Chapter 4

(Chapter song ‘Sins Of The Father’ by Donna Burke, ‘Aggressive Expansion' by Hans Zimmer)

*Trigger Warning: Disciplinary Abuse, corporal punishment*

PENELOPE The conversation with Mr. Pembrooke had me believe that he’s not the man he claims himself to be. He says he’s evil, of sorts. He does not look the part, but outward appearances can be deceiving.

He does intrigue my mind. I feel he’s a puzzle box that needs to be solved. It seems he’s missing crucial pieces. I do believe he knows what those pieces are, he just doesn’t want to look at them.

Respectable and carried well, he is a handsome man. I will not feel shame that he makes my heart flutter. There’s something else. Something inside me feels a connection on a more intimate level.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. My mourning just ended and I don’t believe it’s proper to court so soon after. I can admire from a far. I will admire. He’s strong, well groomed and looks to be a success in what he does. Which is why when he speaks of demons, my mind is puzzled. The demons he speaks of are those out in the badlands. I suppose it’s possible for a demon to reside in a more civilized man.

My heart sees hope for him though. I hear the voice inside grace me with the strength to find the demon and kill it within Edward. I have faith that I’m exactly what Mr. Pembrooke needs.

After Bible study, my day finishes at the Presbyterian Church on the other side of the wood.

I exit the forest path, into the yard of the small, brown, wood slat church. It’s cross on the pitch peak acts like a beacon to the people. It’s a shame its pews sit half empty most days.

I live here with my father, Minister Patrick Williams. I do love my father, but he’s a hard man. He sees the sins of the town and it pains him. Angers him. He tries to spread the word, but for most in this town, it’s deafened by debauchery and drink.

I understand his frustrations, I just wish he’d express his frustrations in different ways. Most are taken on me. Being a woman has never sat well with him. After my mother died of cholera 10 years, his heart changed. He yearns for a son he will never have. Keeping to his vows and love for my mother, he refuses to remarry. Thus, his visions of his pulpit being continued in his lineage died with her. Forever crushing his heart and seeding doubt on the life of his congregation.

I have several duties to the church. When I’m not at the school house, I’m here or on missionaries to neighboring towns. For the past two years, I’ve barely been able to keep up.

When my husband was killed by bandits, I went into deep mourning. This lasted a year. Half-mourning lasted six months. I believed I was then ready to return to normal, but my father felt I needed another six months. It was hard and unnecessary, but he is my father. I must respect his wishes.

Now that I’m out of my mourning, I can look for another husband. My father, on the other hand, believes I should live as he does. Alone and in constant pain of loss to my vows. While that may suit him, it does not suit me. A woman out here in the desert of the America’s needs a strong man to keep her. My father will not live forever. So, despite his objections, I will continue to prepare for the duties of wife and mother. In my humble opinion, the dead should stay dead and not ruin the lives of others.

As I open the door to the church, I’m met with a woman in black. She’s wiping her tears away with a black, lace trimmed handkerchief. Her companion holds her steady as they exit.

My heart pains for her. I know how she feels. “Mary. I’m deeply saddened by your loss. May you find peace in your heart.”

Mary Stillwater. Her husband was gunned downed on their ranch a month ago by horse thieves. She’s been beside herself and I have no cause to blame her for that.

“Thank you, Penelope.” She chokes from behind her black veil draped over her head.

“Sally. Your loss is all ours. George was a good, faithful man.” I say to Mary’s sister who’s also in black.

“I appreciate your kind words, Miss.” She bows her head.

“We will say your names in prayer on Sunday. The Lord will heal the wounds over time. Please have faith.” I offer them hope that the Lord has not forsaken them.

“Yes. Thank you, again. We will be attending.” She sniffs.

“This is good. To be with love will make the pain that much easier to bare.” I hold her hands.

“Good day, Miss Williams.” Sally says and helps her sister down the steps.

