Temperature Inversion

CW: Mental health, psychological abuse

Just before the sun stretched out its first tendrils of light, seeking cracks in the darkened sky in which to anchor and pull itself over the eastern horizon, the Harrowell family gathered in the parlor of their old but tenderly cared-for farmhouse. It was time for daily scripture and family prayer, preparation for the day of labor before them.

Father sat in his old, padded reading chair—the redbone hound, Boaz, lying quietly at his side—with Mother to his right in her rocker. Across from the parents, on the small, wood-framed couch, the oldest daughter, Leah, huddled closely with the youngest, Ruth, and the middle child, Deborah, sat upright, directly across from Father, with arms folded.

Father held the family Bible in his lap, opened to a passage of his choosing.

“Let us pray.” His voice always made Leah, think of the Mississippi River: deep, slow, and strong.

“Dear Lord, thank you for a new day, a new opportunity to glorify and honor you. We thank you for the order and beauty of your creation and for the sustenance it provides. We thank you for allowing us to be stewards of the land and to labor upon it. Amen.”

“Amen,” the family echoed.

“For scripture this morning, we turn to First Corinthians fourteen, thirty-three: ‘For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.’”

Father looked up from the pages and found Leah’s gaze. “Leah, what does this verse tell us?”

Leah removed her arm from around Ruth and sat up straight, smoothing her blue cotton dress and thinking on the words for a moment before responding.

“I think it means that if we turn to God, we won’t lose our way; He won’t let Satan fool us.”

Father nodded slowly. “That is an apt understanding, Leah.”

Leah bowed her head to hide her smile as Father continued.

“And you, Deborah. What is your interpretation?”

“Thank you, Father. When we walk with God, as in when we attend service—even here at home—and commune with other saints, when we study the Good Book, we find peace. And this peace is strong enough to protect us from the chaos of an ungodly world.” Deborah pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

Father looked up from the book, and Leah thought she saw Father smile at Deborah; certainly, his eyes were brighter for a moment. Leah turned her head discreetly toward her mother. She made eye contact with Mother just long enough to receive a flash of a thin smile herself.

“Thank you, Deborah. Studying and praying on God’s word is the only way to peace and understanding.

Father continued. “We must always re—”

Boaz whined and lifted his head. Everyone but Father looked at Boaz, finding the tops of his folded ears pulled upward. The top of his head wrinkled, as if he were listening attentively to something.

Father spoke with a steady voice. “Be still, Boaz.”

Boaz looked up at Father, seeking his eyes. Not finding them, he rested his muzzle on his front paws and sighed loudly; one ear remained lifted slightly.

After breakfast, the family separated to complete their respective morning chores. Leah stepped through the wooden door into the front garden, heading to the top pasture to feed and check on the cows.

A chilled air had settled on the ground, topped by a layer of dense clouds. Leah shivered. Slowly, she realized the absence of the usual morning sounds; no cheerful singing of the robins or wrens, no rustling sycamore leaves or swaying corn stalks.

Leah rubbed her outer ear with her fingers, listening closely to the sounds of friction. After a moment, she continued up the wide path leading to the barn. She began daydreaming about the upcoming monthly trip to town. Father purchased what he couldn’t craft or repair; Mother bought fabric and preserving bottles, and usually the children were treated to molasses candy or a harmless book. She also hoped another family from the area would be there, and she’d see a certain young man.

Before Leah’s longing crossed into sinfulness, she was interrupted by footsteps crunching behind her. Leah’s heartbeat hammered, and she emptied her mind of the wanting she’d just indulged in. She spun around to address whoever walked behind her, but found herself still alone.

She searched for the owner of the footsteps, only to be uncertain where to turn or where to begin scanning. Perhaps they had somehow flanked her by now or watched her from some hiding spot; she even looked for different footprints in the dirt.

“Hello!” she called out. “Hello!” A voice came back to her. She contemplated demanding they show themselves, but decided it would be better not to give them any satisfaction by playing their game.

Leah shuddered, feeling unnerved, but the chores had to get done; stewardship of their animals and crops, their life-giving importance, required it. Leah continued walking to the barn, where she gathered alfalfa in a wheelbarrow and proceeded to the pasture.

She crested the small hill that sloped upward from the house to the top pasture, where it leveled off approximately fifty yards from the fenceline. Sweating and needing to catch her breath, Leah stopped and set down the barrow. Standing with her hands on her hips, she heard a cow low in the section of woods to her right.

She could not see the cow. She left the barrow and moved to the edge of the woods, moving branches laden with large leaves, straining to see farther into the trees and shrubs. Still, she couldn't find the cow. Carefully, she maneuvered deeper into the woods, vigilantly searching for the stray. After several minutes, she determined that either the cow had moved farther around the perimeter, or she’d been mistaken in thinking she heard it at all.

