Maple's Birthday

TW: murder

“I’m being silly, aren’t I?” said Maple. She dropped the laundry into the basket and clasped her hands in her lap with a sigh.

“Of course not,” said Lady, “I was a nervous wreck when I was your age.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, no. Not at all.”

Lady set down her share of the clothes and turned to Maple, who kept her head down bashfully. They sweat in the blaring heat of midday, with their stray hairs slicked to their red foreheads. The rickety laundry house offered little in the way of shade. Lady’s face was in middle age, and it suffered many crinkles and splotches from her years in the sun. Maple was taught better; she wore a veil outdoors to keep her face just as it is. Just how the Father Divine likes it to be. And she would do anything to make him happy.

For a minute or two, Lady coddled Maple like a mother and stroked her long, loose hair; only the young wore their hair long and loose like that. She left her hair uncovered at all times of course, because she wanted the sun to lighten it. Some of the other girls rumored that the Father liked lighter hair.

“Maple,” said Lady, “you’re young and beautiful. Sweet and ripe like a plum.” She lifted Maple’s veil back and held her face in one hand.

“Will he love me?”

“He loves all of us. We all love him.”

The simple mantra renewed Maple entirely. She beamed and nodded and threw her veil back over her face. Lady always knew what to say. Maple’s heart pounded against her chest, and she got chills despite the heat. She could hardly focus on laundry! Today she was a woman!

Lady laughed. “Go on.”

“Pardon?”

“Go on. Be with the girls. No girl has chores on her twenty-third birthday.”

Maple squealed and gave Lady a kiss on the cheek before running off into the sun. The light of noon was blinding and bleached all of the houses around her. Maple squinted and smiled at nothing. She rose a hand to her forehead to shade her eyes and spun around to survey the crops in the distance. All was still and quiet and perfect. It was all for her special day. No one was allowed outside except the blossoming woman, Maple.

She considered taking her time along the skinny, beaten path back to the house to soak more sun, but her nerves protested this. Her legs trembled with the urge to skip and run. She had to speak with the girls. They were younger than Maple, but always knew more than her. She never thought this to be strange, for Lady told her she had a simpler mind than the others. At first, Maple feared this to be a wrong thing, but Lady reassured that Father Divine loves simpler gals the most. Oh joy, he would love her the most!

Maple approached the old, wooden girls’ home. She spent twenty-three years in that pretty, blue farmhouse, and today was the very last day she lived there. Then, she would take her place with the women. She knocked on the door with a rhythm and hummed, “Shave and a haircut—two bits!” as she always did.

The door swung open on the last beat, as if the girls were waiting there at the entrance for her return. In fact, they probably were. Her three housemates appeared in the doorway. They squealed and jumped and dragged Maple inside by her shoulders.

“How do you feel?”

“Are you nervous?”

“You’re glowing! You’re blushing!”

Maple could hardly speak and began to feel faint at the excitement. The girls drew her a glass of water and led her upstairs to the bedroom. She was thankful to finally be in the farmhouse; it had much better air than the musty, old laundry room. In the bedroom, the girls sat Maple on the bed, pursuing their interrogation.

“You’re all dirty and sweaty.”

“She was doing chores.”

“Why? She can’t go like that!”

“Let’s get you in the bath, Maple.”

“Girls, calm down.” Maple laughed. She was still trying to calm herself down, in fact.

The youngest one, only eleven, left to run the bath. The twins, seventeen now, stayed in the bedroom with Maple. One began to comb her hair, while the other ran over to the closet.

“It’s here,” announced the girl at the closet.

“No way,” said Maple.

“Oh yes way! It was left at the doorstep in a box.”

The girl slid open the closet door with a flourish to reveal the white, lace-ridden slip that hung from a velvet hanger. It was very thin and swayed with the draft. The movement reminded Maple of a ghost. She was rather taken aback by the garb, as delicate as a doily. For as long as Maple could remember, she wore smocks of burlap or cotton; they were rough and durable, nothing like this spirited slip that she was meant to wear this evening.

“Don’t worry,” said the girl with the comb. “You’ll look wonderful in it.”

“Right,” Maple assured herself. She took a deep breath and looked away from the dress.

The youngest reappeared and led Maple to her bath. Within the next few hours, she made herself clean and perfect all on her own. The thoughts that plagued Maple for the past month grew more intrusive by the minute. She could not help imagining meeting the Father himself and hearing a sigh of disappointment or even repulsion. The sound, even in her head, made her sick to the stomach and green in the face. How humiliating! She hadn’t eaten in days, of course, so the indiscretion was excused. Maple was required to purge her body entirely, as such pleased Father Divine. She could never say it aloud, but she despised the ritual, and longed for the old comfort of a warm supper.

