Cherry rushed from the brothel to the church. She hoped she wasn't late.

She remembered the first time she met Rip-Roaring Roy. He'd come into the brothel, tired and worn from his travels. Much like other men. Only difference 'tween him and them was that Roy, or Scratch as he wanted her to call him, was the most handsome man she ever laid eyes on. And that wasn't just her opinion. All the girls were practically tripping over their skirts to offer Scratch their services. But he had chosen her. Sure he saw other girls now and then. But he always held a special look for Cherry. Her heart beat faster just thinking about it.

She remembered the shock she felt when Scratch finally told her he was a preacher and had come to fill the empty position in the church. She always thought men of the cloth were supposed to be married. Or celibate. But Scratch was neither. A 'tweener as he liked to say. And say it with a twinkle in his eye. He'd even invited her to church after he filled the position. She'd been apprehensive to come, but some of the other girls jumped at the opportunity to be welcome within the church doors. Really just an excuse to be closer to Roy. Especially Dahlia.

Cherry's hand gathered a fistful of her dress, wrinkling it. That Dahlia. Always trying to come between her and her Scratch. He assured her that she was his special miss, but Dahlia was a devious one and Cherry didn't trust her a lick. That's why she had to make sure she arrived at the church first, so she could sit next to Scratch in the front row.

Before she knew it she was walking up the steps. Silent Sammy nodded to her, he was always so polite, and opened the door, ushering her in. After thanking Silent, her eyes darted for the front row. Families filled the narrow pews, scattered on both sides of the middle aisle. Weathered and downtrodden men from quarry and the farm fields sat a little taller within these walls, some of whom Cherry knew personally, but could not acknowledge, whether they were married or not. A lady with Cherry's occupation had no friends outside of the brothel rooms. Some of the women gave Cherry glares that could kill. Was it because of her beauty, or her line of work? She knew the farm ladies saw her as a lazy degenerate; too lazy to work a rye field with her hands. They thought she took easy creds willingly. As if she had a choice. Were they jealous? Perhaps their men had been with her at one time or another. Wasn't Cherry's fault. They came to her.

Quite a few single mothers regularly attended service too. Those with teenage boys especially glared at her when she passed by, not wanting their sons to fall in line, following the footsteps of most men in town.

And yet they all came to hear Scratch. His visits to the brothel were an open secret. If he had open secrets, he probably had closed ones too. But for some reason, Roy got a free pass from the whole community. His kind demeanor and his fiery passion renewed the Rubruns with something they had lost since the days Terra got tangled up with her own affairs, forgot Rubrum, and turned her back on these people's grandparents. Roy offered a four-letter word, a word scoffed at for a generation. Hope.

All of the stares and glares full of venom used to bother her. Genuine surprise and disappointment filled her when she realized she was not really welcome in the church, even though church was supposed to accept anyone who wanted to change. Just because people entered a building, did not mean their character changed. They might not stoop to her line of work, but they were just like everyone else Cherry knew. There was a pecking order on Rubrum, and no matter what sphere of influence, no matter what walk of life, Cherry and her sisters were always at the bottom.

But of all those in attendance today, Dahlia wasn't anywhere in sight.

A grin parted Cherry's lips. She straightened her back. Her high heels clicked atop the wooden floor as she made her way down the center aisle. Scratch sat on the left side pew going over his notes. She ran a hand through her hair, making sure her bangs fell just right. Did she need to add a dash more of her new perfume? But she was already halfway down the aisle. She'd have to double back, and that would be embarrassing. She hoped she applied enough for him to notice.

"Why hey there, sugar," said Cherry.

Scratch looked up from the sermon notes on his datapad, a warm smile taking his whole face captive. "Good morning, my daughter." He scooted over and offered her his cheek. She kissed it, then proceeded to wipe off the excess lipstick.

"Why'd you go do that?" he asked.

"You can't go up there with that on your face. Ain't proper."

"A lot of things ain't proper about me, hon."

She batted his arm, only forcing the laugh a little. "You're so funny."

"And you," he raised a fingertip to tap her nose, "are so cute."

