Saturday morning I woke up to the sound of the lawnmower.
Dad was already outside. Six a.m. Like
clockwork. Every Saturday. The grass didn't even need cutting most weeks but he did it anyway. Said it was about discipline. About keeping things in order.
I lay in bed and listened to the motor going back and forth. Back and forth. The same pattern every time. Perfectly straight lines.
Emma was still asleep in her room. I could hear her snoring through the wall. She snored like a freight train for a seven-year-old. Mom said she'd grow out of it.
I got up and went downstairs.
Mom was in the kitchen. Already dressed. Hair pulled back. She had flour on her hands.
"You're up early."
"Yeah."
"Want breakfast?"
"Sure."
She made pancakes. Three of them. Perfectly round. She was good at making things perfect.
I ate at the kitchen table. The window looked out onto the backyard. I could see Dad out there. Push, turn, push, turn. The grass was already short. It didn't matter.
"Michael."
I looked up. Mom was wiping her hands on a dish towel.
"After breakfast you need to get ready for church prep."
"What prep?"
"Father Callahan called. He wants the altar servers in early today. Something about tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Sunday.
"What time?"
"Nine."
I looked at the clock. Eight fifteen.
"Okay."
She went back to the sink. Started washing the mixing bowl. Everything got washed right away. Nothing sat.
I finished eating and went back upstairs. Put on clean clothes. Jeans, a button-up shirt. Church clothes. Not the white robe yet. That came later.
Emma was awake now. I could hear her in the bathroom. She was singing again. Some song about flowers.
"Emma."
The singing stopped. "What?"
"I'm gonna be at the church."
"Okay."
"Tell Mom I left."
"Okay."
I went downstairs and out the front door.
It was already hot. The sun was bright and mean. The kind of bright that made you squint. I started walking toward Main Street.
East Hamilton looked the same as always. White houses. Neat lawns. Flags and crosses. Mrs. Harrison was on her porch, sweeping. Mr. Coleman was getting his mail. Everything normal. Everything the way it was supposed to be.
The church was at the center of town. Right where the four main streets met. You could see the steeple from anywhere. That's how they'd built it. So God was always watching.
That's what Father Callahan said anyway.
The front doors were open. They always were on Saturdays. Prep day.
I went inside.
It was cooler in here. Quiet. The pews were empty. Light came through the stained glass windows. Red and blue and gold. It made patterns on the floor.
"Michael."
I turned.
Father Callahan was there. And two other boys. Tyler Marsh and Danny Coleman. Both of them were altar servers too. Tyler was my age. Danny was eleven.
"Good. You're here." Father Callahan smiled. "Come. We have work to do."
We followed him to the back. Through the side hallway. Past the photos of the founding families. Into the room where they kept the robes and candles and communion supplies.
It smelled like incense in here. Old wood and something sweet.
"Tomorrow is an important day," Father Callahan said. He was pulling out robes. White fabric. Starched and folded. "Very important."
"Why?" Danny asked.
"Because it's the first Sunday of the month."
I looked at Tyler. He looked at me. First Sunday. That meant something but I didn't know what.
Father Callahan laid out the robes on the table. Three of them. One for each of us.
"The first Sunday of each month is when we honor the covenant," he said. "The agreement our founding families made with God. The promise that keeps East Hamilton safe."
"What promise?" I asked.
He looked at me. His eyes were kind but there was something else there too. Something I couldn't name.
"The promise of devotion. Of obedience. Of sacrifice."
Sacrifice. That word made my stomach tight.
"What kind of sacrifice?" Tyler asked.
"The kind that matters." Father Callahan handed us each a robe. "Now. Let's practice the procession. Tomorrow needs to be perfect."
We spent the next hour walking through the ceremony. How to hold the candles. Where to stand. When to kneel. Father Callahan was particular about every detail. Every step had to be exact.
"Remember," he said. "The ritual is sacred. Every movement has meaning. Every word has power."
