The Preacher's Daughter (3 page)

"You don't have a choice, Naomi. You need it. What's more, you do want it, even if you don't want to admit it to yourself."

She stood, pushing her chair away and leaned over, pointing her finger just inches from her face.

"You sanctimonious Christians are all alike, aren't you? You say you care about people when all you care about is your stupid pious images. You think you know what everybody wants. You think you know what everybody needs. And you can't wait to cram your way of doing things down everyone else's throat, especially if you think other Christians are watching. Well you know what I say to that, preacher man?"

Eric Feagans shook his head. "No," he said. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I say fuck you." This she punctuated with a one-finger salute, but no sooner was her middle finger upraised than the muscular preacher had grabbed her by her arm and thrown her, face-forward over his lap.

"Your father," he said, "informed me that he considered spanking you today. But he said he knew he could not because - as he put it - you were 'too old.'"

When Naomi began to struggle he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and gripped her so tightly she could not move.

"Well guess what, Naomi? I don't think you're too old at all. In fact, I think you're just the right age to be turned around with the appropriate direction."

Naomi had no time to really comprehend what was about to happen until it did.

He smacked her bottom - hard. So hard in fact that she immediately burst into tears. But her pained response earned her neither pity nor reprieve.

"Don't!" she cried out pitifully, but the youth minister ignored her and began to spank her in earnest, the large hand nearly covering the whole surface of her bottom with each dedicated blow.

Naomi kicked and cried as tears ran down her cheeks and into her open, bawling mouth. She kicked, she beat the floor with her hands, but nothing she could do came any closer to stopping Eric from delivering a spanking that made her deeply regret her defiance.

When he finally did stop, he lifted her to her feet in front of him. Her bottom throbbed and burned so badly she staggered a bit and he supported Naomi by her elbows as he looked into her eyes.

"Are you ready to listen?" he asked.

Naomi nodded her head, her breath coming in gasps.

"Good." His voice grew gentle. "Regardless of what you think, my interest is not in impressing your parents or anyone else. It's not in shoving my beliefs or opinions down your throat. It's about helping you, because you need it. And because you deserve it."

Naomi shook her head. "I can't be what you and my parents want!"

"You don't have to be," he said, and she was so surprise she nearly stopped crying.

"What?"

"You don't have to be," he repeated. "I'm not God, and neither are your folks. They can't make you be a Christian. They're not supposed to. And if they've tried then it's no wonder you're so angry. What the are supposed to do is set an example, guide you and love you."

He paused. "Above all, they're supposed to love you. That's what Jesus taught."

And then Naomi was crying again. Something in what he said touched her and she didn't now why. Her hands flew to her face and the sobs came from a wellspring inside of her that would not stop pouring out sadness.

Eric did not try to stop her. Instead he just held her and stroked her hair until exhaustion robbed her of the ability to cry any more.

It was a few moments before she realized she was being cradled in his lap and she slid off, embarrassed.

He didn't try to hold her.

"Now that's better, isn't it?" He gave her an understanding smile. "I bet it's been a long time since you've had a really good cry."

She accepted the handkerchief he offered her and dabbed her eyes with it.

"I haven't really had time," she said quietly. "I was too busy trying to survive. Out where I was staying, the world eats crybabies alive."

He appeared to consider this.

"Where were you staying?"

"L.A.," she said with a sniff, blowing her nose.

"What were you doing out there?"

Her mind flashed back to the strip joints, the leering men who watched her dance, their tongues licking hungrily over their lips as they ogled her with undisguised lust.

"I was a waitress. Did some bartending. The usual."

She didn't know why she felt compelled to lie. But for some reason, Naomi felt reluctant to tell this man something that would make him think worse of her. He was the first person in her life who had treated her as something more than an obligation or an object. It was different, this kind of attention, and she wasn't eager to see it replaced by condemnation. Not just yet.

