Leaving Fishers (21 page)

“Search your souls,” Pastor Jim said. “Can you account for this failure?”

Angela answered first. “We don’t try hard enough,” she said. “We let our own sinful desires get in the way of evangelism.”

Dorry felt a pang of guilt that Kayla, the girl she’d been responsible for at her first Fisher party as a Level Two, had stopped having anything to do with Fishers, and told Lisa, her potential discipler, “No offense, but some of you people are weird.”

Pastor Jim was nodding thoughtfully. “God has spoken to me,” he said. “When I started Fishers three years ago, He told me to be gentle in our evangelism, to win people over with our love before revealing the glorious news we carry. He said that was the way to sneak past humans’ fear of righteousness. But last night, He told me there is no time left for subtlety.”

Dorry looked around, to see if anyone else knew what he meant.

“I am sending you forth,” he said, “to shopping malls and street corners, to bus stations and the airport, to every place that people gather, to spread the word directly.”

There was silence, then Mark said in a puzzled voice, “No more Fishers parties?”

Pastor Jim shook his head firmly. “Parties are evil,” he said.

Dorry was inclined to agree. She hated the
ritual of fawning over a new person every week. She no longer infuriated Angela with her questions, but she was still awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe what Pastor Jim wanted—what God wanted—would be easier.

“I am counting on you, the young people of Fishers,” Pastor Jim declared. “You are the ones with zeal. You are the ones willing to follow Christ unquestioningly.”

Dorry had heard Angela and some of the other disciplers complaining that the older Fishers were just not as committed. And she’d noticed fewer and fewer adults at the Sunday services. Were they dropping out? She’d heard of a few younger Fishers leaving, including Lara, the girl who’d taken her to her first Fishers party. Several of the disciplers had assured Dorry’s Bible Study group that they made valiant efforts to win back ones who strayed. But her Bible Study group had all agreed: If the dropouts didn’t return, it meant they had never truly been saved. For, knowing the truth, how could anyone choose hell?

“The kingdom of God is relying on you!” Pastor Jim thundered. His voice was overpowering in Mark’s tiny apartment. Dorry found it impossible to think at all while he was talking.

She nodded automatically with all the others when they made plans to meet Saturday morning
at eight. They would chant “I am the way and the truth and the life . . .” for two hours, then be at the Crestwood Mall when it opened. They’d go in teams of four, and hand out brochures about Fishers and salvation.

But Saturday, as Dorry reached for the door to sneak out to Angela’s waiting car, she heard a voice behind her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” her father boomed.

“To the mall. With my friends. It’s—I left a note.”

Her father picked up the scrap of paper from the kitchen table. Dorry had written only, “Be back tonight.” Angela had advised her not to tell her parents anything she didn’t have to.

“That’s it!” her father exploded. “Today of all days—”

Dorry looked at him blankly.

“It’s your mother’s birthday, for Christ’s sake!”

Dorry had forgotten the date. Now she remembered her mother saying something about going out to eat. Were Donny and Denise and their families coming in for the day? Dorry couldn’t remember. When her mother had told her the plans, one morning before school, Dorry had been busy praying over breakfast so she could tell Angela she’d gotten her full two hours of prayer in.

“Sorry. I forgot,” Dorry said now. “Angela’s waiting—” She turned to go, but her father stalked across the room and blocked the door.

“You’re not going anywhere, young lady. Not today. You’re going to stay home and spend time with your family and be nice to your mother. All day.”

“But Angela—” Dorry protested.

“I’m not done,” her father said. “You’re going to pull your grades back up and get your act together and—”

“My act is together,” Dorry said. “I’m doing God’s work.”

Once she would have felt foolish saying those words to her father. Now she felt holy, sublime. She tried to step around him.

“No!” he shouted. “You’re not going anywhere!”

“Let her go,” Dorry’s mother said quietly behind them.

Dorry and her father both turned.

“Let’s not fight this battle today,” Dorry’s mother said. Her hair was still matted from sleep, and her bathrobe hung unevenly, as though she’d pulled it on in a hurry. She looked old and tired. Her eyes were bleary. “I just want a quiet birthday. If Dorry doesn’t want to be here. . .” She stopped and tried again. “If Dorry doesn’t want
to—” She turned around and went back into her room.

Dorry’s father looked at Dorry. He stepped back from the door. “Be back by noon,” he growled. “Or else.”

“I—” Dorry said.

Outside, Angela honked the horn. Dorry stumbled out the door.

“Did you oversleep?” Angela asked as Dorry slid into the car.

“No,” Dorry said dazedly. “My parents—I—I was just talking to my parents.”

She knew it was a sin not to tell Angela about the confrontation. Angela needed to know every temptation Dorry faced. Angela could figure out a way for Dorry to avoid having to be back by noon. Probably Angela would even praise her for sacrificing her parents’ approval for the good of God’s kingdom. But Dorry couldn’t listen to praise while her mother’s pained, “If Dorry doesn’t want to . . .” still echoed in her ears.

Dorry was numb and desperately praying for help by the time they reached the mall. She said, again and again, “Are you saved? You must be born again to avoid the fires of hell.” But she didn’t listen to people’s responses. She didn’t care that most people threw the brochures in the nearest trash can. In her mind, she kept seeing her
mother’s hurt face. One minute she could see everything right—Jesus had said he would come between parents and children. Defying her father was like defying the Devil. Her parents were unbelievers. But the more she prayed, the more she doubted. How could the Devil get into her mind even as she talked to God?