I didn't understand what that meant.
But I nodded anyway.
When we were done, Father Callahan told us we could go. But as Tyler and Danny left, he put a hand on my shoulder.
"Michael. Wait."
I waited.
The room was quiet now. Just the two of us. The robes still laid out on the table.
"I spoke with your father yesterday," Father Callahan said.
"Okay."
"He tells me you've been asking questions."
My stomach dropped. "I was just. I mean. I was curious."
"Curiosity is natural. Especially for a boy your age." He walked over to the window. Looked out at the street. "But some questions are dangerous, Michael. Some truths are not meant to be understood by everyone."
"I don't understand."
"I know." He turned back to me. "That's why I'm telling you this. There are things in East Hamilton that have been in place for a very long time. Things that keep us safe. Keep us together. But they only work if everyone follows the rules. If everyone stays quiet."
Quiet. That word again.
"Your family has been part of this community since the beginning," he continued. "That means you have a responsibility. To protect what we've built here. To honor the covenant."
"But what is the covenant?"
"You'll understand when you're older."
"When?"
He smiled. But it didn't reach his eyes. "Soon enough."
He patted my shoulder and walked past me. Out of the room. Down the hallway.
I stood there for a long time.
The robes on the table looked white and clean in the afternoon light.
"How was it?"
Mom was in the living room when I got home. Folding laundry. She always folded laundry on Saturday afternoons.
"Fine."
"What did Father Callahan want?"
"Just practice. For tomorrow."
She nodded. Folded a towel. Perfectly square. "Tomorrow's important."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
"Because it is."
"But why?"
She stopped folding. Looked at me. "Michael. You know better than to ask so many questions."
"I just want to understand."
"Some things you don't need to understand.
You just need to trust." She went back to the laundry. "Now go wash up. Dinner's in an hour."
I went upstairs.
Emma was in her room. Playing with her dolls. She had them arranged in a circle on the floor.
"What are you doing?"
She looked up. "Playing church."
"Church?"
"Yeah. They're all sitting quiet. Like we do on Sundays."
I looked at the dolls. All of them facing the center. None of them moving.
"That's not playing, Emma. That's just. Sitting."
"I know. But that's what we do." She picked up one of the dolls. Adjusted its dress. "That's the rule."
I left her there and went to my room.
Lay down on my bed. Stared at the ceiling.
The promise of devotion. Of obedience. Of sacrifice.
I didn't know what it meant.
Tomorrow was the first Sunday. Everyone kept saying it was important.
I guess I'd find out why.
That night at dinner, Dad asked me about church prep.
"Father Callahan said you did well."
"He called you?"
"He did."
"When?"
"This afternoon."
I pushed food around my plate. Meatloaf again. Saturday meatloaf.
"What else did he say?"
"That you're a good boy. That you'll do your family proud tomorrow."
Emma kicked me under the table. "Michael's in trouble."
"I'm not in trouble."
"Then why does he look worried?" She grinned.
"Emma," Mom said. "That's enough."
We finished eating in silence.
After dinner I helped with dishes again. Mom washed. I dried. The same routine.
"Mom."
"Mm?"
"What happens on the first Sunday?"
Her hands stopped in the water. Just for a second. Then she kept washing.
"The same thing that happens every Sunday."
"But Father Callahan said it was different. That it was important."
"It is important. But it's not different. We go to church. We observe the quiet. We honor God."
"But he said something about a covenant."
"Michael." Her voice was sharp now. "That's enough. You don't need to know everything. You just need to do what you're told."
I dried the last plate and put it away.
That night I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about Father Callahan's words. The covenant. The sacrifice. The way everyone acted like tomorrow was normal but also special somehow.
I got up and went to the window.
Outside, the street was empty. Dark. But I could see the church steeple in the distance. White against the black sky.
Tomorrow was Sunday.
The first Sunday.
I wondered what made it different from all the others.