"The streets can be a rough place," he said. "A young person has to be pretty hurt and angry to stay out there as long as you did without breaking."

He smoothed a strand of wet hair away from her face. "I can understand why you were angry. But you've got to learn to deal with your anger without being destructive to others or to yourself.

Naomi shook her head. "I can't help it, though. Sometimes I just can't stop myself."

"I know you can't stop yourself. But I'll teach you," he replied. "And until you can I'll stop you if I have to. Like I just did."

His words sent a chill through her. Under her dress, Naomi's bottom still felt like it was on fire and she couldn't remember ever receiving such a painful spanking, not even from her father. It felt strange; Eric wasn't all that much older than she was. Being punished by someone only fifteen years her senior had increased the humiliation of the experience for her. But at the same time, his promise - and the threat of consequences - was strangely comforting.

Tears sprang to her eyes again.

"I'm afraid," she said without really knowing why.

He put his large hand to her face and gave her an understanding smile.

"I know. And fearful people are angry people, Naomi. They lash out at everyone - friends, family....even God."

"God." She gave a little laugh. "When I think of God I think of my father - cold, judgmental, unfair."

"Your father is a man. He's frail. He's flawed. He's a sinner like the rest of it even if he doesn't want you to think so. God is different. He's perfect. And he's merciful."

Naomi looked away. "Yeah. Maybe."

He turned his face towards him. "No, young lady. Not 'maybe.'" He sighed. "But look, I'm not going to try and convince you of anything. I can guide you on your journey back, but it's not one you can be dragged on."

She felt comforted again. Somehow this man gave her the perfect balance of both limits and freedom.

"How is it you know so much about people?" she asked.

"Training."

She snorted derisively. "Let me guess. Crandall."

He shook his head. "No, not Crandall. I went to seminary at North State and after graduation served as a military chaplain. I saw a lot of troubled young people there."

"In the military?"

He nodded. "Not everybody runs to L.A. Some kids rebel by joining the military. In a way they're the lucky ones. They end up with structure and oversight whether they want it or not. Most of the time they end up grateful and come out as better people."

He stood then. "We'd better get you back. You O.K.?"

Naomi bit her lower lip. "It hurts still."

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her towards the door.

"Good," he said. "Spankings are supposed to hurt and this one will leave you sore through tomorrow at least. Every time you sit down I want you to think about the potential cost of cursing at people or flipping them off. Maybe you won't be so eager to do it next time, huh?"

"No," she said quietly.

Eric cut the light and shut the door. The day was even warmer when they walked out of the church. As they walked towards the parsonage, Naomi could hear the sound of her mother humming a hymn by the open kitchen window.

She felt a surge of panic at the thought of walking in and didn't know why. Somehow, Eric sensed this and grasped her hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

"Don't worry. It'll be O.K," he said.

They walked in and Naomi's mother looked up. Her mouth pursed in anger when she saw her daughter.

"You should have told me about those horrible tattoos," she said after a moment. "I don't know how on earth we're doing to find suitable clothing to cover them until we can have them removed."

"Mom, I'm not..."

But Eric stepped between them.

"Mrs. Kindle, I'm not intended to offend you but you need to be aware that body art is not at all uncommon today. In fact, when I took the youth group to the lake today I saw about four kids with tattoos. Just because you don't see them doesn't mean they aren't there."

Lilly Kindle regarded him for a moment before turning back to the potatoes she was peeling.

"Those children aren't a preacher's daughter," she said.

"No, you're right," he said gently. "And Naomi is. But she's more than that. She's an adult and her own person with a right to express herself. I'm sure when she's in church she'll make an effort to cover the tattoos, right Naomi?"

He looked at her and she nodded. "Of course."

"And at home too if they bother your parents?" he urged.

Again she nodded as her mother looked between her and the youth minister.

"I think that's fair," he said. "And in the interest of fairness I think you should show your daughter similar respect by letting her wear what she wants."

"She's not going to dress like a whore," her mother insisted.

