Unfollow - Megan Phelps-Roper Page 0,14

baptized into His death? Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death; that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. He spoke of my profession of faith, and that I’d given evidence of being one of God’s elect. “I baptize you, my sister…” he declared, but his conclusion was lost to me as he covered my nose and mouth with a white cloth, supported my shoulders with his right hand, and pressed me down into the water.

* * *

Five years later, on the morning of my high school graduation, my brother disappeared. Saturdays were as welcome in my house as they are anywhere, and that one—sunny, warm, breezy—seemed like the perfect start to summer.

Still in pajamas, I was the first of the sisters to slip into the kitchen, which was brightly lit and full of activity. Several of my younger brothers were seated on bar stools around the island, chattering, munching happily, and swiping bits from each other’s plates. At two, Luke was the youngest, and his face was deceptively cherubic: he was the one most likely to do the thieving and least likely to tolerate such insolence from anyone else. Mom was standing over the stove making breakfast—pancakes, maybe, or scrambled eggs—and singing a seventies pop song I’d only ever heard in her soprano. I heard the huge smile in her voice before I saw it, and when she turned, her eyes caught mine and then she was singing the love song to me, with exaggerated feeling and theatrics at full voice. I couldn’t help but laugh to see her in such high spirits, because this was one of the places my mom seemed perfectly in her element.

“Where is Josh?” she called over the din. “It’s getting late! Would one of you boys run down and wake him up?” My brothers tumbled over themselves to race down to Josh’s basement bedroom. Moments later, they were thundering back up the stairs, Jonah leading the pack.

“He’s not there! It’s all gone!” Jonah was seven and a little confused, but not worried. I wasn’t, either; bizarre declarations were par for the course in a family with eight brothers. My brow furrowed a little, and I looked to Mom, whose mouth was ajar.

“Would you—”

“I’ll go look,” I said, and headed for the stairs with three little brothers trailing. There were fourteen steps down, and with each one, more of the stripped basement came into view. The television was gone, and so was Josh’s beloved Xbox. The bookcase, too. No clothes or random knickknacks strewn about. It had been years since I could see this much of the blue carpet, and I wondered briefly if he’d cleared the place out for the carpet cleaners. Rounding the corner, I was reassured to see that the dresser was still there and the bed neatly made. He was probably just in the shower. The boys flung open the flimsy double doors of his closet, and time slowed down.

The shelves and racks were completely bare.

One of the boys suddenly thrust a white envelope he’d found into my face. “Go show it to Mom,” I said, waving him on. They all took off.

I checked the bathroom, just in case.

* * *

“Mom and Dad, I didn’t think I would ever be saying this…”

The letter was one page, single-spaced, Times New Roman font, size twelve, dated May 21, 2004. The day before. He must have left in the middle of the night. I knew that meant he was a coward, just like two uncles of ours who had left the family long before either of us was born. “Slunk away in the dark” is how it was usually put. It wasn’t often that Mom spoke of her four absentee siblings, but when she did, it was with an edge of disdain. She didn’t seem hurt by their loss, precisely, instead vacillating between a strident good-riddance attitude, an outraged how-dare-they sense of betrayal, and a but-for-the-grace-of-God-there-go-I pity. The stories I was told were copious, and they painted clear portraits of the defectors: Kathy, vain and whorish; Nate, a thief and criminally rebellious; Mark, an entitled manipulator; Dot, an idolatrous witch. As such, their reasons for leaving the church could never be valid—just paltry attempts to mask the fact that they were wretched creatures controlled by their lusts, dastardly, selfish, unable to hack it in the rough and tumble of the Wars of

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