Catharsis at Mount Gomer|| ONC 2024

2: The Voyage

Marylane County greets us with its rugged mountain ranges and lush greenery as the plane touches down. Contrary to what I'd thought, the stretched-out trip from Jacksonville did nothing to wear me out. Same thing can be said for Carter who shared stories with me during the flight. We enjoyed a Spanish soap, had a nice meal and in the silence that consumed us during the final lap of the journey, we looked forward to meeting Mount Gomer.

The terminal buzzes with activity, people from all walks of life hopping here and there, trying to board a flight, waiting for a pick-up; for their friends or family to land. There's a commonality amongst everyone here. Well, but me. 

Working legs. The fact they get to run if they want, drag their feet, stomp. This, rather than saddens me, uplifts my spirit. This is Marylane; Mount Gomer is only a hundred and fifty miles away. I may not know the specifics, what exactly goes on in the white walled church, but I'm certain I won't remain the same. 

A gentleman dressed in a grey flannel suit comes into view. The badge on his breast pocket gives an answer to the unvoiced question.

"Mr and Mrs. Williams?" His accent tells a story of one who trained himself to rid a Southern drawl, but wasn't a hundred percent successful. 

He and Carter shake hands. He flashes me a polite smile. "Hope your flight was smooth."

"As smooth as a baby's bum," I offer since Carter prefers to stay quiet. 

The young man breaks character, chugging out a hearty chuckle.

"And you are?" Carter asks, an unusually harshness to his voice. 

"My goodness. I beg your pardon." He rests a  hand on his chest. "I'm Keith Lindsey, Rev. Dawson's personal chauffeur. He ordered that I bring you home."

"Home?" Carter asks in alarm. 

"We as members of Heaven's Way see ourselves as brothers, and the church premises our home." Keith's bright-green eyes swing in my direction, a wrinkle forming at the corners as his smile broadens. "I believe with time, you'll share a similar sentiment."

Carter clears his throat, not giving me the chance to digest the words. "Interesting. Do we get into the car or stand here all day?"

"Certainly the former," Keith answers, leading us out of the terminal to the lot—where cool, refreshing breeze blows to our faces and a gold-coloured Toyota Camry sits waiting. 

The drive is oddly silent. Oddly, because I expected that Keith would engage us all in a lively conversation. Instead—I glance at the rearview mirror—he stares straight ahead to the road, no longer wearing a smile. 

Carter gazes out the window. His side profile does something to my eyes. It brings a sting—the forerunner of joyful tears. We're this close to happily-ever-after. 

He gets startled when I touch his hand, but smiles when he looks at me. 

"I love you. Always and forever will," I whisper, careful not to let Keith hear.  

Carter kisses my forehead and brings me to lean against him. For a moment, the hum of the AC stands as the only sound heard until Carter's airy voice surfaces. 

"How long have you been working for him?"

As though waiting for the question, Keith promptly answers, "Since I was born. As soon as I accepted the faith, I became a slave for the service of God."

"A slave?" My smile shows I don't take what he said to heart. 

"A servant, if that makes you more comfortable." He chuckles. 

I look up at Carter; his impersonal look proves he isn't amused. 

Thirty-five minutes later, at exactly 4:00pm, Keith pulls up at the 'church stead'. Church stead is a name befitting the stretch of land surrounding us. Buildings are constructed in a circle. 

I can guess what each is. The one with a thin cross fixed at the gable, and stained glass, is the church. The windowless dome at the far-end—likely a barn. A school—crèche—should be that painted in pastel pink. 

For some reason, Carter insists on helping me out to my chair. I don't resist, considering a third eye is here. Considering a heavily-bearded man watches us. 

Rev. Dawson stands, flanked by another guy and a lady, in front of the church. Atop his head sits a skullcap, blood-red like the embroidery snaking all over his robe. His companions are rather dressed modestly. The deep-set eyes, and aquiline nose hint at a youth marked by good looks. As such, a random thought springs up in my mind: Is he truly a virgin?

"God be praised. You made it safely." The thought flies away as soon as I hear his voice. Ever so soft. Ever silky.

Even as I'm not on my feet, his small statue is evident. It's crazy how his energetic preaching creates an illusion of height, monstrosity. The head of the formidable Heaven's Way Ministry, the man whose voice has been heard by many, who welds subtle power barely stands at 5 feet. 

"Reverend Dawson," the words leave before I can stop it. 

Rev. Dawson smiles at me, the kind of smile I'm sure he gives every other visitor, but still, they shroud me with warmth.  

"That should be me. Mrs. Giselle? Being here is not a mistake. Welcome home."

***