Leah
“Thanks for picking me up, Lee.”
My sister-in-law, Rachel, gingerly gets out of the car, her hand on her five-month pregnant bump. She’s battled severe morning sickness since the day before the two lines appeared.Luckily, her body is offering her a reprieve this month, and she’s cautiously returning to social activities.
Tonight is our church’s harvest festival planning party. The rest of the world calls it Halloween, but because of the ‘evil’ nature of the holiday that’s rooted in pagan rituals, the church abstains from celebrating and acknowledging the holiday.
By throwing a party the same night.
It makes perfect sense.
I personally love Halloween, but as the preacher’s daughter, I can’t exactly boast that out loud.
Not that anyone cares what I have to say. However, I do appreciate that it’s a safe alternative from trick-or-treating for children.
“Is Jane Ashby the chair of the committee again this year?” I ask.
“You really think she’d give up her crown?” Rachel snorts. “Didn’t you get her email?”
I shake my head as I open the door to the fellowship hall.
We’re greeted by the nostalgic scent of burnt coffee—the kind that comes in a large canisters from the bulk grocery stores and is brewed in industrial-size coffeemakers.
Soft contemporary Christian music plays over the sound system as women chatter and laugh, dispersed around several large round tables.
One by one they turn to stare at us, offering pleasant smiles and small waves, but it’s impossible not to notice how they melt into whispers, hiding their words behind cupped hands.
Rachel is oblivious, exchanging hellos for coos over her growing belly.
Marrying the senior pastor’s golden son makes you a very important person; carrying the first grandchild? God-like.
We find a pair of empty seats and drop off our purses and notebooks. “Rach, why don’t you get comfortable, and I’ll grab us some refreshments.”
She grins. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
I spin around and I am instantly met with the piercing stare of God’s gift to women’s ministry, Jane Ashby.
Her best friends, Beth and Hannah, flank her, both with expectant bumps of their own.
“Well, hey there, Leah. I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Jane says in a syrupy-sweet, overly-enunciated tone.
I grant her a smile. “Of course. I love the harvest festival. I look forward to it every year.”
Beth and Hannah glance at one another, pressing their lips together as Jane hums, giving me a once-over. “Isn’t the harvest festival such a fantastic outreach to the community?”
“And this year is going to be bigger than ever,” Beth pipes up.
“Thanks to Jane,” Hannah singsongs, patting their leader on the shoulder.
“Ladies …” Jane approvingly nods. “It’s all for the glory of God. This is his desire that he put on my heart, so of course, it’s going to be absolutely amazing.”
They talk like this all of the time, gloating about how wonderful they are—thanks to God. As long as you acknowledge that God had his blessing on anything you do, it’s not considered bragging. It’s praising him. It’s being humble.
It’s pretentious.
“Sounds wonderful,” I lie, smiling brightly. “Looking forward to hearing more about what you have planned for this year.” I excuse myself from the Stepford wives, their sideways glances following my every step to the refreshment table.
I grab two plastic plates and peruse the bounty of cookies, pastries, and fresh in-season produce.
“Getcha’ some bacon ranch dip, sweetie.”
I smile at the older woman—my mother’s long-time best friend. She’s one of the first people to ever hold me as a newborn. “Hey, Mrs. Mary.” My arm wraps around her shoulder in a quick side-hug. “Is this the same one you brought to the Super Bowl party this year?”
“The exact same one!” She chuckles, taking my plate and giving me a heaping helping. “Now your mama told me you got … a new job?” She says it with a lilt, but she’s just baiting the truth out of me.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” I grab a few apple slices.
“Hmm … and it’s at a bar?” The word might as well be poison on her tongue.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a sports bar, where I help clean and—”
“Serve alcoholics?” She holds up her finger.
“Leah, my Danny was a good boy—always a good boy. Then he went off to UT and tried beer—” she whispers the word—“ and next thing you know, he’s joining a fraternity, getting a piercing and a tattoo.
Now he’s dating a Catholic—a Catholic.” She sighs.
“You know better, dear. The Lord is not going to bless you if you are helping others sin like that.”
“I’m sorry I’ve let you down, Mrs. Mary,”
“You don’t have to apologize to me, sweetie.” She pats my arm. “The Lord offers mercy and forgiveness to those who repent.”
I plaster on my Christian-nice smile. “I better get this dip over to Rachel. Good seeing you.”
I’ll hear about this later from my mom, no doubt.
I duck around the woman and head back to my sister-in-law, who’s showing the women at our table her pregnancy tracker.
“That’s so cute! The size of an avocado!” One lady coos.
“The miracle of life is so precious,” another chimes in while the others nod and hum amen.
“We always thought you’d be first, Leah.”
I pause for a moment, convincing myself that their intentions weren’t to hurt me. I take my seat, unfolding my napkin. “I guess the Lord has other plans.”
