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Chapter One

Feminism causes women to abandon their husbands, commit crimes and perversions and become lesbians.

--Reverend Logan Churlick, 2003

Summer settled with a vengeance on the dusty little town of Rathcreek, a dry August heat eastern Washington was known for, the kind that wrung sweat and energy from everything living. By nine o'clock in the morning, the clapboards of the Crownhart home were seared in dust.

Janey Crownhart Powers stood at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes. A shaft of sunlight bore down on her from the skylight, and the chestnut-colored hair shone in a neon halo of copper highlights. Her open face wore mischief like a jaunty hat cocked as if nothing would ever knock it off. The nose, too long and narrow, gave her a knowing look, like a fox. But the look was redeemed by compassionate, almost ethereal eyes.

Janey rinsed off the potato, took aim and lobbed it into a large pot. Water splashed over the counter and dripped onto the floor. She glanced at her sister, Louise, who was chopping onions and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Except for the musical jingling of the potato peeler and steady beat of the knife striking the cutting board, it was quiet, the practical quiet that accompanies working women when the conversation lulls.

Dragging the peeler across the brown skin of another potato, Janey broke into a mournful, throaty song. "Sum-mer ti-i-i-i-me -- and the peelin' is easy --"

Hardly skipping a beat, Louise belted out, "Potatoes flyin', cotton soaked with sweat --"

"Eyes are cryin' 'cause the onion is slaughtered --"

Louise sang lustily, "You ain't seen nuthin' like Weezie's 'tato salad yet! Oooh-wee! God, I've missed you, Janey. Why'd you have to marry that asshole? Oughta leave him, come back here and have breakfast with us every morning."

A smile touched the corner of Janey's mouth. She whispered, "Louise, he'll hear you."

"No he won't. He's watching a church program with Dad. As if they won't get enough today." She stepped back and peered through the doorway. "Oh, sure. The asshole who really needs saving is pretendin' to watch t.v. He's reading want ads, while Dad, who's already 'bout as born again as you can get, is overdosing on his evangelical drug of choice." Her large gray eyes turned squinty. "Son of a bitch! What --? Hell, he's readin' personal ads. God awmighty, Janey -- with a highlighter."

Louise slid across the floor on her stockinged feet to block her sister's charge. "Wait!" She held up her hands. "Joke. Sorry, sis." A smarmy grin appeared.

"That was not funny, Louise."

"Mmhmm," she murmured, back to her onions. "Too close to home?"

Janey stroked sure along the rough hide of the potato, turning it glistening white. "I wouldn't put it past him, you know. To get back at me."

"Jesus, Janey."

"We all have our moments of depravity, but most of us don't pledge allegiance to 'em like some flag."

Louise glanced sideways. "I tried to warn you. Ye shall know them by their fruits. Know what I mean?" She arched her eyebrows. "The far-flung influence of the CIA."

Here we go, Janey thought.

Suddenly, Louise squatted and yanked open the cupboard doors. She rotated cans this way and that. "God damn CIA. Puttin' things in your food, into your head, always tryin' to get to you."

She held up a can of beets. "Aha!" Mumbling about red dye, she tossed it into the trash can.

"You listen to your big sister. Things are not always the way they appear. And you, little sister, are a babe in the friggin' woods. You gotta understand one thing: there's Christians, and there's Christians. You listen to me. The CIA is alive and well." She gave Janey a nod in her way of conveying mystery out of madness.

Genius glittered around the edges of Louise's mental illness at times. As Janey sifted through the jumble today, however, she was simply inscrutable.

"Well, I don't know about the CIA, but I sure do understand 'by their fruits.' I've had a bellyful of Jake's using scripture to make me submit. Dad rules the house, but he loves Mom." She picked up another potato. "When do Mom and Dad leave for church?"

"After Dad's morning constitutional. He's just biding his time till Mom gets out of the bathroom. He swears that with all those vitamins keepin' him regular, he's gonna live forever. And if he doesn't? He's covered himself with," Louise dipped, "Je-zuz."

Janey said, "When I called the other day, he tried to get me to take a thousand milligrams of 'C' four times a day for my scratchy throat."

"No way!"

Janey giggled. "You know how gassy that much 'C' makes you."

Louise nodded.

"Anyway, he took that much last Sunday when he felt a bug coming on. Said he took acidophilus with it so when he farted, they were so mild no one even noticed."

