Deep Redemption
Page 7
My eyes fell closed. A Cursed. My stomach swelled with flutters of fear. But I knew it was hopeless to argue. His mind would not be changed. His eyes had confirmed what he believed to be true.
I was a devil’s whore.
“No. She is not,” Brother Stephen argued, but Brother Ezrah walked away, a new kind of determination in his steps.
I looked at my guardians, and a meaningful stare passed between us. I breathed deeply, knowing that the time had arrived. Yet fear still trickled into my veins like a thick poison. My family’s peaceful life here in Puerto Rico was over. We always knew the time would come. But it did not make it any easier.
My life was about to change forever . . .
*****
“I hate that he has me veiled,” I said, feeling every ounce of that hatred in my bones.
“If you are declared a true Cursed by the prophet, he plans for you to be kept from the congregation. He wants to introduce you to the people only when the time is right. They have no idea of your existence, Harmony. The prophet has revealed this time to be the end of days. The prophesized marriage between our leader and a Cursed has not yet come to pass. The people fear that without it we are all doomed to hell. Prophet Cain wants to wed you to show that we are the chosen people of God. That He has not abandoned us.”
Nausea clawed up my throat at the very thought of being married to the prophet. I had never met Prophet Cain. I had no idea what he was like. Our people in Puerto Rico were always the last to hear of any news from New Zion.
I expelled a humorless laugh. I would soon be married to a man I did not know. Even though it was my duty, what some would regard a privilege, all I felt was complete and utter disgust. My past experience with men like him was still scarred onto my heart . . . onto my skin.
My soul.
Sister Ruth tapped my arm. I blinked to clear my vision. I turned to see what she wanted, and she pointed out of the small window beside her.
I leaned across her body and peered down. All I could see were white clouds. Sister Ruth held up her hand. “Wait, they will clear again soon.”
I waited patiently, then just as she predicted, the clouds cleared. My heart raced as I viewed the green patchwork quilt below. Buildings stretched out for miles. My eyes widened at the sheer enormity of what I was seeing.
“New Zion,” Sister Ruth announced, no emotion in her voice.
I swallowed hard as I cast my gaze over as much of the sacred lands as possible. The plane began to turn, offering me a full view of the great commune. “It is so big,” I whispered, my eyes widening.
“Bigger than I could ever have imagined,” said Sister Ruth.
My hands began to shake on my lap. New Zion was huge. Our home in Puerto Rico comprised no more than ten acres. New Zion was vast . . . and it was completely secluded, out of the sight of prying eyes.
The perfect place for our people to exist well away from the outside world.
“Brother Stephen, do you want to see?” Sister Ruth asked. He kept his eyes forward and shook his head.
His lips were pursed and his eyes were narrowed. I looked back out of the window; the ground was approaching quickly. I guessed we were only minutes from landing.
I sat back in my seat and clasped my hands tightly together on my lap.
You can do this. You must.
The wheels of the plane suddenly hit the ground. The engines screamed as we began to slow.
We were here.
The gravel road crunched beneath the plane’s heavy tires, the sound filling the small cabin. I focused on keeping my fear at bay, but it seemed impossible. “I am scared,” I whispered. I shook my head, hating that I could not push that weakness away.
I felt Brother Stephen tense—I knew he felt guilty that I was here, in this position. Sister Ruth placed her hand on my shoulder and began straightening my veil and hair.
I watched her as she made sure I looked perfect—just what the prophet wanted. She sat back. “You really are beautiful, Harmony. He will not dispute Brother Ezrah’s claim, I am sure.”
I nodded, but all I felt was repulsion.
In Puerto Rico, I was never made to feel evil or devil-tainted by my guardians and our friends. And I knew that was not the norm. The scriptures we adhered to enforced the people’s fear of those branded a Cursed. Passage upon passage was written about the Cursed Sisters of Eve and their demonic allure. How they tempt innocent souls into their traps. Even worse were the chapters in Prophet David’s writings of how to rid them of that sin.
The physical tortures . . . the celestial joinings from the age of eight . . .
Cold shivers raced through my blood.
I knew here in New Zion I would be feared just as much as if the devil walked among our lands. I would be detested. Only when I married the prophet would I be given any mark of respect. If the prophet had thought this veil would protect me from the people’s judgment, he would be very much mistaken.
