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"Everything okay here?" Mark called out of the lowered window as Jared parked the moving truck, "I'm going to take them straight to the house, so meet us there when you finish up here."
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help?" Atarah offered.
"No, it's okay, Jaira and I have this. You need to rest and take care of those little ones. I can't begin to imagine what you must be going through right now..."
This is not how Atarah had envisioned their visit. Josiah was supposed to be at her side. Between him and Shaul, Atarah had been ready to face her family's demons without fear. Now she was alone, the little ones not counting.
Mark had a lakefront cottage with no neighbours in sight. "Isolated," was Atarah's first thought and she was absolutely right.
The natural beauty could hide terrible darkness.
"So this the land we were able to obtain after fundraising with our church," Sheila gave them a tour of the property which was far larger than Atarah had envisioned. “The smaller buildings house the men - widowers and other men who were down and out. The men from church as well as your father work with them - helping them to get on their feet.”
“That’s really thoughtful,” Atarah grew thoughtful, realizing she’d been wrong to assume, and evidently couldn’t trust her gut feeling.
Sheila turned toward a two story white-washed house. Once inside, the home was much larger.
"We hold church services every day," Sheila waved her hand toward the large den, chairs set up in a circle, "As our ministry has expanded we have also reached out to women. Until more permanent accomodations can be acquired, they are staying in the house. This is just one of the house churches - others will be built on the land hopefully before winter.
Pastor is correct - we need to go back to the early days of the church when the Believers sold what they had, the money given to help the poor.” Sheila’s eyes sparkled. “This is only the beginning of what we believe God has in store...”
Again, there was a sick feeling in the pit of Atarah’s stomach - a feeling she couldn’t quel. Something wasn’t right - more than a little something. It was eerily similar to memories she had spent a lifetime trying to forget.
Sheila didn't seem to notice Arlana's hesitation.
"Debbie, you and Mother can take the room on this floor. It will be easier than having to climb the stairs. Jaira can have the room downstairs in the basement. Atarah, you can follow me upstairs to your room." She paused, "It is directly beside ours. Now come, get settled in. The service begins at 6 pm sharp and I still need to make supper." Sheila opened the door to the bedroom directly beside theirs, "I thought this room would be best, so if you need any help with the babies in the night or what have you, I'm right here."
****
ATARAH GAVE HERSELF a few minutes to freshen up, feeling robotic.
Shaul's death still had not fully sunk in yet, dwarfed by her fear of being on the island without her husband...or Lachlan. Azreal was in the yard playing with his cousins, giving her time to unpack on her own.
Running her fingers through her hair, she emerged from the bedroom, joining her mother in the kitchen where Sheila was making chicken wraps.
Atarah washed her hands, helping her mother prepare supper, making simple vegetable wraps for her family. The women worked quickly, setting out plates.
Sheila looked up as a buxom blonde stepped into the room, smiling shyly as she lingered by the doorframe.
"You're looking for Mark?" Sheila addressed the woman by the door. "He should be in the den preparing for tonight."
Lilly-Ann nodded, retreating down the hall.
"What's that all about?" Adelaide asked, having just arrived, turning on the kitchen faucet to wash her hands.
Sheila glanced over her shoulder, but only shrugged.
"Tell Sheila to hurry with supper, I want to get started," Mark shouted from down the hall.
Adelaide summoned the family to join them for dinner at the large table in the dining room, instructing the children to scrub their hands.
Mark sat at the head of the table, blessing the food, surrounded by family and a few women who now lived under the same roof.
Once served, Mark made the introductions. Granny's face was ashen, features pinched. Her eyes had a haunted appearance but she was likely just fatigued as well.
Mark didn’t seem to notice the awkward pause after he’d finished.
“Gavin, Terrell, come with me,” Mark shoved his plate aside, leading the way to the den, “I want to introduce you both to our pastor before the meeting. Adelaide, you too.”
Adelaide slipped her hand within Gavin’s as they followed Mark back down the hall to the den.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Jaira frowned, watching Terrell retreat. “Why Addy?”
“Don’t worry,” Sheila smiled, “You’ll find out soon enough. Now, let me hold my grandson.”
