almost terrifying.
How one person’s opinion should
matter so much to so many people. That his words provided us with some sort of validation.
But I wouldn’t think that way. I knew better than to give purchase to any doubt. To any criticism.
“Come on, guys, let’s get back to the lesson,” I said, interrupting their clamoring.
Pastor Carter took the time to give each of them a hug. He always did that. He made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. As a child I had craved that. I had never been made to feel as if I mattered most. Pastor filled a void I hadn’t known existed.
I gave everything to him. Mind and body.
And he did the same for each of the children here now.
He stood back up and grinned at the children. “I think you’ve learned a great deal from your Bible lesson for one night. I say you deserve a game or two before bed. Off you go.” The kids squealed in delight and ran across the room towards the cabinet where the few board games were kept.
I closed the Bible and handed it to Anne, who put it back on the shelf where I had gotten it. We started to clean up the cushions the children had been sitting on when Pastor touched my shoulder.
“Sara, I need you to come with me to the gate,” Pastor announced loudly. The room instantly went quiet. All eyes on me.
The five elders, including my mother, all seemed shocked. But I was shocked most of all.
Anne gaped at me, her mouth open. I noticed Caitlyn, Stafford, and Minnie sharing a look of barely concealed jealousy. They wouldn’t comment though. They knew better. They’d swallow their frustration and smile anyway. Bobbie’s expression, per usual, was totally unreadable. Or uncaring. I wasn’t sure which.
I looked at my mother again, wanting to see her pride. Her approval.
Only I was going to be very disappointed. It wasn’t her customary frustration in me that felt like a punch to the gut. I had seen that particular expression on her face many times before. She disproved of a lot of things I did. Things I said. Even as I tried my hardest to be devout. To be the perfect disciple. She continued to find ways I could be better. Claiming it was her job as an elder to guide me. Deep down I think she enjoyed doling out criticism.
It wasn’t any of the normal expressions I saw when I looked at her. Instead it was hooded resentment in her eyes. It left me breathless.
Bitterness.
Envy.
She looked at me, her daughter, as if I were an enemy. As if I threatened her.
The Gathering was meant to turn their backs on wasteful human emotions. Pastor Carter preached extensively about doing away with the negative trappings of the outside. That included coveting.
Yet, it seemed, the louder he preached, the harder some fell into the mire. Sometimes that meant they left The Retreat. That they were cast out and the gate closed behind him.
Sometimes, if they hid their sin well enough, they remained and the negative emotions churned unchecked.
We all coveted. Every single one of us. We felt jealousy. Pastor’s love was precious and we wanted it for ourselves alone. There was a constant vying for our leader’s attention. For his respect. For his regard. Even here, the worst of human nature festered.
In my lowest times, I wondered what the point of it all was. Leaving home. Leaving friends and family behind. Why come here to only experience the same horrid duplicity and moral ambiguity that defined an outside life?
But then I’d stand in the sun. I’d pray to the heavens. I’d read the scriptures. And I was home.
I gave my mother a sweet, sweet smile in an effort to placate her. It didn’t work the same way it had done when I was younger.
She smiled back, but it resembled jagged glass and disappeared entirely when Pastor Carter took my hand. It was dry and warm in mine. Our palms pressed together. His fingers strong. I felt cared for. Protected.
I looked at my mom again. Her mouth pinched. Her eyes narrowed.
The knot in my stomach coiled tightly.
“Come along, Sara. We have to go.” Pastor Carter nodded his head in acknowledgment to the rest of the disciples as we made our way towards the door. It felt a bit like a procession. But I held my head high and allowed myself to be led.
I briefly touched Anne’s arm. She smiled. It was warm and genuine, if not a little confused. I ignored Minnie, Caitlyn, and Stafford. I let my hand go weak in Pastor Carter’s grasp.
Pliant. Placid. I handed myself over to my father, my leader, my everything.
I didn’t question why he had chosen me. I was special. Pastor told me this often enough. He loved me, as he loved all of his followers. But I was different.
It had taken me time to adjust to life at The Retreat. I hadn’t wanted the role of disciple. I was an unwilling acolyte. It took years of tears and unhappiness before I embraced all that I had been given. All that my mother had wanted for herself—and me by default.
But by ten years old, my mind was focused. My heart was uncorrupted. I had almost forgotten all the misgivings and resentment that had permeated my existence in those early days.
Almost.
