The Book of David

by Kate L. Mary

  “What time is it?” Without warning, Jared grabs my left wrist and flips it over, turning my watch to face him.

  It’s as if his fingers are made of hot coals. I rip my hand from his grasp and scoot away. Suddenly, I find it difficult to draw in air. I gasp and wrap my arms around my waist, hugging myself as I keep my eyes down, focusing on the grass and not the man at my side. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t face him. Not with the way my body is trembling.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I shake my head, but it’s several minutes before I’m able to force myself to sit up straighter. The tremors haven’t subsided, and neither have the memories of David, but I want to seem strong even if I’m not.

  “I’m fine. It’s no big deal,” I tell him, keeping my gaze down but pretending it’s so I can look at my watch. I’m shaking too much to tell what time it is, though, and I have to steady my wrist with my other hand so I can read the dial. “It’s six forty-five. We should head back.”

  I scramble to my feet, careful to put space between Jared and myself. He tries to stand without putting strain on his injured ankle, but his face twists with pain, and he doesn’t make it far. He’s going to need help.

  I take a deep breath before offering Jared my hand. He pauses, staring at my outstretched hand for a second before taking it. Screams ring through my head when his skin touches mine, but I ignore them and pull him up. The second both his feet are planted firmly on the ground, I jerk my hand out of his and stumble back a few steps.

  Hugging myself, I start walking, taking deep breaths while Jared’s uneven steps follow me. It isn’t long before he falls in beside me, and even though my pulse is still racing, the disappointment of saying goodbye to him is undeniable. I never thought I’d meet someone in the commune I could talk to directly. Especially not a man.

  “It was nice talking to you today,” I say after a couple minutes of silence. “Maybe you can come again tomorrow? You know, since your ankle is injured, and you can’t really walk during reflection time.”

  I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and when he smiles, a sense of relief settles over me.

  “Sure.”

  The smile that curls up my own lips spreads through my body until I’m once again relaxed. This man has that effect on me. It’s strange, but thrilling, and I can’t help wanting to talk to him more. I had no clue anyone else in the community shared my views, and it feels nice to be understood for a change.

  The main building comes into view, and I spot my mother in the distance—her nervous habit of wringing her hands gives her away—and just seeing her makes my stomach tighten all over again.

  “My mother is waiting for me,” I say, pulling my cardigan tighter around my body like it will keep me safe.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Jared says softly, veering off to the left. Leaving me alone.

  I walk faster even though every inch of me wants to turn and run in the opposite direction.

  “Willow,” my mother calls as soon as I’m close enough that she doesn’t have to shout. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  The worry lines on her face are deeper than ever. I’m sure my mother used to be a pretty woman—I’m told we look a lot alike, and everyone says I’m beautiful—but years of depression and worry have taken their toll on her, and there’s nothing left of youth or beauty in her face. She’s slight and walks with her shoulders slouched. Her once-red hair is mostly gray, and even though it’s always in a bun, it still looks messy and uncared for. She has wrinkles on her forehead from constant worry, and frown lines deep enough that even when she isn’t frowning she looks like she is. Even her brown eyes have no youth left in them. What was my mother like before she let tragedy and sorrow destroy her life? I’ll never know. To me, she’s always been like this. An empty shell.

  “Did you forget about your dinner with David?” she asks, her frown lines growing even deeper.

  I try to keep my face blank. Try not to clench my jaw or bite my lip. It isn’t easy. I haven’t forgotten my dinner. All I was doing was trying to put it off for as long as possible.

  “No, Mother, I was on my way there.”

  She nods but doesn’t smile. “Good. I wanted to make sure you remembered.” She glances over her shoulder toward the main building. My stepfather is standing next to it, and even from a distance his body is visibly shaking with anger. “I have to go. George is waiting.”

  “Of course. I’ll see you at home,” I say, trying my best not to glare at my mother’s husband.

  George’s first wife died five years ago, and he was only allowed to marry a widow. Since my mother was the only widow in our community younger than he was, it was natural for Father David to ordain their union. They’ve been married for close to two years now, since shortly after we relocated to Mt. David. I knew right away he wasn’t a good man, and it only took a month for me to notice the bruises. I may hate her at times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate him more.

  She hurries off, and I clench my hands into fists when he shoves her toward the building. Only my stepfather could distract me from David like this.

  Watching my mother bow to the will of her husband like it’s her duty makes me wonder what my own father was like. Was he an abusive man as well? I don’t know because she’s never really told me much about him, but I hope not. Maybe she was a more secure person back then. Maybe before she lost everything in the blink of an eye, she believed in herself. Believed she deserved a little bit of happiness. I’ll never know for sure, though, because she doesn’t talk about the past. She probably isn’t allowed.

  My mother and George disappear into the community building and my thoughts are once again on David. When I look down, the minute hand on my watch screams at me. It’s already a little after seven, and I know he’ll be waiting for me, probably impatiently. I have to go, but it takes a few moments of careful breathing before I’m able to make myself move. David isn’t going to be happy that I’m late.

