THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY RUDE
Sunday evenings were ours. A ritual of setting the world aside, of loosening our grip on the worries we carried, of remembering, if only for a few hours, how to be gentle with each other.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, even the silence had teeth.
The usual conversation and laughter still rang through the room, but it sounded thinner, more brittle now.
The morning service at St. Ann’s had left its mark, and Father Frederick .
. . it wasn’t just what he said, it was the way he looked at Violet, like she was something he could swallow whole.
A slow, creeping chill traced its way down my spine.
I tried to shake it off, but the image had already rooted itself deep inside me.
Beside Elona, Maeve sat with her usual poise noticeably dimmed, her body angled just slightly inward and guarded.
The easy banter that so often came from her was gone tonight, replaced by silence and a tension held tight in her shoulders.
Across from them, Nell remained still and watchful, her eyes moving from face to face, her mouth drawn into a tight line that gave nothing away.
At the far end of the table, Emil wore his usual mask of calm composure, but there was a keenness to his gaze now, like he was quietly cataloging every shift in tone, every glance, every pause.
And then there was Violet. She looked like a ghost of herself, caught in some private storm, her eyes distant and unfocused. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass in slow, mindless circles, like it was the only thing anchoring her to the room.
The silence pressed in until I felt trapped in my own skin, the tension almost unbearable.
Without thinking, I let my wineglass dangle between my fingers, as I shattered the quiet.
“Well, it’s awfully somber in here, don’t you think?
” I said, tone teasing, though it felt like I was throwing a match into dry grass.
Maeve’s eyes ignited with a fierce spark, her jaw tightening before she leaned forward. “Aye, no wonder we’re all as still as statues. Hard to be joyous when that blasted priest practically set us ablaze in front of the whole bloody town. Not a soul left here with a lick of peace in their heart.”
Elona gave a dark laugh. “He’s lucky we were in a house of God, surrounded by witnesses.” She sat back in her chair, arms crossed tight, brows arched. “That collar of his wouldn’t have saved him otherwise.” A soft chorus of agreement moved through the room.
Then Violet spoke. “He called us temptations.” She wasn’t looking at any of us.
Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, knuckles pale.
“Said we were the rot in the orchard. That if men strayed, it was us who led them.” She paused.
“I’ve spent half my life trying to be good,” she continued.
“Trying to be small. Clean. Quiet. And still, somehow . . . that wasn’t enough.
Still, he looked at us like we were filth. ”
Nell reached over and laid a firm hand on Violet’s arm. “He’s a coward, Violet. A man too weak to look at his own sins, so he throws ’em at women like stones.”
Violet’s eyes darted to hers, then met mine. “I know,” she said. “I think I’m just trying to figure out what’s worse, the sermon, or the man giving it.”
Emil shifted in his seat, the motion subtle, his eyes fixed on the center of the table as though careful not to look at any of us while he gathered his thoughts. “Well,” he said. “It’s hard to take lessons on damnation from a man who’s never seen the devil, only imagined him in women like you.”
I took a slow sip of my wine, the cool liquid doing little to settle the uneasy flutter in my chest. I didn’t share Emil’s point of view; I wasn’t so sure Father Frederick had never met the devil.
In fact, I was starting to think he’d been in close contact with him, and he’d brought a little piece of that darkness with him into this town.
I forced a smile, though it didn’t feel right.
I could see Violet slipping farther away, lost somewhere beyond my reach.
I glanced at her again, watching her fingers trace her glass.
“Well,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.
“He certainly made an impression, just not the kind that leaves you feeling inspired.”
“He didn’t just preach,” Violet said, her voice tighter now. “It was the way he looked at me. Like he was . . . measuring me. Weighing what he could get away with.”
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as she continued.
“It’s him. He’s . . .” She paused, like she couldn’t find the right words. “When he looks at me, I just feel gross, like I’m being ripped open. And then there’s this rage. A fire that makes me want to burn it all down, everything that’s ever given him that kind of power.”
“Then we burn it all down,” Maeve added while raising her glass to her lips.
I stayed quiet for a moment, watching Violet.
I didn’t like seeing her like this. The strong, fierce woman I knew was buried beneath something tonight, and it made me uneasy.
“We’ve all got a problem with him,” I said softly, my eyes finding hers.
“But he’s just a man, Violet. We can’t let fear take over. ”
Violet’s mouth curled into a smile that suggested her restraint was entirely voluntary. “I’m not scared, Birdie, just . . . pissed.”
Maeve let out a slow breath, then reached across the table and nudged Violet’s hand with the back of her fingers. “Well then,” she said, her tone lighter now, though her eyes still burned. “Let’s be pissed together. Gods know it’s better than bein’ scared alone.”
Elona chuckled and rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “I swear, if we all had a coin for every time we had to pick each other up after someone’s sorry excuse for justice, we’d have bought our own church by now.”
“Aye,” Maeve said with a smirk. “And we’d run it better too. No fire and brimstone, just good food, strong drink, and a choir of women who can hit notes high enough to shatter glass and egos alike.”
Nell snorted. “I’d gladly pay my tithe for that.”
Violet’s fingers finally stilled on the rim of her glass, her shoulders eased, and she looked up with a small smile creeping onto her face. “You all are ridiculous.” She said, shaking her head.
“And you love us for it,” Elona said with a wink.
Emil leaned forward, his tone wry. “If we’re founding a new order, I demand kitchen duties be rotated. I’m not scrubbing pots for eternity.”
“Fair enough,” I said, finally feeling a smile break free, “but I get to pick the wine.”
“Deal.” Violet said, voice stronger now. “Just as long as we never invite Father Frederick.”
Elona raised her glass. “To new orders. And better sermons.”
We all lifted our glasses and the soft clink rang out. No one spoke after the toast, we just sat there, breathing the same air, eating the same bread, carrying the same fire.
Whatever was coming, it hadn’t taken us yet. And that was enough . . . for now.