Chapter Nine
Mirabelle and her parents sat around the kitchen table eating breakfast. Waffles, jam, butter and fruit lay on the white tablecloth before them like islands of colourful artwork floating on a blank canvas. Jacob turned the page of the newspaper he was reading and finished the rest of his milk. Done with the paper, he placed it down on the table and then paused to look at Mirabelle. She sat on his right eating quietly with her head bowed down and her face expressionless.
Jacob didn't know what to make of her. The Golden Nugget incident had happened a month ago and though the past few weeks had been frenetic, things were finally starting to return to a level of normalcy. The rumours and hysteria had died down and though people still gave Mirabelle the odd look, she could travel around well-near unharrassed. Her future, however, was out in the uncharted open. Mirabelle and Edward's getting back together again was an impossibility. The man wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her. Jacob and Nancy wondered how their daughter was coping with this. She seemed to alternate between the dual states of: one--crying, depression, and apathy; and two--anger, resentment, and determination. Whatever she decided on doing now, Mirabelle had to get a hold of herself: She had to pull herself up by the bootstraps and come out slugging.
"Mirabelle," asked her father, "do you have any plans for the day?" Her daily itinerary consisted now of moping around her room and taking the occasional walk to brood.
"No," she replied solemnly.
"You can't keep going on like this," he told her.
"I know," she answered sadly.
"Look," he continued, "When I lost the farm I didn't wallow in depression like some unhappy pig in the mud. I took the loss and fought my way out of it." "I haven't done that badly have I?" he questioned out loud, asking himself more than anyone else.
"No, you haven't," responded Nancy, who looked at him with a smile. "Mirabelle, I have a suggestion," she said as she turned to look at her daughter, "Why don't you talk to Reverend Michaels? I think you need to get a different perspective on your situation and neither of us can really give you it."
"Maybe I will," Mirabelle said reflectively.
Reverend Michaels had given her good advice before, she remembered. She hadn't been to the church since meeting with the reverend to talk about her now-derailed marriage. She didn't think she could face a church full of potential persecutors.
Maybe it was time she found religion. Her mother and father weren't very religious, though they considered themselves Christians. They were the type who only went to church on special occasions and didn't let religion interfere with the rest of their lives. Mirabelle, on the other hand, liked going to church. It was more for socializing than for religion, however--she liked to sing in the choir and join in the social events. Now feeling lost and helpless, a dollop of compassion and guidance would really hit the spot for Mirabelle. "Maybe this is the answer I've been looking for," she thought to herself.
She turned to her parents with the look of hope growing in her eyes. "Yes, I will," she told them, her voice sounding brighter, "I'll go see him today."
Mirabelle didn't bother to call Reverend Michaels before heading out to see him: she was too keen on getting his helpful advice. She knew that he wouldn't mind the unexpected visitor seeking help. The church was locked, so she went to the small house beside the church where Reverend Michaels lived. She rang the doorbell. A few minutes later, Reverend Michaels opened the door.
"Yes, who is it?," he said as his gaze fell upon Mirabelle. Upon seeing it was her, his eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, Mirabelle," he said rather disconcertedly.
"Yes, Reverend. I was wondering if I could come to you for some advice?" Mirabelle said to him.
"Well, I, um," he stammered.
"Is something wrong, Reverend?" asked Mirabelle, concerned. She had never seen the reverend behave like this before.
"Actually, you can't," he said to her bluntly, having finally made whatever decision was on his mind.
"What?" said Mirabelle. "Why not?" she asked.
"You're not welcome here anymore," he said to her antagonistically as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"What?!" Mirabelle said disbelievingly.
"Edward told us what happened at The Golden Nugget, he has witnesses, and what's more I saw what you did with my own eyes as well," he said to her in a righteous tone, becoming more fiery by the second.
"I didn't do anything," Mirabelle stated to him.
"Don't lie to me," he said to her with acridity, "I was passing that way when the fire started and I saw the whole thing."
"I'm not an evil person, Reverend," she pleaded to him, "and I've been coming to church for years!"
"You are in league with the Devil, with forces unholy and unnatural," he said as he started to tremble with anger, "Get out of here, demon! Never come to this holy place again!" The Reverend pulled out a cross and brandished it in front of him as he advanced towards Mirabelle.
Mirabelle was sure he had lost his mind. She backpeddled away from him. He continued to follow her so she turned and ran. Reverend Michaels chased after her, running her off the church grounds.
"I don't believe this!" she panted as she paused to catch her breath, hiding beside some buildings while taking furtive glances at the church. "Is the whole world going crazy or am I going crazy?" she asked herself. Mirabelle returned home and found her parents sitting in the living room.
"That was fast," her father said, looking up from his seat on the couch.
"You're not going to believe this," Mirabelle answered, "but the Reverend chased me off the church grounds."
"What?!" said Jacob. She was right: He couldn't believe it.
"You're kidding, right, Mirabelle?" said Nancy, jestingly.
"No, I'm not," Mirabelle replied. "I started talking to him, then he started calling me a demon, then he took out a cross and chased me with it!" she exclaimed to them.
"This is ridiculous," said her father, "Don't go making up these stories, Mirabelle," he said to her, although she had never made up any absurd stories like this before.
"I don't care if you don't believe me!" she said as she turned and marched up the stairs to her room, "I'm crazy! You're crazy! The whole, entire world is crazy!"
