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And now there's all this to deal with.
“You let this happen!” she hisses at me when I'm close enough to hear her. She stabs at the air with one finger, directing the complete force of her accusation in my direction. Owen looks visibly relieved and takes a half step back.
“Don't go anywhere,” I warn him. “I need you.”
“How could you let this happen?” she continues. “Who was watching her? What have you been teaching Seth?”
I get within eight feet of her and stop, raising my hands in front of me like I'm surrendering or something.
“I don't know what you’re talking about, Mary. I promise you that nothing Seth did was condoned in any way by either Brother Owen or myself. I can’t believe you would even think such a thing, much less make that accusation.”
“Will he must have learned it from somewhere!” she hisses.
I shrug helplessly. Learned it from somewhere? Does she seriously think anyone has to train a boy up like that? All our efforts going to training that kind of vulgarity out of them.
But I suppose she's just mad. Probably mostly mad at Seth, and Angel too, if I know how the women around here work. But Owen and I are certainly closest to her at the moment, so we are getting the brunt of it right now. If Seth were here, I would fear for his life.
“I’m going to take care of it,” I inform her.
She knuckles her wide, pillowy hips, her elbows jutting out at acute angles. Bending at the waist, she leans over slightly.
“I should hope so!” she snarls. “We can’t have that kind of thing here. It’s like a fungus — it spreads! Fix it!”
I don't think I've seen her quite so invigorated in a long time. She mostly parades around here like a bonafide prophet, waiting for people to listen to whatever she has to say.
But I suppose, she has earned it. Mary mostly engaged herself by writing rituals and ceremonies as soon as we started. She authored much of what newcomers think has always been the Kingdom Come dogma. Many of them don't even realize it was Mary who invented many of our holiest procedures. The deflowering ceremony was her idea, originally. She felt it would enhance our Family connection.
“Perhaps you should give the education of young men a little more thought, Mary,” I suggest, trying to keep my tone even so she doesn't think I'm taunting her, which I sort of am. Her meddling has not always been my favorite thing. But we are a tight community, and sometimes you have to take the help you are offered.
“Maybe I will do that. Somebody should!” she sniffs.
“Get back to me on that. I look forward to your counsel.”
Her chin juts proudly in the air. She’ll come up with something, I’m sure. And it will definitely be a help. We are about to have four women who need Masters, and none of the boys are ready for that responsibility.
“So I suppose you know what we have to do now,” I sigh, glancing sidelong at Owen.
“Oh,” Mary exhales as she realizes what I’m referring to. She wrote this one herself, too. She knows exactly what we have to do with Seth.
“I think he has probably gone along home to nurse his wounds,” Owen observes. He looks away, clearly dreading the next hour.
“Let’s get this done, then,” I suggest, unable to keep the sour tone from my voice.
Owen says nothing as we march down the dusty path, not making eye contact with anyone. From the looks we’re getting, I sense the excitement is growing. Seth’s crime is a highly unusual one in the Family, and the punishment is suitably dramatic.
When we get to Seth's front porch, the door automatically opens and he steps out, shoulders slumped forward, his eyes cast to the ground. Before his door closes I see his mother’s face in the darkened interior. Her eyes are wide with fright, but she scurries away, further into the house. He knows what's going to happen too. It's unavoidable now.
The three of us walk down the widest path to the center of the compound, an oblong clearing with a covered platform in the center. Typically this platform is used for casual, simple occasions, something where everybody needs to gather and mill around, maybe have a picnic or something. It's hardly ever used for this purpose. There's usually no need.
Word must have spread quickly, because people are starting together around us. They squint hard against the remaining sunlight, hands shading their eyes, noses already wrinkled in disgust.
We lead Seth to the platform. He stands in the middle, silently watching the clearing fill with Family members. After another dozen or so make their way into the dusty, open space, I finally figure out exactly what I need to tell them.
“Brother Seth was witnessed in an act of attempted theft,” I announce, casting my voice high over everyone's heads. As soon as I say it, people begin to chant, to whisper at first. They stand with their feet planted as they rock back and forth in unison.
“Shame, shame, shame.”
“He was not successful!” I call out, making sure this crime lands solely at his feet without sullying Angel in any way. “But he was so willing to steal what rightly belongs to another man, that he must be punished!”