  It’s Friday, the night we have our community meal. Every other night of the week, with the exception of celebration nights, we eat in our homes with our families. Right now, everyone in the community is on their way to the main building, and heading toward the houses makes me feel like I’m swimming upstream. The sin of envy curls its ugly fingers around my stomach, squeezing it tight. I wish I were going there right now instead of David’s house.

  The closer I get, the faster my heart beats. Will Father David and Mother Ruth be joining us for dinner? I doubt it, and the idea of being alone with my betrothed makes my stomach turn inside out. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat with this ache moving through me.

  I stop on the doorstep, taking a couple deep breaths as I try to work up the courage to knock, but my arms are cemented to my sides.

  Get it together, Willow. You can do this.

  I don’t know if it’s true.

  Before I have a chance to make my body cooperate, the door opens, and I take a step back, trying to put space between the man in the doorway and myself.

  Something close to anger swims in David’s eyes when he says, “You should try harder to be on time.”

  “I’m sorry, David.” I look down, both unable to meet his gaze and wanting to give off the impression of submissiveness.

  The sigh he lets out is long and deep, and I can’t stop myself from venturing a look his way. The annoyance is gone, and the artificial smile is back on his face, but his eyes are still cold. He steps back and opens the door wider, motioning for me to enter.

  Taking a deep breath, I walk forward, trying not to tremble when I pass my future husband. Heat from his body seeps into me, making it difficult, but I manage to hold it together.

  At least until the door clicks shut behind me.

  I spin around and come face to face with David. We’re inches apart, and when he exhales, his moist breath sweeps across my face.

  “My mother made dinner. It’s waiting fo
r us,” David says, motioning toward the small kitchen table.

  I move that way obediently, walking sideways. Tremors have worked their way up my limbs, and I can’t take my eyes off David. Can’t stomach the idea of putting my back to him, not even for a second.

  “Are you still ill, Willow?” David asks, tucking his brown hair behind his ear. “Your mother said you were better, but you’re acting strange. Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I reply.

  I take a seat, gripping the edge of the table like it will help ground me. David’s plate is right across from mine, thank God. We’ll have the entire table between us.

  He sits, his eyes on me the entire time, but there’s no food on the table. That’s when it hits me. The dinner is still in the kitchen, and I’m expected to serve him.

  I stumble when I get to my feet, barely catching myself as I head to the kitchen. My hands are trembling, and when I pick up the covered dish, I have to put it down for fear I might drop it. How am I going to serve food without spilling it everywhere when I can’t even control my own limbs? I’m not sure, but I know I don’t have a choice. Somehow, I have to get through this.

  Taking a deep breath, I try again, and this time I manage to carry the casserole dish to the table without spilling it. I scoop out a big helping, plopping it on David’s plate before putting some on my own. Two small pieces of chicken drop onto the table, but otherwise I do a pretty good job.

  I take the dish back into the kitchen, returning with a basket of bread. When I set the roll on his plate, David frowns and nods toward the dish sitting in the center of the table. “Butter.”

  I swallow. “Of course.”

  Tremors shake my hands as I spread butter onto the roll, and I look up to find David smiling in approval. When I set the bread back on David’s plate, his hand covers mine. I want to jerk it away, but I know I can’t. I can’t do anything that might bring his father’s wrath down on me. Plus, I physically can’t. It’s as if his touch has somehow turned me into ice, which makes no sense because it feels like flames are licking at my skin where his hand covers mine.

  “You’re doing a good job, Willow.” David’s eyes move to my lips, and then down. “You’ll make a good wife.”

  It feels like I’m dragging a hundred-pound weight when I pull my hand out from under his. “Thank you.”

  My eyes are on my plate when I slip back into my chair. David watches me, pausing before he lifts his fork. I know what he’s doing even if he doesn’t say it. I’m not allowed to take a bite before him, and he’s testing me. Waiting to see if I will do as I’ve been trained. I keep my hands in my lap, and David smiles as he finally lifts the fork to his mouth.

  When he’s swallowed his first bite, I force myself to pick up my own fork. My stomach is twice as uneasy as it was before, but I take a bite anyway. It’s like rocks dropping into my stomach when I swallow.

  Silence surrounds us, and I do my best to keep my eyes down while we eat. If I don’t look at him, I can pretend he isn’t here. That’s what I tell myself, anyway, but I can feel David’s eyes boring into me, piercing me like knives, and I eventually look up.

  He’s watching me with a little smirk on his face. My hands have stopped shaking, but my legs haven’t. I try my best to control the movement, not wanting to jiggle the table too much, but the look on his face only makes it worse.

  “You’re nervous,” David finally says, still smiling.

  His voice echoes through the empty room, and I drop my fork. It bangs against the ceramic plate, making a loud clinking sound that radiates through the house. It’s like we’re the only two people in the world.

  He reaches out and tries to take my hand, but I recoil from his touch.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to be nervous,” he tells me.

  I don’t respond because I can’t. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my lips won’t move. I swallow, but it doesn’t help.

  David frowns and his eyebrows pull together. He clears his throat. “I want you to know I forgive you. I understand you were only fifteen, and you were scared. I’m sure it was all very overwhelming at such a young age. But maybe it was all for the best, you know? You had to be punished, but you repented. That’s the important thing. We’re going to be happy together.”