Several times she almost turned to Angela and cried, “I’m in sin. Help me.” What a relief it would be to let Angela take over. But Angela was busy. Dorry clutched her brochures like a lifeline, and asked another stranger, “Are you saved?”

For once, the stranger didn’t move away immediately. Dorry actually looked at him. He wore an official-looking blue shirt and a badge that said “Security.”

“Can’t you religious nuts read?” he asked. “There are signs all over this mall saying, ‘No solicitation.’”

“I—” Dorry gulped. “We’re just evangelizing.”

“Do it somewhere else. It’s not allowed here.”

Dorry felt a rush of hope. Maybe her decision was made for her. She glanced at her watch. Eleven fifteen. She could be home by noon.

“Wait a minute—what are you talking about?” Mark protested, rushing to Dorry’s side.

“Soliciting—or evangelizing, if that’s what you call it—isn’t allowed inside the mall. This is
private property and the store owners don’t want your kind scaring away the shoppers.”

“It’s a free country. We can spread the word of God anywhere we wish,” Mark said. His stance was brave: chin held high, scrawny chest thrust forward like a boxer before the match.

“Oh, brother,” the security guard said, shaking his head. “Let me put it this way: Stop harassing people or I call the cops.”

“We harass no one. We are doing the will of God,” Mark said. “Arrest us if you have to. We will be martyrs for God’s word.” He held his wrists out as if he were waiting for handcuffs.

Dorry thought,
Happy birthday, Mom. Can you get me out of jail?
Her parents would never forgive her. She leaned over and vomited at the base of a potted tree.

Chapter

Twenty-four

EVEN AS SHE RETCHED, DORRY KNEW THAT throwing up was a reprieve. She was sick. Angela would have to take her home. She wouldn’t be arrested. She was sick. She wouldn’t have to go out to eat with her parents and endure their wrath about Fishers.

When she got home, Donny and Denise and their families were all milling about the tiny apartment. Dorry mumbled hellos and said, “Happy birthday, Mom,” and headed straight for bed.

“Wasn’t she sick all Christmas break, too?” Donny’s voice rumbled behind her. Dorry put the pillow over her ears so she didn’t have to hear.

She stayed home from the Fishers service on Sunday because she was sick, and sat like a zombie in the midst of her boisterous family. She avoided her father. Angela called several times, and gave her lengthy discipling sessions over the phone.

“Pastor Jim thinks the Devil intervened with you vomiting and kept us from our God-given glory of being martyrs for Christ,” she reported
Sunday night. “You aren’t really sick, are you?”

“No,” Dorry whispered, though she didn’t really know. If in doubt, confess.

Angela made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Oh, Dorry. You are so deep into sin. Are you even saved?”

“Of—of course I am!” Dorry insisted. “You told me I was.”

“Maybe the Devil fooled me,” Angela said with a bitter laugh.

Dorry’s stomach churned. It was empty—she hadn’t eaten in two days, even rice cakes. She felt light-headed. She saw her father watching her across the room. She took the phone around the corner.

“Angela,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for evangelism. Doesn’t it say in the Bible that different people have different talents? That we’re the body of Christ and some people are eyes and some people are ears and so on? Maybe God wants me to do something else for his kingdom.”

“Do you know what verse that is? Can you quote it exactly?” Angela asked.

“N-no,” Dorry mumbled. “I just found it on my own. We haven’t done that verse in Bible study—”

“Exactly,” Angela snapped. “And do you know
why? That’s the kind of thing that can confuse a Level Two Fisher. Listen—you read what I tell you to read, and you do what I tell you to do. And you will evangelize!”

Angela ordered her to reread the Bible Study verses she’d memorized fifty times each to make up for her sin, and to pray for three hours a day for God to reward her evangelism next week at the mall. For they would be going back. Dorry didn’t dare ask what would happen if they were arrested.

Shaking, Dorry hung up. She sneaked back to her room and turned out the lights so her parents wouldn’t try to talk to her. She could avoid them during the week, because they were both on evening schedules. As for next weekend . . . she tried not to think about the next weekend. All she could think about was evangelism. It was all that mattered.

Every Fishers event she went to that week pounded home that message. “You think your salvation is secure,” Pastor Jim roared at the Wednesday night service. “How can you sit there and think like that, when the unsaved are all around you, drowning in their sins, and you refuse to help them? You can pull them into the lifeboat. You can give them a hand. You can throw them a line. The Holy Spirit has put every
lifesaving tool known to man at your fingertips. If you do not use them, you are as guilty as any of the unrepented. I tell you now, and you can remember it in hell—you will burn, too!”

Dorry felt the fire of his words burning into her soul. The crowd around her erupted into screams—cheers, maybe, or shrieks of fear. Dorry couldn’t tell. She wanted to go someplace quiet, away from Pastor Jim’s driving voice, away from the crowd’s pushing roar. She wanted to hide. But there was no time after the service—she was assigned to talk to a girl named Jane. She was supposed to make sure that Jane saw no doubt or dismay—nothing less than perfection—in anything connected to Fishers. Woodenly, Dorry smiled and chatted, and agreed with fake cheer—sure, Pastor Jim might have sounded a little harsh, but he had a reason. God was harsh, too. But only toward sinners. He gave his true children only love.

After that, there were extra atonement discipling sessions, extra Bible study, extra prayer. Dorry had no minute to herself. Maybe she didn’t want to hide anyway. Maybe it was the Devil telling her that. Maybe what she wanted most was to save someone, anyone, so Angela would quit harping on her failure.