The Principle (Legacy Book 2)

by Rain Carrington

“Matt, I didn’t want he’p either, but it came in handy. And now, I got a good man, my nephews and niece come all the time, my brother and sister-in-law too. I promise ya, Matt, I’ll stick by ya.”

  “Is it true you heard about this from daddy?” As Mac nodded, Matt knew what he had to do. “I, uh, need you to hide too. At least…I don’t know. Go back home, maybe.”

  “What? Why the Sam Hill would I do that?”

  He swallowed, and the others came into the room. Lowering his voice, Matt told him, “They’ll be after you too.”

  He took the glass of ice water from Stacy and she sat on the other side of Mac. He was glad Mac was next to him through the rest of this. As soon as they were all settled, he continued to tell his story.

  “Like I was saying, the compound was run like the military. The older men were the generals, the younger men the privates, doing all the grunt work. The women, though, they did most of the work and took care of the kids.

  “I was a good kid, even when all the other boys were noticing girls and getting into trouble for that, I was saying my prayers and doing my chores, waiting for the time when I’d like the girls, promising myself that I’d behave until grandpa and daddy told me I could marry.

  “Then my older stepbrother, Dean, was gone. See, he wasn’t daddy’s son. His father had died, he was really old, and his mother was taken by my daddy. They had kids together, of course, after, but Dean, he was kinda a pain in my daddy’s backside. He was a rebel, daddy said, always talking to the girls and stuff. One day, he was just gone, and when I asked about it, daddy said to mind my own business or I’d be the next one to disappear.”

  “Oh, god, Matt, did they…?”

  He answered Stacy fast. “No, he wasn’t killed. On just about all the compounds, the really nasty ones, like ours, if a boy took too much notice of the girls, they are taken away, dropped off in the city or on the side of the road. Run off, so that the girls would be available for the older men.”

  “Lost boys,” Steve murmured. “Their stories are horrible. They are dropped off without knowing anything but life on the compounds, very little schooling, no skills to make it in the outside world. A lot get into trouble, so even the cops are little help for them.”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Leo said.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty common, but even when we try to go to the cops, they don’t want to hear it. Lost boys are people the cops don’t like, so they don’t help much.”

  Mac ignored the others and asked, “Is that what happened to your stepbrother?”

  “No, well yes, but it wasn’t because he was flirting with girls. It was because he’d found out what I eventually did. I didn’t see him for a few years, but in that time, I did start to notice things. Other people disappearing. Little babies, all boys, and girls, mostly around thirteen to fifteen. Sure, a lot of girls are given to the older men for wives, but our compound isn’t all that big. All the men have a lot of wives, and they like it that way. My mother had two boys. She was pregnant, then she had the babies. I heard, like all my siblings did, her in labor. Then, the next day, there was no baby and my mom would cry for weeks.

  “Then, my little sister, Annie, disappeared. I loved my sister. She was the sweetest girl you could ever know. We were pretty close, and when she was gone, I started asking around. I asked my daddy, and got my behind whooped for it. He said for me never to question my elders, so I asked other kids my age. A lot confessed to me that they had siblings go missing too.”

  They were all listening intently, but Matt had to stop, take another drink and calm himself. The rest of the story made him sick to his stomach.

  “I was seventeen when I first found out what was happening. See, the women would talk, and the story was that the girls were married off to men from other compounds like ours. Some of the mothers were proud that their girls were with men of good standing in other sects. The story always was that the men they’d been sent to were prophets themselves or elders or high up men. There were no visits, not even letters, though. No one could question or they’d be in trouble. I started suspecting things, but I was a good son, I never thought my daddy would do terrible things.

  “Me and a couple other boys my age, we snuck a truck and went to town one day. It was bad, we knew, but we all were pretty good, and I was the grandson and son of the prophets, so no one figured we’d get in trouble if by some chance we got caught.

  “We didn’t do much but hang around a dancehall, where the local high school was having a dance. The guys wanted to see sinner girls, and I just wanted to see if, finally, I could find one I liked.

