The Preacher's Daughter (6 page)

"How was her first day?" Naomi's mother turned to the youth minister.

"She was a huge hit," he said. "I see a full-time summer job for her if she's up for it."

Naomi's mother cast a concerned look towards the living room.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you," she said. "Deacon Watkins wasn't too thrilled to hear that you'd asked Naomi to help out today."

Eric's response was to look at Naomi. "You know, I don't think the head deacon's even had the pleasure of meeting you yet. And you know what they say, there's no time like the present."

"Reverend Feagans, I don't know...." Naomi objected, but he was already leading her to the sitting room where the Reverend Kindle sat with a tall, professional looking man with close-cropped blonde hair. It surprised her a bit; she'd expected someone short and dumpy like his daughter. This man was actually quite handsome, but that attractiveness was marred by the condescending look he gave her as Eric offered an introduction.

"Reverend Kindle. Hello. I saw Deacon Watkin's car outside and thought this would be a good time to introduce Naomi to him since I plan to recommend the church find money in the budget to hire her as an my assistant. She's great with the kids."

"Really?" Rev. Watkins pulled his glasses from his face angrily. "That's not what my daughter tells me."

"Your daughter was extremely rude today, Merle," Rev. Feagans said pointedly. "I had to put her back on the bus. Whatever she tells you should be suspect."

"Are you calling my daughter a liar?"

"Deacon Watkins, I'm sure Rev. Feagans didn't mean..." Rev. Kindle was on his feet now, but the youth minister would not be deterred.

"I'm not calling anyone names. She however, did, which is why she was put on the bus. If you want an honest opinion of what the youth think of Miss Kindle, then I suggest you has them individually."

Chelsea's father looked at Naomi. Something in his prolonged gaze bothered her and she found herself crossing her arms across her chest in an attempt to cover her.

"The decent people of this church have every right to express concern about the moral fitness of those working with their children. We all know Naomi strayed from the path and my wife and I are not convinced that the church has gotten a full accounting of just how far she strayed."

"But you will, you will," Rev. Kindle reassured him. "This Sunday Naomi will confess her sins before the brotherhood of believers and repent before God that she might be accepted back into the body of Christ."

"Dad..."

"She should have done that before she was allowed around our children," the deacon snapped, "and what guaranteed do we have that someone like her will even be honest.."

"Someone like me?" Naomi could stay quiet no longer. "Let me guess, you're sinless. You've never lied or cheated or maybe surfed the Internet for porn..."

The deacon reddened at this and sputtered for a moment.

"How dare you!" he said.

"How dare you!" she shot back. "You're not Jesus. I don't have to confess anything to you or anybody else!"

She stormed off then into her room, slamming the door behind her. She could hear Deacon Watkins' continued objections to her, and her father's placating tone. She hated her father at that moment for not standing up for her, for taking the side of the deacon. He'd never believe her, but the look the deacon had fixed her with was the same look she'd seen men give her hundreds of times before. It said, "I wonder what she looks like under those clothes."

If Deacon Merle Watkins was curious about whether she was a whore it was probably because he was hoping she was one.

"Naomi." She heard Eric knocking on the door. He probably was upset with her. He probably thought she needed to come out and smooth things over. He probably wanted her to apologize.

No dice. She opened the window and slipped out. This time she wouldn't make the mistake of going to the shed; he'd find her there. This time she went across the street and through the woods to follow the stream to where it turned into a trickle in the forest.

She sprinted through the trees at first, stopping ever so often to make sure she wasn't being followed. When she was sure she wasn't, she slowed to a walk.

Naomi felt silly. Here she was, a grown woman and still running away from the condemnation of her inflexible father. It might not be an entirely bad move if she had a plan, but it seemed she couldn't even run away right. First L.A. and now the middle of the woods. Nice.

"Stupid," she said to herself as she sat on a rock and scooped up a handful of pebbles and began to toss them in the creek. Plop. Plop. Plop. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

She sat there until the light faded and the mosquitoes buzzed around her in an ominous, blood-sucking cloud. With a reluctant sigh, Naomi got to her feet and trudged back to the house. It would be silly to go back through the window like some burglar breaking into her own house. She went around to the back door.

Rev. Feagans was sitting on the back stoop waiting for her. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't you ever take a day off?" she asked.

"When it comes to you, no. In case you haven't noticed, you're now my fulltime project." He stood up. "So where did you go?"

"A private place I used to go to when I was little. If I tell you will you promise not to follow me there?"

He smiled. "No."

"Then it'll remain private," she said.

She went to move past him to go in but he took her arm.

"Not a good idea," he said, turning her around and steering her across the yard towards the church. "Your father is still - what's a nice way to put this - worked up?"

"He's not the one who should be upset," she said. "It's cruel and twisted to expect someone to stand up before a bunch of sanctimonious strangers and list their sins. My father is guilty of his own sins - gluttony, for instance. I don't ever recall him standing up on Sunday and confessing to those double helpings of apple pie."

"That's a valid point," he said.

She stopped. "You really think so?"

He turned to her. "Your father has some very antiquated notions. He built this church on fire-and-brimstone rhetoric and to a certain segment of people fear of God's wrath and public humiliation are necessary tools to keep them on the straight and narrow."

"The idea of standing up and admitting my sins to a bunch of people who may be doing much worse things doesn't make me want to go straight. It makes me want to turn away from the church," she said.

"Naomi, calm down," he said. "I'm not disagreeing with you here. I think you're father's misguided. But there are ways to get your point across with him, and going on the attack makes him turn away from you!"

"Like I care," she said.

He took her arm them and led her towards the church. In the back of her mind, Naomi knew she'd gone too far. And she knew she'd let herself do it. But why? Did she want to test this man? She knew what would happen if she did. Did she want it to happen?

