3. Rocheport
Chapter three
Rocheport
Keziah Walker, the local minister’s daughter, was born and raised in Rocheport, Missouri, a provincial riverside village with more cows than charm.
Her best friend growing up was a farmer’s daughter, Sharon Gallagher.
They saw each other every day at school, and on Sundays after church.
They did everything together, from fixing fences on the farm to waxing church pews as penance for some sin or another.
The kid ran back to the picnic, bleating an alert.
Both sets of parents made a terrible commotion, which didn’t quiet down until both girls uttered an insincere apology before the entire congregation for their wanton ways.
That was Kizzy’s first scandal, and Rev.
Walker’s best-attended sermon to that date.
He discovered that denouncing sin from the pulpit grew his congregation, due both to fear of being shamed, and to learn of the latest moral crimes of his daughter.
Kizzy’s anxious mother sent her to finishing school in St. Louis until it blew over.
At Mrs. Higgleworth’s School of Deportment for Young Ladies, Kizzy confirmed her preference for women, enjoying many crushes and secret romances.
She came home well-mannered, accomplished in cooking, a gifted artist, and skilled in the art of seduction.
With one scandal already to her credit, Rocheport was willing, even eager, to believe her capable of others.
Taking advantage, her father increased the membership of his congregation through passionate sermons denouncing her for a variety of sins, always harkening back to the evils of sex in general.
At the Rocheport bar every night of the week, card players shared stories about the gold strikes happening out west, but every Sunday after services, all anyone could talk about was the minister’s beautiful daughter and her scandalous ways.
Sent away at fifteen, Kizzy matured during her two years at Mrs. Higgleworth’s, now so beautiful people caught their breath at sight of her.
Her face and form became favorite topics among both men and women.
Everyone agreed that when Kizzy turned it on she could lead Saint Peter astray.
The busybodies talked about her hourglass figure, delicate nose, high cheekbones, peaches and cream skin, and the sweet dimple in her cheek at every opportunity.
Some people attended services only to witness her public confession.
Her merry blue eyes could melt even the most judgmental heart, and Kizzy’s smiling mouth, full, wide, plump, and kissable, made them relish their doubts about the sincerity of her repentance.
Several respected gossips knew the powerful persuasiveness of those lips from personal experience, but for reasons of their own, hesitated to say so.
Since her return from Mrs. Higglesworth’s, Kizzy had endured a year’s worth of her minister father’s accusations over many real or imagined sins.
From the pulpit he denounced her vanity, laziness, parental disrespect, and then accused her of theft, bearing false witness, and rumormongering.
The last made her laugh out loud, but she duly confessed and repented so he wouldn’t badger her all week at home.
Rev. Walker made public parenting from the pulpit his church’s doctrine.
But Kizzy had learned her lesson the hard way.
Older and wiser now, she kept her sexual proclivities between herself and the women she bedded.
The number of her paramours that came from curious church members amused her, most of them married matrons seeking a forbidden taste of sin.
But through a lapse of good-judgment, or a perverse desire to get caught, it was her latest conquest which led the good reverend to discover her continuing sexual activities with women.
Late last night, following Saturday night choir practice, the Rev.
Michael Walker was about to lock the doors of his church when he heard strange sounds coming from the choir loft.
He climbed the stairs with alacrity despite the rheumatism in his knees and caught Kizzy kissing and caressing his bare-breasted new choir soloist. He exploded with self-righteous anger.
“How dare you?” he thundered, staring daggers at them both as the young mother pulled her disheveled clothing into order. “In my house of worship?”
Kizzy sighed and rose to her feet, standing between him and the soloist. “Don’t you mean the Lord’s house of worship?”
The mortified woman pushed past them both. “I didn’t know what I was doing,” she sobbed as she fled.
“She’s right, Father,” Kizzy agreed, staring down at him. Now a head taller than him, she enjoyed towering over the short man with the big mouth. “The sin is mine. I almost had her convinced when you barged in.”
He glared back at her, eyebrows beetled. “Keziah Walker, you’re more beautiful than your mother on her wedding day, but you’ll never be half the lady she is.” Her father’s eyes glazed over as he added her latest sin to his Sunday sermon.
