Page 112 of The Confidant
“Just a few things he wanted to follow up on with me.” He waved his hand. “I can’t really talk about it now, but I’m sure you’ll be hearing about it from your dad soon.”
Was Xander going to be the new pastor then? Were Scarlett’s suspicions about her dad being promoted to Elder actually spot on?
“I guess I’ll look forward to hearing more soon,” Scarlett said with a smile.
“I’ll be very interested in hearing your thoughts on what’s been revealed,” he said. Then making a point of looking down at where Scarlett’s hand rested on my leg, he added, “It’s definitely going to mix things up.”
I was suddenly reminded of something that I’d thought of recently. The coincidence of him seeing Scarlett and me together just the day before her dad found out and made her break up with me.
Would Xander report this comforting gesture to his buddy Pastor Caldwell?
Xander didn’t say anything about it, though. He just said he’d catch up more with her later before going to sit on the front row, right smack in front of the pulpit.
As we listened to the organist play the prelude music, I was briefly reminded of the sermon Scarlett’s dad gave a long time ago about “front-row Joes” and how the place you sit in church and whether you show up early, on time, or late reflects your dedication to where you want to sit in heaven.
Which meant, I should probably be sitting at the very back.
A hush fell upon the whole room a moment later, the sudden reverence given to the High Priest who had just walked into the chapel.
As Scarlett’s dad led the eighty-nine-year-old man with white hair toward the stand, where he would be sitting in the seat reserved for the highest ranking member in attendance that day, everyone in the congregation got to their feet as a sign of respect.
And even though the High Priest wasn’t like a living God to me anymore—The Fold had four deities they worshipped: God, Jehovah, Samuel Williams, and the man who currently held the position of High Priest—I stood next to Scarlett as well.
The High Priest shuffled to his seat with the help of his bodyguard, and when he gestured for everyone to be seated, Pastor Caldwell went to the pulpit to announce the opening hymn and who would be saying the invocation.
As the congregation sang their songs and said their prayers, instead of feeling like I had come back home after spending an extended period of time away, it just felt like I was witnessing another culture’s spiritual practice.
One that didn’t belong to me anymore.
A few minutes later, it was time for the Lord’s Supper to be passed to the congregation. When the boy in charge of the section Scarlett and I were sitting in approached our pew, my heart started pounding.
What was I supposed to do?
Should I just go along with what everyone was doing and take it when it was offered to me?
It didn’t have the same meaning to me now, but should I just go with the flow and take a piece of bread before passing the tray on to Scarlett?
To an outsider, communion was probably a seemingly little thing. Like a little snack in the middle of a long, boring meeting.
But to the members of The Fold, this was one of their holiest parts of their entire day—the time where they renewed the promises they’d made with their God to live their lives in the way the church had directed them.
It was also a way they could control and shame you into submission, since it was considered a privilege to partake of and something they could strip you of if they didn’t consider you to be in good standing with the church.
Pastor Caldwell had forbidden me from taking communion during our last meeting, after all. Saying I wasn’t allowed to receive the blessings it offered until I humbled myself and repented of my disbelief.
I couldn’t take it untilhedeemed me worthy again.
The boy carrying the tray reached the row right in front of me, and I instinctively looked up to the stand at Scarlett’s father, just to see if he was watching me at all.
And sure enough, he was looking at me with a stern expression. Probably waiting to see if I would disobey his directive from months earlier and take a piece of bread.
When the tray was offered to me, I could feel all eyes on me, as if everyone in the congregation was waiting to see if I would take it. I considered doing it—just as an act of rebellion against Pastor Caldwell and the system he represented.
But then, I felt Scarlett lean against me. And when it seemed like she was holding her breath and waiting to see what I did, I was suddenly reminded of what this moment meant to her.
She didn’t know about my meeting with her father, and so to her, whether I chose to take it or not would be a signal to how worthy I felt I was to take it. It was a way for her to get an insight into what “sins” I might have committed that she didn’t know about.
Which were none.
