Cast the First Stone by Margaret Thornton Page B

comply rather than stage what was a minor rebellion.
    There was one Sunday morning, however, when she felt she had to stick up for herself. Her mother had glanced at her suitable coat, and Fiona was also wearing a hat – a beret which she hated, but which her mother had declared suitable headgear, especially as there was a service of Holy Communion at the close of morning worship.
    She was wearing make-up too, but only what she considered to be a modest amount; powder and lipstick and just the tiniest touch of green powder that highlighted the colour of her hazel eyes, making them appear more green than brown.
    Her mother looked closely at her and shook her head reprovingly. ‘Fiona . . .’ she began, in the over patient voice that her daughter was getting to know only too well. It was not Mary’s way to shout and be angry, but Fiona thought sometimes that it might be better if her mother did so, rather than assuming the long-suffering manner that was becoming so familiar. ‘Fiona . . . I don’t really think it’s suitable to wear so much make-up to go to church. And I notice that you’ve started using eye make-up. I do wish you wouldn’t. It makes you look . . . well . . . cheap and rather common. Not at all how a good Christian girl should appear when she’s going to church.’
    Fiona opened her mouth ready to protest vehemently, but she held her tongue for a moment. She had never been the sort of girl to give cheek to her parents, as she knew some of her friends were apt to do. She did, however, close her lips together in a stubborn line before opening them again to say, ‘Well, I think it looks nice! And it certainly doesn’t look common. How can you say that, Mum? You know how I always try to make the most of myself. You used to encourage me to dress nicely and to take a pride in my appearance.’
    If Fiona had one small vice it was that she was the teeniest bit vain about her looks. She knew that she was a pretty girl and that she had been blessed with attractive hair and pleasant features. And she had discovered lately that her looks could be enhanced by discreet make-up. It wasn’t as if she was laying it on with a trowel, so to speak, as some of the girls in her form were doing, using what was known as pancake make-up of an odd-looking tan colour.
    â€˜You don’t need make-up to help you to look attractive,’ her mother replied, still with the same tone of forbearance. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter what we look like on the outside. It’s what we’re like inside that really counts . . . And that’s what God will notice when you’re in His house.’
    â€˜For goodness’ sake, what’s the matter with you, Mum?’ Fiona couldn’t help herself now. She had wanted to tackle her mother for ages about her own appearance and the way in which she had changed. ‘You used to use lipstick yourself,’ she went on.
    â€˜And you used to do your hair nicely, not all scraped back like you have it now. It looked lovely when you curled it and put a golden rinse on it. It seems as though you don’t care any more about what you look like.’
    Mary smiled, still not showing any sign of anger or impatience. ‘That’s the point, Fiona love,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to realize that these things don’t matter – how we look and how we dress – although I still try to look clean and respectable, of course. You see, dear, since I’ve come to know more about Jesus I’ve tried to think about what He would want me to do and how He would want me to behave. And worldly things, such as make-up and clothes, they’re not so important any more. And perhaps, in time, you will come to see it that way.’
    Fiona didn’t answer at first. She was annoyed, and hurt as well. She had always been an obedient daughter and had never had any arguments of any importance with either of her