ALYSSA
I was eighteen when I realized I was six months pregnant.
I'd never had a boyfriend, never been kissed, not really and truly kissed, never had sex, if you can believe that.
Eighteen, and my life changed forever.
We had a guest speaker come for the weekend. He was to preach on the Sunday, both morning and evening services, but Father liked to invite the guests to come for the weekend, and on the Saturday, he would play host and show the itinerary pastors around our area.
I grew up in cottage country, and Father's favorite golf course was forty-five minutes away, so the only time he would play was when we had guests over.
From spring to fall, we often had guests come to the house and preach on Sundays. My favorites were the missionaries. I used to love sitting at the kitchen table and listen to their stories about life in Africa or Russia or China.
I'd always dreamed of being a missionary one day. I know my mother used to hope that one of the young men who came to the house would end up being my husband, to her having me follow in her footsteps as a minister's wife was the ultimate dream.
I'm not sure why, because she never seemed happy. I always thought she hated her life. Or maybe it was my father she hated.
When we had guests come over, I was always on my best behavior. Any plans I had with friends were canceled because this was the life I was called to - one of ministry - and ministry always starts in the home.
I first met Daniel Marshall by surprise.
I came home from school expecting the house to be empty. It was a Friday, and I knew there was a special prayer meeting happening all day. Knowing no one would be home till later in the evening, I had made plans with a friend to sleep over at her house and had just come home to grab some things.
It wasn't until I walked up the stairs that I realized I wasn't alone.
A man was exiting the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.
Was this the first time I'd ever seen a half-naked man? Why, yes, it was.
I swear my skin blazed red within seconds, and I quickly turned and ran down the stairs into the kitchen, hoping that what I'd just witnessed had been a hallucination.
There was a man in my house. A half-naked man that wasn't much older than me. He had the body a girl only knew about in her dreams if you know what I mean. His blond hair was damp and messy, and his Irish green eyes were so vibrant, I swear he could see straight through into my soul.
I mentioned I grew up very secluded, right? So much so that I'd only ever seen a boy without his shirt on from a distance. I wasn't allowed to attend pool parties, especially at the town pool, because you could never trust what went on with unsupervised kids wearing tight bathing suits. If I went to the beach, there had better be an adult present, and I could only hang with my girlfriends. If boys from the church showed up, they usually wore shirts out of respect for us girls.
My parents made sure to keep my circle of friends tight and close. I was only allowed to hang with those who held the same strict beliefs as us.
Which means, me alone in the house with a man was a huge no-no.
Usually, if my mother wasn't home, she'd leave me a note on the fridge with chores she wanted me to do or tell me where she was. Today, there was no note.
I could hear his footsteps on the floor above me. Mortified, I ran outside to the backyard and grabbed a pair of garden gloves. There was no way I was going back in that house until either my mother or father returned home.
I've no idea how long it was, but eventually, I wasn't alone.
"Sorry about that. I'm Daniel. I'm assuming you're Alyssa?" His voice was smooth, like freshly churned vanilla ice cream.
I didn't want to look at him, so I turned my head a little but kept my gaze on the rose bush I was de-heading.
The back door slammed so hard I jumped.
"Oh, Alyssa, there you are. I went to your school to pick you up on my way to grab the groceries, but I must have missed you." My mother's voice, high pitched and full of panic, rang loud.
"Daniel, I spoke with my husband, and he's on his way. We've got a light dinner set up at the church for you." She holds the door open and waits for him to join her. He takes a second, and I notice him looking at me. I quickly turn my gaze, but I have no doubt my mother hasn't missed my rosy cheeks.
I stay outside until I hear the car door slam announcing my father is home.
I remain out there until I hear them leave, too.
It doesn't take my mother long to join me out in the backyard. She brings a tray with some tea and a few homemade cookies with her and waits till I sit down on the picnic table before she begins to grill me.
"Where were you? If I'd known you weren't going to be waiting for me, I never would have left the house. Please tell me you weren't alone in the house with him? If you'd been at the school where I expected you to be, then we wouldn't be in this pickle. You've no idea how that is going to look."