I was a devil’s whore.
“No. She is not,” Brother Stephen argued, but Brother Ezrah walked away, a new kind of determination in his steps.
I looked at my guardians, and a meaningful stare passed between us. I breathed deeply, knowing that the time had arrived. Yet fear still trickled into my veins like a thick poison. My family’s peaceful life here in Puerto Rico was over. We always knew the time would come. But it did not make it any easier.
My life was about to change forever . . .
*****
“I hate that he has me veiled,” I said, feeling every ounce of that hatred in my bones.
“If you are declared a true Cursed by the prophet, he plans for you to be kept from the congregation. He wants to introduce you to the people only when the time is right. They have no idea of your existence, Harmony. The prophet has revealed this time to be the end of days. The prophesized marriage between our leader and a Cursed has not yet come to pass. The people fear that without it we are all doomed to hell. Prophet Cain wants to wed you to show that we are the chosen people of God. That He has not abandoned us.”
Nausea clawed up my throat at the very thought of being married to the prophet. I had never met Prophet Cain. I had no idea what he was like. Our people in Puerto Rico were always the last to hear of any news from New Zion.
I expelled a humorless laugh. I would soon be married to a man I did not know. Even though it was my duty, what some would regard a privilege, all I felt was complete and utter disgust. My past experience with men like him was still scarred onto my heart . . . onto my skin.
My soul.
Sister Ruth tapped my arm. I blinked to clear my vision. I turned to see what she wanted, and she pointed out of the small window beside her.
I leaned across her body and peered down. All I could see were white clouds. Sister Ruth held up her hand. “Wait, they will clear again soon.”
I waited patiently, then just as she predicted, the clouds cleared. My heart raced as I viewed the green patchwork quilt below. Buildings stretched out for miles. My eyes widened at the sheer enormity of what I was seeing.
“New Zion,” Sister Ruth announced, no emotion in her voice.
I swallowed hard as I cast my gaze over as much of the sacred lands as possible. The plane began to turn, offering me a full view of the great commune. “It is so big,” I whispered, my eyes widening.
“Bigger than I could ever have imagined,” said Sister Ruth.
My hands began to shake on my lap. New Zion was huge. Our home in Puerto Rico comprised no more than ten acres. New Zion was vast . . . and it was completely secluded, out of the sight of prying eyes.
The perfect place for our people to exist well away from the outside world.
“Brother Stephen, do you want to see?” Sister Ruth asked. He kept his eyes forward and shook his head.
His lips were pursed and his eyes were narrowed. I looked back out of the window; the ground was approaching quickly. I guessed we were only minutes from landing.
I sat back in my seat and clasped my hands tightly together on my lap.
You can do this. You must.
The wheels of the plane suddenly hit the ground. The engines screamed as we began to slow.
We were here.
The gravel road crunched beneath the plane’s heavy tires, the sound filling the small cabin. I focused on keeping my fear at bay, but it seemed impossible. “I am scared,” I whispered. I shook my head, hating that I could not push that weakness away.
I felt Brother Stephen tense—I knew he felt guilty that I was here, in this position. Sister Ruth placed her hand on my shoulder and began straightening my veil and hair.
I watched her as she made sure I looked perfect—just what the prophet wanted. She sat back. “You really are beautiful, Harmony. He will not dispute Brother Ezrah’s claim, I am sure.”
I nodded, but all I felt was repulsion.
In Puerto Rico, I was never made to feel evil or devil-tainted by my guardians and our friends. And I knew that was not the norm. The scriptures we adhered to enforced the people’s fear of those branded a Cursed. Passage upon passage was written about the Cursed Sisters of Eve and their demonic allure. How they tempt innocent souls into their traps. Even worse were the chapters in Prophet David’s writings of how to rid them of that sin.
The physical tortures . . . the celestial joinings from the age of eight . . .
Cold shivers raced through my blood.
I knew here in New Zion I would be feared just as much as if the devil walked among our lands. I would be detested. Only when I married the prophet would I be given any mark of respect. If the prophet had thought this veil would protect me from the people’s judgment, he would be very much mistaken.