Leah completed feeding the cows and hurried back down the hill to the barn to feed the goats, chickens, and pigs. She reached the barn and returned the wheelbarrow to its place. Gathering the respective feeds for each animal type, a pair of mourning doves in a cedar tree caught her eye. Leah loved mourning doves; their devotion to one another, their plaintive cries. She watched them drop from the tree to the ground, seeking grubs and insects as the morning sky brightened vaguely.

As they strutted about, scratching the dirt with their long, divided toes, she heard a deep, male voice say, “The time has come...” Leah jerked and released a muffled shriek, whirling about in the direction of the voice. Again, Leah found herself alone. The gravelly, resonant voice was heavy in her mind, and she felt her mood bend to it, dipping into a realm that felt fearful and familiar.

Leah emptied her hands and began to murmur a prayer, walking briskly toward the front door. As she entered the house, with the kitchen just inside the door on one side, the long dining table to the right, she was met by a smiling squeal from Ruth.

“Hello, Ruthie.” Leah gave her a quick hug, then turned to Mother, who was canning peaches in the kitchen.

“Mother.” Leah’s voice quavered.

Concentrating on the bottles in the pot of boiling water, Mother replied without looking up. “Yes, love?” Before Leah could speak again, “Wait, you did your chores awfully fast this morning, daughter.”

“Mother... I... I have not completed my chores yet. I need to talk to—”

“Leah,” Mother looked up now. “You need to go back outside and get your chores done. If Father—”

“Mamma, please let Leelee talk.” Ruth stared at Mother with a frown, her large brown eyes wide under her little wrinkled forehead.

Mother looked from Ruth to Leah. “What do you need to tell me, Leah?”

“I—something... something happened.”

Mother covered the pot with a lid, lowered the heat, and turned to Leah.

“Mother, I fear something... has anything happened in the house this morning?”

“What do you mean, Leah? Happened?”

“A voice. Sounds being... in the wrong place. Footsteps?”

Mother pulled her head back. Her eyes widened then closed momentarily, and her jaw worked back and forth. Leah’s head tilted; her brows came together over squinted eyes, and her mouth turned down.

“Mother?”

“Don’t say another word until I fetch Father. Have a seat on the sofa with Ruth.”

A fox’s cry materialized in the room, moving from one side to the other. Mother tried to follow it with her eyes, as if a fox floated there in the air, drifting within the room. As the cry dissipated, Mother looked at Leah, now seated with Ruth. Mother’s face was placid and fastened upon her daughter for what felt like an eternity to Leah. Leah recoiled, frowning.

Mother left to fetch Father, leaving Ruth and Leah holding hands and quietly whispering.

A moment later, Father entered the room, followed by Deborah, and then Mother. Leah’s palms began sweating, and she felt tears well. She waited wide-eyed for Father to speak.

Father stopped, looking at Mother, then back to Leah.

“What happened?”

“When I went out to do my chores, it felt... odd. It was so quiet and chilly. I didn’t hear birds singing or insects, wind, or anything. I heard sounds later, but they didn’t come from anywhere, or not from where they were supposed to come. Then I heard a man say something, and I came inside. Then Mother and I... and Ruthie... heard a fox cry and—”

“Leah, be still.”

Leah heard the deep river in Father’s voice, and she quieted, her chest rising and falling. Mother and the daughters watched Father’s face, remaining silent, waiting.

“Mother, did you hear a noise in the house? An animal?” Father looked at Mother, still without expression.

Mother looked at Father, started to avert her eyes to Leah, but caught herself, and looked again into Father’s eyes.

“Yes. I believe I heard a fox. But perhaps—”

“Thank you, Mother.” Father turned to Ruth.

“Ruthie.”

“Yes, papa.”

“What do you have to say about this?”

“I heard it too, Papa.”

Father nodded.

“Father?” Deborah spoke, causing Mother, Leah, and Ruth to look at her expectantly.

Father was quiet for a beat and then, “What is it, Deborah?”

“Father, isn’t there a scripture about hyenas and jackals in the pleasant palaces?”

Leah was certain that Father’s eyes had widened for a fraction of a second upon hearing Deborah’s question. “Yes. Isaiah thirteen, twenty-two.”

Within the heavy silence that had befallen the room, under the weight of the tension, Boaz whined loudly, jolting everyone out of their quiescence.

Father turned toward Boaz to scold him, but found him missing. Father looked at Leah and then walked around the kitchen, the living room, and his small library, searching for Boaz. Unable to find him, Father walked toward the front door.

“Come outside.” His voice remained steady, but his chest rose and fell heavily.

Father led as the family stepped out into the front garden, through the gate, and onto the wide dirt path. They fell into a loose circle and watched as Father stood, hands on his hips, appearing to search for something, following his gaze wherever it went.

Presently, he seemed to develop a keen interest in the sky. He stood still, one hand to his brow, and tilted his head back to scan the thick, backlit clouds.

“It is uncommonly cloudy.” Father’s voice was low and sounded as if he hadn’t meant to comment out loud.

“Certainly... before nightfall...” a clear voice drifted past them all; Father’s mouth fell open, and each family member turned their eyes on Leah. Ruth was the exception, taking Leah’s hand in hers and attentively watching Father.

