Faith Wish (14 page)

As soon as she was alone, Anne-Marie began shelving her clothing in the hutch. There were two shelves but she only needed the top one. In the cupboard she put her makeup and bathroom articles, as well as her money. She discovered she'd forgotten several things she normally considered essential, such as her hair dryer, her conditioning rinse, and her eyeliner. Oh well, she reminded herself, things that were important at home were probably insignificant at Camp Shaddai.

She noticed all the beds were neatly made; some of them had quilts. The one closest to hers had some troll dolls resting on the pillow. Two had orange hair, two yellow, and one green. The green-haired one was largest. Troll dolls were
soo outré
, Anne-Marie had to wonder what kind of roommate this would be. Above the bed, on the wall, was a picture of John the Baptist exhorting listeners along the bank of the River Jordan. He looked especially wild and wooly. The picture itself looked crude, but it was professional work, crude-looking on purpose.

The bathroom turned out to be a group one, but it was very clean and there were curtains for privacy on each shower stall. A large linen closet with hinged doors was home for numerous soaps, shampoos, hair dryers, makeup kits, and tampons. Anne-Marie stared at a box of tampons; it seemed so weird not to need them anymore.

Since this cabinet was the home for hygiene items, she went to retrieve her own. She stacked them as neatly as possible in an unoccupied corner of one of the top shelves.

Anne-Marie took an extra-long shower, soaping herself slowly. When she lathered her large, well-formed breasts, she remembered with remorse how Richard relished them. But even worse, she remembered how she had always relished their power to arouse him. She soaped thoroughly in the nether regions of her loins, that treacherous location even Brother Jackson had been unable to resist.

It was disheartening to think about the craving of the flesh she not only inspired in males, but took pleasure in provoking. The person she was, had been, and might be again if her faith was weak.

After many soapings and gobs of lather, she let the hot water tumble down her torso and limbs. It felt so purifying and cleansing, as if she were washing away not just the dirt itself, but the self she was leaving behind. It felt like being born anew.

She had to borrow a towel from the closet (one more thing she hadn't thought to bring along). Sitting next to the towel were two pairs of silver scissors, one the long slim variety designed for cutting hair. Also close at hand was a box of Clairol hair coloring, currant hue. None of these things belonged to Anne-Marie, and she hadn't yet met the person to whom they did belong, but the urge to make herself over was keen. She had some money. If she did use the Clairol, she could easily replace it.

She stood in the steam from the shower stall that clouded most of the mirror. Using the towel, she wiped sections of the mist from the mirror so she could see. Her long blond hair was cheerleader hair, the legacy of Anne-Marie the worldly who strove for the look of a
Maxim
cover girl. Firmly and surely, she cut away the lower six inches of the wet locks. Her goal was to achieve a form of blunt cut, although she knew there would be uneven edges. It didn't matter. What difference could uneven edges make here?

Enough of the mirror was clear by now to permit a full view of her body. The cross attached to the ring which pierced her navel—would Sister Abigail approve? Could the pagan part of it contaminate the Christian part? Surely not. The cross was a gift from Brother Jackson, after all, and he himself had attached it to the circle.

She returned to the shower long enough to wash her hair a second time and apply the hair color. It took ten minutes or so to set before she could wash it out. She used the time to clean the wet locks from the floor in front of the wash basins. There were paper towels for wiping down the surface.

The net result was about what she expected: a short blunt cut, more or less currant in color, with uneven edges. She liked it. “This is the new me,” she said softly to the young woman in the mirror. It occurred to her as an afterthought that a new appearance would also make her more difficult to track. It was a needless thought, though, because Camp Shaddai was such a remote, sequestered place.

When Anne-Marie presented herself in Sister Abigail's quarters, the counselor did a double take. “Goodness. Look at you.”

Anne-Marie felt self-conscious, but asked, “Do you like it?”

“I think it's lovely. It makes a whole new you.”

“I was hoping so. That was the idea. But I never cut my own hair before, so it's pretty uneven around the edges.”

