The Stolen Gospels by Brian Herbert Read Free Book Online

forty directing the work. She wore a loose-fitting white gauze dress with dangling bracelets of oversized black beads, and an unusual necklace: a gold cross with the lower portion of it shaped like a sword blade. Her hair was braided, clasped on one side by a wood and leather barrette. From the lobes of her ears hung large gold earrings, and glittering golden boots covered her feet.
    “Welcome to my associate’s home, everyone,” she said, in a soft Southern drawl. “I’m Dixie Lou Jackson, the surprise speaker.” In her hands she held the statuette of a woman.
    A murmur of excitement passed through the room, but Lori didn’t know why. “She’s second in command of the UWW,” Camilla said, “an umbrella organization for this goddess circle and others like it around the world.”
    This still didn’t provide much information to Lori. The UWW? She’d never heard of it. Apprehensively, she stared at Jackson, and held gazes with her for a moment. Dixie Lou gave her a hard glare, but only her eyes were unfriendly. The rest of her face smiled.
    Lori felt a sick queasiness in the pit of her stomach.
    The teenager glanced to her left at an Early American side table where a large Bible lay, with pink tabs sticking from the pages. Beside that lay an open notebook with the handwritten heading, “Quotes Detrimental to Women,” and beneath that were biblical references. She noted one, Genesis 3:16: “And thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee.”
    She had read passages from the Bible and even liked them, but didn’t recall seeing that quotation or the others that were entered on the pages of the notebook. They made her think.
    Flipping pages, she found an especially intriguing entry: “Jesus did not say that women are to be subordinate.” It had no attribution, so maybe it was the finding of one of the women in this house.
    Her mother tugged at her arm. “Come on Lori. They’re getting ready for the meeting.”
    Dixie Lou directed the attendees to sit on the floor in a circle. One of them was an elderly blind woman, guided by a German Shepherd dog. Lori overheard the woman saying the animal used to be a police dog.
    On the floor at the center of the group, a round piece of dark-stained oak was placed, upon the surface of which Jackson arranged candle holders of glass, pottery and pewter that depicted female themes, including little girls, mothers with babies, and female angels and goddesses. In the middle of the candle arrangement she placed the statuette of the woman, which Lori now noticed held a tiny weapon in her upturned palms, a sword that looked like a modified Christian cross—matching the one hanging from the neck of the hostess.
    Su-Su Florida and a dark woman in a sari (she might have been East Indian) lit the candles. The electric lights were dimmed low, giving the room an eerie, funereal appearance. A shiver coursed Lori’s spine. The women found their places and sat quietly. Camilla did the same, and forced Lori to do so as well, despite her protestations. Through a window she could see a large saffron moon hanging low over the city of Seattle and its brightly-lit high-rises that cast glittering reflections on the lake.
    The discontented teenager set her purse on the floor beside her, and folded her arms across her chest. She tried to analyze her feelings. Angry with her mother, she didn’t want to be here. A dark, disturbing sensation of danger crept over her, and a growing curiosity about these eccentric women, which she struggled to fight off. Part of her wanted to disrupt their meeting and get herself tossed out.
    It grew quiet in the house except for a little whimper from the guide dog, which stood stiffly across the circle from Lori, looking in her direction. Dixie Lou held what looked like a black plastic remote control for a VR-TV set. She pressed a button, and dulcet, ethereal piano music seeped into the room. After a minute, the music faded.
    Glancing at her watch,