Free 100 Days by Nicole McInnes

belly and a long white beard, and it’s clear he takes his service in the Lord’s Army very seriously. He starts off by talking about who’s going to hell and who isn’t. Basically, the people in the room are safe, assuming they’ve been washed in the blood of the Lamb. Not so the heathen who are using the Lord’s Day to conduct business or sleep in or fornicate. It’s all pretty straightforward, really.
    I look down at my gnarled hands resting in my lap and roll my eyes. A real brimstoner, Mom would call this guy. Sometimes, I almost want to invite Mom and Moira to attend a service just to see what would happen. Almost.
    In the middle of this thought I feel a tapping on my arm. It’s Nevvie, blinking up at me. “Heaven sounds lonely,” the kid whispers, catching me off guard.
    I try my best to hold it together, but I don’t do a very good job. Attempting to cover my laugh with a fake cough only makes things worse. Nevvie starts giggling. Dad clears his throat as a reminder for us to settle down.
    The new preacher must think I’m laughing at him, because he pauses and looks right at me. I hold my breath and lower my eyes.
    Next, the preacher moves on to homosexuality. “It is a sin for man to lie with man and woman to lie with woman!” He’s yelling a little now, which doesn’t seem entirely necessary, given the size of the room and the crowd. “Doesn’t matter what the wicked world thinks about it. The Scripture says it’s wrong, so it’s wrong. End of story.”
    A few quiet amen s rise up from the pews. I glance at Dad, who appears to be half-asleep. Jamey seems to think the little ones need to hear this, and I wonder if he thinks so, too. What good could it possibly do them?
    The preacher notices my fidgeting. “God is not always fair.” He keeps his eyes on me when he says it and sort of gestures in my direction with his head. A few of the congregants sitting in the front rows turn to look. Some of the women who don’t see me very often make pouty faces: You poor little angel.
    This time, it feels like the wind’s been knocked out of me. You did NOT just do that, I think. Forcing myself to breathe and keeping my face a blank, I stare right back at the preacher. You did NOT just make me the poster child for divine discrimination. Thank God Moira’s not here, or all hell would have broken loose by now.
    For the altar call, everyone stands and sings “There’s a Fountain Free.” It’s never been one of my favorite hymns, but today it sounds particularly flat and oppressive. This is the time when anyone who isn’t baptized is supposed to be so overcome with the Spirit that she can’t stop herself from going down front, confessing her sins, and proclaiming her need to be cleansed. As usual, I stay put where I am.
    Everybody here knows I haven’t been baptized yet. I’m pretty sure Jamey asks them on a regular basis to please pray for her little geriatric stepdaughter who surely doesn’t have much time left. This is probably why I feel the weight of the congregation’s eyes on me as we sing. Obi and Nevvie have been really good during the whole service, but they’re starting to get tired and cranky now. I wonder if maybe they’re picking up on the tension in the room. “Do you want to go down front?” Jamey whispers, leaning toward me with a smile.
    I shake my head and try to smile back, but I’m sure it looks forced. If there’s one thing I know it’s that I don’t want to get baptized. Not yet and maybe not ever. I’m certainly not going to be bullied into it. For starters, I’m pretty sure people in the Bible got baptized in rivers and lakes—“living water” I’ve heard it called—which sounds pretty nice. It seems to me that a real baptism—one where you decide to trade your old, grimy life for a bright, shiny new