“Thank you,” Atarah murmured as her mother took Zion, then reached for her tall glass of water. “Thank you for supper, Mom. It was very good.”
“It’s so nice to have our family home again,” Sheila smiled at her daughters, a twinkle in her eyes.
***
MARK STOOD BESIDE A man likely the same age, but sporting a long beard. His eyes were unreadable as he looked up, watching Mark’s family enter the room. Beaming, Mark introduced his daughters, and their children.
“I’d like you to meet Pastor Damien Woolson,” Mark gestured to his companion.
The pastor smiled, his eyes darkening as they drifted over Jaira, Atarah and Addy.
“You have lovely daughters,” his voice was low with a slight accent Atarah couldn’t place. “Adelaide, would you take the children downstairs tonight? I see a calling upon your life. God wants you to work with the children in this ministry. He is calling you to lead them to righteousness.”
Adelaide looked between the pastor and her husband who nodded before scuffing his shoe on the beige carpet.
“Sheila, assist your daughter downstairs. Tonight we will follow in our Lord’s footsteps...”
Atarah raised her eyebrow as the pastor let his words hang.
After the room had filled with newcomers, Pastor Woolson instructed Jared to lead the meeting. His eldest son obeyed, fully aware of the situation. Staring at his feet, he led the group in prayer.
Granny sat at Atarah's side, leaning over during the long prayer, "You must flee Arlana. You can't stay. Your grandfather did this too and it destroyed my spirit. You must escape." Her breathless whisper, urgent.
Atarah glanced at the pastor who stood with Mark behind Jared, the room consisting mostly of women. Atarah felt faint at her grandmother’s words. Even if she were correct, where would Atarah go? How was she to flee? Terrell - he’d brought his own car. There would be no room in Gavin’s vehicle for her and her children. Atarah glanced over at Debbie - her last option - or maybe her first.
Distracted by her own thoughts, she hadn’t realized her brother had stopped praying.
Adelaide and Sheila rounded up the children, leading them from the room. Addy reached for Shiloh promising to get Atarah if her babies became hungry. Kissing the infant’s head, Atarah relinquished her child, shifting in her seat as the sermon began moments after the group of children had disappeared down the hallway.
The pastor led the worship service, no one looking surprised as women left their seats, moving toward the front of the room as they danced, swaying and spiralling. Atarah had seen women dance to worship music before while signing the song of praise, others waving ribbons or flags in worship. This was different, the women only moving their bodies.
Atarah looked away, not seeing Pastor Woolson’s eyes rest on her, watching her reaction before reaching for his Bible as he stood.
An older woman stepped into the room, holding a large silver basin in her hands. Silently she approached the pastor, placing the dish in front of him.
Sitting on a leather chair, he watched as the woman knelt before washing his feet. Instead of drying them, she moved backwards, remaining on her knees with her head lowered as every woman in the room rose and followed her lead, kneeling one by one in turn before the pastor until the very last. Head bowed, she removed his feet from the water, drying them on a white cloth. All the women remained on their knees, in a half-circle before the bearded man.
The pastor stood, Mark at his side.
“This is seriously weird,” Atarah whispered.
“I think they are trying to show their gratitude for being rescued...” Terrell leaned forward, confusion mirrored on his features.
“Turn in your Bibles to the book of Acts...”
Atarah looked down at her empty hands. For the next hour the pastor expounded on what her mother had said hours earlier - the ministry - this ministry - would be modelled after the Book of Acts. Atarah had to admit the man had a charismatic personality and seemed to hold those gathered under his spell.
Eyes on Mark, Gavan reached for his wallet as a small wicker basket was carried toward their row.
Atarah couldn’t believe Gavan was going along with it when he emptied the contents of his wallet into the basket, his eyes still on Mark. Tyrell had followed suit, folding a wad of crisp twenty dollar bills before reaching over to the basket. He looked over at Atarah as she instinctively placed her hand on his forearm, whispering, “No.”
Terrell gently removed her hand, placing the funds in the basket before whispering, “This is our destiny. You’ll see...”