“Not to worry,” said Sister Abigail. “One of your dorm mates is a girl named Crystal. You'll be meeting her soon. She's very good at cutting hair, and I have an idea she'll be happy to clean up the edges. Why don't you have a seat here at the table, Anne-Marie, and I'll brew us some tea.”

Anne-Marie didn't like tea, but the serenity of the environment put that concern aside. “Thank you very much,” she said.

Abigail went to the far end of the long room where there was a modest kitchenette. She put the pot on the stove and got some tea bags from a cupboard. Anne-Marie could see that her beauty was even more stunning than she'd noticed before. Not only were her limbs golden tan, but they were perfectly formed with muscular definition. Not the large pumped muscles of those gross bodybuilders who strutted their stuff on ESPN and looked like male wannabes, but defined with grace and beauty. It was as if her physical radiance was God's stamp of approval, signifying her inner state of grace.

The apartment itself was a shiny one—knotty pine paneling with a high gloss and a sleeping loft above in the A-frame cavity. Besides the kitchenette, there was a dining area with a maple table and four chairs. There was a large cross made of stained wood on one wall, and a poster that said,
Whither thou goest, I will go. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God shall be my God
. Anne-Marie recognized the passage from the book of Ruth; the recognition gave her a sense of pride. The term paper on Canada geese never got finished, but her Bible knowledge was much stronger.

Sister Abigail returned with two cups of tea and a small plate of butter cookies. Anne-Marie sipped in tiny amounts.

“After the Bible study,” said Sister Abigail, “the girls will come back and do a few chores in the dorm. I'm afraid you'll be assigned a few housekeeping duties of your own.”

“I don't mind,” Anne-Marie said immediately. “I wouldn't want to stay here without pitching in somehow.”

“I didn't think you would. After that, we go to lunch in the dining hall. I think you'll like our food.”

“But Sister Abigail, how am I going to pay my way? A person can't just stay here for free, can they?”

The counselor smiled before she said, “Let's not worry about that right now. It's too soon.”

But Anne-Marie was accustomed to having means and was used to paying for things. “We have money. We're for sure not poor and I've got some money with me.”

“The River of Life Fellowship provides the funding for our operation here,” explained Abigail. “People from all over the country, even all over the world, send what money they can afford. Ten-dollar checks, on up to as much as a hundred.”

Anne-Marie knew that the River of Life Fellowship had a cable television network as well as one on radio. “Does the Fellowship pay expenses for Brother Jackson?”

“Not only Brother Jackson,” came the reply, “but many other evangelists as well. One of the Lord's miracles comes in the form of the generosity of small and humble people giving what they can. You leave the funding concerns up to me for now. When the time comes, if we need to talk about it, I'll be sure to let you know.”

It was so comforting it almost seemed too good to be true. “Thank you,” was all Anne-Marie could think to say.

Sister Abigail said, “Since you have a new 'do and a new look, why don't we think about finding a name for you to take while you're with us?”

“A new name?”

“Most of our fellowshippers like to choose a name they associate with a favorite Bible character or passage of Scripture. They do it to signify their new life in Christ; their new identity in the Lord's family. In fact, it was when I first came here twelve years ago that I chose the name Abigail.”

“Abigail is a name you picked?”

“It is indeed. I wanted to find a name that would signify submission, so I thought, what could be better than the Biblical woman who gave up all to follow her Lord and Master?”

Anne-Marie wished her Biblical knowledge extended further. She knew she still had much to learn. She wasn't sure who Abigail was, in the Bible. But the idea of choosing a new name for herself, to signify her new life in Christ, excited her. “I hadn't thought of it, but I can see how it's a good idea,” she said.

“One of your dorm mates, Rachel, came to us with a different name. You'll get to know her and love her. She's blessed with the gift of prophecy.”

“I don't know what name I would choose,” Anne-Marie admitted.

“Is Anne-Marie your real name, or is it simply Anne?”

