The Pastor's 63rd Bride

lls of damp earth and bli

ria, the town' s beloved Harvest Queen, was dea

ding night, just li

ir was thick with the smell of roasting chicken, not sorrow. My moth

le, you'

m polishing his shoes. He wa

re's Maria?" I ask

y mother said, her smile serene and unsettling.

ch twisting. They were cel

aid, the words feeling

snapped, finally looking at me. "It was a hol

s. Her eyes held a feverish light I recognized

her voice filled with a terrifying joy. "Pastor Mo

led away from her touch

N

r insisted, her grip tightening. "Our family w

" I spat. "I'm engaged to Mat

ed, a harsh, di

He is a nobody. You will marr

ken was suddenly nauseating. I turned to run, to get out, to find Matthew, but m

he said, his voice low and dange

amed, my voice raw.

softly. She took a key from a

, and the bolt slid into place, plunging me into cold, musty darkness.

ielle. You'll thank us when y