Forgot my paper tablet, so will have to use blog.

And, boy, had Pastor Jason been peeved.  Barb could still recall the details.  Oh, that sermon!  Why, he wasn't even halfways through it, when she felt sheol's foul flames nipping at her feet.  And she'd, being but a maiden, had nothing to do with having erected the poles, nor having pounding the severed heads upon them.  But, it didn't matter.  There she was, at the mourner's bench, pleading - right alongside the two or, was it three, of the returned sentries - pleading for the Most High God's mercy;  not to be cast, and left - forever - in that horrible place - where hot slimey worms, with big fangs, craw and bite.  So scared, out of her wits, the last thing on her mind, was to smirk at Mash's obvious trembling - he'd been the hapless beggar, also on bended knee, beside her.

Barb never cared for Mash, just something irritating about him.  A few years prior, her father had met with Mash's father.  That had been scary enough, but the prospect of ending up as his wife, was nothing compared with ...ugh, sheol.   Barb still felt that twinge of conscience from that day she'd found out that Mash was to wife another.  "Oh, better her," was the phrase in Barb's head, right after Mash and Rachael had exchanged their vowels to one another.  And neither did the "concerned" expression upon the rather reluctant bride's face escape maiden Barb's notice. 

At the time, Barb was still sorting through leftovers to make raiment for her dolly, while Rachael had some years since, stitched a wedding garment upon hers, and lain it among the so far acquired contents of her hope chest.  A lovely garment it was, for Rachael did beautiful stitches.  The two women were different, but over the years had become friends. 

Maybe if Rachael had stood up for herself, from the get-go...but Rachael was Rachael, and it wasn't Barb's business to horn in.  Still, it bothered her how the elders would just look the other way.  Yeah, like several days ago, during the later portion of the community's pot-luck - a monthly function they had.  Well Rachael had been conversing with another friend, and wanted to stay for just a short while longer.  Barb, on her way back from using the outhouse, wasn't in on the details, but she heard the slap - and saw how atleast one of the elders, who was within earshot...neither heard, nor saw, nothing.

Barb didn't, and probably never would, understand it.  Why would Mash have any cause to strike Rachael?  She was so pretty - no, she was gorgeous - always neat, her garments just everso - and gentle in all her ways; unlike Barb, who'd simply run a quick brush through her hair, tie it up, throw on what she'd worked in the day before, and go about her business.  While Barb kept things neat and  in order, Rachael was super neat, about everything - even her work dress; a fresh one, every day; if she'd gotten so much as a small rend, she'd, quicktime change into another.  Same with Rachael's little girl; in fact, the child wasn't even allowed to get dirty.  Barb, remembering her childhood - booger-bear, hide-and-seek, lord-of-he-hill, felt a bit sorry for the child.

Scripture where the worm dieth not.