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sounded like a cult.
    Lane described a group of like-minded men who had, over twenty years ago, tried to establish a church in Argosy Junction that operated as close to what they could find in the Bible as possible. There were denominations who claimed to do so, but it was easy to find modern trappings in them that, while not wrong, could take away from the simplicity of primitive church worship. Warren Argosy had been one of the founding members.
    “We were like one big family. Picture an Amish style of living, but with modern conveniences and costumes from the set of Little House on the Prairie.”
    Matt nodded. “Sounds like some people’s idea of Utopia.”
    “In many ways it is—well, was. Over time, it changed a bit. Instead of the men being only involved in the inner workings of the church as a collective whole, it became intrusive into our lives, but we didn’t realize it. When I am willing to be honest with myself—which is rare, if you want the truth—I have to admit we were all just as guilty as the next person.”
    Not sure what to think, Matt nodded for her to continue. Lane voiced appreciation for his lack of judgment. “It was little things. I guess you could say peer pressure. My father loved long hair on his daughters and taught us that scripture says it is our glory. Other fathers learned of it and required longer hair for their daughters. After about ten years or so, only the youngest girls had hair shorter than their shoulders, and most of us had hair at least to the middle of our backs.
    “But if it was just peer pressure—”
    Lane shook her head. “That’s the sad part. It was. It was just peer pressure—at first. Over time though, the men started teaching from scripture about the shame of men’s hair being too long and the glory of a woman’s hair. They’d ‘speak the Word’ in our meetings, condemning the denominations for allowing the abomination of women with hair above their shoulders.”
    Interrupting, Matt asked, “Why the shoulders? Why not below the shoulder blades, to the waist, to the ankles—why that particular length? It’s not all that long.”
    Her explanation was surprisingly logical. “Because some people cannot grow their hair longer than that but most grows that long.”
    Matt studied Lane’s braid protruding from beneath her ever-present ball cap. “Your hair looks long enough to me.”
    “Oh no, that’s just an example of what happened to the group. It then went to clothes, entertainment, gender roles, and eventually it splintered into every direction imaginable.” She could see he didn’t understand. “If you’re not a Christian, it won’t make sense, but serious Christians are all about the Bible. Do what it says, live what it says, be who it says to be. The Bible is the I Ching for Christianity.”
    “Okkaaayy.” Matt didn’t know what to say to that. “So what does this have to do with— Oh, is it because you’re in jeans? That waitress and the cook—both Prairie Muffins. I get it.”
    Lane removed her cap and tugged on her braid, muttering something about how the Albuterol always gave her a headache and the braid made it worse. With a sigh, she pulled the hair band from her braid and untwisted it until it hung freely down her back. Matt had never seen hair like it outside a shampoo commercial. It slipped through her hands and down her back as though liquid. She used her fingernails to massage the scalp before she adjusted her hatband to its largest setting, scooped up the silky strands, and stuffed them under her hat as she shoved it back on her head.
    He swallowed hard and tried to listen as she continued. “It’s not that really, but it is what began it all. About five and a half years ago, we lost the lambs and half the sheep to illness. It was a bad year financially, so we rented out some of the outbuildings to hunters, and it was my job to lead them where they wanted to hunt.”
    “Why was it your job? I would have thought that the