Devout

My mother passed a few days ago.

No one will tell me exactly what happened. All I know is that she was hard at work, and she just "collapsed." At least, that's what they told me. "They" being the members of the church.

The funeral is full of faces I've rarely seen before. People I've may or may not have met. We live in the small community of Suring, WI, a population of five-hundred people. How is it that I'm not at least antiquated with most of them? They are the members of the only church in our community. My mother kept me away from them.

There are at least some faces I recognize: Mr.Finley, who runs the general store over on Bakrman st. Also Mrs. Collette, the owner of the flower shop just down the way. They greet me with "Sorry for your loss, Joseph." And "If you need anything, give me a shout." And then there's father Mathews. An older man with gray fuzz hugging the sides of his head. He worked closely with my mother. "Joseph," He starts. "Your mother was a devout member of our church. A great loss, and even greater so for her child".

After the service that father Mathews led, he asks me to his office. "I want you to be the one to clear out her office. There may be belongings, keepsakes of value." I agree.

My mother worked for the church as an accountant or treasurer of some sort. She spent a lot of time here and her office says as much. Books shelves lined with thesauri. A wooden desk coated with paper, photos of us, and a mug that says "World's Greatest MoM." It looks like she was just here.

Night has fallen and I've gathered most things in a box; the photos, letters trinkets, the mug. I also find a black leather notebook, seemingly hidden. Within it contains what looks like scattered thoughts, words, phrases. All coming down to one mantra: Be devout.

I find a combination code next to a key glued on the back of the book that fits a trap door in her desk. Within are newspaper clippings, photos, and what looks like bank statements.

I investigate.

The newspaper clippings are all about missing persons who were never found. The bank statements seem to be about the misuse of tithes and offerings. And the photos...

I use the combination written in the book to open a safe in the closet. There's money inside. I throw everything (including what could be evidence) in the box and make for the exit. Downstairs I see people still in the chapel, people dressed like the ones from the photos. I sneak out and make for home in the cover of night.

As I pack, I understand why my mother kept me away. Why she never brought me to church. She saved around twenty-thousand dollars for us to move away. She always talked about moving.

There's a knock. I will not answer. It's the people from the church again, or should I say, from the photos.

I sneak out the back door. There's an airport about ten miles out of town. I go to Mr.Finley's house to make good on his words earlier. He doesn't need much of an explanation for him to crank up his old pickup truck and load my things.

His cell rings at the only traffic light in town. He answers and then looks to me saying "I haven't seen the boy." I hear the words "He is not devout." murmured from the cell. Father Mathews? After that call, Mr.Finley kept silent the entire ride.

We reach the airport safely. Before I could leave him He stops me. "I'm sorry about your mother, Joseph." Somehow I feel like he knows something more. I won't ask.

I use some of the twenty grand to buy the next ticket to Lafayette, Louisiana where my father lives. When I land and am safely away from the church, I'll contact the authorities and hand over the evidence.