Now his warm, strong hands felt good on her tender joints. They were sore from the hours spent carefully copying books and poetry into thick volumes to share with others. Every piece of information anyone in The Existence read about the Society and the New Time had to be written by hand. Printing was too easy, too accessible. When they presented a document written by hand, they showed their devotion and their belief. Their blood turned to ink and bled out onto the pages through the sharpened points of their pens. Each of the women tasked with the books were more than willing to do it. This is where they were called, and it was their honor to serve in that way.
At night when her hand ached, and her eyes burned, when her body felt weakened by not eating so she could finish all that was given to her, she reminded herself why she was here. They chose her. They set her apart. It was only what was left of The Existence within her whispering questions in her ears and telling her she was tired.
"Lucas has asked for you," Jeremiah told her.
"For me?" she asked.
He smiled broadly as he nodded to her. She could see the pride in his eyes and wanted to be worthy of it. There were times when she hadn't. When she let the weakness within her take over and failed to honor him. The silence and empty coldness lasted for days. She walked through The Tower as if she didn't exist.
"There is a ceremony this afternoon. He's asked that you be a part of it."
Her heart skipped.
"I haven't finished my writing for the day," she said, turning slightly to look back at the partially filled page of the volume.
She'd been toiling over the same book for nearly a week, and she longed to finish it. But she craved Jeremiah's approval. She ached for Lucas to look at her with the kindness and admiration of that first day.
"You can work on it later. The ceremony is more important. For Lucas to choose you should be a great pleasure."
Some of the happiness had slipped from his voice, and his hands were starting to slide away from hers. She clamored to stop the descent. Gasping in a deep breath to fill her lungs with his approval, she nodded.
"It is. I just don't want to disappoint him. I will finish after the ceremony," she assured him.
The smile returned to Jeremiah's face, and he brought her out of the room, rewarding her with the linking of his fingers through hers as they made their way down the hallway. He brought her through The Tower into a section she'd never visited. Several women stood inside the tiny room, dressed in robes that brushed the stone floor. They turned to look at her as she entered, evaluating her.
"Sister Abigail," Eloise smiled, opening her arms as she stepped through the others toward her.
The other women moved to the side, parting without question. It made her feel important, like they were waiting only for her. Eloise embraced her, then looked to Jeremiah.
"Now, Jeremiah, you know you aren't allowed in the ceremony. Go on back to your work. Sister Abigail will find you later," she said.
Her heart filled with the promise. She knew what it meant. When she was given permission to find Jeremiah, it meant they were granted a short time alone together. Those few moments were droplets of honey from the comb.
As soon as he left, Eloise crossed to the other side of the room and came back with a robe draped across her arms. She held it out, expecting her to change into it without offering a place of privacy. She felt the eyes of the women on her and hurried to dress. When she was ready, they moved through a door into the next chamber, where another woman sat on a stone bench in the center of the room. She was a stranger, totally unfamiliar. But Eloise greeted her warmly before taking her by one hand.
"Sister Abigail," she said. "Come take Sister Clarissa's hand."
She walked up to the other woman, noticing her blond hair hung loose, nearly reaching her thighs. Taking her hand, she and Eloise led Sister Clarissa into another room. They were moving deeper into The Tower now, into a section at the heart of the structure. The room was fully round, and the ceiling rose high above them. A fireplace cut into the stone of one wall crackled, offering the room's only light. A strong, sweet smell tickled her nose and made her head dizzy. Something had been thrown into the fire, added to the burning wood to create the thick haze of incense.
The group of women following them stayed huddled behind them as she followed Eloise's lead to guide Sister Clarissa up onto a platform in the center of the room. Up until now, there had been no sign of Lucas. She was tempted to ask about him. After all, Jeremiah said he was the one who asked for her. But she kept quiet. She didn't want to lose her privilege or look helpless.
Once on the platform, they lowered Sister Clarissa's hands, and Eloise started releasing the buttons on the back of her dress. Eloise glanced down at the blond woman's wrists as if to indicate the buttons there, and she reached for them, unbuttoning them though she didn't understand why. After a few minutes, the firelight danced on pale bare skin, and she tried not to show her discomfort at the woman standing there naked in front of her. As Eloise helped Sister Clarissa onto a raised bed in the middle of the platform, the rest of the women gathered around them. Eloise stood at Sister Clarissa's head, resting her hands on her blond hair.
"Sister Abigail," she said, nodding her head toward the other woman's feet.
She took her place there, taking hold of Sister Clarissa's ankles the way Eloise held her head. Eloise drew in a breath.
"Today we celebrate Sister Clarissa's first phase of purification and her acceptance into the Circle of Light," she said.
A door to the side she hadn't noticed slid open, and a cloaked figure entered. As she got closer, she recognized the figure as Ruth, Lucas's wife. She said nothing as she walked over to the fireplace and took hold of a long metal pole. She pulled it out of the flames, and with it came a small metal branding iron, glowing red. The women parted as she climbed up onto the platform.
She saw Sister Clarissa's eyes close and felt her body shake beneath her hands. Long, pale fingers grasped at the sides of the bed beneath her, desperate for something to hold onto. As Ruth got closer, Eloise's hold on Sister Clarissa's head tightened, and she followed suit with Sister Clarissa’s ankles.
The sweet smell of the fire had meaning now. She held tight to thrashing ankles as the skin on Sister Clarissa's waist melted away. Tears stung her eyes, but shock kept them from sliding down her cheeks. Sister Clarissa bit down into her bottom lip, drawing blood to hold back her scream. It dragged on, the seconds longer and longer. Finally, Ruth pulled away the iron. She rested a kiss to the center of Sister Clarissa's forehead, returned the iron to the fireplace, and walked out of the room.
Eloise took up a pitcher of water from a small table sitting to the side of the table and poured it over Sister Clarissa. Her back arched as her skin cooled, and a sob broke through her mangled lips. But when she opened her eyes, she looked right at Eloise.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The others left in silence. Eloise walked up to her and offered her hands. She took them and let the other woman hold them tightly.
"Sister Abigail, you are blessed to have been here and witnessed this glorious moment," Eloise said with a warm smile. "Sister Clarissa has been welcomed into the Circle of Light. She will be cherished by Lucas and offered a treasured place in the New Time." Eloise stroked her face. "We all have our calling. You will come to yours. Lucas favors you."
Chapter Fourteen
Now
Sam felt left out after missing the cinnamon rolls at game night, so before he left last night, I promised to make some for him and have them ready before he went into the station this morning. I made the dough and left them to rise in the refrigerator, then popped them in the oven while I took my morning shower. I stepped out into house filled with the glorious smell of cinnamon and sugar all wrapped up in tender yeast dough. It's one of the great joys of life. No one should have to grow old without a few mornings that smell like this.