Hold Fast

Hold Fast Read Online Free PDF

Book: Hold Fast Read Online Free PDF
Author: Olivia Rigal
wondering how much his father saw.
    “It’s my fault, Father Emmanuel,” I say, turning to look at him. If Satan came in while Jeremiah was on the floor in front of me, he couldn’t have seen enough to be dangerous, not from where he’s standing. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. Tell the wrong lie, the rock will crush me. Tell the wrong truth, the hard place will grind me to dust.
    “I was feeling ill, and Brother Jeremiah – bless his heart – went to fetch me a bucket so I wouldn’t make a mess. When I was done, he brought me water.” I gesture in the direction of the evidence at hand. The best lies are the ones that stick closest to the truth.
    “Just now I felt sick again, so I pushed him away. I didn’t want to— oh no! ” I reach for the bucket and pretend to retch again, but stress and fear turn my acting into reality.
    “After so long, could you have finally received the blessing?” he asks.
    “I have fervently prayed for it, Father,” I reply, bowing my head and slowly standing. “I’ll empty this outside, and then I must tend to my chores.”
    The self-appointed prophet frowns, studying my face as I walk past him toward the door.
    “Do you want Jeremiah to accompany you?” he asks.
    I pause as if giving the question some thought and then decline as politely as I can. “Oh, Father Emmanuel, I don’t want to waste any more of your son’s precious time. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
    “Fine,” he says after a long moment. “You may go on your own.” Turning to his son he continues, “And now, young man, you and I need to have a talk.”
    I pause at the door hoping to catch the beginning of the conversation but Satan notices, “You are now excused, Sister Courtney. Please close the door behind you.”
    I obey, lingering longer than necessary outside the heavy wooden door. I don’t know if they are speaking in low tones or waiting for me to walk past the window before they begin, but I can’t hear a thing. Frustrated, fearing for Daniel as much as for myself, I walk away.
    So much for Monday being one of my favorite days.
    While rinsing the bucket with a hose, I realize I need to confront my mother about what I’ve just learned. Does she know about this plan to throw me in that monster’s bed? I know she’s bent around Father Emmanuel’s little finger by faith and belief, but I just can’t wrap my mind about this. She fawns over his sons, caring for them in a way she never showed me, but I know she loves me. Yet, she brought me here, and here I still am. Because it’s The Lord’s Will that I’m here.
    Trudging painfully off to the first set of hives, I ponder on The Lord and His Will. Each step is a reminder that it’s His Will that I not run away again. My mind shies away from the memory of the terrible pain of that lesson, blurring and glossing over Father Emmanuel’s look of satisfaction, blocking out my mother’s role in that horrific day that left me like this. I want to be sick again.
    But as harsh as my mother has been in seeing to it that I submit to His Will, she’s been so much worse on herself. Father Emmanuel is obsessed with male heirs, almost to the point of madness. My mother became infected, twisted by it too. Every time the ultrasounds showed her carrying another daughter, she turned suddenly clumsy, throwing herself down stairs and out of haylofts. Her zeal to please him, to please The Lord, made sure she didn’t waste any time with girls. She needed them out of her as quickly as possible so she could try again to please The Lord by giving his prophet a son.
    Those losses almost killed my mother, but the fire of a twisted, misplaced faith sustained her through it. The worst part of it, though, is that she doesn’t blame him, doesn’t see that he’s an impossible tyrant. She blames herself for being incapable of giving him the boys he so desperately wants. She’s convinced herself that she’s failed him. That she’s failed The Lord. You may
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