It was now nine on Sunday morning. The In-His-Name Liberty Township chapter of the Holiness Church was beginning service across town and Celia had not put on the navy dress she had ironed the day before. It rested like a grounded flag on the bed in her room—the fabric, napped and pleated just under the bodice, the scooped high collar and sleeves trimmed in duchess lace—starched hard and pointed. Two minutes after nine. Her eye began to twitch in anger. Celia stood to make breakfast then sat back down. There wouldn’t be time to eat once Ephram arrived home. They would have to hurry and dress. Celia knew that, whatever else he may have done, her boy would be home this morning, because in forty-five years, Ephram Jennings had never missed Sunday service. He certainly, absolutely would not miss today, the day she had patiently waited for the last twenty-five years. The day of the election for Church Mother. Her name was one of only three on the ballot. She began to pace. For four months Celia had planned to wear her new Star-of-Bethlehem brooch to church this morning.