Eric looked at Naomi. He could see her face coloring with anger from the comment and laid a gentle, reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I don't think she intends to." He smiled at her. "That's not who Naomi is."

Naomi felt her heart twist again. If he only knew about her days as a dancer...She was so glad he did not.

"Very well." Lilly Kindle sighed in compromise. "We'll go shopping today and I'll keep my mouth shut. But I can't promise you that Frank will."

"I'll talk to Frank," Eric said. "I intend to anyway, about Naomi. Because I need some hel with the youth program this summer and think she'd be perfect."

"Me?"

"Her?"

Mother and daughter said the words in unison.

"Yes," he said with a shrug that indicated it was a no-brainer. Young, attractive girl with cool body art. She'll be a hit. We're going to the lake tomorrow morning. Bus leaves at 8 a.m. sharp. See you then, Naomi?

"Sure," she said, looking at him as he turned to leave. "Where are you going?"

She felt silly asking, and even sillier at her reluctance to see him go.

"To my office to do some work and then to my new apartment to finish unpacking. Your parents were kind enough to let me stay here until you returned. But now that you're back, well, let's just say I've never had a better reason to give up a room."

He winked and Naomi felt her heart flutter. Then she felt silly for her reaction.

"Bye."

She watched him go and then turned to her mother, who was standing there with an odd look.

"So what happened after you two left?"

Naomi shrugged and shifted from her left foot to her right, still mindful of the hurt still throbbing in her bottom.

"We talked," she said. "Reverend Feagans is very...understanding."

Her mother sighed and walked over to the kitchen table. Sitting down, she sighed and as she dried her hands and looked up at her daughter.

"Sometimes I wonder why God waited so long to grant our prayers for a child," she said, her eyes misting over. "I'd hoped being older parents would make us wiser parents. But then I look at today's youth and think about the way your father and I are...."

"We try to understand, Naomi. But it's hard for us to justify this society with our beliefs. We were raised in a different time with different values. We don't speak the language."

Her voice trailed off and Naomi felt her heart soften towards her mother. It wasn't easy for her to express her feelings; for so many years her father had cut off her sentences or finished the for her until Lilly sometimes had to struggle to complete her own thoughts.

"Is that why father brought in Reverend Feagans?" Naomi asked.

Lilly nodded. "Yes," she said, lowering her voice. "Your father won't admit it, but the youth were starting to fall away and go to that non-denominational church meeting in the strip mall over in Buxton. It about killed him to see the empty spaces in our pews. Three months ago when Craig Fuller - your member him, right? Carl and Etta's son? - well, when he came to your dad and told him he was leaving your father asked why. And you know what Craig said?"

Naomi shook her head.

"He looked right at your father and said, 'You're boring.'"

Naomi had to put her hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. When she succeeded, she put her hand down and looked at her mother.

"And what did father say?"

Lilly Kindle stood. "He was shocked." Then, leaning conspiratorially towards her daughter, she whispered in her ear. "I don't think he knows."

They both burst out laughing then, and it was the first time Naomi could remember laughing with her mother in a long time. The next thing she knew, her arms were around her.

"I love you, Mom," she said. And she meant it. It couldn't be easy being married to the Reverend Fred Kindle.

Her mother squeezed her tight then pushed her gently back, studying her.

"What happened to you out there, Naomi?" In California. What were you doing? I get the feeling you aren't telling me everything."

Naomi forced a smile she prayed looked genuine. "I told you. I did odd jobs, waitressing, bartending...when the money ran out I panhandled. I just did what everybody else did."

Her mother seemed temporarily satisfied. "Well, I'm glad you're home. Are you ready to go shopping?"

"Sure," Naomi said.

She'd been dreading the trip, but it actually turned out to be more pleasant than she could have imagined. They had lunch at the mall food court and when it was time to shop, her mother actually allowed her to bypass the store catering to matronly women and visit more fashionable shops.