The heat seeped into the house and ran straight to her head. Her stomach complained painfully, but she laid a firm hand on it and pushed forth. This was the greatest, most perfect day of her life; she would not let a bellyache sully her devotion.

After her bath and grooming, she put on the white slip dress, and it fit okay. It was much scratchier than the elegance of the gown had promised, and it felt rather like wearing a costume. Nevertheless, Maple was pretty, and the gown flowed and swayed at her hips like the Father liked it to. She skipped and spun in the garb to make it flow. The girls laughed and cooed, eventually sending Maple out of the house with many warm embraces and pecks on the cheek.

Maple stepped into the silent evening immersed in thoughts of Father Divine. She relished in the honor. He was perfect, mind, body, and soul. His appearance was said to be beautiful and blinding like the sun, such that he always wore a burlap hood over his face. He cared for their health and would never have his dearest wives swoon to their demise.

The nightly breeze carried aromas of summer squash from the fields, and Maple thought a harvest festival would soon be in order. What a perfectly joyous summer! She gave thanks, in whispers buried in the wind, to her gracious Father.

Maple was a very special girl. She was fertile, a rare trait amongst the many daughters of Father Divine. After a long and troubling drought, her family finally had a chance to carry on the holy legacy of the Father, in all his purity.

She sweat despite the breeze and hurriedly dabbed it away. The sun was nearly below the horizon, so she felt safe to throw back her veil and allow the night air to cool her face. Her worries seemed to melt and augment at the same time as she traipsed the path to the home of the Father.

Maple stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted a large, hunched figure scrambling by the side of the barn. She changed course immediately and found the figure to be a person. How could this be? Now, this indiscretion could not be excused lightly. Why, it was sacrilege. A horrid sight. Maple could not bear it!

“You!” she cried. “You can’t be out here. Don’t you know I’m twenty-three today?”

The person did not respond but began moving quicker with whatever business they had at the side of the barn. They were stuffing an unwieldy burlap sack with some sweet fruit. The smell made Maple’s stomach churn all over again.

“Hey! Don’t you know you can’t be out—”

Maple stopped within arm’s reach of the woman. A very old woman. She had never seen any woman like this one. Her skin hung off her cheeks in deep crevices, and her eyelids sagged so Maple could see the pink beneath. And her hair was white!

She must have been from the elders’ house, but that was miles away from the barn. No one was allowed to look unto the elders; they were decrepit and contagious. Oh Father, they would ruin her youth! Maple hid her eyes in her hands and backed away.

“Don’t be scared, girlie,” said the woman in a low rasp. “You can look at me. I won’t git ya.”

Maple looked up slowly. The old lady bared her teeth and made a quick snarling sound. This made Maple yelp, but the lady only laughed.

“I’m joking, Maple. Be still.”

“You know me?”

“Everyone knows you. Hell, I was you once.”

Maple gasped at the obscenity and wrung her hands together.

“No one can hear us,” assured the old woman.

“Why are you out here?”

“For your birthday, of course.” The woman offered a derisive smile, which showcased many gaps and blackened teeth. “The perfect time to get the hell outta dodge.”

“You must stop speaking like that.”

The old woman laughed again. Then, with a heaving breath, she hauled the sack of food over her crooked shoulders. “Here, um, a birthday present.” The woman dug a hand into her pocket, rummaged for a second, and produced a small, rusted knife. “In case you ever wanna get out too, girlie.”

Maple protested, waving the knife away and struggling to get a word out. The woman shoved the handle of the knife into Maple’s hand and insisted she have it. She finally accepted it, eager to escape this ill woman and report her to the men’s house. “Why would I need this?”

The old woman pursed her lips tightly and sighed. “Do you know why the boys have their guns?”

“To hunt,” Maple answered automatically.

The lady drew her hand back and smacked Maple across the face. It stung badly.

“Stupid child,” berated the woman. “This is all farmlands. Ain’t nothing to hunt but us.”

“I’m not stupid!”

“I lived stupid once, but at least I won’t die stupid.”

“You’re going to die?”

“I’m going to leave this place or die trying.”

With this, the old woman gave a hefty pat on Maple’s back, then staggered off into the deepening night. The woman’s body disappeared in the shadows of the farmhouses like a phantom. Maple thought she must have been an apparition. No one in her condition would make the trek from the elder’s home all the way to the barn. But the sharp and musty knife in Maple’s hand proved otherwise. The roughness along the filthy blade was quite real.

No matter. She could not let a defective old woman deter her night. It was a night for love and devotion only. Anxious about time, she hurried to the boys’ home, instead of the men’s which was much farther. She dropped the knife beside the doorstep with a thud and resolved to explain herself in the morning. She was now bit dirtier and sweatier than she would have liked, but it was of no consequence now.

Maple heard singing.