Louise broke out in wild laughter. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. Janey liked her sister's laugh. Spontaneous, robust and convulsive, there was always the feeling she might not get it under control.

"I know. I know," Janey said. "'What's so funny?' he wants to know. 'Dad,' I said, do you think maybe it was because the people at church, unlike the hard hats you work with, were too polite to say anything?"

"What'd he say?"

"What could he say? He was busting up."

Life was a serious matter to Joe Crownhart. A place where, sooner or later, dreams withered and died. God, vitamins and a tight budget were all that pulled them through. These essentials, and the luxury of humor. All the family was blessed with the gift of a quick laugh. It was this faculty that gave balance to the seriousness of living.

The timer on the stove buzzed. Janey took a pan of hard boiled eggs from the burner and ran them under cold water. "Dad still on his diet?"

"Well, until today. You know he had a bet going, didn't you?"

Janey shook her head.

"With the guys at work, to see who could lose the most weight in a month. Been starving himself, really. But today it's over. Sure got his eye on that pie Mom baked."

The apple pie sat on the kitchen table. Sugar crystals sparkled on the flaky, golden crust. Janey bent and sniffed the cinnamon, broke off a piece of crust and popped it into her mouth. She crossed the room, pulled out a drawer and rooted around for a pencil.

"Weez, what do you think Dad would do if his pie didn't make it to the picnic?"

Louise stopped her chopping. "Oh no, Janey. This is serious stuff." She glanced at the doorway. "Fifty-fifty?"

Janey was writing now, then she held up the note:

If you ever want to see your apple pie alive again, leave $100,000 in small bills in a bag on the kitchen table.

Louise covered her mouth with both hands; only wickedly gleeful eyes showed.

"No, no, a hundred thou' is too much. Not subtle enough. Make it an even hundred."

They heard the click of the bathroom door.

Janey pulled a piece of tape off the dispenser. "Hide that pie in the picnic basket. And put a sack on the table, would you?"

Louise saluted. "Yowsir."

Janey hurried into the hallway and met her mother leaving the bathroom, which smelled of lilac and toothpaste.

"How's lunch coming, honey?"

Dressed in her Sunday garden variety print, Mary Crownhart was slender, a faded version of Janey, but with more red in the shoulder-length chestnut hair she wore pulled back. A mild soul who took her husband in stride, taking vitamin C when he pushed it on her, doing without because of his tight-fisted ways, Mary wore submission as a mantle of devotion to God and her mate. A woman could lose herself in such humility and the thought frightened Janey.

Impulsively, she hugged her mother.

The soft, brown eyes opened wide in surprise and pleasure.

"Louise is working on the potato salad. Tell Dad I'll be just a minute, would you?"

She stuck the note to the mirror, flushed the toilet and opened the door to her father, who was standing on the other side, wearing a look of annoyance.

"Hurry, Dad, or we'll be late." She brushed past him. "Jake and I'll be in the car."

"Glad someone's on the ball around here. Mary?" he shouted. "We're going to be late."

Out in the old station wagon, Janey and Jake sat in the back seat.

A few years ago, Jake Powers had been a force at Rathcreek High. Not due to blonde hair and blue eyes, but catapulted to popularity by a bad-boy mystique. Rath High prom had been held free in the school gym as far back as students could remember. But the principal, in a financial scrape, claimed that that year's dance had ruined the floor. Amidst cries of outrage, the thousand dollar charge for a new coat of gym seal was stuck to the junior class. The following year, Jake Powers inspired the seniors with a plan: not even a nod to the tradition of a senior class gift to the school. In a fit of righteous indignation, valedictorian Janey Crownhart announced to Board members, the principal, and the Rathcreek community sitting on bleachers in the gym that fine June day, "This year's graduating class would like to present as the senior gift a plaque commemorating last year's gym floor."

But somewhere between their collaborated rebellion and a year of married life, they had faltered in their devotion to each other.

"Ransom note?" Jake asked.

"Uh-huh. Isn't it fun? I wonder what he'll do? You never can tell with Dad." She peered out the window toward the house.

"I don't get it. No one's gonna pay a hundred bucks for pie. You can buy one for less than ten in town."

She said gently, "That's the joke," and decided to leave it at that.

He shook his head and opened a soft leather-bound Bible.

Mary bustled down the walk, arms filled with flowers for the church. Joe followed, carrying a Bible in one hand. In the other was a small sack.

