Free Devoted by Jennifer Mathieu Page A

like it does whenever I think about women’s fellowship at the church. Sitting in the circle of metal folding chairs, I worry I won’t be filled with Christ’s inspired word and will instead say something that will have everyone’s corrective gaze on me—in the same way that we all once stared at Lauren Sullivan, taking note of every flaw. My mind jumps back to last night. To Lauren’s words. To that one forbidden link I’ve promised to ignore.
    â€œRachel, will you look this over for me?” Jeremiah asks, breaking me out of my thoughts.
    â€œOf course,” I tell him.
    I take his math worksheet and tick through the problems, trying to see if his work makes sense. After I hand Jeremiah’s worksheet back to him with his mistakes circled, I ask Ruth for her paper, determined to keep busy.
    By supper Mom’s pale face seems paler, and her short answers even briefer. Leaving her with all the little ones could be too much for her, but then Dad is home by supper—a simple salad and sandwiches with cold cuts is enough for today—and he says we should head to Calvary.
    As we get ready to leave, Dad stops Ruth and me by the back door for a prayer. His hands press on our heads, and once again I imagine sinking into the ground under the weight.
    â€œâ€˜Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised,’” he says, and I think for a moment about Lauren Sullivan’s tattoos and dyed hair.
    â€œAmen,” we respond. When we open our eyes, Dad is smiling at us. The careful, half smile I’ve come to prize because he gives it so rarely. Like Mom’s kisses and hugs, there aren’t ever enough of Dad’s smiles to go around. But not every girl has a protector like Dad. I need to be more grateful for what God’s given me. As I climb into the van, I wave to Dad’s figure standing in the doorway, watching us drive away.
    I can tell from the way Ruth keeps straightening her skirt and checking her reflection in the broken mirror on the back of the van’s sun visor that’s she nervous but also excited for this evening. This is the first time she’s been considered old enough to attend an event like this. She hasn’t begun her monthly cycle yet, but she’s started wearing a bra.
    â€œAre you all right?” I ask, turning down the van’s radio. It’s set to the classical radio station, the only music Dad lets us listen to when we’re driving anywhere.
    â€œYes,” Ruth says. “But I’m wondering if I’ll be the youngest one there tonight.”
    â€œMaybe,” I answer, “but probably not. I bet Donna Lufkin and Margaret Pierce will bring their little sisters, too. They’re about your age.”
    Ruth nods thoughtfully as we pull into the open space of grass that serves as Calvary’s parking lot. When we walk into the meeting room, Faith is busy moving the chairs into place, and one of the other older girls, who got married last summer and is pregnant with her first child, is setting out cookies and cartons of store-brand fruit punch.
    â€œHi!” Faith waves. “I’m so glad you were able to come this evening. We’re going to have such a sweet fellowship, I’m sure.”
    â€œYes, we’re glad we were able to come, too,” Ruth says, her words carefully chosen. Then, when we’re close enough so not everyone can hear, her voice drops and she adds, “Faith, did you know that Mom got out of bed today?”
    â€œGod is so good,” Faith says, smiling and not at all surprised. “Now let me go check on Caleb, and when I come back we’ll get started.” The older girls take turns watching the babies and toddlers during women’s fellowship, but it’s not my turn for a while. God has purposed that I be here, in the meeting. It must be why He’s helped Mom gain enough strength to leave her