  I can’t catch my breath.

  He believes it. Everything his father has taught him, he believes it all. He really thought he was doing God’s will when he took my innocence that night. He really believes my punishment was just, and that living a life of servitude should make me happy as long as it’s God’s will. It should make me hate him less, because he honestly didn’t know what he was doing was wrong, but it doesn’t. It makes me hate him more. Only I’m not sure why.

  He stands and rounds the table, giving me the plastic smile that makes him seem both unreal and lethal at the same time, and fresh tremors shake my body. He has that look in his eyes. The same one I saw on his face the night of our betrothal and this morning in my living room.

  “David…” I croak, trying to find my voice.

  I can’t get anything else out, and before I know it, he’s in front of me.

  He grabs me by the arms and pulls me to my feet, pressing his body against mine. I want to scream, but I can’t do anything. We’re almost at eye level, and his gaze bores into me like fire.

  “I was worried about you this morning,” he says, his hot breath blowing across my face and causing bile to rise in my throat. He leans even closer, his mouth brushing my ear. “But it was amazing, seeing you after all these years. I can’t wait until you’re mine. You have no idea how hard these past three years have been. Wanting you more and more with each passing day. You’re all I’ve thought about.” My face is turned away from his, but he takes my chin in his hand and forces me to look him in the eye. “I don’t want to wait. I know we should, but three weeks seems like an eternity after this morning. Seeing you like that— ”

  His lips cover mine, and he shoves his tongue in my mouth. It’s warm and moist, like a slug heated by the sun. Despite my fear, I find myself pushing against him, trying to fight him off, but he’s too strong, and it only takes a second for all the memories to come crashing back, freezing me all over again. My body shakes, but my limbs are heavy, and I find it impossible to move. I’m petrified by terror.

  When his hands move over me, snaking up my body, I squeeze my eyes shut as tight as I possibly can, willing it to end as soon as possible. Pretending I’m somewhere else. Wishing I were dead.

  “David!”

  My future husband’s hands fall away, and I stumble back. My eyes fly open to find his father standing by the front door, frowning at his son. As I pull myself together—buttoning my blouse and tucking in my shirt—I can’t help thinking about how ironic it is that my salvation came in the form of Father David. That’s something I never thought would happen.

  My hands are shaking when I run them over my head, trying to smooth down my hair. Mother Ruth steps inside, shutting the door behind her, her head bowed the entire time. It’s as if she’s only a spectator, not the mother of the man who was just discovered mauling me.

  In contrast, Father David takes control of the situation by grabbing his son, gripping his upper arm tightly in his fist. “My apologies, Willow, David was obviously not thinking. If he had been, he would have respected you more.”

  His tone is slightly mocking, and it brings me back to reality. Helps me find a little bit of courage. Unlike his son, Father David doesn’t frighten me. Even though I take his threats very seriously, I am not afraid of him.

  The irony of this man talking about respect isn’t lost on me, either. He treats his wife like a servant, not to mention the fact that he regularly allows fifteen-year-old girls to be violated. I want—no, need him to know I don’t buy into his lies, so I stand up straight and meet his gaze.

  My courage only takes me so far, though, and I remain silent.

  Father David is no fool, despite
how idiotic this cult is, and it’s no surprise when his brown eyes sweep over me in disapproval.

  “Apologize to your betrothed,” he tells his son, his focus still on me.

  “I’m sorry, Willow. It won’t happen again.”

  David stares at the ground, more repentant than I’ve ever seen him, and it hits me for the first time that he is scared of his father. It’s obvious by the way he won’t meet Father David’s gaze, and it has me wondering what goes on in this house when the doors are closed. What this man of God is really like when the eyes of his flock aren’t focused on him.

  “I would like to go home,” I say then wince at the firmness of my tone.

  I need to be more submissive.

  Father David steps aside so I can get to the door, but he doesn’t release his son’s arm. “Of course. Please let your mother and father know how truly sorry I am that this happened.”

  I nod even though I have no intention of telling my mother this story, and since I don’t speak to George, he won’t be hearing it from me either.

  Mother Ruth opens the front door for me, keeping her head bowed. I rush to move past her, but just as I walk by, her eyes dart up to meet mine. There’s no fear or pain in her eyes. Only pity. And it’s directed at me.

  Chapter 5

  Those first few days with Annabel and Abe opened a whole new world for me. Everywhere I turned, there were new and exciting things. It was like I’d been blind my entire life and finally gained the ability to see, and I couldn’t get enough of the world. Couldn’t take in enough information, couldn’t ask enough questions. I wanted to know it all, wanted to experience everything. My wonderment at the world even helped ease some of the pain that had followed me through the desert when I fled the compound.

  I’d always known my birthday was April sixteenth, but not what year I was born or what year it currently was because The Children didn’t keep track of time the way they did in the outside world. But I didn’t want Annabel and Abe to realize just how secluded my life had been, so I tried hard to hide my surprise instead of letting it out like I had with the orange juice. I had a feeling that if they were to discover how just how little I’d been taught, it would make them more determined than ever to learn where I’d come from.