Faith Wish (15 page)

In the mornings she sometimes felt low levels of nausea that continued to inhibit her appetite. Once or twice, Sister Abigail asked her if she was disappointed with the food in the cafeteria, but she said no, the food was good. And in truth, it was. “It must be nerves,” she said to the counselor.

“Everything is new, Ruth Anne,” said Abigail. “You can't be expected to feel right at home immediately. Give it a little time. You'll be eating like a horse and sleeping like a baby.”

Anne-Marie hoped and assumed she was right, but the assurance couldn't completely calm her raw nerves.

There was a small tabernacle down near the edge of the lake, situated in a grove of cottonwood trees. In the evenings, Sister Abigail fellowshipped with the whole group.

When Abigail preached, she wore a white muslin tunic. It reached below her hips and had long, loose sleeves, so it resembled a plain kind of choir robe. There were three crosses embroidered across the chest, the largest one flanked by smaller ones. Two floodlights attached to the sides of the stage put her in a spotlight. She seemed to shine with special radiance.

One of the first sermons Anne-Marie heard her give was a warning. Sister Abigail cautioned them that the world, and most people in it, would try to undermine their faith. “If you want respect,” she said, “it won't be easy to find. Contempt
will
be easy to find, so you will need the strength to endure it and overcome it.”

Anne-Marie understood how true it was. She thought of the skepticism of her parents, the smart-ass comments Richard had delivered. Even Brooke had mocked her when Anne-Marie revealed she wanted to turn her life over to the Lord.

“Respect will have to come from within,” the counselor continued. “I'm sure you know by now how hard it is to stand up for your own beliefs when the world is scornful. Praise God, though, that standing firm is not something you have to do alone. The Lord will never leave your side. He is always standing there with you, holding your hand.”

As hard as Anne-Marie tried to concentrate, and as much as she could relate to the words, she found her mind wandering. She thought of her parents and Eleanor. She hoped Richard got the car back on time, with no dents or scrapes. She hoped he remembered not to leave any cigarette butts in the ashtray. She even thought of clothing and makeup she wished she'd remembered to bring along. She shook her head; in school, she was always this way. She knew the Lord wanted her undivided attention.

“Because the Lord gives all,” Sister Abigail was saying, “He expects all. He didn't die on the cross just so people could go to church on Sunday morning or put a few dollars in the Salvation Army kettle at Christmas. The Lord of your life means the center of your life, not just a hobby or part-time activity. If your goal is to follow Him, you will have infinite joy, but you may not have much comfort.”

It was that same night, at the conclusion of fellowship, when they joined hands in a circle for closing prayer, that Rachel began to speak in tongues. She was a gaunt and mystical creature who slept in the bed closest to Anne-Marie's.

When Rachel spoke in tongues it was a disturbing combination of clicking and humming. There weren't any discernible words, but there was an obvious connection to an unspeakably mystical force:
clickety-click-click
while maintaining a deep-throated hum almost like a background of studio musicians. It stirred Anne-Marie to the depths to realize that whatever discomfort she might be feeling in this period of transition, she was truly in a place of spiritual power so great it brought forth the Mysteries of the Lord Himself.

After fellowship there was at least an hour before lights out. It turned out the Clairol she had “borrowed” without asking permission belonged to Crystal, the girl who liked to cut hair. Crystal was very fat and wore geeky glasses. Her thighs rippled with cellulite. “I'm sorry I took it without asking,” Anne-Marie told her.

“Don't worry, I wasn't going to use it anyway. At least not on myself. Sister Abigail said you might like me to trim your hair.”

“Would you? I like it this short and this color, but I cut it myself. I guess that's pretty obvious, huh?”

Crystal cocked her head so she could examine Anne-Marie's hair a little more carefully. She pushed her stubborn glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I've seen worse,” she said. “Come on, let's go back to the dorm and even up those ends.”

“That would be great.”

Crystal gave Anne-Marie a hand mirror to hold while she did the trimming. She was deft and confident while she worked. “Have you been here before?” Anne-Marie asked her.