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Disdain crept into her chest, but she made sure to plaster on a smile. She hated that word. But she gave Scratch a pass. He didn't know. Cute made her feel young, belittled, and insignificant. It was what men said to her when she spoke her mind. When they'd about heard enough, they'd say she was cute and brush off her opinions. She still hadn't worked up the courage yet to tell him.

She knew Scratch meant nothing by it. He was the only one who took her art seriously. At first when he showed initial interest in her charcoal sketches, she thought he was simply humoring her. But each time they met, he asked to see any new progress she'd made. No one else even knew she sketched regularly. But Scratch knew and cared. Her tension eased a bit.

Pulling a fan from her purse, she waved it, not because she was too hot, although she was a tad warm, but to blow some of her new perfume Scratch's way.

"Girl, you smell fresh as rain," he said, finally noticing.

The smile returned to her face. "It's a new scent I'm trying."

"Uh huh." His eyes returned to his notes.

She stole a glance back at the big clock on the wall. It was nearing time for service to start. Dahlia walked into the church, her green eyes locking with Cherry's. Her eyes seethed, her lip puckered. Dahlia was a looker, but she wore her emotions on her sleeve. Today she wore a sleeveless dress though. She had such pretty skin. And hair. Cherry reminded herself that she wasn't the one late. She was sitting next to Scratch, forcing Dahlia to sit next to her. She pressed her body against him, whispering in his ear. "Got a special message today?"

Scratch's lips jumped up, almost touching his nose. They did that when he searched for the exact word choice. "Yep. I reckon I've got a good one today. Been working this out for a while."

She'd caught him practicing once in front of the mirror. With her he was quiet, gentle, and sweet. But something happened to the man when he got behind that pulpit. His eyes lit up like two hot yellow embers. It wasn't just his words, his whole presence would change, commanding the room. She wagered Scratch was the kind of man that would lead an assault against the fiery gates of Hell itself. The man was fearless.

Warmness radiated from her heart. She brushed her fingers through his butterscotch hair. He was slowly but surely becoming one of the most respected and powerful men in town. And Scratch was all hers. Almost.

Dahlia's shrill voice invaded Cherry's thoughts. The girl had everything working in her favor except the pipes God had given her. She was simply annoying. Cherry couldn't understand why men put up with her, or tripped over themselves when she strutted past them. At that moment Dahlia's green eyes may as well have been white for all of the icy hate she was throwing at Cherry.

"Good morning, dear," said Cherry. "What a pretty dress. Is it new?"

Dahlia's eyes raked her dress for something wrong.

Cherry smiled.

Dahlia ignored her and greeted Scratch. "Well don't you look as sharp as a knife this morning, Roy. I love your suit. Is that saffron? That color fits you."

His eyes broke away from his sermon long enough to acknowledge Dahlia, but made no mention of her dress.

Dahlia poised a breath longer, then sat down next to Cherry, defeated. She knew she could not compete when he had his mind on his sermon. Besides, synthesized notes now resounded from the electric organ, reverberating throughout the church. Service was about to start.

He retrieved a pocket watch, noted the time, nodded and rose. "Wish me luck, girls." He winked at them both. Cherry just barely caught the dimples hiding under his mustache, but they were there. Her breath quickened. As much as she liked being so near Roy, there was an undeniable magnetism that empowered him once he set foot behind that pulpit. She'd be lying if she said she did not long to hear the words, hear the passion, to see the fire behind his eyes. It wasn't even what he said as it was the fervor he expressed. It made Cherry feel like she was a part of something bigger than herself. It made her feel whole again, like the heart beating behind her breast still mattered, like she was still worth more than the cost of goods exchanged, despite the manner of her work.

She longed for the day that Scratch would come into the brothel and take her with him instead of leaving her behind. She longed to be within his inner circle. Cherry wanted — no needed to hear the truth beyond the pulpit, the otherworldly wisdom saved for the select. She yearned for his touch, his anointing, a secret whispered in the ear of true believers. That was why she had to be here first, had to praise everything he did, laugh at every joke. She had to earn the blessing of the yellow sign at all costs.