Read Online Faking Faith by Josie Bloss - Free Book Online Page B

room with a little skip. “For this is the day the Lord has made! See you downstairs.”
    “More like this is the morning Satan made,” I muttered, looking down at the frilly pink nightgown Abigail had given me the night before so we could match. I made a face at it.
    After yawning at least ten times, I put on my robe and headed for the bathroom. Where of course there was a line three kids long, patiently waiting their turn.
    “Good morning, Faith!” the little kids chimed.
    “G’morning,” I mumbled, as cheerily as possible, stumbling back to Abigail’s room.
    After I’d put on some of my newly acquired modest clothes—a dark blue skirt that came down to my ankles and a loose summery shirt—and finally gotten my turn in the bathroom, I went downstairs.
    Most of the family was already gathered around the table, eating big heaps of eggs and toast and bacon. Abigail and Mrs. Dean were wearing their aprons and standing at the stove, cooking up a storm, while Chastity ferried plates of food to the table.
    “Can I help?” I asked, but Mrs. Dean shooed me away with her spatula.
    “You’re a guest, dear, sit down!”
    I took a place at the table and glanced around. Asher looked up from his plate and I immediately looked back down, pretending to be examining the toast in front of me.
    Breakfast was a much less formal affair than dinner, and everyone was talking over each other about their plans for the coming day. Mr. Dean was giving Asher instructions about mending a fence. The little kids were talking loudly about little kid stuff, and over by the stove, Mrs. Dean had her arm around Abigail and they were both laughing.
    I slowly ate my eggs, waking up and trying not to stare.
    Alien planet.
    . . .
    The first day felt both endless and quick as a flash. We traveled from one activity to the next without stopping for a breath, and I was very glad I had “guest” status and wasn’t expected to contribute much.
    All I really wanted to do was look around in disbelief and absorb.
    After breakfast, there were the farm chores (where I watched with wide eyes as Abigail expertly milked her ornery brown cow in under ten minutes). And after washing up from chores, there was homeschooling for all the younger kids. Abigail worked with Martha and Joseph, quizzing them on the letters of the alphabet, while her mother had the older kids read out loud to each other as she bounced Mercy on her lap.
    Apparently Abigail’s own education was considered finished at this point, which I found strangely sad.
    I helped Abigail make sandwiches for lunch, and then helped pick up after the meal. The food preparation and cleanup for a family that size was basically endless. Plus there were no frozen TV dinners, no cereal from a box, no ordering pizza. The Deans baked their own bread, grew their own vegetables, milked their cows, and collected their own eggs from the chickens outside. Everything was labor intensive and made from scratch. And delicious.
    My mom’s head would have exploded all over the neatly decorated walls.
    The older boys were sent out to help Asher for a few hours that afternoon, and there was a whole list of cleaning chores that had to be done inside the house for the girls. Mrs. Dean had a giant binder of all the children’s activities, and their time was carefully regimented in color-coded spreadsheets. I paged through it in wonder as Abigail swept and mopped the kitchen. She wouldn’t let me help.
    “It’s time for afternoon scripture study!” Mrs. Dean said an hour later after looking at her watch. Chastity went to call the boys in and the whole family gathered around the table and listened quietly as Mrs. Dean read out of her pink-leather-covered Bible.
    I longed to take a nap like baby Mercy, but I kept myself as alert-looking and pleasant as possible. Because if there was one thing that wasn’t tolerated in the Dean family, it was an outwardly negative attitude. Everyone was sweet and compliant and good-natured a