It was time. Mass had gathered outside the home of the Father, waiting for Maple’s arrival. They hummed their hymns and swayed as a unit. Maple walked through them, but they did not acknowledge her in the slightest. All shut their eyes tightly, as no one was allowed to look upon Maple this night except Father Divine. They each held small wax candles, which flickered as they waved them above their heads in worship. She recognized many faces, and even caught a few smiles as they heard her footsteps pass.

Finally, she entered the fabled home. The moment her foot hit the hardwood, the singing halted, and all the hundreds of candles were snuffed. She heard only her fluttering heart in her ears, and the creaking wood under her feet. Her only light was an oil lamp on a sconce at the top of the stairs; the rest of the house sat in pitch darkness. She followed the light, and it was her only friend in that moment. When she reached the landing, it burned out. The dead of night weighed on Maple heavily.

She groped in the darkness, exposed and alone, until a thickly gloved hand clasped hers and led her away. It was him! She knew it. He smelled of a sweet and earthy perfume, just as she dreamed he would.

They entered the bedroom together, lowly lit by a lantern in a thick, iron cage. As they moved toward the flame, the Father’s figure illuminated like an angel. He was wearing a thick hood that cinched at the neck. It had a small slit near his mouth, presumably for air. And there were two small circles cut out for his eyes, which were small and piercing.

“Welcome home, Maple,” said Father Divine. His voice had a gravel to it like that old woman’s, but much deeper.

“Thank you,” whispered Maple, overwhelmed by the honor. She laid a kiss on her palm and laid the hand on his shoulder. Unsure of herself, Maple began to sink to her knees, as she would in proper worship.

“No, no,” he protested. He grasped Maple by her waist and sat her on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re perfect.”

She beamed, thankful that the low light could hide the blushing of her cheeks. “What do I do?”

The Father chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll do everything tonight. But we need darkness.”

He moved toward the lantern on the dresser.

“You’re putting it out?” Maple glanced toward the window. It was a new moon tonight, and she was not prepared for total darkness. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead again.

“It’ll be a long night."

His answer did not placate Maple. The darkness rose, and the light petered away like a dying heart. A cool draft gave her goosebumps, and the dress gave no warmth. She watched the struggling flame in the lamp and felt that she might peter out with it.

The trembling in her muscles grew too much to bear. Maple jumped up from the bed, her sudden motion causing the Father to turn on his heel.

“Lie down,” he commanded.

Maple stood there feeling silly, picking at her nails and bracing the imposing height of Father Divine.

“Didn’t you hear? On the bed!”

A certain burning in her chest spoke to Maple, and the voice of the old woman by the barn crept back into her head like a spell. She reached out and snatched away the Father’s hood.

He shouted obscenities and covered his face with his hands, but it was too late. In that second of exposure, Maple saw the man’s ugliness. He was ugly! No divine light shown from his wizened eyes. She was not caught in a helpless swoon by his beauty. The Father looked ill and decrepit, and more so than that old lady for his grizzled chin. Filth streaked the crevices of his cheeks and forehead. His nose was blotched and bulbous, and his mouth dribbled like a pig’s. He was ugly and ordinary. Oh Father, how could this be?

“Where’s my hood?” cried the Father.

Maple slid the hood under the bed with her heel. She grasped his wrists and tore the Father’s hands from his face to bare it clearly in the light. “You lied!” she shouted through tears, shaking the old man. “Your horrid and perverted like she said!”

“You don’t understand.”

“I do. I’m not stupid, and I’m not simple neither.” Maple grew red in the cheeks, but she didn’t care.

“No, darling. My face is—it’s wisdom and light.”

Maple thought his voice was ugly as well. She reared back and, leading with her forearms, drove all her weight into the Father’s chest. He fell to the ground with a sullen thunk, his impact shaking the whole house. His hands shook, and his eyes darted everywhere.

“Help!” shouted the old man, but the blow to his chest made him wheeze. He sputtered and spat but couldn’t get another word out.

It took a lot of might to exert herself after so many starving days, but righteous anger built up in Maple's chest and shot through her veins. She dragged the hefty iron lantern off the dresser, scraping the paint from the wood with the effort.

“I ain’t dyin’ stupid,” said Maple, partly to herself.

“Please,” rasped the old man. The Father. Her love. Her life. Her god.

She heaved the massive lantern over her head with a grunt, then let it crash into the skull of the Father Divine. His last face was plastered in wide-eyed fear. The lamp within the iron cage shattered, and oil and flames poured out over his body. He lit up like a match and writhed while it happened.

Maple watched on, picking at her red-spattered dress and smiling. The flames danced over him with glee. The room lit up as it would in daylight. And Maple thought the light from the Father Divine was beautiful and blinding like the sun.