Sunday was the only day when the work in the fields let up.
Not because the plantation owners felt sorry for them.
Not because they wanted to give them time to rest.
That day was reserved for preaching.
Everyone in Black Hollow was required to gather in a wooden building not far from the plantation's main house.
The building wasn't very large.
Its walls were made of boards that had begun to rot. Several wooden benches were arranged neatly inside. A cross hung on the front wall.
That morning, Evelyn sat on the back bench with Martha.
Beside them, Rose still looked gloomy.
Ever since Jacob had been taken away a few days earlier, the woman had hardly spoken.
Many of the women in the room wore the same expression.
Tired.
Empty.
Resigned.
The door opened.
A tall man entered the room carrying a thick book.
His hair was beginning to turn gray. His clothes were neat. A pair of glasses rested on his nose.
Samuel Whitmore.
The preacher who came to Black Hollow every Sunday.
He stood at the front of the room, opened his book, and looked at everyone seated before him.
“Before we begin, let us pray.”
Everyone bowed their heads.
Evelyn followed the custom.
But her mind wasn't truly there.
She had never understood why God allowed a place like Black Hollow to continue to exist.
Nor did she understand how someone who claimed to be a servant of God could come to a place like this without feeling that something was wrong.
Samuel began to read.
His voice was calm.
Gentle.
He spoke every word clearly.
He spoke of obedience.
Of devotion.
Of duty.
“You must accept the place that has been appointed to you.”
The room fell silent.
“Every human being has a different task.”
Samuel walked slowly in front of his listeners.
“God desires order.”
He closed his book.
“The fields need workers. The house needs servants. The world needs rules.”
Evelyn stared at him.
She saw several people nodding.
Not because they agreed.
But because they were too tired to argue anymore.
“Obedience is a form of reverence for God.”
Samuel continued his sermon.
“Patience will lead you to salvation.”
Evelyn clasped her hands together.
She remembered Jacob's face.
A little boy torn away from his mother.
She remembered Rose's sobs.
She remembered all the women who had lost their children.
What kind of salvation was the preacher talking about?
When the sermon ended, everyone began leaving the room.
Rose went first.
Martha followed behind her.
Evelyn remained seated.
She watched Samuel put his books away.
There was something she wanted to ask him.
She stood.
“What about a mother who has lost her child?”
Samuel raised his head.
“What do you mean?”
“Is that God's will too?”
The preacher looked at her for several seconds.
“Sometimes, we don't understand His plan.”
“A child is taken away from his mother. Is that part of His plan too?”
Samuel placed his book on the table.
“You're still very young.”
“That isn't an answer.”
The preacher drew a breath.
“The world doesn't always go the way we want it to.”
“But people are the ones who make those decisions.”
Samuel's face went rigid.
“Anger will only hurt you.”
Evelyn felt the anger she had kept buried for so long begin to rise to the surface.
“I am not angry at God.”
“Then who are you angry at?”
She fell silent.
Samuel picked up his hat.
“You must learn to accept your circumstances.”
Evelyn stared at him without blinking.
Accept.
The word was so easy to say.
Yet the person saying it would return to a warm home.
He would have dinner with his family.
He would sleep in a comfortable bed.
Meanwhile, the people of Black Hollow would return to the barracks.
Return to a life they had never chosen.
That night, Evelyn sat outside the building and gazed at the sky.
The stars were faint.
A gentle wind blew.
Martha came and sat beside her.
“You argued with Samuel.”
“I only asked a question.”
The old woman gave a faint smile.
“And?”
“I didn't get an answer.”
Martha looked up at the sky.
“Answers don't always come from people carrying holy books.”
Evelyn fell silent.
She was still thinking about Samuel's words.
Obedience.
Patience.
Devotion.
All those words sounded beautiful.
Yet in Black Hollow, words could become tools for silencing someone.
“Do you still believe in God?” Evelyn asked.
Martha smiled.
“I do.”
“After everything that's happened?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
The old woman looked at her.
“I don't believe in people who use God's name to hurt others.”
The wind blew again.
Evelyn lowered her head.
That night, she understood something.
A whip could wound the body.
Chains could limit a person's steps.
But words could become weapons too.
And in Black Hollow, Samuel Whitmore used religion as the sharpest weapon of all.
Before entering the barracks, Evelyn glanced back at the small building where the sermon had been held.
The cross still hung on the wall.
Silent.
Standing tall.
She didn't know whether God truly heard her or not.
What she did know was that far too many people in that place were suffering while waiting for a miracle that never came.