“Good day.” I say as I watch them leave. My mind fills with the feelings I had when the angels took Henry.

That night, my life transformed. I never knew true faith until that day and the test that came. The moment I had to open myself to the heavens and all its glory. I had to trust myself, that even through the anguish of death, I could still hold space for the fallen that fell at my feet. That my love and conviction could help them heal and gain the strength to face the heavens and receive the salvation it holds. Will the fallen ever rise again? That’s a hard question to answer. I suppose it won’t if it doesn’t want to. For now, I help as much as I can. If I make even the slightest of differences, that fills the hole in my heart Henry left.

I enter the church and hang my wrap in the church coat closet. “Father?!” I call as I walk up the wooden floor between the red wood pew benches. The podium up at the front is where my father delivers his service. He’s left his Bible again. He always leaves it and he needs it for his bed hour. I sigh as I mark the page and close it. I tuck the large, black book in my arms and walk to the back of the church floor.

On the other side of a wood door is a small area with our sop bucket, woodstove, a table and chairs, cupboard tops and two small rooms, one for each of us. It’s meager lodging, but we don’t make much in way of money. Just what the congregation donates and these days, it’s not much. We're as poor as the rest of society. Upkeep is getting more and more costly. My father feels the suffrage with every empty donation plate.

I place the bible on his bedside table and straighten his blankets.

“What are you doing in my room?” His dark voice startles me.

I yelp and turn, holding my heart. “Father. I apologize. I was just returning your Bi…”

“How dare you be in here! This room is not your place!” He yells as he takes large steps to me.

His wrinkled, graying face is angry. His brown eyes are full of brimstone and his voice spits rage. His tall, thick stature looms over mine.

“Father…I was just…” I fill with fear.

“I’ll teach you to disrespect me, girl!”

I scream as he grabs my hair and slams me, face first, on the kitchen table.

“NO! PLEASE!!” I cry out.

He removes his belt with one hand and holds me down on the table with his other strong hand. I try to push myself off, but he’s too strong.

“Please, Father!!!” Tears stream out of my terrified eyes.

He leans down to my ear. “You unclean thing. I’ll beat the demon out of you. Don’t think I didn’t see you soil your vows with that man. I saw the lust in your evil eyes. You will be a woman of God, Penelope.”

I can smell the stink of whiskey on his breath. I can feel his disdain and hatred for my existence.

My cheeks are wet. My body is shaking.

He grabs the collar of my shirt and tears off the back of it. My bare skin is showing to him. I’m embarrassed, dirty and ashamed. My cheeks feel hot and my stomach is sick.

My nails dig into the wood of the table top and my head is held down by his hard, thick fingers.

I sob uncontrollably as he prepares my punishment.

He pushes on my neck harder as he brings the belt down on my back. The sharp sting of leather across my skin causes a wail of pain in my voice I barely recognize. More strikes and I barely have enough for sound.

As I cry out in agony, I feel something inside building. Strike after strike, my skin splits and bleeds. My body heats more. My face fills with anger as I absorb his beating. My head trembles in shock as the thing inside me grows to the surface.

“DEMON! RIGHTIOUS SINNER! WHORE OF BABYLON!” My father screams above mine.

There’s a wind that blows around the room which causes his rage to stop in mid strike. The candles lit blow out and the dirt of the floor flies around me.

“Stop this! Penelope! Stop this right now!!” My father pushes on my head as he shouts his demands. I can hear the fear in his drunk fueled voice.

“NOOOOOOO!” I squeeze my eyes shut and shove myself off the table. It topples over. My father stumbles back and falls to the floor.

I stand, chest heaving and filled with pain and fury. The power in me making itself present. It has had enough of my father for the day. It means to protect me though, it doesn’t happen all the time.

“HOW DARE YOU!” He yells as he tries to pull his drunk body up. “YOU VILE GIRL! YOU WITCH! I'LL TEACH YOU TO DISRESPECT ME!” He clenches his jaw and raises his fist as he gets to his feet.