“This is my fourth summer. One year I was here all summer, but this year I'll only be here for six weeks. My parents are taking me to Barbados in the middle of July.”

“Do your parents like you to come here?”

“My parents love for me to come here. I have problems at school sometimes. People make fun of me and tease me. I always try to laugh it off, but it's hard when people are always teasing you and being cruel.”

Anne-Marie could imagine why. With that bulk and those ornery glasses, which kept slipping down her nose, she would be an easy target for high school classmates. “I'm sorry,” said Anne-Marie softly, and for more reasons than one. She could remember when she herself, not so long ago, was one of those who teased the geeks and played practical jokes, sometimes even cruel ones. She thought of the conversation she'd had with Sara Curtis when she tried to apologize for that kind of behavior.

“Sorry for what?” Crystal asked.

“Just sorry that … that people treat you that way.” She moved quickly to change the subject: “I have problems in school, too.”

“You do?” Crystal sounded doubtful.

“Maybe not the same kind as you. I have trouble with my grades. I get low grades.” She stopped short of revealing that she'd failed to graduate.

“But you're so beautiful, Anne-Marie. You must be like real popular.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I can just tell. I have a radar about these things. Girls as beautiful as you are always very popular in school.”

Anne-Marie could feel herself blushing. She wondered if the red creeping up the back of her neck was visible to her new friend with the scissors. “Beautiful has to be what you are on the inside,” she finally said. “It's like Sister Abigail said. Besides, whatever my looks are, I've always gotten low grades in school. The way the teachers and counselors put it, I'm an academic underachiever.”

“You have low self-esteem too, then,” declared Crystal. Anne-Marie felt certain the pleasure in her voice was unintentional. “I didn't think it ever happened to the popular girls.”

“If I told you about my older sister, you'd understand why.”

Crystal was at work on Anne-Marie's bangs. “Hold real still now,” she cautioned. “Whenever we're here at Camp Shaddai, I'm always reminded it's only how I look in God's eyes that really counts. If I'm fat, what difference does it make? If He is for me, who can be against me?”

“It's true, huh,” said Anne-Marie, knowing her own parents would never be able to find any enthusiasm for Camp Shaddai. They would probably think it was just a cult site, out of balance.

Anne-Marie was given latrine duty the first week. It was her job to clean the toilets, the sinks, the shower stalls, the mirrors, and the vanity surfaces. Ironically, it was something she knew how to do. When she'd been a cheerleader, Mrs. Stiles, the sponsor, used to make them clean the bathrooms of the girls' locker room whenever she caught them smoking.

Anne-Marie was amazed at the difference. What had been a disgusting form of punishment back at her school was suddenly a joy in service to the Lord. No job was too humble or disgusting if it was conducted in His service. Hadn't Brother Jackson said exactly that about fixing tractors and mowing grass?

She laughed once or twice when this fundamental distinction actually filled her with a sense of honor. It even kept her close to the toilets, convenient for those rare occasions when she felt the nausea.

Once when she was cleaning sinks and mirrors, she watched Rachel showering. Rachel didn't bother pulling the curtain closed. She seemed utterly unself-conscious, even though her wiry body was extremely boyish. She didn't even shave her armpits.

Anne-Marie tried not to stare, but the mirror gave her such an easy view, she couldn't help herself. On Rachels' left shoulder blade was a finely drawn blue tattoo, approximately six inches long, of Christ on the cross. Drops of blood fell from his side in red ink. The small words in clear letters below the tattoo declared,
This blood's for you
.

Anne-Marie longed to know her better because of her gift of prophecy and her knowledge of the Mysteries. The tattoo seemed to be an opening for conversation. “Where did you get the tattoo?” she asked.

“In a Christian tattoo parlor in St. Louis,” replied Rachel.

“They've got tattoo parlors just for Christians?”

“It's the only one I've seen.” Rachel was toweling off, rubbing her straight, unkempt hair. Except that it was black, its disheveled condition might have belonged to one of the troll dolls that rested on her bed. “They have the head of Christ, the cross itself, even the sacraments of the Last Supper. About any religious image you can think of.”