  “My stepbrother, Dean, he was driving by and saw us. He stopped the car and grabbed me, pulling me away from the others. I was so happy to see him, but scared, you know, that somehow it would get back to my daddy that I was away and I saw him. He told me he was okay, that he hadn’t done what they said he did. He said he’d found out things and that’s why they took him away and banished him from ever going back or talking to any of us again.

  “I asked him what he’d found out, but he didn’t have time to talk. He was nervous, you know, with me being there with other compound guys. He made me swear to be careful, but to sneak out again and meet him by the boulder in Rolling’s Canyon. Sometimes, we’d all go there for picnics, so we could splash around in the creek nearby on hot days. I said I would, mostly because I missed him so much. We…he taught me a lot as a kid.”

  It was hard for him to remember. He’d been innocent up until then, ignorant of what was happening right there, to and by his own people. No one pushed for him to get on with the story, but he pushed himself. If he didn’t get it out, he might never do it.

  “I met him two days later, and he told me what he knew. He told me that grandpa and daddy were selling the girls and the baby boys from the compound. I didn’t believe him at first, argued that they were just at other compounds and the babies had died or something, but the more I tried to argue, the more I knew he was right. None of my arguments made sense.”

  “They…they were trafficking the girls?” Stacy was standing, ready to rush out the door, but he knew she wouldn’t. Anger surged through the room, but it was Stacy that looked as though she’d vomit.

  “Yeah. It wasn’t to other compounds. See, I went back, all that Dean said running through my head. I started watching, keeping track of the girls and the pregnant ladies. Sure enough, one of my mother’s cousins, she had a little boy. My mom cried for a week because her favorite cousin lost her baby. I cried seeing mom cry.

  “Then I went to talk to my daddy. I didn’t know what I was going to say. Well, I never got the chance. I was outside of daddy’s office. It was my grandpa’s office, though he was really sick by that time. Daddy was already taking over, and he became the prophet after grandpa. He was talking to some of the other elders, and I heard them. The baby boy had been sold to a childless couple in Nevada.”

  “Fucking baby brokers! Jesus, I knew people did that, but I thought it was with the mother’s consent,” Leo growled. “I can’t even fathom how they have the balls to do that.”

  “I knew I was risking my life, but that night, I stole Daddy’s keys and went in that office. I found the joy book. No, sorry, the joy books. One was for the elders in our compound, the girls that were going to marry them, but the other one…it was…different. There were pictures of the girls, just like the compound joy book, but this one had prices next to the girls.”

  “What’s a joy book, Matt?” Mac asked, his voice tiny as he listened to the story.

  Thinking how best to describe it, he said, “It’s like a scrapbook that has pictures of the young girls and other women who are ready to be married. The older women were to be taken from their husbands for something the husband did to make the others mad. The man who was to get a new wife would look through the book and pick which one he wanted.”

  Sitting hard, Stacy retook her seat and looked greener than before, and twice as angry. “Those sick fucks.”


  “It was all up to Daddy, though. He said yes or no, if they’d get the girls or not. Then the man, if he wanted the girl bad enough, he’d do special favors for Daddy. Money, mostly. All of the men in the compound and their families were supposed to tithe, that’s what gave the compound its resources. And more than the mandatory ten percent the regular LDS did. Everyone held back some, though, and that’s how they’d get the girls or other things they wanted. They’d grease Daddy’s palm.”

  Stacy asked, “You said not all the girls were for the men at the compound, though. How’d you know that?”

  “I remembered the girls from the other joy book, the ones with the prices next to them. When they left, they never came back. Over the next couple months, all the girls I saw in that one went away, supposedly getting married to men on other compounds, but no one ever heard from them. I went back to the boulder when Dean wanted to meet, and I told him how sorry I was for doubting him. He told me that we needed to do the right thing and help the babies and girls.”

  As Steve set his glass on the table, he ventured, “I can guess some of the rest. You both tried to call the police, maybe there was even an investigation, but they didn’t find anything wrong.”

