Finding Miracle By Celeste Noir. Mature Contents 21+.

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Finding Miracle
By Celeste Noir
Chapter 3 - Trinity Pentecostal

Gracefield

Trinity Pentecostal Church
First Sunday Thanksgiving

There was a big buzz at Trinity Pentecostal Church. It was the first Sunday of the month-Thanksgiving Sunday. Everyone was dressed like they were attending the derby. Colourful attire, elegant fascinators, and hats filled the sanctuary. The women were beautifully adorned, though some wore ridiculous oversized hats and others sported fascinators of questionable design.

Take Miss Lilly, for example. One could never quite tell if her fascinator was shaped like a dildo or a dog bone. According to the senior pastor's wife, Pastor Ruth, Miss Lilly's outfit was wholly inappropriate. Today, she had the audacity to wear a sheer lavender dress to church with only her underwear beneath. Pastor Ruth was convinced Miss Lilly had been sent straight from the gates of hell.

To make matters worse, Miss Lilly always came out during altar calls-for headaches, strange illnesses, or any vague spiritual ailment. In fact, Pastor Ruth thought bitterly, if they asked who died yesterday, Miss Lilly would come forward sobbing in tongues.
She hovered around the senior pastor every Sunday, waiting with exaggerated piety. Pastor Ruth was sure there were demons living with that woman.

Trinity Pentecostal was the heartbeat of Gracefield. With over 1,000 members, it was the town's megachurch. Everyone knew everyone. The church itself was a grand structure, built by Pastor Ruth's husband, Senior Pastor John Donaldson. Lately, he had been spending more time with Assistant Pastor Richard Cook.

Pastor Ruth narrowed her eyes.

Pastor Cook and his haughty wife, Estelle.
Ruth didn't like the woman. She suspected Estelle used to be an escort. Her familiarity with the men in the church was unrefined. Ruth didn't tolerate gossip-but she listened carefully when others spoke of Estelle.

"Oh Estelle darling! God bless you!"
They air-kissed, smiling warmly.

Pastor Ruth gave announcements about the new toys in the children's church and reminded everyone it was Thanksgiving-her favourite part of the service. Congregants would dance to the altar, dropping offerings into the bowl. It was also her favourite opportunity to judge, analyse, and dissect the outfits of each person.

Dr. Ojo, the local doctor, and his regal wife, Mrs. Favor, were the first to come forward, dancing confidently.
Ruth observed.

Does Dr. Ojo ever change suits? she thought, noting the same grey one he'd worn two Sundays ago. But his wife... ah, so polished, so elegant.

Favor's blue dress hugged her curves perfectly, and her fascinator sparkled modestly. Pastor Ruth smiled politely, her eyes calculating.

Next came Mr. Bradford, the town creep. Pastor Ruth shuddered. He had once been caught stalking Miss Youngberry, the chemistry assistant. Her husband, Pastor John, had to intervene personally.

Behind him was Mr. Young, the school principal and sports teacher. His black suit strained at the seams.
Oh dear, Ruth sighed inwardly. He must reduce weight-or buy his size.

She smiled warmly. Her smile never touched her eyes.

Then came Counsellor David-a fine man in an impeccable, fitted suit. He didn't dance, he walked. Arrogantly.
Hmm, Ruth muttered. Shifty eyes. New shoes.
She made a mental note.

Next, Mrs. Haynes approached in a fitted pink dress and a stunning fascinator.
Always smiling, Ruth thought.
Lovely shoes. Are those real Gucci heels? Or second-hand from The RealReal? She can't afford new.
Pastor Ruth snickered quietly.

Mrs. Haynes, catching her gaze, danced deliberately slowly-smugness all over her face.
Ruth scoffed. Arrogant thing. Run along.

Mrs. Young walked forward, stoic as always, dressed in her usual black.
Black suit, black dress... so boring. Did she work in a funeral home? Ruth wondered.

And then-her face transformed.

Elijah Donaldson.

Her golden son. Her pride.
Tall, handsome, with green eyes like his father. He was brilliant, well-mannered, deeply spiritual-the ideal son and role model.

He stopped to hug his mother. Pastor Ruth glowed. She kissed him proudly. Pastor John Donaldson gave him a thumbs-up.

More members came forward-some danced, others walked, and a few stayed seated during thanksgiving.

Miss Deborah Smith paraded forward in a peach trouser suit, fake pearls, and a hat so exaggerated it could shade a small village. Pastor Ruth stiffened a laugh.

Then came Pastor Estelle, arm in arm with Pastor Richard Cook.
Estelle looked radiant in a yellow dress suit and matching pillbox hat. Her Spanish accent-still intact after twenty years-annoyed Ruth to no end.
She keeps it deliberately to seem exotic, Ruth scorned.

Estelle's necklace sparkled. Ruth narrowed her eyes. Fake.
Then came her daughter-Catherine.

She was ethereal.

Dressed in a red floral suit with a delicate fascinator, she danced forward, adjusting her purity ring. Her skin glowed. Her smile was gentle. Pastor Ruth beamed with pride. Catherine was her hope.

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And then the air changed.

A shift. A hush. Like a spirit had walked in.

Luke Cook entered.

He wore a black shirt, skinny scruffy jeans, and boots caked with dirt. His long hair was messy. His eyes-blazing.

He didn't dance. He waltzed. Like sin walking in denim.

Every woman turned. Every man stiffened.

His sexual aura was unmissable.

Luke, the prodigal son, had returned after a year-long exile following a scandal. He sat silently at the back-unbothered.

An usher whispered to Pastor Estelle. Her eyes widened. She rushed to him, hugging her son tightly. She brought him forward, head high.

Luke walked beside her confidently. Pastor Richard embraced him.
"Welcome home, son."

Pastor Ruth turned to her husband.
"They are shameless," she whispered. "How dare they parade that rake in front of the church?"

Pastor Estelle caught her eyes. She smiled sweetly.

And from the front row, Catherine Donaldson watched him.

She felt a rush of heat.

She stared as Luke walked past her, the scent of musk and danger trailing behind him.

> Oh my love is back, she sighed dreamily.

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