I feel my movements, but it’s not me making them. I rush to him with unholy speed and pin my body against him. He’s pushed against the cupboard top. His face fills with shock and horror as he stares into my white light filled eyes. My face twists and I raise my fist to his face with warning.

“YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER!” My voice is not my own, not only my own. It spoke of me like I wasn’t in the room with it. It sounded ghostly, but strong and angry.

My lips snarl as he tries to hide his cowardice.

“BEGON DEMON!!” He grabs the cross around his neck and holds it against my forehead.

I start to laugh at his simple mindedness. “DEMON? What do you know of demons, preacher.”

I grab his large hand and crush it in my tiny fingers. He screams as he looks on in disbelief. I rip the cross from his palm and throw it across the room. I put my twisted face in his. “False! False prophet! You preach love to only deliver it with torture!” My skin is on fire. My shirt is barely hanging on. My hair is not in a kept manner. My eyes burn with tears as I glare into his. My lips spit condemnation for the man who gave me life.

“What do you want of me?” He pleads as his shakes in terror, holding his broken hand to his chest.

My eyes shine brighter at the sight of his submission. “You keep your beatings off this vessel! You keep your wicked tongue behind your teeth! You pray, preacher. You pray like your life depends on it because it does! You pray that the next time you foul your stomach, I don’t split it open and spill your sins all over this house. Change your ways, preacher or you will not like the deliverance you will receive.” I grit as I grab his suit lapels. My knuckles white. My back red, painted with blood.

I feel the power fall out of me as if pushed off a cliff. I stumble back and hold my forehead because of lightheadedness. I close my eyes to regain my composure. My confused mind tries to seek the answers in my fog.

I head the whispers in my mind. They all whisper at once. Thousands all saying different things.

I slowly open my eyes to the situation. My father cowers from me, broken and terrified. He looks green and flushed.

I look around the kitchen. I have no memory of this. The fallen took them from me. “What happened?” I mumble low, my hand slides over my shoulder to my blood covered back which throbs.

My father shakes his head and carefully steps, sliding across the cupboard top edge to the door to his room.

I can tell from his fainted expression, my fallen has rose. I look into my scared fathers eyes, the blood tickles my skin. My heart thumps like the heavy footed gallop of the draft horse.

I feel it was a dream. A nightmare I don’t understand. Tears well in my eyes. “I must leave”

I leave the small room and run into the church. My feet carry me down the aisle to the door.

“PENELOPE!!” My father calls, but I do not return.

My eyes fill with more tears and my heart beats in panic as I rush out front door.

“Penelope?”

On the other side was Simon. My father’s hand coming to start the day. It may be rude, but I’m of no condition for small talk.

I push past him as confusion falls from my red eyes. I run as fast as my boots will allow. Running through the trees, I huff my stuttering breath as I push sticks and brush out of my way. I hold my torn shirt to my chest and lift my skirt up as I navigate the forest floor.

I do not know what I’m running from. Escape is not possible from what lies beneath my skin.

When my legs cannot take more and my chest is hard of breath, I fall onto a tree trunk. Sobbing, I fall to my knees. I scream out my fear and humiliation. I cover my lips with my hand and slide to my bottom. What have I done?

I shouldn’t fear it, but I do. It’s power is almost too much for my soul. It’s anger is so frightening. It’s words make the world impossible to hear. The being within me should not be allowed to be in this world. My meager body should not be allowed to be used by it. The feeling of it is nothing that I’ve been told in my teachings. There is not peace and virtue. There’s turmoil, grief and anger. Dissatisfaction with the likes of man. I cannot contain such strong feelings. My only reprieve is when it sleeps. It sleeps for long stretches of time before it forces itself out to act on my behalf.

We are told we cannot look into this place before we are ready. What we see before that time are monsters.

Monsters that are strong, all powerful, vengeful creatures.

This very creature is in me and soon it will want me.

All of me.