The voice seemed to have originated near the back of the house, between the south wall and the barn.

“Remain here.” Father gave the instruction and turned toward the sound. He disappeared around the corner of the house and was gone for a few minutes. When he returned from the other side, he was frowning heavily, and his nostrils flared.

He stopped directly in front of Leah, leaning over her. “What have you brought to our home? What manner of mischief have you undertaken within our sanctuary?” He spread his arms and moved to indicate the entirety of their land, their homestead.

Father looked to the sky and then back at Leah. “God would not allow Evil to manifest itself, not unless one of us flirted with it, welcomed it, opened the door to it.” Father’s voice was low, quavering slightly. Leah felt a flood of icy water spread throughout her insides as Father spoke with a calmness that belied his contorted expression.

“Father, I’ve never done such a thing! I love God and His word. I love all of you! I’d never play with the Devil!”

“She says his name so easily, Father,” Deborah spoke.

“What? No! I’m just telling you that I have no desire to communicate or, or... I keep myself wrapped in God’s ways, to the best of my ability. Father, please believe me. I don’t know what’s happening either.” Tears stung Leah’s eyes, and her chin quivered.

“Now, wait...” Mother spoke, turning to face Father.

Father’s face became unreadable, apart from the flexing of his jaw muscles.

“Hold your tongue, Mother. I cannot allow our family to be in harm’s way, either physically or spiritually. I must pray on this.”

Father turned to Leah. “In the meantime, Leah, wait in the cellar.”

Leah could not fathom what was happening to her.

As she turned to leave, Father saw a shadow cross over them all. He searched the faces of the others for affirmation of what he saw; only Deborah watched him, but none seemed to have noticed the shadow.

Leah turned the corner of the house, and the temperature dropped. The family exchanged glances, shivering and rubbing themselves for warmth. From a few feet above them came the cooing of mourning doves. All looked up, only to find the sky, the close trees, empty.

A moment later, a pair of doves strutted out from beneath a line of hedges. Their movements were heavy and slow; a half-beat behind the march of time.

Father’s face changed from wide-eyed and mouth agape to stern, determined, squinting eyes.

“Deborah, this cannot wait. Fetch Leah.”

“Yes, Father.” Mother watched Deborah fight to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up.

Presently, Deborah returned, head up, with Leah walking slowly behind, staring at the ground. Reaching the circle of family, Deborah pulled Leah by an arm, placing her squarely in front of Father.

“Leah, I don’t know what power you have entangled yourself with. I don’t know where along the way I failed to instill a fear of God in you, to teach you to honor your mother and father and love your family above yourself, but clearly, I have.”

Leah, Mother, and Ruth began sobbing while Deborah stared attentively at Father.

“Father, I love—”

“Be still, Leah. This can’t stand. Our home has room for God alone; Evil and its followers are not welcome, and when they come unbidden, or otherwise,”—he nodded toward Leah as he said that word—“I must cut them off, as the offending limb would be cut off.”

Leah stood motionless, molten dread invading her. This was betrayal and rejection. She shook her head rhythmically, unwilling to entertain the possibility.

Mother sobbed loudly, and Ruth clung to Leah’s leg.

Father spoke again. “Stand by Mother, Ruth. And Leah—because you are my daughter, and because I loved you—I will give you a choice.”

“Deuteronomy fifteen, three tells us: ‘And that prophet, or that dreamer of dreams, shall be put to death... so shalt thou put the evil away from the midst of thee.’”

“Amen, Father,” Deborah spoke.

“Deborah, hush.” Mother’s eyes bore into Deborah.

“Be still!” Father raised his voice, looking from Mother to Deborah.

“I think that option is clear, yes?” Father asked Leah.

She nodded, mucus streaming, her eyes red and raw.

“‘He shall dwell alone; without the camp shall his habitation be.’ Leviticus, as you know. You can choose to leave us,” Father continued.

“Now, which will it be? If you don’t choose, I will be forced to.”

Leah looked up for the first time; she looked Father in the eye, and then at each subsequent family member, resting for a moment at Deborah.

“I love you all,” she said softly, turning down the dirt path toward the main road. Leah was numb, but still the panic threatened to erupt. She thought of scripture now, one about God knowing the hearts of his children, and she hoped He was there, that He knew her heart. Thinking of a particular family, she dared to hope that human kindness wasn’t dead.

One by one, the family broke away and carried on with their day, hoping to bury themselves in labor and routine.

As Leah neared the main road, she heard a jingling from the strip of woods that marked the beginning of the property. She caught flashes of dark copper fur that eventually coalesced into Boaz as he emerged from the underbrush.

Boaz and Leah both stopped, each carefully watching the other. Boaz dipped his head, growling lowly before whining and trotting nervously toward the house and then back toward Leah. Finally, Boaz lifted his head and approached Leah, licking her hand. Overhead, the clouds broke, revealing a blue patch of sky and a few tendrils of sunshine.