The Hathaway

Dissent

Despite Evelyn’s protests of feeling fine, it was clear that we had already tired her out. I pulled Heather aside and said, “I think we need to leave the questions about the ruins for another time.” She agreed and we wished Evelyn and her son a good evening.

As we headed toward the door she called to Ben, “Bring some needles and yarn with you and I’ll show you how to cast on.”

He smiled at her, “I’ll see what I can find.”

On the drive back I asked, “What was that all about?”

“Couldn’t you feel it?” he looked slightly disturbed.

“Feel what?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Union house. It’s haunted,” he said with foreboding.

“Yeah, so?” I looked at heather and laughed, “So are most of the houses around here.”

Ben didn’t laugh. “It was the shadow figure,” he stated simply. The one we met at the Hathaway. The same one that took control of Evelyn. It’s in the house right beside hers.”

I caught myself. If this were true… “How do you know?” I asked in a more serious tone.

Ben looked at me like I was being deliberately dense. “I know.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt you,” I apologized. “Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so. I have a vague feeling that he cannot enter someone unless they invite him in. Otherwise, all he can do is rattle his chains and try to scare people.”

“I assume Andi is one of the friends you want to invite to see the place,” Heather interjected. “Who’s the other?”

“Sabina,” he said with confidence. “I think we need to ask her what insights she can give us before we get there. She seems to have a more intuitive grasp on how things fit together than anyone else.”

“But isn’t she one of the children in your care?” Heather protested. “You can’t…”

“She may be a child,” I responded. “But she is quite a gifted psychic. Even Andi is in awe of her talents.”

As soon as Heather dropped us off, Ben went in search of Sabina. I headed up to our apartment for some much needed alone time. I stripped to my shorts and allowed myself to sprawl out in the middle of the bed. Staring at the ceiling, I thought about how complex our lives had become since the kids had arrived, and how fulfilled it made me feel. I also faced some of my own fears. Fears that we would somehow screw things up, fears that the kids would eventually reject us as just another part of the overwhelming impersonal system that had already failed them on such a deep level. Was what we were doing the right choice? Would it be better if we just adopted them and made a more traditional version of a family? I thought it might be more real for them if there weren’t social workers and ‘professionals’ surrounding them, but people who had made a personal commitment to them as individuals.

I knew that Sylvia had been meticulous in the screening process to find people who were deeply committed to making a meaningful difference in the lives of these kids, but still, they went home to their real lives at the end of their shifts. And part of their qualifications included training on how to maintain personal boundaries to keep both themselves and the kids safe. I respected that, but knew that those professional boundaries could be as much of a curse as a blessing. I knew there was a huge difference between someone who cared about me and someone who loved me. It was the difference between someone who would come to my aid as soon as they could manage it, and the parent who would drop everything, risking life and limb without thought, to be at my side instantly.

I had no solution to these wandering thoughts, but realized they stemmed from my growing emotional connection with the kids. I allowed my eyes to close and my mind to relax. We were still in the honeymoon period with them, and I thought we had done a pretty good job so far. I rapidly drifted toward sleep and I was fine with that. I had hardly slept last night, and Ben would wake me up if I was needed. As I faded into a welcome oblivion the sound of distant singing echoed in my last vestiges of consciousness.

The singing grew louder and more boisterous as the apartment faded, and another room came into focus. I found myself sitting on a hard wooden bench at the edge of a large open room. It was filled with people but the mood was peaceful and calm. The men sat on one side and the women on the other. All were singing a song I had never heard before, but somehow I knew the lyrics and the tune. It was a short song, but we kept repeating it over and over again. No musical instruments were in evidence, and the song was sung in unison, without harmony or embellishment. The pace quickened and I could feel the energy of the room grow more intense. Suddenly a young woman stood up and began spinning in place, lost in ecstasy. Another woman jumped to her feet and a few others, both men and women, joined her. They bowed and clapped, and raised their arms to the sky. More followed, and soon we were all standing and marching in a great circle around the room. The song continued and I found myself getting lost in the rhythm and movement. I could feel the energy of my neighbors as they also let go of their individual wills to become part of the universal dance within which we were all caught.