The inhale of shock when I tell her what happened might as well have been a direct slap to my face.
Why did I tell her? That's what a good daughter does - share intimate details with a mother who is supposed to protect you from harm.
Do I regret it? Yes.
One little action, combined with another little action, can create a reaction that proves to be life-changing. That's what happened that day to me. A series of little actions that led to me being in here.
Instead of going to my girlfriend's house for a sleepover, I was forced to attend the prayer meeting, where I sank down to my knees, bowed my head, and prayed for God's forgiveness.
I could feel the sharp eyes of my parents that whole evening as if they suddenly didn't trust me, even though I'd done absolutely nothing wrong.
Well, now I know I did nothing wrong. Then, I took on the guilt of being in the house, alone, with a man just coming out of the shower, even though it wasn't my fault.
I wasn't allowed out of their sight that whole night. I remember almost peeing my pants, I had to go so bad, but every time I went to stand, my mother would wrap her hand around my thigh and squeeze until I sank back down.
I ended up with a very bruised thigh that night.
Daniel Marshall led the prayer service that night. He also led the full-day prayer sanctuary event on Saturday. We had many guest speakers over the years, but never one so young and charismatic at the same time. I swear he could talk a car salesman into buying his own overpriced vehicle. He sure had everyone in the pews believing his words.
Me included.
One thing my father harped on constantly from both the pulpit and our dinner table was the sin of lust. It was the gateway to all other sins, he said. Lusting after money. After fame. After success. Lust meant being unhappy with all that God has graciously provided for us. The worst kind of lust, in my father's opinion, was lusting after another person.
Saturday, all I did was lust and then pray, even beg, for forgiveness. I would get lost in Daniel Marshall's dreamy eyes, and then I'd remember what he looked like with only a towel covering his perfect muscular form.
I was full of sin that day.
I couldn't wait till that evening when we were back at home. I already knew it would be a quiet night; Daniel had requested it over breakfast, saying he wanted to stay in a continual atmosphere of quiet contemplation before he spoke again on Sunday.
A quiet evening at home meant I had Daniel all to myself. Well, it meant I could stare at him, talk with him, get to know him more than anyone else in the church.
Daniel Marshall was a catch, and all the single women wanted to be the one to snare his heart.
Me included. He was only a few years older than me. He was twenty-four where I was eighteen. From the way my parents eyed us both over dinner, I could tell that they were hoping for something to happen between us.
They made it evident when they sent us both to the sitting room to chat and took care of the post-dinner chores.
Daniel Marshall was everything I expected him to be. Courteous, friendly, attentive...he gave me all the feels. I couldn't stop smiling that night, and I'm sure the glow on my face gave away everything I didn't bother to hide.
He was the perfect gentleman, too, maintaining enough distance between us to be respectful but not being shy about reaching out and touching my arm or even my hand to show his interest.
By the time my parents joined us and brought small dessert bowls full of fresh fruit and cream, there was a connection between us.
I was smitten by the angel face of Daniel Marshall, and he knew it too.
I went to bed with a smile on my face, and I dreamed of wedding bells and white dresses, of being swept off my feet and falling deeply and truly in love.
I like to sleep with the window open, even in winter. That night, there was a breeze. I remember that because something woke me up, and I remember watching the curtains move, moonlight filling the room with each sweep of the fabric.
I wasn't alone. Not anymore.
Someone was pressed tight to my body, his arms wrapped around my waist, his lips nuzzling my neck.
Before I could say anything, my face was pushed into my pillow, my nightdress bunched around my waist, a shushing sound whispered into my ear before I could say anything.
"You're God's gift to me. I prayed for an angel, and there you were. Just relax and be God's vessel."
I'll never forget those words. Never forget the way they were whispered, like a snake hissing in the grass. I'll also never forget the feeling of shame as I struggled to breathe or the way he told me to go clean up, but be quiet about it unless I want to go to hell.
I wish I'd known at that moment, I was already there.