Reluctantly Deflowered by Pastor Graham (2 page)

We worked efficiently. Mother handed me
plates and silverware (the good stuff that she kept in the locked
drawer) and I carried them over to the table, laying out four
places over the old fashioned, red and white, checkerboard table
cloth. I harassed Mother on a weekly basis to change it out, but
she loved the thing. It had been a gift from my father, back when
they were engaged to be married.

Mother set to mashing the potatoes and the
clunking sound filled the small kitchen. I drained the carrots and
placed them in a bowl. The ham would finish cooking in another
minute or two, and I wanted to make sure everything else was done
first. Mother would let Pastor Graham carve it. That was
traditionally the man's job, and Mother was nothing if not
traditional.

I placed the bowl of carrots on the table,
careful to avoid the vase that Mother kept at the center. It had a
spattering of wildflowers in it, mostly purple and white, but with
a hint of red. It was one of her most cherished hobbies, running
around in the woods behind the house and coming back with a
bouquet.

I held the pot as Mother scooped the potatoes
into another bowl. The gelatinous, white mass was reluctant,
however, and she nearly pulled the hot cookware out of my
hands.

“Pay attention, Maggie!” Mother said.

“Yes, Mother.”

The rest of our preparation was without
incident, which surprised me, because Mother usually looked for any
excuse to scold me. She buzzed around the table, straightening
silverware here, spinning a plate there, and basically looking for
anything she would deem out of place. Her neurosis made me nuts,
but what choice did I have but to put up with it? She was my
mother.

The doorbell rang and we both hurried to the
door. I took up station behind Mother and she put on her best,
albeit fake, grin and opened the door.

“Good evening,” she said, turning to get out
of the way. “Please, come in and make yourselves at home.”

“Evening, Barbara,” Pastor Graham said. He
nodded to me. “Maggie.”

Danny stared at his feet. I didn't know what
to do with the boy, but at least he would be trainable.

I led Danny to the table as Mother and Pastor
Graham tended to the ham. We were to sit across from each other
while the pastor and my mother occupied the two head positions.
Supper with guests was a very formal affair, with all sorts of
rules as to how the meal was conducted. Danny took his seat in
silence. I shook my head, not really wanting to talk to him,
anyway. It was going to be a rough marriage if he didn't loosen up
a bit.

I heard the rasp of steel on stone and looked
over to the kitchen to see Pastor Graham sharpening the carving
knife. I watched with rapt attention as he set about his task,
precise and painstaking. Each cut was flawless and of nearly
identical thickness. He had rolled his sleeves up, and the wanton
beast within me stirred at the sight of his well muscled forearms.
I thought back to my earlier sinning, and turned away, unwilling to
tempt myself again so soon.

“So, Danny,” I said. “What kind of plans are
you making for our honeymoon?” I knew the answer, nothing much. We
didn't have a whole lot of money for things like that.

“Honeymoon?” Danny said.

“Yes,” I said, smiling at him. “You know,
that thing people do after they're married.”

“Oh,” he said. He squinted, a sign that he
was concentrating. “The cabin?” The pastor had a nice, little log
cabin with a ton of land a few miles from town. It was pretty, it
had running water and electricity, and it would actually do nicely
for some alone time. This was an arranged marriage, but, if I was
going to be stuck with Danny, I'd like to actually get to know him.
He was so quiet and shy that every conversation went like this
one.

It was cut mercifully short by Mother, who
waddled over to the table with the ham. Pastor Graham followed her.
She put the platter on the table and sat down. The pastor took his
own seat and folded his hands together, bowing his head. The rest
of us followed suit.

“Dear Heavenly Father, we are gathered here
today to share a fine meal and celebrate the joining of our two
families. I ask, in your son Jesus' name, to bless Danny and
Maggie, as they prepare to start their lives together in your
service and to your glory. Thank you for the blessings you have
given us, for our food and shelter, and please watch over all of
us, as well as those who are not with us. In Jesus' name, we pray,
Amen.”

“Amen,” we said. I hoped that God would see
fit to relieve me of the evil thoughts that plagued me, but just
listening to the pastor speak brought them to the fore again.

