Torch Red: Color Me Torn with Bonus Content by Melody Carlson Page B

that?”
    “Well, most folks would rather come to church than work at the soup kitchen.”
    “Really?” I wait as he opens the door to the hallway that leads to the kitchen.
    “You bet. So I guess I’m wondering what makes you do the opposite.” He pauses now to really study me.
    “I’m not sure. I guess I just feel more comfortable actually doing something that helps someone, you know? It feels better than getting dressed up to go sit on a pew and listen to someone justpreach.” I feel my eyes open wide now like I can’t believe I just said that to a preacher. “Not that you don’t do a good job up there, Pastor Leon, I don’t mean—”
    “Hey, it’s okay, Zoë. I think I understand what you’re saying.” He nods as we reach the kitchen. “In fact, I think I’m in total agreement with you.”
    “You mean that I don’t need to come to church?” I feel hopeful now. Like maybe I’m about to get his blessing to keep skipping out on church. Maybe I can even get him to call my parents or maybe send an excuse note home.
    “Oh, no, I’m not saying you don’t
need
to come to church,” he says. “I’m just saying maybe you’ve got your priorities straight.”
    We’re in the kitchen now and the other workers have stopped their usual chatter, like they want to hear what we’re talking about. “What do you mean?” I ask in a quiet voice.
    “Well,” he says in a not-so-quiet voice. “God’s Word says that true religion is to go out to visit poor widows and orphans without getting yourself defiled.”
    “But what does that mean?”
    Now he smiles this really coy kind of smile, like he knows this really good secret, but he’s not going to tell me. “I guess you’d have to come to Sunday worship service to find
that
out.”
    This makes the kitchen crew laugh, as if they get the joke and it’s on me. But I don’t really mind since I probably deserve it. And what he said is almost intriguing enough to make me want to come to church. Well, almost. Sleeping in on Sunday mornings still sounds pretty tempting to me.
    “Here you go, Zoë,” says Mavis Malheur, queen of the soup kitchen, as she hands me a potato peeler and nods to a mountain of potatoes over by the sink. “You know what to do, girl.”
    “Is this my punishment for not coming to church?” I ask over my shoulder, but Mavis just laughs.
    “No, child, it’s just that your young fingers can do it much faster than the rest of ours.”
    And so we all joke and laugh as I stand over the sink peeling potato after potato. And I think that if this was what church was like, it might not be so bad. Pastor Leon did get me to thinking a little. I do wonder what he meant about that visiting widows and orphans thing. It just sounds pretty weird to me. I mean I sort of get the widow and orphan part because I think a really good person would want to help people who are down and out. And isn’t that kind of like the soup kitchen? But I don’t get the “without getting defiled part.” I mean what’s up with that? I know that being defiled is like being really dirty, or worse. But besides getting all grungy and smelling like onions, how could helping in the soup kitchen possibly defile me? Very mysterious.
    Soon it’s time to serve the meal, and as usual, I am asked to go out to help. Now you’d think I would like this part of the job since putting food on plates is lots easier than peeling potatoes or washing dishes, but it always makes me a little uneasy. In fact, I usually try to get out of it.
    “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have me start cleaning up back here?” I offer.
    But Mavis just shakes her head. “No, Zoë,” she says. “I think these hungry people would enjoy seeing your pretty, smiling face.”
    “You say that every time,” I remind her.
    “That’s exactly right.” She smiles. “So why do you even bother to ask me?”
    I roll my eyes at her. “I just think you want to get rid of me so that you ladies can sneak back