Doors slammed. Joe started the car and turned to face the back seat. He held out the sack. "Here. This is for you."

It rattled. Janey grinned at Jake, who rolled his eyes.

With a look, he'd ruined the joy of it, and the bag sat unopened on her lap. Janey trained her gaze out the window to avoid her father's eyes in the rearview mirror. The car pulled into the street.

She wished Louise were there. If she were, the mood would lighten, she could breathe easier. But Louise could not attend Fellowship services, even if she wanted to. Disruptive behavior, brought on by her schizophrenia, which refused to be banished by faith healing, brought banishment of Louise from church instead.

Finally, Janey's curiosity was too much. She opened the bag. Inside was a note. Removing the slip of paper, she glanced at the rearview mirror. Her father's droll eyes were on her.

Here's the hundred dollars in small pills. That pie better be at the picnic. No double crosses. P.S. This is B complex. Take it once a day for stress.

In a low, hard pew of The Rathcreek Fellowship of the Holy Bible, Janey fanned herself with a service bulletin. The odors of mold, wood polish and perspiration hung in the air. Moisture gathered on her neck and dampened the back of her light cotton dress.

She glanced at Jake's stony face. Was she imagining his moodiness? Uneasiness gnawed at her. The pie ransom? Or the scene outside the church earlier?

That morning, devil's tails had whipped up dirt in the gravel lot, lifting the hem of Janey's dress. She was standing in the half-shade of the mighty split oak, which was rooted near The Fellowship of the Holy Bible, and had been there at the time of the building's beginnings, so that one seemed a part of the other. Lightning had struck the tree, rending it into two trunks. One part had died, but the other trunk had somehow survived. Janey stood in its shade, and the breeze felt good in the eternal heat. She hadn't resisted the skirt's billowy sail. But Jake had been displeased by her immodesty.

What was so wrong? It was only the wind, and a glimpse of her knee, nothing unnatural about that.

But, she should have known better. The slight frown, the way Jake avoided her now. Why was it so difficult to be good? Other wives didn't seem to struggle as she did. What was wrong with her?

A voice caught Janey. She looked up, and as always, Reverend Logan Churlick claimed her, along with the rest of his followers. The wild black eyes, the voice. No ordinary human, Logan Churlick possessed the cool sense of purpose and towering strength of a giant Nordic god. Even when he had been jailed for an incident involving faith healing gone wrong, the guardianship of his flock was so important, he sent taped sermons back with Mrs. Churlick for each Sunday's service. Even in jail, he seemed always everywhere.

Like Jonah's whale, Logan Churlick had swallowed all of The Fellowship, and for the most part, they lived happily in his belly. Imposing, not with the bland hair, the watery blue eyes of the Norse, his black eyes reached deep into The Fellowship's subconscious pool of guilt. Now, clapping, smiling, he sang,

"Satan's a liar and a conjure, too! If you don't watch out, he'll conjure you..."

Mrs. Churlick's hands pranced over the organ keys, her strident voice above the rest.

When the singing ended, the congregation settled into its seats, revitalized, full of spiritual juice. Jake and her parents were to Janey's left. On her right, her best friend, Margie, and nephew, Nathan. In the stale air, the little boy fidgeted.

Margie whispered, "Now you be quiet, honey. Shhh," and gave the boy her keys. He settled down, then the keys clattered to the floor. Nathan stood on his sturdy two-year-old legs, turned and waved at Mrs. Scanlan in the pew behind. Margie pulled him to her lap. He howled and several heads turned.

"Nathan, the devil's got into you this morning!" Margie scolded. "Why can't you sit still?" He struggled, then slipped to the floor, where Margie, unable to quiet the child, left him to whine. She gathered up her belongings and prepared to gather her nephew.

A paper airplane glided past Nathan, a service bulletin folded to a point, wings flaring with church announcements. The little boy looked with wonder in the direction from which the plane had come. Janey waved with a finger.

Then, Jake squeezed her other hand, and she let out a little cry. More than the pain, she felt the sting of her husband's rebuke. Hers was not exactly church conduct, but she had helped quiet the child, hadn't she? With Jake, she was to have no mind of her own, no will, no ambition, but to be the perfect wife, with a personality of paste.

Well, you can take your paste and shove it, Janey thought, sick of it all, and with a sudden impulse to be free, snatched the Bible from his lap and whacked his hand.

