34 Then
Then
The worst part of it is, I wasn’t supposed to have been outside the church on my own.
I knew Ilse hated me. I knew she didn’t want to talk.
But right before the evening service, I made one last-ditch effort.
I would have done anything to convince her to come speak to me that night—and I did.
I told her I was willing to listen, that I’d changed my mind and did want the Savior’s love after all.
If she thought I was prepared to hear her out and take her concerns seriously, perhaps she would do the same for me.
It was my only remaining option.
And so I made her promise that during the service’s second prayer, she would follow me when I snuck out.
She reluctantly agreed. Prayers were always done in the near dark, as the Apostles believed artificial light an interference, so it was difficult to tell whether my sister was on my heels.
The only illumination came from a single candle at the front of the congregation.
Once I was outside, I waited. After all, Ilse had promised. No matter how angry she was, and no matter how certain she was of my soul’s damnation, she was still my sister. She still loved me, and I’d given her a final chance to save me. At least that was my hope.
She never showed.
But the pain of knowing she’d given up on me was nothing compared to the pain of knowing she’d still been inside the church when it exploded into flame.