  “We don’t have birth certificates. Only the girls being married into our compound are on the school records. The ones that disappeared would be like they never existed. Yeah, we called, but there was no evidence that anything was wrong, and if the cops kept coming, Daddy would have known someone inside was working against him.”

  Steve stood and nodded to him, putting him more at ease than he’d been since he’d woken up in the hospital. “I’m not unfamiliar with the sects of FLDS completely, and from what I gather, they act like the mob more than the military, like Matt described. I think, if they do know that Mr. Blaylock here helped, they will be on the lookout for you as much as Matt. Go home, protect yourself and your people. Matt will be fine here with us.”

  Standing in a rush, Mac yelled, “Go home? Who the hell’re you to tell me ta go home?”

  “Mac,” Leo pled, standing with him. “This is what we came for, to help Matt, and if our presence places him in danger more…”

  “I’m not puttin’ him in danger!”

  Matt told his cousin, “No, you’re not, but I’m putting you in it, and I can’t help the others if I’m worried about you. Please, Mac, go for now. When we need you, I will make sure you come back.”

  Leo gave Mac a look that deflated him visibly. Mac turned to Matt, sitting with him again. “Like I said, yer my fam’ly. I trust Stacy because Leo does, but I know our kin, and we tend ta git ourse’ves inta things that we shouldn’t. I git you need ta look after yer own, but don’t stick yer neck out so far as ta get yer head cut off.”

  It had been a long time since he’d opened his heart to anyone, but Mac’s eyes, pleading with him, and his sincere desire to assure Matt’s safety meant the world to him. He embraced his cousin and thanked him in a low voice, so only he’d hear. “I’m just doing what you’d do. Thank you, cousin. You don’t know what this meant to me already.”

  They sent off Mac and Leo, making them promise to call daily at least. Stacy closed the door and turned, her eyes drifting from Steve to him as she said, “Well, let’s finish the story and decide how to handle this.”

  Steve spoke up, quietly making his case. “Tomorrow. For now, let Matt rest. He’ll need his strength.”

  Chapter Four

  The sun wasn’t shining, in fact, Matt figured it wasn’t cracking over the eastern horizon yet. He lay in the bed of the spare room, the lamplight glowing over the pastel quilt and the light green walls that held pictures of meadows and trees in white wood frames.

  The room was comfortable, familiar somehow. It wasn’t overly decorated, there weren’t a lot of pillows or furniture. A tall pine dresser, matching night table, and comfortable old chair were all that the room held besides the bed. The lamp was simple, small, and the light was muted, enough to read by, maybe, but nothing that hurt his eyes upon waking.

  The wind was blowing outside, making a branch scrape the roof over his head. Other than that, it was quiet, leaving too much silence, allowing stray thoughts to creep into his mind.

  That wouldn’t do, so he got up, dressed back in his jeans and flannel shirt, hoping he could find the kitchen in the dark.

  A short hallway off the living room was where the room was located, and he remembered everyone that had gone the day before heading east from there to get the water. Padding softly over the wood floor, he found it, but he hadn’t needed to look hard. The light was on, and Steve was making coffee.

  “I guess I’m not the only early riser,” Steve said, looking up from the island counter as Matt came into the room.

  Standing on the other side of it, he admitted, “I have been up at four since I was little. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep in much later than that.”

  He was handsome in the morning, but that didn’t surprise Matt. Steve’s dark and Mediterranean good looks would be welcome any time of the day or night. The soft, rust colored shirt he wore, the long, velvety lounging pants fit him perfectly, right over his nice frame.

  The little smile he had as he reminisced put Steve more at ease than he had been. “I love mornings. Always have. It drives most people nuts about me.” He finished pushing the plunger down on the French press and asked, “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “The Mormon thing?”

  Laughing a little, Matt explained, “No, definitely not. It’s more of the ‘I just had some guys try to beat me to death thing, and I’m still a little jumpy over that’, thing.”