The little reverend stared up at his daughter, accusations flying to his lips. “You’re a seductress, a Beelzebub who draws innocent women to your evil ways.”
“To your credit, she was resisting quite well.” Kizzy laughed in his face. “She kept saying, ‘What would the reverend say?’ She’ll find out now, no doubt. I’m sure you’ll give her an earful.”
Her father’s face turned from red to purple, while spittle formed at the corners of his mouth. “You stand here, a brazen hussy, and admit you seduced a member of my congregation, in my church?”
She stared him down. “Well, when you put it that way it does sound bad. I prefer to think of it as ‘loving my neighbor as myself’, but have it your own way.”
“Get out of my church, my house, and my life! I mean it this time,” Rev. Walker ordered, quivering finger pointing toward the door, his voice harsh and judgmental. He took a deep breath and crossed both arms across his chest. “And don’t come back.”
Kizzy knew he expected to repeat himself several times while she begged for leniency, in an act they had perfected a thousand times as she grew up.
After she pleaded enough, he would relent and forgive, welcome her back to the fold, and start preparing his next sermon.
But a few weeks earlier, on her eighteenth birthday, Keziah Walker had an epiphany and realized her time had come.
For many years she had practiced in front of her mirror, glaring at her reflection, staring her image in the eye, telling her father off in her mind.
Now an adult, she would not respond like a child to his bullying any longer.
She refused to let him torment her anymore.
Her eyes blazed in fury, her breathing quickened.
With years of animosity between them, she squared her shoulders.
Instead of giving in and begging, she answered with spirit, “I’ll never set foot in your house again, and I mean it.
You won’t use me to wake up your bored congregation anymore, you cruel bastard.
I’ll go out west and search for gold, make my own way.
My only regret is not leaving sooner.” She turned her back and walked away without another word.
Kizzy later learned that Rev. Walker used his Sunday service to denounce her with righteous fury before his congregation, who grew confused after searching the church with their eyes for the missing miscreant.
This wasn’t his usual denunciation. His words grew harsh and blistering, condemning his own daughter to hell for all eternity.
In the choir loft, the soloist lost her voice and couldn’t sing for fear he’d name her, too.
He didn’t, too busy charging Kizzy with scandalous mortal sins unmentionable in church.
Then he went a step farther than ever before, casting her out, and banished her.
His voice thundered from the pulpit. “Keziah Walker, you’re a despicable harlot!
Enough! We’ve tried to provide you with grace, forgiven you time after time, but you’ve shamed our church far too long with your sinful ways.
The next train leaves at four. Be on it.
” His flock gasped, but the public shaming would have been more effective if his target were there before him, a point he hadn’t considered when sending her away.
While enjoying lunch with her church lady friends, the righteous Choir Director brought it up. “Can you believe it? The poor Reverend Walker found them, en flagrante if you know what I mean, doing heaven only knows what right there in my, uh, I mean our loft!” She harrumphed for emphasis.
An irrepressible giggle escaped the Kitchen Director, their hostess. “Imagine the shock that must have been, him being not only her father, but also a man of the cloth!” She shook her head, curls bouncing around a face as curious as a cat’s. “Sugar, cream, or lemon, my dears?
The Sunday School Director sniffed. “Well, I still think it’s inappropriate for the minister to use his pulpit and our church sermons to discipline his… unusual daughter.” She gave another sniff. “Some things are better handled at home.”
“Hush your mouth and let us have our fun.” The Kitchen Director giggled again. “I wonder what he saw. How naked were they? What, exactly, were they doing to each other?”
Silence surrounded her table. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you aren’t wondering about it.”
“Now that you mention it,” the Choir Director admitted, “he used the word fornicating, but that can’t be correct because it was two women. Two women can’t fornicate, can they?”
The Sunday School Director stabbed a piece of leftover cake. “If it’s a sin, Keziah can do it. I wonder who she was with.”
“Penelope says even she doesn’t know, but I have my doubts. A mother would know.” The Choir Director turned to the fourth at the table. “Are you feeling better, my dear? Is the tea soothing your sore throat?”