As the voices murmured among themselves at this response, a chill passed through me, then the temperature of the room seemed to rise. I wanted to scream. Perspiration beaded on my chest and dripped uncomfortably between my breasts. Jacob’s grip tightened and I flinched as someone touched my neck.
Brother Timothy raised his voice above the din. “Sister Sara, your current physical suffering is a sign of the correction you deserve for your actions. God taught us, saying, ‘I will punish the world for its evil and the wicked for their iniquity.’ God doesn’t punish the righteous. Therefore your suffering is evidence of your evil intent.”
“Brother,” Jacob replied, my hand still in his. “She just respectfully indicated that her intent wasn’t evil. She did what I demanded. Her intent was to obey her husband. With the icy roads I should have considered her lack of driving experience before sending her to complete my errand.”
“When Sara is able to speak, you’ll both be brought before the Commission. It’ll be up to Father Gabriel to determine if correction is complete.”
“As her husband, I take responsibility for her actions. I guarantee that my wife didn’t willfully disobey the laws of The Light. If she had, I’d see to her correction myself.”
I fell back to my pillow, unable to comprehend the discussion around me. Why is this happening? Why are they discussing me, without me?
Mute as I was, with my eyes covered and my hand encased in Jacob’s, no one but my husband noticed my lack of participation. I remained still as he continued to relay my nonexistent responses, leaving me a bystander to my own story and unable to affect its outcome.
Maybe this wasn’t real, maybe it was a bad dream and the scene would soon fade. My stomach twisted as their exchange continued and they discussed my insubordination and correction. Each time Brother Timothy condemned, Jacob reminded him that my transgressions were alleged, not proven. It was as if suddenly I were on trial in my hospital room instead of in a court of law.
It wasn’t until I heard the word banishment that their conversation again registered. Whatever had been said had apparently been the parting word. Murmurs floated above the sound of various sets of feet exiting, then finally there was silence. When the door clicked closed I released my breath.
Turning toward my husband, I waited for an explanation. Nothing. I was about to pull my hand away when I felt a tug on my right arm and a woman spoke.
“Brother Jacob, Dr. Newton would like to examine Sister Sara now.”
So many brothers and sisters. So unfamiliar.
“Are you giving her more medicine?” Jacob asked.
“After the doctor comes. He’d like her to be awake.”
“Tell him he’ll need to wait until morning. She’s had enough commotion for her first day. Bring her medicine, something to drink, and let her sleep.”
I pressed my lips together in protest. Not that anyone noticed. They were doing it again. Discussing me while I was right there. Why does no one else find this wrong?
“I’m sorry,” the woman, who I assumed was a nurse, said. “The Commission hasn’t approved her intake of fluids. Refusal of nutrients is an approved decree.”
Jacob’s grip tensed. “I’m quite aware of the Commission’s approved decrees.”
“I’m sorry, Brother. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“It’s been over a week. She needs more than what she’s getting from that needle.”
“I believe they’ll discuss it in the morning since Brother Timothy was able to see and talk to her. They should have a revised decision by tomorrow. I can’t go against . . .”
Jacob sighed and his grip remained tight. “I understand,” he conceded. “Then bring me ice chips. If we hurry before they melt, they’ll be solids and not liquids. That won’t violate the Commission’s authority.”
“Brother?”
“Bring me ice.”
CHAPTER 2
Stella
It was past three in the afternoon when I finished chasing leads—ones that seemed to go nowhere—and dragged my tired self back to the TV station. I plugged in my dead cell phone and collapsed at my desk. As I laid my head on my arm, I realized, only slightly ashamed, that I was wearing the same blouse and slacks I’d worn the day before. When I’d been out in the field, it hadn’t occurred to me, but here, I was suddenly self-conscious.
I must’ve bumped my mouse, because a light brighter than the Michigan summer sun filled my cubicle, and my monitor roared to life. The number flashing at the top of my screen mocked my exhaustion, alerting me to the hundreds of e-mails all in desperate need of immediate response. That’s what happened when I spent my entire day out of the office. Sighing, I scooted my chair closer and began to scroll.