As the music grew I felt an exhilaration unlike anything I had ever felt before. Soon it blossomed into a climax that, more than anything else, felt like a kind of collective orgasm. The final time we sang the song and moved in unison, I felt the boundaries between myself and the others disappear. I felt all boundaries disappear and I became one with the heartbeat of the universe.

Then it was over. All voices, all movement, everything and everyone just stopped. No stray voice made a false start on another repeat. No foot took one step beyond the last communal step. We were one in the dance, and had ceased as one. I have no idea how long we had been at it, time had become meaningless in that eternal moment, But I was sweating and out of breath.

We quietly moved back to our seats and sat in silence for a few moments until one of the men rose spontaneously and offered a prayer. Another song broke out, but this one was quiet and did not inspire another dance, rather we sang gently, allowing our bodies to recover and our minds to clear. This pattern continued for a while, alternating between quoted scriptures, testimonies of personal devotion, prayers, dances, and songs. Eventually one man moved to the center of the room, between the men and the women, and began to preach.

He used a style similar to the style of the Protesters' leader, spontaneous and emotional. Like that preacher, he warned of sin and damnation, calling on all to repent with a sense of such urgency that it was hard to resist his charismatic pleas. I watched his congregation and realized that most were enraptured by his performance, but I also noticed a few that were not so engaged. They shifted in their seats and I wondered if he were aiming his sermon at them as the other preacher had aimed his sermon at Ben and I.

It wasn’t until this point that I became aware of the clothing. It was as if I were sitting in the middle of a historical reenactment of the first Thanksgiving. The men wore breeches and long frock coats, while the women wore long full skirts and simple matching bodices. The clothing, like the worship space, was simple and unadorned. There were no images or symbols on the walls, and the clothing was similarly not complicated with jewelry, buttons, or trims. Not only was the clothing recognizable as being eighteenth century, but it clearly spoke of separatist groups like the Pilgrims or the Quakers. People who eschewed worldly pleasures to pursue their vision of a Heavenly kingdom.

Suddenly a small group within the larger congregation stood up. I was one of them. I had not been listening to what the preacher had to say, having had my fill of judgmental preaching on Sunday night, but I could feel a rising anger, an anger I recognized within each of the others who were standing. One of the standing women made a response to the preacher and we all turned and marched out the door. There were about fifteen to twenty of us and I realized that we were not just leaving the service, we were leaving the community. Across the road from the meeting room I noticed a large brick building and felt a twinge of regret at leaving a place that felt so much like home.

We left with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the few possessions we carried within our pockets or bags. We marched directly out of the little settlement that housed the rest of the community and faced an uncertain future together, unsure of where we were going or how we would get there. All I knew was that that uncertainty was preferable to the controlling domination we were leaving behind. I felt regret and could remember with warmth a time when the community had been a safe haven, full of love and joy. Even the difficult daily tasks we all worked at were a pleasure because each of us had such a sense of family. Everything we did, we did for each other and selfishness just wasn’t needed because someone would always anticipate my needs before I had even identified them myself.

But those days were over. A new leader had arisen, a man of rules and punishments. Unlike our previous leader, whom we had called ‘Mother’ because she saw us all as children in need of tenderness and love, this man saw threats everywhere. The devil lurked behind every bush and lived in every heart. He deserved no such honorific. What had once been a warm and close knit family was now something else. Something cold and distant, without real connection.

The night grew dark around us as we traveled along the lonely road that wound its way through the woods. I knew we would walk at least a few miles before taking our rest. We had anticipated his ultimatum and our subsequent departure. Those of us who had money had hidden it in our garments, and we were prepared to work for food or lodgings, but tonight we would sleep under God’s great heavens, free at last from the bondage of the usurper.