one of them, and the Lord is among them: wherefore then lift ye up yourselves above the congregation of the Lord? A pang of fear had gripped me, but I’d thought for a moment. Moses had been established as the Lord’s chosen leader via direct interaction with God Himself and a series of miracles—among them the parting of the Red Sea, the pillar of cloud that led the Israelites by day, and the pillar of fire that gave them light by night. Westboro’s elders had no such evidence to support their claim to unquestionable authority, and quite the opposite: their legacy was a series of unscriptural edicts and contradictory doctrines. They were not Moses. I was not Korah. And I would not be intimidated by their decision to paint me as such. In truth, once the first wave of fear passed, the comparison even struck me as genuinely funny: in place of a man who’d incited the revolt of thousands, there was me, perennial nerd and consummate good girl, leading a rebellion of two alongside my sundress-wearing sidekick. They gave us—and themselves—far too much credit.
Still, I remembered back to the days just after Josh left. Anger and indignation had been so much easier to tolerate than grief.
The messages kept coming. One of my aunts called to tell me that I had destroyed my sister. “It’s because of you that Grace has been able to go down this path to certain destruction. You weren’t content to take your own soul to Hell—you had to drag your sister down with you.” Her voice had sounded cautious at first, but quickly took on a vicious disgust. I didn’t know what to say. There was a good chance that she was right, and that things would go horribly wrong. I knew I couldn’t take responsibility for Grace’s decisions, but if she got hurt, there was no way I wouldn’t blame myself.
Two weeks after our departure, I received a text message from Margie accusing me of modesty violations and of fabricating reasons to leave because of my “lust.” Since I had been dressing exactly the same since leaving Westboro, I was confused. We went back and forth for a little while, and I tried to reiterate some of the actual reasons I left, but she just couldn’t hear me. She could acknowledge no wrongdoing on the part of the church. This, she insisted, was all my fault. “If your heart gets broken and you are ashamed,” she wrote, “reach out. Otherwise this is done.” I had sighed. Clearly, there was no point in continuing the conversation, and I cried to Newbery in bitter frustration.
NEWBERY: I guess it’s important to remember that they are trying to deal with this, too. They don’t know what to do any more than you do, but what they do still have is the church and the “certainty” that comes with that. And it’s all they have to try to find answers and deal with it.
I suppose that’s a long way to go to get to an idea that is much harder than it sounds, which is: I think you need to try not to take it personally. The only aunt and cousin I think you *really* need to remember is the one you knew when you were still there. The rest is just coping and probably fear.
I remembered what it was like on that side of this divide, and I knew that Newbery was right. But I was dismayed to realize that even while paying the enormous cost of leaving Westboro, Grace and I were still under the judgmental gaze of its members. How could we possibly move on while living in the shadow of the church?
It was time to go.
Just beyond the WELCOME TO SOUTH DAKOTA sign, the speed limit bumped up to 75 miles an hour. I hit the gas and barreled on.
* * *
We arrived at our destination at 4:15 P.M., just as the sun was setting over the Black Hills. I’d first seen them on the horizon about an hour earlier, rising ominously from a dense mist toward thick cloud cover that had cast a pall over everything since we’d crossed the Missouri River around midday. Grace read the Wikipedia page aloud: “The hills were so-called because of their dark appearance from a distance, as they were covered in trees.” As we drew nearer, I realized it was true—an endless array of pine. Grace looked up from her phone and we stared out at the clusters