“Let's eat,” Pastor Graham said, his hand
reaching for the serving fork.

It was a good meal, interrupted by small
talk, mostly between Pastor Graham and Mother. I chimed in here and
there, but Danny was silent unless asked a direct question. I snuck
glances at Pastor Graham, fascinated with what he was saying, or
the peculiar way he dipped his ham in the mashed potatoes. He ate
with gusto, seemingly enjoying every bite as if it were the last he
would ever take. Danny couldn't be more different, playing with his
food and only taking small bites every few minutes. He looked like
he wanted to be anywhere but here.

I should have been offended, after all, I was
his bride to be But I wasn't, my thoughts were on another man. I
felt like a scandalous wretch, secretly coveting my fiancee's
father, but I was powerless in the face of my attraction. As dinner
wore on, the need grew overpowering. I picked at my own meal,
trying to find the right distraction, the perfect thing to take my
mind off of Pastor Graham.

It wasn't working.

“So, Maggie,” he said, turning his gaze on
me. I feared that he would see right through me, straight into the
depths of my depravity. “Your mother tells me you're quite the
seamstress.”

I blushed. There was truth to it, I was at
least as good as Mother, but I never really thought of it as
anything to be proud of. My mother made money at it, because she
was the best for miles around, and few people were as good at
fitting dresses and formal wear as she was.

“I'm okay,” I said.

“Hush, child,” Mother said. “You'll be
joining me in the business. You and Danny will need the extra money
for when the children come along.”

I choked on a piece of ham. Children? I
really didn't want to be reminded about children. Danny was red
faced, as well, although he wasn't choking. Pastor Graham drew his
hand back, and, for a split second, I thought he was going to
strike me for being brazen. Instead, he hit me on the back with his
open palm and I coughed up the bit of ham.

“Sorry,” I said, my voice raw and
squeaking.

“Its all right,” Pastor Graham said, he
rubbed my back. It was a gentle, absent touch, really, but it only
served to stoke the fires of lust within me. I panicked, unable to
contain the fierce burning inside of me, but deathly afraid of
confronting it.

“I don't feel so well,” I said, hoping that
the distress on my face sold it. “Mother, may I go upstairs and lie
down?”

Mother frowned at me, but she was in a
delicate spot. Pastor Graham didn't know just how much yelling,
screaming, and outright abuse she subjected me to on a daily basis.
I was counting on her not wanting to upset him, knowing full well
that I'd pay for it later.

“Of course dear,” she said. “I'll tidy
up.”

I wiped my mouth, dropped the napkin on my
plate, and apologized profusely to Pastor Graham and Danny as I
headed for the stairs. I could feel his eyes upon me the whole
time, watching, judging.

I curled up in my bed, trying to purge my
mind of the unclean thoughts. I didn't want to be a sinner, and I
had no idea why this was happening to me. It was an hour before I
heard the creaking stairs that signaled Mother's approach. My door
flew open, but I remained in a fetal position.

“What were you thinking?” Mother said, her
voice filling the house with spite. “How dare you make a scene like
that.”

“I wasn't feeling well,” I said. I knew
better than to yell back. I still had stripes on my back from the
first and only time I'd tried it.

“Well, you better straighten out whatever it
is before next weekend. You are getting married, and you will not
ruin this for me.” The door slammed shut, leaving me in the
darkness once more.

I wrestled with my demons, but could not
overcome them. My desire was too strong and I could not contain it.
I cried, sobbing violently in my despair. I could see no way out of
my predicament, no way to erase my sins. A thought occurred to me,
then, as tears stained my cheeks and soaked into my pillow. There
was someone who could help me, and I needed to see him. Pastor
Graham. I fell asleep, wrapped in the hope that he would know what
to do, how to fix me. I resolved to see him in the morning, after
Mother had gone to her sewing shop.

***

I cracked open my eyes and watched the first
rays of sunlight enter my room through the window. Sleep had done
wonders for my disposition, and, with a firm plan in my head, I got
out of bed and started the long process of putting myself together.
It happened slowly. Mother was already out. She was an early riser
and diligent worker. She wouldn't be home until dusk, more than
likely. That gave me plenty of time to enact my scheme.