Anne-Marie had pierced ears and the pierced navel which held her hoop and cross, but she'd never gotten a tattoo. She'd decided long ago that if she ever got one, she'd want it on her ankle, not her shoulder blade.

June 17

Just before dawn, when her restlessness seemed most acute, Anne-Marie dreamed of Brother Jackson. She dreamed of his tractor, and the oil rig, and the spiritual ecstasy of their physical union in his small bed. Half awake again, but still asleep, she was in the trancelike condition of the twilight zone: She longed not so much for the memory itself as for the cosmic, haloed effect which the dream brought with it.

Rachel had given Anne-Marie one of the troll dolls with wild, yellow hair. When she had trouble sleeping, Anne-Marie would roll onto her side and squeeze the doll tightly between her palms like a tension reliever.

Eventually, she was wide awake in spite of her efforts otherwise. Anne-Marie turned on her side to discover Rachel looking at her. “You were talking in your sleep,” Rachel informed her.

“What was I saying?”

“You kept saying
brother
. Sometimes you said
father.
”

“Brother? Father?” This was embarrassing. Anne-Marie swung herself into the seated position on the edge of her bed. “What else did I say?”

“Nothing, I don't think.” Of all the sisters in her group, Rachel was the most mysterious. She seemed to live almost exclusively on an ethereal level. At times when she spoke to Anne-Marie, it was almost as if she was looking straight through her and beyond, into another dimension. Sister Abigail had said Rachel was graced with the gift of prophecy, and Anne-Marie had no problem believing it.

Anne-Marie could feel how the troll doll was mashed nearly flat; she kept it under the sheet so Rachel wouldn't see its battered condition. In truth, with her wild hair and wild eyes, Rachel bore a striking resemblance to her dolls.

“Do you have dreams?” Anne-Marie asked her.

“I have dreams and I have visions. Sometimes the dreams and the visions become one.”

“You have the gift of prophecy, don't you?”

“I have the gift of prophecy,” Rachel confirmed matter-of-factly. She paused long enough to take a tissue and blow her nose. “Sometimes, though, the gift is like a curse.”

“How is it like a curse?”

“Because I can't control it. Visions come to me. They may come directly from the Lord Himself, but they come on their own. Sometimes they are very troubling and I feel responsible.”

“You mean like a psychic who might see a crime being committed but can't do anything in time to stop it?”

“Something like that.” Rachel was on her side again, pushing some of the unruly bangs from her eyes. “I dream the incubus.”

“What does that mean?” asked Anne-Marie.

“The incubus is a demon who troubles young women in their sleep. He is capable of seducing them with the demon seed.”

Anne-Marie felt scared. She had goose flesh. “What does that mean? What does the incubus look like?”

“He can change his form. That's Satan's power. Sometimes he is ugly and disgusting with great wings like bat wings. He wants seduction by terror. But sometimes he appears in the form of a man who's handsome. That's his power.”

“But what does he do?”

“He can seduce. He can trouble young girls and women in their sleep and bring the demon seed.”

Anne-Marie didn't wait to hear any more. She had to go to the bathroom, and right away. Rachel's level of contact with the Mysteries was too troubling. After she used the toilet she stepped into the shower.
The incubus
? It was too disturbing, and especially so right after her sublime dream of her union with Brother Jackson.

Anne-Marie made a headband in arts and crafts. Since she'd always been good at art, the headband was a work of special quality. She used a scarlet ribbon, two inches wide, which for some unknown reason had ended up at the bottom of her tote bag. The ribbon was actually a belt for a red dress that was hanging at home in her closet.

The headband she crafted wrapped around her head horizontally above her ears, like an American Indian headband or a hippy one from the sixties. Using white paint and a very fine detail brush, she painted the words
El Shaddai
carefully in block letters. She applied the words in two places, so when she tied on the headband, they were bold on both sides of her head. The extra ribbon was left to trail down the back of her neck.

Not only did she love the headband and the way it looked around her new hairdo, it gave her the opportunity to speak for the first time in share group, where the sisters were urged to confess sins and join the group in prayers for forgiveness. Sometimes the sins were minor and current, while others might be long-concealed and only revealed with great courage and trust.