Series: The Un Series by Izzy Sweet
Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Glaring at the back of my mother’s head, my father squeezes my hand. “You’re not, sweetheart. Just do what the other little girls do and you’ll be fine.”
My father has never lied to me. So I have no reason not to trust him.
But when my mother huffs quietly, my stomach clenches even harder with unease.
Does she know something he doesn’t? She seems to know me better than him…
Stuck between them, I can’t help but give into the urge to squirm and shift around. The tense silence making me more and more uncomfortable.
The car ride lasts far too long, stretching out an eternity, but also seems too short.
When we come to a stop and my father opens his door, I want to puke all over my white dress.
Seeing the look on my face as he helps me out, my father frowns. “It will be okay, honey. I promise. Once we’re done here, we’ll celebrate with some ice cream.”
I nod, but I can’t stop feeling like something bad is about to happen.
Is it what my mother has always been warning me about?
That one day everyone will see me for what I really am…
“Chin up,” he says more firmly. “You have nothing to be afraid of. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Doing as my father says, I lift my head and feel grateful to have him beside me as we approach the giant cathedral we attend every Sunday.
I’ve never said it out loud, because I know it would make Daddy sad, but the place has always given me the heebie-jeebies.
The building is huge and dark, with sharp spires pointing like knives up to the sky. The stone walls are old and blemished with splotchy green stains.
All the stained glass windows could be pretty…
If they didn’t show awful, scary things, like God’s only Son being crucified.
Plus, there are gargoyles.
Mean looking gargoyles that stare down at everyone like they wish they could eat them.
I’m always afraid one will suddenly come to life and eat me.
Tipping my head back, I stare at the stone monsters, watching them for any sign of movement as my father leads me into church.
And feel them staring back even when we pass through the huge wooden double doors.
Their wide, hungry eyes burning into my back.
My father squeezes my hand and murmurs quietly, “All will be well.”
Looking up at him, I see a tenseness in his shoulders that isn’t normally there. My father is usually happy, unless he’s arguing with my mother. Quick to smile. Quick to laugh.
It’s part of what makes him so handsome. His eyes sparkle like my dolls. There’s a light inside them that warms me and makes my mother’s iciness more bearable.
There’s no sparkle in his eyes right now, though, as he stops inside the little room between the doors and the main cathedral.
Here, a silver fountain of holy water has been placed beneath a silver cross hanging on the wall. A perfect circle encloses the cross and each of the cross’s four ends bears a nail.
I once asked Daddy what the cross means, and he told me it’s the symbol of our religion, the Order of Saint Benedict. We’re a very special religion and not everyone can join.
Unlike the Catholics, only the most devoted to God are welcome in our flock.
Dipping his fingers into the fountain, my father closes his eyes and makes the sign of the cross over himself while he murmurs something quietly.
The only word I can make out is, “Please.”
And the desperation chills the blood in my veins.
Is my father worried about me?
Has he been pretending not to be worried this entire time?
Opening his eyes, he lets out a deep sigh, then begins to tug me with him.
Only to suddenly stop.
When he turns to face me, I feel every little hair on my body standing on end.
Eyes locked on my face and full of a strange emotion I don’t understand, my father dips his fingers in the holy water again. Then he steps up to me and dabs it against my forehead, making the sign of the cross over me.
Blessing me.
He’s never taken the time to bless me before. Usually, my parents dab the water on themselves, then rush us to their favorite pew tucked in the center.
Do I deserve it now?
Or is it another sign that he’s worried?
“May God be with you, Alena,” my father says, his voice thick with a heavy emotion.
“And with you, Daddy,” I respond, the words just popping out of me.
His face lights up and he smiles, little crinkles appearing around his eyes.
For a moment, one glorious moment, he’s my sunshine again.
The heat melting all the ice in my veins.
But his smile quickly wilts with sadness.
Turning quickly from me and making me feel like I’ve done something wrong, he leads me away from the fountain.
“Ah, about time you decided to show up, Charles,” a man calls out from the very back row of wooden pews. “We were starting to fear you might have decided to make a run for it…”