"You b-," he exploded, wrenching away. Janey caught her breath. His gaze darted from face to face, then at her. She read his smoldering anger as Wait till later.

Finally, she returned her attention to the little boy. "Pssst!"

Nathan watched her dig through her purse, find a roll of Life Savers and pick out a red one. Lifting an eyebrow to the boy, she inched the candy along the seat back, around his aunt, slowly, slowly making its way toward him.

He crept up onto the pew and watched the red jewel. He pounced on Janey's hand when it stopped, peeled the fingers from the candy and put it in his mouth. His lips clamped shut. He turned and sat down, clonked his feet together.

"Thank you," Margie whispered.

Reverend Churlick's baritone filled the small sanctuary. "In Joshua 5:14, Joshua was told to remove his shoes, for the very ground was holy in the presence of God's messenger. Can you imagine?" He smiled, his brows relaxing. "This church is holy ground, did you know that? It is, because we do God's holy work here. And we need to get in touch -- with our bare feet -- with the awesome responsibility God's laid on our hearts."

Something in the image struck Janey. The verse had never seemed so personal. She reached down to unstrap her sandals and wriggled out of them.

"Oh, that's good," she murmured. "Definitely holy." Her feet, crossed at the ankles, rested on the smooth wooden floor. A light perspiration left imprints of toes, soles.

The preacher slid easily from God's holy work to the work of marriage.

"Just this week, I received a call from a desperate man who was joined in holy matrimony a year ago in this very chapel. Already, he's disillusioned with marriage."

Janey and Jake had been married in the church a year ago. It was a year of struggle and adjustments. Jake taught her there was no romance in real life, and already, she had quit expecting it.

She fidgeted, stealing a glance at her husband. His eyes were on the preacher. The thin smile on his lips made her uneasy.

Then, as he sometimes did, Reverend Churlick opened the forum, calling on parishioners to unburden their hearts.

Jake stood.

Paralyzed, on the verge of tears, Janey gazed up at him. As he spoke, her heart raced and a thin trickle of sweat streamed down her side.

"So I'd like to take this up here and now," Jake declared. "My life sure isn't what I thought it'd be. I wanted a wife who'd put me first, but she's too stubborn to properly submit." He cleared his throat. "'Specially in the most important way."

A murmur rippled through the congregation.

"Oh, my God." Janey shielded her eyes. Embarrassment ran up her neck and cheeks. She made herself turn to face him. Staring straight ahead, he continued, voice unflinching. As her disbelief gave way to betrayal, she blinked back tears. She knew he was unhappy, but how could he let the world know what went on in their bedroom?

Reverend Churlick waved his hands. "Whoa, Jake! Don't need to make this so personal. We can unburden without details, brother."

"But I thought you said to...."

"No, no, no, not like this. Not to hurt Janey, but to help."

Jake picked up the Bible, doggedly thumbed through it. "The Bible talks about it, so I don't know why we shouldn't. First Corinthians 7:4 says, 'The wife hath not power over her own body...but the husband.'"

How could she forgive him? These people would never know what she had to put up with. The way he belittled her, criticized her friends, pressured her to limit contact with her family, saying he hated her overbearing father and joking about her crazy sister. Yet, like a time clock, every Friday night they punched in at Jake's mother's house. He insisted they have dinner with her, to keep her occupied and out of the bars. Then, there was the way he was incapable of making love, demanding sex when she was sick or upset. Sex, the "cure." Of course she had refused him.

For all the confidence Reverend Churlick usually possessed, he appeared uneasy. "God bless you, Jake. You got a heavy heart, as anyone can see. But maybe we can talk this out later. I can't say I know what's goin' on in Janey's mind. Maybe the poor thing's just scared. Everything's new. Maybe she just needs some reassurance. Well, Jake, if I had a wife like her," the preacher's dark eyes shone, penetrating her with sympathy, "I'd do everything in my power to make her happy. Bringin' the problem to light is the first step. Now talk to her."

"Amen!" came from the back of the chapel.

Janey had the fleeting feeling they were all on a talk show, and the audience was squaring off, taking sides. She looked up at Jake with hope.

"I can't talk to her. I can't do anything right. I'm tired of it always being my fault." He sat down.

The reverend said, "You know, Jake, before a woman can be properly submissive, you need to love her. Like Jesus loved the church, eh?"

Yes! She clenched her fist. Gratitude fortified her. She soaked up his advocacy like honeyed ointment.

