The distinguished-looking man sat with the woman who would pull the thread that would help me come apart at the seams through an unholy act.
Sister Wiley wore a mask of syrupy sweetness, but the mask didn’t cover her eyes that emitted a cold, calculating glare.
Glancing in Sister Wiley’s direction I saw, as she looked at Mother, something that resembled fear, for Mother’s new faith overshone her old one.
Like the kapps Mennonite women wore, both sexes wore sacred garments under their clothes, where only God could see them.
Mother had never had any use for girlfriends before, & I wondered why she had let Sister Wiley choose to be hers.
I saw something in Elder Roberts then that I often saw in David: tolerance; but it would fail him when I needed it most.
Sister Wiley watched us from across the room, plucking a prune from a pewter platter & taking a bite, smiling that Mona Lisa smile.
David wanted me to go to University, but the Relief Society (or, as Caitlin said, the Sisterhood of the Raveling Dresses) had me rethinking such an endeavor.
The day our Little Miss stopped being a drama princess was the day we would know her personality had finally split.
I’d never seen our secular, nuclear family as isolated, but rather insulated from the world. The Mormons made me see that we were the world.