  His laughter wasn’t abrasive, deeper than his voice and throaty. “Sorry. That should have been obvious. I have herbal tea.”

  “Orange juice would be great, if you have it.”

  He held a finger up and turned to a basket on the counter behind him that held fruit, plucking two beautiful oranges from it, then retrieving a citrus press from a drawer below him. “Give me a couple minutes and I will.”

  He got a glass from the cabinet as Matt protested, “Don’t go to any trouble, please.”

  “No trouble.”

  As he cut the orange with a knife from the wood block next to him, Matt commented, “Most people use the electric kind, don’t they?”

  Another ghost of a smile as he scoffed, “I hate gadgets. If a person is going to do something right, he shouldn’t cut a lot of corners.”

  Matt scanned the kitchen, noticing there was no microwave, no drip coffee maker, or even a dishwasher that was so common with modern kitchens. And Steve’s kitchen was modern, thick wood countertops, sleek white cabinets, and nice appliances. Nothing like the old, rundown kitchens on the compound the women were forced to toil in. “Reminds me of home, but nicer.”

  “I even bake my own bread,” he bragged, then lowered his eyes as his cheeks darkened with a blush.

  When he was handed the glass of fresh squeezed juice, he thanked Steve and sipped, relishing in the tart sweetness. “This is delicious.”

  “You should taste my fruit punch. Maybe, while you’re here, I’ll make it, if I can find the fruit. I hate using things off season, but like the oranges, sometimes I have to.”

  They sat at the counter together on two sleek and unremarkable stools, one sipping strong coffee and the other sipping cool juice. When Steve started speaking, however, the juice soured on Matt’s tongue.

  “My parents were from Italy. My real name is Stefano Ricci, so I come from a very religious background too. The Catholic church loomed over my life like some presence, always there, not matter where I was or what I did. We prayed over every meal, we went to church three times a week. There, the incense, the candles, pageantry, it was hypnotizing. The smells alone bring back memories I can’t run from.”

  “It sounds amazing, but you also sound like that is in the past for you.”

  “When I was about ten, a priest touched me. I was close with my paren
ts and told them. It…it was hard. My mother cried for a week, my father wanted to kill him, but he was a priest and he thought he’d go to hell. It was all such a bad time. They spoke to the bishop, who sent the priest away, and we never stepped foot back in church.”

  Matt watched him, fingers spinning the cup around in his hands, his face shadowed as it hung.

  “I’m real sorry, Steve.”

  “I’ve had my therapy over it. When I figured out I was gay, I thought it was from that, then I learned to accept it and I told my parents, and they thought it was from that. It lingers, I guess.”

  Matt knew why he’d told his story then. He wanted Matt to be prepared for the trauma of everything he was experiencing to continue on, even after it was over. “I don’t think I’ll ever heal from it, but that’s what we do, humans. We heal. Someone told me that once. There will be scars and stuff, but there will be whole days when I don’t so much as think about any of this.”

  “It’s true. I hadn’t thought about mine much in years until I heard your story.”

  To change the subject, Matt pointed at the refrigerator. “Anything good in there? I’m not a terrible cook.”

  Steve glanced over at him and said, “I thought only the women were the cooks in compounds. How’d you learn?”

  “I watched. My mother, my biological mother, not the other ones, she’d let me sit at the table while she cooked. She’d teach me about spices and temperatures. Nothing gourmet, but I can flip eggs and cook bacon.”

  Steve laughed and thought it over. “Well, I’m out of bacon. I try not to keep it around, because I’m a little addicted to it and will eat a pound of it in one sitting.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Yeah. There is sausage, though, and eggs, yeah. I made bread yesterday that would be great French toast.”

  Suddenly, his stomach was growling and his mouth was filling with spit. “I’ll handle the eggs and sausage if you do the toast.”

  “Deal.”

  They cooked breakfast together, and it was calming to him, the chore that wasn’t a chore. Keeping his hands busy, his mind on something else.