The Prophet Calls by Melanie Sumrow

Author:Melanie Sumrow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: little bee books
Published: 2018-12-07T16:00:00+00:00

11.

I’m still staring at the Prophet’s portrait at the front of the prayer room when I gasp. Father can’t lose the priesthood.

Flanked by a pair of God Squad goons, Father wordlessly stumbles in place.

A sadness creases Mother’s forehead, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move.

Uncle Max flaps at the God Squad. “Get him out of this holy place, so we may proceed with the wedding.”

My heart thuds against my ribs. This isn’t happening. Why would the Prophet take the priesthood away from my father?

“Father?” I ask, looking for some kind of explanation. But he stares straight ahead at the Prophet’s portrait.

“It is done,” the Prophet pronounces.

Meryl bites her lip. The Vulture’s wives look stunned.

Then, footsteps sound through the speakers. “Time’s up. Off the phone,” a man orders. It’s the voice of an outsider.

“Await my call in the mor—” the Prophet says quickly and there’s a click. Like he’s hung up the phone. Or someone’s hung it up for him.

Meryl hurries off the stage to join Mother. They embrace. There will be no wedding tonight.

The Vulture’s face puckers in annoyance. “You heard the Prophet,” he snaps. “Get him out of here.”

The God Squad drags Father through the prayer room door and into the fake prison cell. He shouts over his shoulder, “Hannah, there’s been some kind of mistake! I’ll fix this.”

Mother buries her face in her hands.

“Gentry!” Father shouts as the God Squad pulls him outside.

“Wait,” I call after them, pushing through the meetinghouse door, but they don’t stop. I hurry to catch them.

“We’ll work this all out,” Father says to me as the men hustle him toward the concrete wall. “You’ll see. Everything will turn out fine.”

When we reach the entrance to Watchful, the gears hum. The gate swings outward as one of the God Squad pushes Father outside the compound. Both of them aim their rifles at him.

My pulse races.

“You shall repent from afar,” one of the goons orders.

Before I can think, I run past the gate and throw my arms around Father’s waist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. This is all my fault.”

To my surprise, Father wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. I can’t remember him ever holding me like this. It feels so good; I start crying.

“Keep your violin,” he says under his breath. “Okay? Do it for me.”

My tears wet his shirt. “Father, it doesn’t matter now. You can’t leave us.”

He strokes the hair on top of my head and whispers, “You played beautifully at the festival. I knew you would, and you did. Keep your violin and think of me, okay?”

I nod against his chest.

“Promise?” he asks.

I nod again.

A hand grasps my jacket and yanks me backward. Before I can break free, the gate closes with a clang, separating me from Father and widening the gap between us.

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