Gripping both sides of the lectern, the preacher lowered his chin and looked out over the top of his glasses. Then, letting his benevolent gaze fall on her, he pulled back. "Nothin' to be ashamed about. All marriages have their ups and downs. I guarantee you, though, this marriage can work. God don't believe in divorce.

"Janey, honey, Jake, come on up here. We're gonna pray for this couple. An' I saw lots of head noddin' goin' on while he was talkin'. Anyone else with problems, we'll pray for you, too. The Lord loves longsufferin', but you've suffered long enough. Who believes in the power of prayer? Who knows that God answers prayer?"

The church was abroil in "Amens!" and "Hallelujahs!"

Jake took her hand and pulled.

She drew back. "Jake," she whispered, "I can't. Please don't make me. Jake!"

He pulled. She stood, and the roll of candy fell to the floor. He moved her up the aisle, her bare feet sticking to the wood. Panic gave way to bewilderment, and she followed, eyes never leaving the floor.

They stood before the members of The Fellowship of the Holy Bible. Others joined them. The minister placed a hand on both their heads and recited scripture. Hands clasped in a ring around them. They prayed for Jake and Janey and others. But the scandal belonged to Jake and Janey Powers. Their marital problems would be the ones buzzing behind doors that night. And in a church where submission of women was paramount, she would be cast to blame.

"Someday, Jake," she said under the cover of praying and wailing around them.

He frowned. "Huh?"

"What makes you think I'm going to....to keep taking this?"

"You'll take whatever I tell you, wife."

Sick with resignation, she said, "Someday."

Hands pushed her bowed head and the air was sweaty with lamentations. Close, hot words of comfort and coercion. Reverend Churlick's arm clasped her waist.

The prayers and crying and entreaties to God went on. Her throat spasmed as she fought for control. Someone took her hand, squeezed it.

"Mom!" she sobbed.

"Oh, Janey," Mary cried. "Now don't you worry, hon, everything's gonna work out. I asked the reverend if you can see him for counseling and he agreed."

Janey's tears started up again. "Can I come live with you and Daddy till Jake and I work this out? I....I just can't go back."

"Is that a good idea, hon?"

Before Janey could answer, the minister put his arms on her shoulders. She was surprised to see his red-rimmed eyes.

"It's not supposed to be like this." Then for the benefit of the congregation, he said, "Janey, honey, Jake, George, Shirley, Stan and Debbie, let's have you make a public confession of your sin an' ask the Lord for forgiveness."

She shook her head.

"Come on, hon," the preacher urged.

Janey reached up and cast moist hair away from her neck, pushed it behind an ear. The tight collar of her dress choked her. Unsteady, she let Reverend Churlick lead her and the others before The Fellowship. She stood at his side facing every friend and relative she had ever known.

"For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God!" Reverend Churlick shouted. "Reject your sin! Repent before God and this Fellowship."

One by one, the sinners repented, crying, faces red. They were broken and rebuilt, to the cheering of the congregation. At last, Janey's turn came.

She stood, silent, looking from Reverend Churlick to the eager crowd, faces raised heavenward, hands like antennas to receive God's signal. Margie, little Nathan, her father, they all waited. But she could not confess to a sin they would not understand.

Always his need. "Forgive her, Lord!" Never hers. "Heavenly Father!" For affection and respect, a marriage of partnership, the way it should be. "Sweet Jesus, Je-sus, Jee-zuz!" Her emotions blistered by remarks like nettles: "You're always over-reacting. Crazy bimbo. You're crazy, just like your sister."

All eyes were on her.

She opened her mouth to speak, wanted to tell them she was the one who was wronged, but the words were not there.

"C'mon, Janey," the reverend whispered, breath hot on her ear, "we don't want to have to cast you out of The Fellowship, dear."

The air was heavy with the odor of perspiration and worn hymn books. It was all she could do to keep from being sick. Her throat tightened. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry.

Oh, God, she thought. Oh, God, no.

Reverend Churlick put up a hand to silence the congregation. He waited, eyes glistening, searching hers.

She knew what came next.

Voice shuddering with emotion, he said, "Janey! Don't make me do this. Please." He waited. Reluctantly, he turned. "Janey's made her choice, and so we must make ours."

He shouted, "We rebuke and discipline you in the name of the Lord!" Reverend Churlick turned his back to her. "It's with a heavy heart I lead this society of Christians in shunning Janey Crownhart Powers."