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He opens the Bible that I hadn’t noticed he was carrying and starts flicking through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for. ‘1 Timothy 2:9–10. The women should adorn themselves in appropriate dress, with modesty and soundness of mind, not with styles of hair braiding and gold or pearls or very expensive clothing, but in a way that is proper for women professing devotion to God, namely, through good works.’
He doesn’t have to worry about me wearing anything expensive. I turn the leather bracelets on my wrist. It gives my hand something to do.
‘I know this can be a very uncomfortable topic for sisters,’ he says, sounding sincere, ‘but it’s an important conversation to have.’
What’s uncomfortable is that he brought me in the back to tell me that he noticed my knees during his talk this morning. My knees.
‘Perhaps I can take the hem down,’ Mum offers.
Brother Oliver walks over to the glass doors. ‘We’re very lucky to have so many sisters with sewing skills in the congregation.’ He slides open the door and gestures for us to go ahead of him.
Such a gentleman. A true beacon of light to young brothers.
I walk across the floor where Sister Maria lay fitting minutes earlier.
‘Will you be joining us for field service today?’ he asks before I have the chance to flee.
I have an assessment due in three days, but that’s not the right answer. ‘Yes,’ I say, pausing at the door.
He’s visibly pleased by my response, and Mum is visibly pleased at him being pleased.
‘First day of sunshine we’ve had in a long time,’ she says, following me out. ‘Perhaps we can eat outside if the lawn’s dry?’
I loathe eating lunch as a congregation. Soggy rolls and eternal rotations of stale fruit cake. What I don’t understand is the older sisters have spent years perfecting their sponge cakes. So why always fruit cake?
Mum and Brother Oliver exchange a few more pleasantries. The second he steps away, I head for the exit.
‘Where are you going?’ Mum calls to me.
Out. Out of the hall. Out of sight. Away from the stares. ‘To get my cardigan from the car. I’m going to need something to cover my knees with.’ I tug my skirt down as I walk. The exit’s a few steps away.
‘Annie.’
Ignoring Mum, I rush through the door and don’t stop until I reach the car. When I try the handle, it doesn’t open. Slapping the door, I drop my forehead to the glass window. Only once my breathing slows do I return inside for the keys.