“It's Anne. My family always left in my middle name because it was the name of my aunt on my father's side. She died young.”

“I'm sorry for that. Maybe we could do something with Anne, hmm?” Sister Abigail straightened the hair above her left ear, but Anne-Marie couldn't see where anything was out of place.

Anne-Marie felt pressure, as if she ought to be able to pick an appropriate name from the Bible immediately. Otherwise, Abigail might think she was ignorant of Scripture. She glanced at the poster on the wall, before she said quietly, “Whither thou goest, I will go.”

Abigail smiled broadly before she completed the passage without turning in her chair. “Thy people shall be my people, and thy God shall be my God.”

“It could be Ruth,” said Anne-Marie quickly. “Or maybe even Ruth Anne.”

“Ruth Anne would be lovely,” said Sister Abigail. “There is no more perfect example of submission to the Lord's will.”

“Ruth Anne,” murmured Anne-Marie quietly, while trying to down another sip of the bitter tea. She wished it had some milk or sugar in it, at least. “It symbolizes the new me. I will be putting away my old self to be born again in the body of Christ.”

“Exactly. And the body of Christ is right here, among your sisters at Shaddai.”

“It's kind of like a monastery or a nunnery, huh?”

Sister Abigail replaced her broad smile with an indulgent one. “In a manner of speaking, you might say so. Humility compels us not to criticize the religious practices of others, but we think the doctrines that come from the Pope in Rome are somewhat misguided.”

“I know. They believe you have to go through a priest to approach the Father.”

“That's one thing. But let's not talk about it, or we might find ourselves getting negative.”

Negative, Anne-Marie didn't want. But her thoughts raced, much as they did when she tried to concentrate on term papers or on reading. Secure and optimistic as this setting seemed, she couldn't completely ignore the disturbing element of her situation. Her born-again new look was also in part a disguise. Unlikely as it was that she could be traced into this sector of southern Illinois wilderness, she was a runaway. She was even an underage runaway. There would be TV reports, police, radio bulletins, milk cartons, and all the rest. The police would be looking for Brother Jackson, and her parents would be worried big-time.

She asked Sister Abigail in a quiet voice, “Have you called my parents? I have to know.”

“Called your parents about what?”

Anne-Marie wondered how much she knew. How much information had Brother Jackson given her? “I just mean, people don't know I'm here. I don't want to be
turned in
, if you know what I mean. I haven't done anything wrong or broken any laws, I can promise you.”

“You can promise and I can trust you,” said Sister Abigail simply. “I think you're getting ahead of yourself again.”

“What d'you mean?”

“Well, first you asked about costs and funding. Now you're asking me about who knows what and who ought to know what. If you need the Lord's help to find the solution to a problem you may be having, then that's what we need to be praying about.”

“When I'm secure in the Lord, I'll know His will.”

“Exactly. You'll know His will. That means you'll know what choices you need to make. In the meantime, Ruth Anne, remember your namesake.”

“Whither thou goest,” said Anne-Marie with relief, “I will go.”

“Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God,” added the counselor. “And now maybe it's time we lightened up a bit. Let me show you around some of the other facilities. When the girls come back, I'll introduce you.”

“Good. Thank you, Sister Abigail. God bless you.”

“And God bless you, Sister Ruth Anne.”

June 16

In the dorm, she slept restlessly the first few nights. It was quiet but for the steady hum of window fans, which made it cool enough that she needed to pull up the thin blanket as well as the sheet. She was awake, then asleep, with frequent dreaming.

She fretted about the anxiety her parents must be feeling, even though she was certain Eleanor had called them. A part of her soul—a dark part—relished whatever discomfort they might be enduring, as if they were getting what they deserved for putting her on a contract like a criminal. She was ashamed of the feelings, though; she was certain the Lord would want her to make room in her heart to forgive them.

Since she had to urinate once or twice each night, she had to learn to navigate her way carefully between the beds, in the dark. The concrete was always cool on the soles of her feet.