Pastor Carter made that possible. It was his words, his attention that pulled me away from the downward slope I had been on. He pushed me—sometimes gently, sometimes with vicious force—onto the path I was meant to follow.
And I was grateful to him for that.
And because I had embraced this world, there would be rewards. Pastor assured me there was more for me than this. I believed him.
It felt wrong not to.
Because Pastor Carter made me believe.
His smiles were many. His touch was soft. His words were strong and sure, meant for a devoted heart. It was hard not to feel important—to feel worthy—when you were chosen for something so monumental.
And I knew this choice was made with a specific purpose in mind.
He was grooming me. He had said as much in our talks together. He saw in me someone meant for greater things.
To go to the gate was an immense honor. It wasn’t often that we left the confines of The Retreat.
I briefly thought of Adam and Tyler. Their bruised faces. Their bloodied clothes.
I felt sick to my stomach.
We didn’t leave The Retreat unless we had to. People on the outside didn’t understand. Their minds were too closed. Their hearts a rotting lump in their chests that did little more than keep them barely alive.
I shivered thinking about what lay beyond the metal barrier that led to the bottom of the mountain.
It was good that we had no real need to venture from the safe cocoon of The Gathering’s womb. We lived off the land. We grew our own food. We used homeopathic remedies that kept us healthy and treated our ailments. We had no use for the trappings that confined most people.
The disciples chose to live a life away from the everyday madness that had taken root in the world. With only our faith as company, we forged a different way of life. A simpler one. A necessary one.
We each had stumbled onto the path a little desperate, a little broken. The Gathering had made us whole.
It was our choice to cut ties with the outside world. We weren’t coerced. We weren’t forced. No matter what anyone thought, the disciples weren’t brainwashed zealots.
We were simply sure of our journey. We loved our leader. We whole-heartedly believed the lessons he taught. We knew that our lives were never our own. That we were part of a bigger story. By living the way we did, we were in a state of constant preparation.
We had The Awakening to wait for.
“You must prepare your soul, Sara,” Pastor said, joy on his face.
“Prepare for what?” I asked, a bit bewildered.
“The Awakening. The time when you will be called home. The day you will leave this mortal world and ascend. God will dictate the time. It is his choice. We must be prepared to act when he calls us home.”
My entire body trembled.
The Awakening.
The moment when we reached spiritual perfection.
T
he moment God welcomed us home…
I knew the people in Whistle Valley, the town at the base of the mountain, thought we were a bunch of cultish nut jobs. That we were having orgies and killing goats in the name of our religion. Pastor warned us that others couldn’t fathom our way of life. They were too corrupt and sinful. Our pure souls were beyond their comprehension.
On more than one occasion people had found their way to the gate, not to be saved, but to hurl insults. To shout nasty accusations. This only reinforced everything Pastor Carter told us.
Once, a woman had climbed the fence and made her way to The Retreat. She had broken a window and crawled into one of the cabins, sobbing and shouting that we had taken her sister. Demanding to know where we were keeping her. She picked up a piece of broken glass and threatened the family in the cabin. I was only thirteen at the time and I remember being woken by the sound of the woman’s wails. Pastor Carter explained later that we would experience anger and violence from those on the outside. That others would seek to disrupt our path. In the early hours of the morning after the woman had been taken away, our leader had led us to prayer. We had fasted. We had forced ourselves to stay awake. And when our bodies were at their breaking point, we all saw the truth.
We only had God. And Pastor Carter.
And our calling.
That was it.
We needed these reminders. Constantly.
No one understood how close we were to God. How we were his chosen flock. And our spiritual journey was tied up in Pastor Carter’s words.
I never knew what became of the woman with hate in her eyes and acid on her tongue. No one ever spoke of her again. Negativity wasn’t given a voice at The Retreat. We prayed it away. That’s how we, as a collective, dealt with things.
Though, in the deepest, darkest parts of my traitorous mind, I sometimes wondered about that woman. And her sister—whoever she was—and what became of them.
The Retreat, the settlement that housed The Gathering of the Sun, was like stepping back in time. We had very few modern conveniences. Pastor Carter said it was important to eradicate the filth that defined our old lives. Technology could be blamed for a lot of the world’s problems. Humanity’s obsession with their phones and TVs had desensitized them to the suffering around them. It had allowed Satan to take hold. God had been turned aside and we were left in a waste land of misery.