Setting: Kitchen of the Marlin family home in a small West Virginian town. Evening. Pots and pans clutter the counter. Marlin enters, tie loosened, boots dusty. Mrs. Marlin wipes her hands on her apron.
Marlin: (Smiling) Evenin', Mary. Long day?
Mrs. Marlin: (Strained smile) Same as usual, Marlin. You?
Marlin: (Sighs, hanging his hat) Same here. Though, somethin's been weighin' on my mind, Mary.
Mrs. Marlin: (Wiping a chair) Well, come on in then, and sit a spell. Let's hear it.
Marlin sits heavily. Mrs. Marlin's smile falters.
Marlin: It's little Sarah, Mary. That preacher's visit today...
Mrs. Marlin: (Tensing) What about it, Marlin?
Marlin: Well, you know how he was talkin' about baptizin' all the young'uns come Sunday?
Mrs. Marlin: (Voice low) I plumb forgot about that.
Marlin: (Nods) It's important, Mary. Sarah's gettin' big. Time she joined the church proper.
Mrs. Marlin: (Stirring a pot on the stove) Sarah's barely a sprout, Marlin. She can't even understand what baptism means!
Marlin: (Frowning) Now, Mary, that ain't right. Baptism's about washin' away sin, startin' clean with the Lord. Sarah, like any child of Adam, is born with the stain of original sin. Baptism cleanses that.
Mrs. Marlin: (Shaking her head) But she's innocent, Marlin! A babe! Shouldn't faith be a choice, somethin' she comes to on her own?
Marlin: (Voice rising) Mary, don't go questionin' the ways of the church! It's tradition, our faith. Baptism is the gate to the kingdom of God. How can we deny Sarah that?
Mrs. Marlin: (Tears welling) By lettin' her grow, Marlin! By lettin' her understand what she's believin' in before we dunk her head in a trough!
Marlin: (Slamming his fist on the table) A trough? It's the baptismal font, Mary, a sacred vessel! This ain't some backwoods ritual!
Mrs. Marlin: (Sobbing) Maybe not, but it feels that way to me right now! Forcin' faith on a child ain't right, Marlin. It ain't right!
Marlin opens his mouth to retort, but the words die on his lips. He sees the pain in his wife's eyes, the fear for their daughter. The kitchen shrinks, filled only with the echoes of their disagreement.
Marlin: (Defeated) I... I need some air, Mary.
He stands, walks out the back door, leaving Mrs. Marlin clutching the counter, tears streaming down her face. Later that night, a loud crash wakes Marlin. He rushes outside to find the old oak in their backyard split open, a hollow center revealed by moonlight. Beside it, Mrs. Marlin is gone. Only a note remains, tucked in the hollow's entrance:
"Marlin, I can't stay here. I won't force Sarah. I'll be back when I can face you, and the church, again.
The next morning, the news of Mrs. Marlin's disappearance spread like wildfire through the small town. Marlin, wracked with guilt and worry, concocted a story about Mary visiting her ailing sister. But the townsfolk, with their keen eyes for unspoken truths, knew something was amiss. The preacher himself, a portly man named Reverend Dooley, arrived at the Marlins' doorstep, a concerned frown etched on his face.
Reverend Dooley: Marlin, where's Mary? Surely, she wouldn't miss the baptism... especially after our little chat.
Marlin stammered, his face flushed. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. Reverend Dooley's eyes narrowed.
Reverend Dooley: (Suspicious) Is everything alright, son? Mary seemed... troubled yesterday.
Marlin mumbled something about needing to find Mary. Dooley, sensing Marlin's evasion, cleared his throat.
Reverend Dooley: Perhaps this is a test, Marlin. A test of your faith. Your wife's absence shouldn't deter Sarah's entry into the Lord's fold.
Marlin looked at Sarah, who was playing by the porch swing, oblivious to the storm brewing around her. He saw not sin, but an innocent child with her mother's bright eyes. Doubt gnawed at him. Was the Reverend right? Was this some grand test of his faith?
The following days were a blur. Sarah, sensing the tension, grew clingy. Marlin searched for Mary tirelessly, scouring the woods behind their house, the banks of the creek, everywhere their life intertwined. He even ventured into the hollow oak, a shiver crawling down his spine at the thought of his wife seeking solace in such a confined space. But Mary was nowhere to be found.
Sunday arrived, the air thick with anticipation. Marlin dressed Sarah in a new white dress, the fabric stark against the worry etched on his face. At church, Sarah fidgeted in his lap, her large eyes taking in the solemn faces around her. As the ceremony began, Marlin's gaze drifted to the baptismal font. It no longer looked sacred, but cold and alien.
When Reverend Dooley called Sarah's name, Marlin's heart hammered in his chest. He looked at his daughter, a silent plea in his eyes. Sarah, sensing his turmoil, whimpered and buried her face in his shirt.
Marlin: (Voice hoarse) I... I can't do this.
A gasp rippled through the congregation. Reverend Dooley's face thundered.
Reverend Dooley: Marlin! What are you saying?
Marlin stood, his voice shaky but firm.
Marlin: Sarah's not ready. Faith is a choice, and she deserves to make it on her own terms.
He walked out of the church, Sarah clinging to his hand. The whispers followed them like a cold wind. But for the first time in days, Marlin felt a sliver of peace. He had chosen his family, and perhaps, in that choice, he had found a different kind of faith.
News of Marlin's defiance spread like wildfire. Some in the town ostracized him, calling him weak and faithless. But others, particularly those with doubts of their own, saw a glimmer of courage in his act. As for Mary, she eventually returned, not to the house, but to the hollow oak. A fragile truce settled between them. Sarah, though confused, thrived on the newfound closeness between her parents.
One evening, as the fireflies danced in the twilight, Marlin sat with Sarah by the oak. He pointed at the star-dusted sky.
Marlin: See those stars, Sarah? Some folks say that's where God lives. Maybe your mama found a quieter way to talk to Him out here, under the leaves and the stars.
Sarah tilted her head, considering this. Then, with a child's simple wisdom, she said:
Sarah: Maybe God listens everywhere, Daddy. Even in kitchens and hollow trees.
Marlin smiled, a tear tracing a path down his cheek. Perhaps Sarah was right. Perhaps faith wasn't about rituals or buildings, but about the quiet conversations we have with the universe, wherever we choose to have them.
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