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The book was heavy, and strangely warm to the touch, as though blood flowed through its binding.
“That woman knew how to bleed for what she wanted, and she always had a way with the woods. I’m sure the wilds were kind to her.”
This was the great shame of Bethel: complacency and complicity that were responsible for the deaths of generations of girls. It was the sickness that placed the pride of men before the innocents they were sworn to protect. It was a structure that exploited the weakest among them for the benefit of those born to power.
“Bethel has placed its burdens on the shoulders of little girls for far too long. I already lost my boy. I’m not going to lead you to the same fate he met. Certainly not in some futile attempt to save a place that doesn’t deserve deliverance.”
True evil, Immanuelle realized now, wore the skin of good men. It uttered prayers, not curses. It feigned mercy where there was only malice.
It was all of the innocent girls and women—like Miriam and Leah—who suffered and died at the hands of men who exploited them. They were Bethel’s sacrifice. They were the bones upon which the Church was built.
Their pain was the great shame of the Father’s faith, and all of Bethel shared in it.
