Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 112567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
I crossed the street.
I don’t want to constantly look over my shoulder. And this isn’t my money.
Up ahead, St. Paul of the Cross Church loomed high over Glory. The black brick gave it a menacing look. All the large windows were stained glass, depicting biblical stories. The church’s spire pointed to heaven.
Lightning crackled near it.
School history books claimed that Zachariah Glory brought his parents, pregnant wife, and other family members to an abandoned land. God had told him to come. When he arrived, he claimed the land for himself and called it Glory.
That night, Zachariah forbid everyone to build any homes, until the church was built. It took them thirty days. Together, they didn’t sleep or eat. They only built, brick by brick. They nailed and hammered. They sawed and painted.
God kept them strong through their faith.
Once the church was done, Zachariah named it St. Paul of the Cross.
I always thought the story was bullshit propaganda. History teachers loved to spoon feed the lies about the Glory family—their faith in God and great Christian deeds for the world.
Every middle school class took a field trip to Zachariah Glory’s huge statue, then to the church, and ended it at his massive estate. It was all brainwashing garbage.
Meanwhile, the teachers never talked about how the Glory’s slaves were the ones who actually built the Church, their homes, court houses, and the rest of this town. They’d even done the statue.
The town’s schools didn’t teach the Glory Family’s atrocities. In fact, there was never any mention of Glory having slaves. One had to research and discover the information on their own.
Meanwhile, renowned archaeologists found thousands upon thousands of dismembered bones of slaves in the back of the estates. The town kept Zachariah’s journal private too. In it, he discussed his weekly slave sacrifices to God and his unnatural obsession for his baby sister.
Mom was always about researching stuff for herself and not letting the schools be the only person teaching us. Additionally, Mom thought Zachariah’s church was evil. She never signed off on any of our field trips related to the Glory Family. She didn’t want our feet stepping on wicked land. She believed the negative energy could stick to our feet and follow us—that we could breathe demon darkness in.
I hope you were wrong, Mom. I must go to the church now. I’ve got a promise to keep.
Nervousness rose within me. Yet, Leo’s asking me to pray for his soul was a simple task— one that I would do immediately.
Here we go.
I approached the steps, hurried up them, and opened the door.
I expected a warm feeling to come over me, but the inside of the church was colder than outside.
They don’t have heat?
I closed the jacket around me and slowly walked ahead, not wanting to make any loud noise.
While no one sat in the rows of pews, five older women were inside, but up in front. Four of the older women kneeled at the altar. The fifth one lit three candles on the side, whispered something, and then walked over to the altar.
Okay. So. . .I can light candles, I guess.
Soon, that same woman left the candles, went around the communion rail with the other women and lowered to her knees. She pulled out rosary beads and placed her hands on the wooden rail before them. The communion rail was two feet high with a padded step at the bottom. The woman placed her elbows on the rail and put her hands in prayer.
Alright. Light a candle and then pray over there.
I took in more of the place, making sure I wasn’t walking in and disturbing a ceremony.
Further in front of the praying women, I spotted a lectern where a huge Bible rested on top. Then, there was the space where the priest probably delivered sermons. A traditional organ was nearby as well. Two enclosed stalls were further away. I figured that was the confessional.
A huge cross with Jesus hung on the wall.
I passed the front row of pews and went to the candles.
Only a few were lit.
Footsteps sounded to my right.
I looked that way.
A priest walked up to me with a stern expression. He came close and kept his voice at a whisper. “I’m sorry, but we only give out food for Thanksgiving.”
I know he didn’t think I came in here to beg for food! Do I look that crazy today?
I stifled my annoyance. I did rush out of the apartment, wearing a Cookie Monster pajama shirt and jeans.
The priest continued, “You must be looking for Glory Baptist Church. If you go out and head south—”
“I know where it’s at.” I gestured to the candles. “I was told that the Church is open for prayer.”
He frowned. “It is.”
“I came here to pray for a friend. Is that okay or can I only do that at Glory Baptist?”