"Please..." She tried to twist away as he opened the side door of the church and pushed her through, ignoring her as he then steered her down the hall to his office.

He flipped the light on as he pushed her inside and then stood there with his arms crossed, blocking the just-closed door.

"You want everyone to understand you," he said. "And yet you refuse to understand anyone else."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

He put up a finger in front of her face. "Do not use profanity in my presence, Naomi."

"Fine," she said. "What is that supposed to mean? I understand people just fine."

"You don't seem to understand your father."

"What's there to understand? He's a narrow-minded, fat hypocrite."

Rev. Feagans took a step towards her. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me not to put you over my knee and spank you this very minute?"

"I don't really care," she said, pushing him. "My father obviously thinks I deserve to be punished. Should it surprise me that you would think the same thing?"

"Silly girl," he said. "You don't know the difference between punishment and correction. And here I was thinking you were smart..."

He turned away from her shaking his head. "You can go, Naomi."

She stood rooted to the spot. A feeling of deep shame swept over her.

"Well," she said. "If that's what you think."

She turned woodenly. A knot forming in her throat swelled and pushed tears up into her eyes.

"It's not what I think," he said. "It's what you're projecting."

She stopped. He'd spoken to her. Relief flooded in.

"You're right you know," she said. "I don't know the difference between punishment and correction. It all seems like anger to me. Or it did until you..."

Her voice trailed off.

She'd opened the door a crack and now she shut it.

"You're right, too about my dad," she continued. "I don't try to understand him. But I don't want to. Not anymore. He hides behind God, and God's just too big. I don't have the will to walk around God and find my father. Not anymore."

Eric smiled. "You should write poetry," he said. "You have a gift for words. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No," she said.

"Well you do." He sighed. "As for your father, he can't hide behind God. He can hide behind his image of God, or his idea of God. You've let your dad define God for you, Naomi. He's painted an ugly picture, I'm afraid. I'm trying to work with your father to get him to balance this portrayal of the angry God with the truth that God can be a kind and loving father. I'm hoping and praying that if I can do that then he'll find the kind and loving father in himself."

He walked over to her and put a hand on her face. "And I want you to see in yourself the good and obedient child."

He smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. "You and your father are more alike than you realize, Naomi. Neither of you sees what God intends for you to be."

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "And I do believe if you think about it you can discern between angry punishment and correction. Tell me, Naomi, do you feel anger from me when I've spanked you?"

She fell silent as she pondered the question.

"No," she finally answered. "I felt like you...like you cared about me."

Naomi turned away then, horrified with herself. For she'd begun to cry although she didn't know why. Her breath was coming in gasps as she tried to stop the tears from coming. She hated showing her emotions in front of people.

"It's OK!" He reached for her, his arms around her now, comforting and soothing. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Naomi. Just let it out."

And she did. He cared about her. He really did. And she cared about him. But that was crazy. He was a pastor, an authority figure. It was silly to...

His lips descending on hers short circuited her thoughts. She could feel tension in his body, as if he were somehow torn by his own actions. Naomi felt the same way. Her parents had entrusted him with her moral education and he was kissing her in his office.

But even though she felt like he was much older, he wasn't. She was in her twenties, he was in his early thirties. Only seven years or so separated them.

And he treated her like a real person, a person of value. The thought thrilled her, but then a feeling of fear set in. He did not know about her past. He did not know she'd made money by showing her naked body to strangers.

She pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No. Don't apologize," she said. "It's so nice to feel...."

"....loved?"

She looked at him.

"You don't have to say that," she said.

"I know," he said. "Those are always the best kinds of affirmations - the kinds you make because they're pure and true."

"I don't think I've ever been loved by a man," she said. "I mean, I've dated. But that's different."

He laughed. "Yes, it is."

She looked at him. "If feel safe with you," she said suddenly, spontaneously. "I know you feel protective of me. And that makes me feel..wonderful. But do you think we can confuse those feelings for something...deeper?"

"I can only speak for mself, Naomi," he said. "Yes, I feel protective of you. But I feel something else - something more intense - besides. I've never felt as protective over anyone as I do over you. It's only been a few days, I know, but I felt something special the first time I laid eyes on you, coming into the room in that awful dress your mother made you wear to hide your tattoos."

She laughed at the memory. "Yeah, it was awful."

Then her face grew serious. "I'm afraid of disappointing you. I want to please you. I just worry the closer we get the more chance there is that I won't be able to."

"Relationships aren't rocket science," he said. "Love, trust, honesty, commitment."

Honesty. She turned the word over in her head. The images of her dancing returned. Would he really want to be near her if he knew? He could never fund out. But he didn't have to. It wasn't a lie if he never asked. Right now he just thought she had been a panhandler. She's make sure it stayed that way.

"Speaking of honesty, I'm going to be honest with you now. I think you need to apologize to your dad."

The magic moment evaporated.

"Rev. Feagans...," she said.

"Good gracious, girl. We just kissed. I think you can call me Eric."

"OK. Eric," she said, smiling as she tested his name. Then her face grew serious. "But I don't know if I can apologize to my dad. You make it sound so easy, but he'll see it as some kind of admission of guilt on my part, and I still don't think I was the one in the wrong. If I apologize all he'll do is tell me what a sinner I am and insist that I stand up before everyone at church and give them a laundry list of my sins. And I won't do that, not for him and even not....for you."

He took his face in his hands. "I'm not going to ask you to do that," he said. "And the only thing you'll be apologizing for is losing your temper. You're free to stress to your father that saying you're sorry does not mean you're agreeing to confess anything to the other church members. You can tell him that your repentance is between you and God. I'll support you on that, Naomi."