I showered, and the hot water helped me
sluice all of the fear, anger, and despair of yesterday away, like
so much dirt and grime. I stayed in for a bit longer than normal,
relaxing as much as possible before I confronted the pastor. I was
nervous, but determined. If I was ever going to straighten out my
life and become Godly again, I'd need his help. I was sure of
it.

I skipped breakfast. My stomach roiled with
guilt and unease, and I feared even dry toast would come back up on
me. I contented myself with a cup of tea, sipping the hot liquid
slowly as I gathered my courage. It was eight in the morning, by
the clock, and Pastor Graham would be at the church soon. I wore a
simple gray skirt and blue blouse. I didn't want to appear wanton
in front of the pastor, even if I was. The familiar stirring
started again, but I held it down as I finished my tea, rinsed out
the cup, and left it to dry. I grabbed my keys, opened the door,
and stepped out onto the walkway.

It was a beautiful day, already. The sun lit
our small, country lane and I could smell the scent of fresh cut
grass and wildflowers on the air. The cheery atmosphere buoyed my
spirits and lent me strength as I walked down the dusty road toward
the church. Surely, God was looking out for me and wanted me to
know that he approved. He wanted me to make myself clean again, I
just knew it.

It was about two miles to the church and I
covered it in about half an hour. Danny would be at the mine, so
his father would be alone. Monday was Grace's day off, and she was
the only other person that worked for the church. I stopped in the
parking lot and looked up at the simple, wooden building. A grant
from the coal mining company had allowed us to build a fine church,
but, in our hearts, we knew that simple was better.

What it did have was ample office space for
the pastor, as well as a small kitchen and numerous rooms for bible
study and daycare for small children while their parents were in
services. There was a bell, and a steeple topped with a plain,
white cross. It felt holy and right in a way that I couldn't
completely describe.

I walked up to the entrance and opened one of
the doors. They were rarely locked during the day, and, very
rarely, folks came and sat in one of the pews and had words with
God. No one ever discussed it, it was just a necessary thing for
some people. Inside was cool and inviting, but I was warm and
growing hot. Now that I was here, I wasn't entirely sure of my
idea. The thought of being alone with Pastor Graham sent me into a
panic. Lust rose, unbidden, and I turned to leave.

“Maggie,” he said, approaching from behind
me. “What brings you here this morning?”

Lost, I turned and faced him. He was my
unwitting tormentor, but I couldn't tell him that. “Pastor,” I
said, pausing for a few breaths. I fought down my lust, but
couldn't meet his gaze. “I just need to talk.”

He smiled at me, unaware of the beast he was
prodding. “Jitters?” he said. “Happens to everyone. Come, we'll
talk in my office.”

I followed, meekly, but nearly jumped out of
my skin when he put a hand on the small of my back. Unclean images
forced their way into my head, and I just wanted to break down into
tears, right there in the church hallway. I was ready for this
torture to end. He led me into his chamber, a small office with the
same red carpet as the rest of the church. It housed an old desk,
some chairs in various states of disrepair, and a bookshelf loaded
with bibles and religious texts of all kinds.

“Sit,” Pastor Graham said, motioning to the
chair in front of his desk. I lowered myself into its red, vinyl
coated seat, and it squeaked in protest. The Pastor sat in his
customary position, across the desk from me. I'd been here before,
both as a girl and as a young woman. Once I'd taken the Lord's name
in vain in daycare, and the other was just after my father had
died.

“Now,” he said, and I was taken by the way he
looked at me. There was concern in his eyes, but also something
harder, more predatory. I couldn't place it, but it made me nervous
and excited all at the same time. “What's the problem, Maggie?”

“Well,” I said, my courage fading rapidly. “I
guess I'm just having second thoughts, is all. A lifetime is a long
time to spend with someone, and, well,”

“Danny is a quiet, introspective young man.
Hard to get to know.”

“Yes, that's a good part of it,” I said,
looking for an out that wouldn't lead to my eternal embarrassment,
or worse.