Page 3 of My Vows Are Sealed

“You know how you love Treelo onBear in the Big Blue House?” I said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s kind of like that.”

My mom gave me the stink eye, but didn’t say anything else.

I had no idea what the hell my parents’ problem with Darla was lately, but it was starting to piss me off. We’d grown up together and I’d known her for pretty much my whole life. We used to spend tons of time together, but then, out of the blue, toward the end of school this year, my mom had decided that it was best for me if we didn’t spend any more time together outside of church and school.

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why a twelve-year-old girl’s private thoughts were such a huge issue all of a sudden. It wasn’t like she was throwing herself at me or acting inappropriate, and it wasn’t like I’d have encouraged that if she was.

But I heard the message loud and clear: Darla Jones was off-limits.

Part I

Yours to Hold

August-December 1997

Chapter 1

Darla

Jesus Freak

“‘But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh. For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things you please,’” my father boomed as I sat at the breakfast table.

I swore that ever since my mom’s multiple sclerosis got worse and she’d had to go on disability over the summer – which also meant that they’d had to withdraw me from the private school I’d been attending and enroll me in public school – my dad had gotten evenmorefanatical. It was like he was convinced that I’d turn into a juvenile delinquent the second I set foot on the Charleston High campus.

“I know,Dad,” I murmured.

The leather-bound Bible he always carried around like a security blanket landed a hard blow on the back of my head, making me see stars for a second. I bit my lip to muffle my yelp, knowing it would only make things worse. If I cried out at all, he’d tell me that I wasn’t allowed to be upset and that I needed to accept the discipline of the Lord so I wouldn’t stray from the path of righteousness, or whatever Bible verse he decided to quote to accompany the beating.

“‘Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right!’” he growled.

Seriously, was itpossiblefor him to speak without quoting a Bible verse?

But the thing was, he always forgot the second part of that passage. The part where it told fathers not to provoke their children to anger. Yeah, I knew the Bible too. Kind of hard not to when I’d grown up as a preacher’s daughter. Which meant that I knew all too well that he took the parts of the Bible that suitedhisneeds and disregarded the rest of it. He seemed to really like the parts about children obeying and fathers disciplining their children when they didn’t obey.

“Where was I not obeying?” I asked him. “I just said, ‘I know.’”

He smacked his Bible on his palm right next to my ear, and I jumped so much that I ended up clipping my ear on the book.

Why wasn’t I allowed to ask him a simple question? Why was just speaking while he was in the middle of a pointless rant enough to earn me his wrath? I didn’t understand what I’d done to deserve this. But then again, I never did understand it. It was just the way it was, and I had to accept it.

“‘Hear, o sons, the instruction of a father, and give attention that you may gain understanding, for I give you sound teaching; do not abandon my instruction,’” he barked. “You’ll never glean true understanding of the Word if you don’t fucking listen and pay attention!”

He whacked me on the head with his Bible again; again, I muffled my cries. I couldn’t let him hit me any more before I left. I didn’t want to have to explain bruises to my new teachers on my very first day of school. Today was going to be hard enough as it was.

“‘Your word I have treasured in my heart, that I might not sin against You,’” I retorted quietly, my voice thick with the tears that I refused to let fall. “Just because I’m going to public school now, it doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly forgotten everything I’ve ever been taught, Dad. Why don’t you trust me?”

“You’ve done nothing to earn my trust!” he exclaimed. “Don’t fucking question me! I’ll trust you when you prove yourself worthy.”

I’d never understood how my father could quote Scripture to me one minute and curse at me in the next breath. None of the people we went to church with used that kind of language, and I’d heard him chastise a few of the men in the church for cursing, so why was he different? What made him special enough that using foul language was okay for him, but not for anyone else?

I glanced at the clock and said a silent prayer of thanks when I saw that it was already almost time to leave to catch the bus. Because my father couldn’t be bothered to drive me to school. Funny how when I was in private school, he always did. He never asked my mom to do it, and he never complained about it. But now that I wasn’t going to be going to a school that taught about Jesus, he suddenly didn’t care whether or not I made it there on time.

Grabbing the piece of toast off of my plate, I got up and slung my backpack over my shoulder. “I have to get outside, Dad. I’ll miss the bus.”

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