no longer held to, much less believed much in anyway. When you were a teenager, the last thing you wanted to be told was that your favorite rock band—in Vince’s case, Iron Maiden—were comprised of devil-worshippers.
When he woke up this morning after a fitful sleep, resolved to drive out to Lillian Withers’s place and face the music, he told himself that he was going to stay strong in his beliefs. He was an atheist now. He may have been a believer a long time ago, when he was a child, but he no longer held to those beliefs. Thanks to the group’s paranoid delusions, he saw no credence in them. He saw no reason to let their beliefs sway him now. Besides, he was hoping that Lillian Withers hadn’t changed much in the last fifteen years since he’d last seen her. Of the dozen or so church members that his mother fellowshipped with, Lillian Withers was the one he’d liked the most. She’d been the most down-to-earth.
All his worries of talking to Lillian Withers turned out to be in vain. In short, Lillian hadn’t changed at all.
She recognized him the instant she opened the door to her small home on Meadow Lane. Her light blue eyes lit up in surprise and happiness when she saw him. “Vincent! How good to see you!” She opened the screen door. “My God, just look at you! Come in! Come in!”
Vince grinned sheepishly and stepped into Lillian’s home. Lillian was wearing a red plaid dress, her auburn hair tied behind her head in a bun. Unlike many of the old order Amish and Mennonite people who lived in the area, the women in Reverend Powell’s sect did not wear prayer caps, but they did dress modestly, mostly in dresses and occasionally jeans. Lillian had aged gracefully; Vince had always pegged Lillian to be close to his mother’s age, give or take a few years. The last time he saw his mother, she’d looked at least ten years older than her forty-one years. Fourteen years later Lillian, who was probably in her early fifties now, didn’t look older than forty. She was positively radiant.
She swept Vince up in a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Vincent!”
“It’s good to see you too,” Vince murmured.
“I’m so sorry about Maggie.” Lillian’s voice cracked slightly and Vince held her. She sniffled once. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
What exactly did happen ? He almost asked. Lillian looked up at him, her eyes misty with tears. “Well,” she said. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve got some tea if you want.”
“Thanks,” Vince said. Lillian disappeared into the kitchen and Vince took a quick glance around the house. A small living room leading to an even smaller kitchen, a hallway at the far end of the living room led to the two bedrooms and the one bathroom. The living room was furnished nicely and modestly with a couch, two easy chairs, and an oak coffee table. An entertainment center contained a small receiver, a tape deck, and a twenty-five inch television. There was a framed picture of Jesus Christ over the sofa, His gaze cast to the heavens. Another framed picture hung on the wall near the kitchen, this one a work of embroidery with a religious slogan from the Book of Mark.
“How long have you been in town?” Lillian asked from the kitchen.
“I got in yesterday,” Vince said. He sat down on the couch and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The coffee table was positioned in front of the couch. There was a TV Guide on one side of it. On the other side was a King James Bible and a prayer book. “I talked to Chief Hoffman and a couple of detectives from Lancaster.”
“Michaelson and Harvey?” Lillian came out of the kitchen bearing two tall glasses of iced tea. She handed Vince one, who took it gratefully.
“Yes,” he said, sipping the iced tea. It was delicious.
“They talked to everybody here, too,” Lillian said. “Well, everybody in the group. They were all pretty upset.”
“About talking to the detectives?” Vince
When he woke up this morning after a fitful sleep, resolved to drive out to Lillian Withers’s place and face the music, he told himself that he was going to stay strong in his beliefs. He was an atheist now. He may have been a believer a long time ago, when he was a child, but he no longer held to those beliefs. Thanks to the group’s paranoid delusions, he saw no credence in them. He saw no reason to let their beliefs sway him now. Besides, he was hoping that Lillian Withers hadn’t changed much in the last fifteen years since he’d last seen her. Of the dozen or so church members that his mother fellowshipped with, Lillian Withers was the one he’d liked the most. She’d been the most down-to-earth.
All his worries of talking to Lillian Withers turned out to be in vain. In short, Lillian hadn’t changed at all.
She recognized him the instant she opened the door to her small home on Meadow Lane. Her light blue eyes lit up in surprise and happiness when she saw him. “Vincent! How good to see you!” She opened the screen door. “My God, just look at you! Come in! Come in!”
Vince grinned sheepishly and stepped into Lillian’s home. Lillian was wearing a red plaid dress, her auburn hair tied behind her head in a bun. Unlike many of the old order Amish and Mennonite people who lived in the area, the women in Reverend Powell’s sect did not wear prayer caps, but they did dress modestly, mostly in dresses and occasionally jeans. Lillian had aged gracefully; Vince had always pegged Lillian to be close to his mother’s age, give or take a few years. The last time he saw his mother, she’d looked at least ten years older than her forty-one years. Fourteen years later Lillian, who was probably in her early fifties now, didn’t look older than forty. She was positively radiant.
She swept Vince up in a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Vincent!”
“It’s good to see you too,” Vince murmured.
“I’m so sorry about Maggie.” Lillian’s voice cracked slightly and Vince held her. She sniffled once. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
What exactly did happen ? He almost asked. Lillian looked up at him, her eyes misty with tears. “Well,” she said. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve got some tea if you want.”
“Thanks,” Vince said. Lillian disappeared into the kitchen and Vince took a quick glance around the house. A small living room leading to an even smaller kitchen, a hallway at the far end of the living room led to the two bedrooms and the one bathroom. The living room was furnished nicely and modestly with a couch, two easy chairs, and an oak coffee table. An entertainment center contained a small receiver, a tape deck, and a twenty-five inch television. There was a framed picture of Jesus Christ over the sofa, His gaze cast to the heavens. Another framed picture hung on the wall near the kitchen, this one a work of embroidery with a religious slogan from the Book of Mark.
“How long have you been in town?” Lillian asked from the kitchen.
“I got in yesterday,” Vince said. He sat down on the couch and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The coffee table was positioned in front of the couch. There was a TV Guide on one side of it. On the other side was a King James Bible and a prayer book. “I talked to Chief Hoffman and a couple of detectives from Lancaster.”
“Michaelson and Harvey?” Lillian came out of the kitchen bearing two tall glasses of iced tea. She handed Vince one, who took it gratefully.
“Yes,” he said, sipping the iced tea. It was delicious.
“They talked to everybody here, too,” Lillian said. “Well, everybody in the group. They were all pretty upset.”
“About talking to the detectives?” Vince