A silence fills the space. Everyone takes slow chews as they avert their eyes.
It hasn’t always been like this. For as long as I can remember, I was a good girl, placed on a pedestal as the reverend's daughter. I acted right, learned how to be gracious and hospitable. I kept my nose clean throughout my childhood. Modest clothes. Never cursed. Avoided the opposite sex for fear of being raped or giving into lust. Any time the church doors were open, I was there. I folded bulletins for Sunday morning worship, sang on the praise team, even volunteered on a regular basis in children’s church and vacation Bible school.
I did everything right.
I met a boy from church.
I saved myself for marriage.
I was the perfect virgin bride.
Then I committed a forbidden sin. I left my husband. Suddenly, my divorce is an ink stain on my life. Every kind action, every good deed means absolutely nothing. I broke my marriage vows and that pedestal crumpled beneath me.. And worse, I ruined my family’s reputation.
If they knew the whole truth …
The meeting starts as usual: a time for prayer; a time for accolades of years past, a time for a special photo montage of children holding up candy and bracelets that boast God is love.
Jane stands before the sixty-something volunteers, discussing the theme and goals this year for the harvest festival, promising that this will be the biggest and best year yet.
After thunderous applause and amens, she clicks to the next slide in her presentation.
“Y’all got this in your email, but this is a list of our leaders and booth attendants.
If y’all could please fill out the online form with the name of your booth and the activity.
If you have any special requests, like Bible tracts or wordless coloring books that tell the story of salvation, let me know so we can put a word out to the congregation to donate. ”
My stomach rolls with unease as a chill crawls up my neck.
What email? What is she talking about? Every year, I host a fishing booth where kids use magnets attached to fishing rods to collect candy that have paperclips attached.
It’s always a huge hit, but Jane hasn’t talked to me at all about this year.
“Did you get an email?” I whisper to Rachel.
She nods. “Yeah, but I told her it’d be best for me to assist right now. Didn’t she email you?”
I shake my head.
“It was probably an oversight on her part.” She grins softly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“... if y’all have any questions, I’ll be on the foyer. Be safe going home.”
The moment the meeting is adjourned, the room erupts with loud chatter and chairs scuffing across the tiled floor. Church members stand with their belongings and head toward the door while others collect trash and begin stacking chairs to store.
Rachel and I slowly mosey to the door as another friend of my mother’s talks about tentative baby shower dates.
When Jane walks by with her arms full of presentation supplies and folders, I squeeze my sister-in-law’s arm, silently letting her know I was leaving the conversation.
Rushing over to Jane, I grab a poster board from her hand and catch a pencil pouch about to fall.
“Thank you,” Jane croons with an exaggerated tone.
“Of course, I—”
She pivots on her heel and continues walking out the double doors to the parking lot, lit only by the street lights and distant hue of the city.
“Jane, I had a question, if you don’t mind. I was wondering—”
“Why you’re not in charge of the fishing booth this year?” She raises an eyebrow, giving a scornful eye while opening her trunk. She sets down her crates and folders, then grabs the posters from me. With a huff, she finally faces me. “Do we really need to have this conversation, Leah?”
I fidget with my hands, massaging my now-bare ring finger. “Well, yes, ma’am. I love running that booth, and everyone looks forward to it—”
“Which is why I asked Tabby Newsome to take over.” She folds her arms and steps closer. “Leah, I love you. I’ve known you since you were in diapers. But … you know what the Word says about your lifestyle.”
I blink. “My lifestyle?”
“You took a vow before God, sweetie …”
But what about his vow?
“... and the Bible says that God hates divorce.” She clicks her tongue.
“And I know you know this from your father. The Bible calls leaders to be above reproach, that they are to manage their households. Leaving your poor sweet husband is in poor taste. And now I hear you’re helping people get drunk at that bar?
” She scoffs. “You can’t be an effective witness for the Lord living in sin.
I had no choice, sweetie. Maybe once you get your life right, we can let you serve again, but right now?
” She blows out an exaggerated breath. “I’m going to pray for you. ”
A bullet would’ve been more gentle.
Tears sting my eyes as emotions burn behind my nose.
I refuse to cry. Not yet. Holding my head up, I force my Christian smile. “Have a good night, Jane.”
She grins, but can’t get away fast enough. She gets into her car and takes off into the night.
“There you are!” Rachel saddles up next to me, a plate of cheese and fruit in her hands. “Did you get everything squared away with Jane?”
I’m too embarrassed to rehash what just happened. Not when I’m not sorry that I divorced my husband. I’m not sorry I kept the reason a secret for the past three years. And I’m not sorry for finding a job to help pay for the damage my ex has done.
I unlock the doors to my car. “Yep. Everything is crystal clear.”