Hold Fast by Olivia Rigal, Shannon Macallan Page A

Mom obediently takes the medication. It’s like a game they play. Rebecca has to hunt my mother every day to make sure she’s medicated. I don’t know what Satan has her on, but tonight I hope it’s some sort of tranquilizer. She seems about to explode.
    “Come now, Sister Heather. Tonight you can sleep in the infirmary,” Rebecca says as she escorts my mother out of my ravaged home. I watch them start to walk away, and Rebecca turns to call her son. The little snitch is still glued to the door, not wanting to miss even a second of the showdown he’s orchestrated.
    Just as I hiss at him, he silently shakes his head. His lips move, soundlessly mouthing I’m sorry before running away. He may have been raised to be a miserable little monster, an inquisitor ferreting out the tiniest scraps of sin, but there is still good left in him, some shred of conscience, of empathy. I hate myself for thinking the worst of him. Could he even understand what he’d set in motion here?
    “So you were looking for money?” I ask, turning to look at Jeremiah.
    Jeremiah nods, and a wicked smile flickers across his lips.
    “But that’s not all that Nathan will see,” he whispers, inching his way closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on face. “It would be awful if he were to witness an abomination . No child his age should ever have to see a thing like that.”
    I can guess what’s coming next. Now that my mother and Rebecca are gone, now that there’s nobody to see or hear, Jeremiah can use all the leverage at his command to get what he wants out of me. Hopefully all he wants tonight is the money. From the look in his eyes, he’s expecting to enjoy this.
    Jeremiah clenches a fist, starting to cock his arm back, and I press a hand against his chest to keep him at arm’s length. It’s pathetic-- his arms are so much longer than mine, and my attempt to protect myself will not matter if he swings at me. Just before he strikes, I try to pacify him by telling him why I had put money in my pocket instead of in the cash box.
    “It’s for Brother Jonathan,” I tell him, naming the church’s bookkeeper. “I don’t know why he needs change, but he always asks me to break down some of the larger bills for him, and I do. You know I’m always happy to help. I’ll do anything for the good of the community.”
    His arm slowly comes down and the anger on his face eases back to only mild annoyance and suspicion. My explanation is so easy to check. It would be stupid of me to lie to him about something like that. And the best part of it is I’m not even lying. It’s the exact truth. Brother Jonathan really does want change in small bills. I simply don’t give him all the change I bring back.
    “So, yeah, Nathan saw me set some money aside, but it wasn’t for me…” I keep on pleading because his mood could swing back to anger in a flash. The truth of my explanation will save me from consequences later, but nothing will protect me from a black eye or a bloody nose if I piss him off now .
    “I see,” he says as he turns away, absently surveying the devastation in my home. “So. I’m pleased to discover that my dear little brother simply misinterpreted what he saw. I would hate to know my wife was a thief.”
    His detached tone fills me with dread.
    “Where is Daniel?” I ask, softly. What are you plotting now?
    Jeremiah turns his back to me and reaches for the door. For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore my question and just leave, but he’s only pausing for dramatic effect.
    “He and my father are having a serious talk about the future tonight,” he tells me, without even a backward glance.
    As the door swings halfway shut behind them, I want to scream. My knees are weak, shaking. They won’t support me much longer. I lean against the doorframe, hugging myself for comfort, and let myself slide to the floor. For one brief instant, I’m tempted to kick over the kerosene lantern and set this miserable little hell