Keeper's Justice
Copyright© 2025 by Charly Young
Chapter 2: Rose
The big white school bus had “Church of the Blessed” written on the side. Eleven-year-old Rose O’Connell watched it slowly navigate down the rutted gravel driveway. Her thin shoulders were hunched beneath a blue-green sweater, two sizes too big. She was tall for her age, with blue eyes set in a freckled face. Those eyes now held more than a trace of anxiety. Change was coming—and change for a system kid was never a good thing. Ever since her mother had died three years ago, life had taught her over and over to expect the worst. She was pretty sure she could figure things out, but she worried about the others in her little group.
Junie, a red-haired six-year-old and the youngest, hid behind her. She still had the remnants of a black eye that this place’s “mommy” had given her the day they arrived at the group home. Her sin was sneaking some milk to feed a tiny, one-eyed, mewing feral kitten that had wandered into the backyard.
Izzy, the next youngest, stood beside her. As usual, her brown eyes were remote, turned inward. Her olive skin and raven-black hair showed her Hispanic ancestry. She had just turned eight on this day, although none of the others knew to celebrate. She was a quiet little girl who often retreated to some private place in her mind that the outside world couldn’t touch.
The fourth member of their little group was a boy named Sam. He was about Rose’s age, she guessed. He didn’t talk and had never uttered a peep since the three girls had met him six months ago.
Fate had thrown the four together. Now, they were firmly a family who looked out for each other. Three large black garbage bags at his side held all their earthly possessions.
They were being moved again.
Rose gasped as a man dressed all in black stepped out. She turned to Sam, her eyes wide.
“I think that’s the Preacher Man,” she whispered.
Sam nodded back, his eyes wide with dread. Tales of the Preacher Man were whispered in the night among the group home kids far and wide. The story was that kids who went off with him were never seen again.
Now he was here for them.
The man strode toward them. His eyes swept over the children and then turned to their latest mommy, Mrs. Erickson.
“It’s a great day for the Lord’s work, Sister Louise,” he said. Rose noted that his broad white smile didn’t reach his eyes. There was also something odd about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
He was still talking. “A great day for the Lord’s charity.”
“God bless,” the puffy-faced blonde woman replied. She glared down at Rose. “These four children act out like the spawn of Satan, but they are God’s children all the same. They will surely benefit from the discipline they receive at your school.”
“Yes, the Church of the Blessed will take good care of these lambs. They aren’t the first and won’t be the last to have fallen into Satan’s grasp. I thank you for your service, Sister. I need to be on my way. The Lord’s work never ends.”
The woman cleared her throat. “Pastor Bob, there is the matter of payment for their upkeep.”
“Absolutely,” he said and handed her an envelope. “Tending to orphaned children is not without its cost. We agreed on $1,500, correct?”
She nodded and eagerly reached for the envelope.
“You will give the number a call when you’re ready again?”
“Yes, I will,” she said. “But it will be some months until my sister can move some of her overflow down here.”
“Come along, children. We have miles to go this day.”
Rose held onto Izzy’s and Junie’s hands and searched Pastor Bob’s face for more clues to what he was like. By now, she knew adults came in all types. Kids in the system soon learned to tell whether it was going to be indifference or beatings that blew up out of nowhere. The flicker of malice she saw in Pastor Bob’s eyes made her anxious. Despite herself, a whimper escaped her lips. Sam heard her and awkwardly patted her shoulder, then squeezed it reassuringly.
The man gave a curt nod and walked to the bus, obviously expecting them to follow.
Rose and Sam picked up the three black plastic garbage bags. The man ushered them into the back of the bus. Inside, she could see that the seats had been taken out and the interior had been converted into a camper van. There were two bunk beds and a couch in the middle, along with a bathroom in the back. When they were seated on the couch, he turned and addressed them:
“Sit there and listen up, children. You address me as Pastor Bob. There’s a bathroom in the back if you need to go. There are some bottles of water in that cooler if you get thirsty. If you behave, we’ll stop for supper in a couple of hours at a McDonald’s. If you’re bad—then you won’t eat. Keep being bad and see if I won’t whip you with the righteous wrath of the Lord. Just sit back here quietly, and things will be hunky-dory. We’re going on a long trip, so make yourselves comfortable back here and be quiet.” He made his way to the front and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Story?” whispered Junie hopefully.
Rose nodded. “Get the story blanket out of my bag. Izzy, get everyone some water. Sam, put the rest of our things under the beds.” Soon, everybody was organized with a bottle of water each.
“Cris-cross applesauce,” said Junie. She’d learned the cris-cross-applesauce story-time signal from the one and only preschool day she’d attended before she showed up at her first group home. The others obediently crossed their legs and waited for the story.
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