Daryl looked down at the long rope leading from the bell between the open beams to the unfinished floor below. There did appear to be a door down there that might get them into the church. "I'll go first," he said. He didn't want her to think he was chicken. "But I ain't done this since 9th grade gym class." He'd stopped going to high school the next year.
"Down is so much easier than up," she replied. "And I always got to the top of the rope in gym class and rung the bell."
He bet she did. She was stronger than he'd guessed at first, and she didn't have a lot of weight to pull, probably had even less as a teenage girl. The girls had always been better than the boys at rope climbing, anyway. Daryl had always been muscular, but he'd been clumsy in high school, and that rope had swung every which way beneath his weight when he tried to scale it. He could hear the girls snickering on the mats below every time he went up. He'd hated gym, hated all the stupid exercises, the team sports, the coaches screaming in your face.
It wasn't that Daryl didn't love being physical - he was happy to hike for hours, climb hills and rocks, scale trees for a vantage point, swim in the lake - he just didn't see the point of jumping jacks or crunches, of throwing a ball through a hoop or trying to tackle some dumb ass guy before he reached a painted white line in the grass. The only good thing about the rope climbing was that he got to watch from below as the girls shimmied up in their tight little gym shorts. He was sure all of them ordered those shorts two sizes too small just to mess with his mind. He wondered what Carol would look like, going up a rope in nothing but a short, tight pair of...Jesus, he cursed himself. What's wrong with you? Focus, man.
Daryl hated it when he caught himself thinking about Carol that way, because he thought she deserved better than some loser's dirty thoughts. She was beautiful and forgiving and quietly strong, always working to serve others without asking for much in return. She was like steel encased in velvet, strong at the core but strangely and wondrously soft to the touch. He wished he'd just kissed her when she'd dared him to, kissed her for real, even if she was just giving him shit. Like a damn fool, he'd let that opportunity slip right between his fingers. He could have done it, enjoyed it, and pretended it was only because she'd dared him to, and not because he'd thought about it before.
"I can go first if you're worried," she told him.
"No! I'll go!" he insisted. He looked up at the bell. "I just ain't sure 'bout ringin' that thing. Might draw the geeks."
"It's badly rusted, Daryl. And you've got to really yank hard and out on that rope to ring it in the first place. If you just go straight down, it'll be fine."
He sat on the wooden ledge of the bell tower, grabbed hold of the rope, and began to lower himself down. The bell did move enough for the clapper to strike the sound bow, but it made more of a dull thud than a ring. When he was at the bottom, he coughed on a cloud of dust.
Daryl looked up to see Carol's boots dangling from the ledge. "You almost lost your crossbow going down," she called to him. "Catch my rifle."
She removed the chambered bullet and the magazine, put them in a pocket of her cargo pants, and then tossed the rifle down to him. He caught it and then propped it against a beam before turning to look back up at her. Carol began to shimmy down the rope. Her light weight swung the clapper a lot less than his mass had, and there wasn't even so much as a thud. But halfway down, she lost her grip and slid rapidly, burning her hands against the rope painfully enough that she let go in the last few feet. Daryl caught her in his arms, held her to his chest for a moment while catching his startled breath, and then set her on her feet.
"Fancy meeting you here," she said.
He took hold of her hands, turned them over, and looked at the bright red burn marks. "Shit."
"Well, at least I got to fall into a man's arms for once in my life." She smiled.
"This ain't the time nor the place to be practicn' yer flirtin', woman."
She looked up at the rusty silver bell and the open beams of the loft area. "Actually, I think it's very romantic."
"C'mon."
He saw her wince as she grabbed her rifle in her raw palm. She pretended not to be in pain as she slid the magazine back in and made sure the rifle was ready to fire.
"Get some aloe on that when we get back to the car," he said. They had a first aid kit in the trunk.
They ended up exiting the bell tower into a dark, windowless hall that led to another door which emptied out into what Carol called "the sacristy." Daryl had no idea what all the fancy church terms were. He just knew it must be the room where the church people put on their robes, because there were a bunch of white robes hanging from a free standing rack in there. "What's with all the scarves?" he asked.
"They're stoles. The deacons and elders wear them."
"Maybe we can snag some wine while we's here," he suggested.
"Methodists use grape juice."
"Well screw them then," he said.
"Thanks a lot. I am one."
"I didn't know that. Thought you was a Baptist."
"Well, Baptists don't use wine either," she informed him. "And why would you think I was Baptist?"
"'Cause it's Georgia."
"Well, I grew up Methodist anyway. Ed decided we should stop going to church two years after we got married."
"Why?" Daryl asked.
"He said it was because the Reverend was a bad Christian and having an affair with the organist, but I think it was because the man started asking Ed uncomfortable questions about my bruises."
Daryl's back teeth ground against each other, but he didn't say anything.
They exited the sacristy onto the stage. The sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, scattering fuzzy, colored light throughout the sanctuary. Walking through the light was like walking through a bright fog.
They cautiously swept the sanctuary and then made their way out to the foyer. Carol pointed under a display table near the front door. "See! Told you so."
Under the table was a large cardboard box with a printed paper sign that read, "Donations: Happy Lives Crisis Pregnancy Center." Inside were three packages of diapers, four cans of formula, and two boxes of baby wipes.
"Yer a genius," he told her with a smile.
He walked to the front door, unlocked it, and was about to open it so they could take the box outside when she said, "Let's check the church nursery first. They might have some formula, too.
They followed the signs on the walls to the Sunday School Wing. The red plush carpet became tiled hallway. They passed several closed doors, each labeled with a grade range. Daryl came to a sudden stop when he heard a strange noise arise from the door marked "4th and 5th graders."
Carol caught his eyes. "That was a girl's laugh," she said.
He nodded. Daryl leveled his crossbow while Carol flung open the door. A sudden gasp arose from inside.
Light streamed down from three high, non-boarded windows as Daryl entered the room behind Carol. Sitting at a classroom table were two little girls with dirty blonde hair. A toy tea set was arranged between them. The littlest girl tightly gripped the handle of her white flowered cup. She looked from Carol's rifle to Daryl's crossbow and trembled.
The older girl, however, sat calmly with the spout of the tea pot tilted over her open cup, pouring air. She looked straight into Daryl's eyes. "If you're the Mad Hatter come to tea," she said, "you better take a seat. It's getting cold."
