by Frankie Love
The only diner in town is open and a woman named Rosie serves me coffee and scrambled eggs.
"And where are you traveling from?" she asks, hands on her hips as if it's her business to know every person's business who walks in here.
Figuring she may actually be the first step in finding my sister, I tell her the truth. "I'm looking for a woman named Harper, she's my sister."
Rosie about near drops her coffee pot. "You're James?"
Shocked that she knows who I am, I ask the obvious question. "Where is she?"
She sits down in the booth, opposite me. "She's not far. Up the mountain, less than a half-hour away."
"Can I get directions?" I wipe my mouth, already standing from the booth.
——
Twenty minutes later I'm pulling up to a gorgeous cabin. I whistle low, amazed at this custom home.
Before the shitty car is in park, Harper’s already running toward me with arms wide open.
"James," she says, her eyes filled with tears, she wraps me in a huge bear hug and doesn't let go. "You're so big. So tall. And you have a beard. You're all grown up!"
The thing is, Harper and I are just a few years apart, but the older we got, the farther apart we grew. Her warm embrace is more than I expected, but it isn't until she is hugging me that I realize how hard it’s been to not have anyone in my corner this past year. Jonah and I were lone rangers, doing the best we could to scrape by, and I never had time to dwell on the past—I only imagined my future with Cherish.
When she pulls back we take a good look at one another. She’s all grown up. She's a twenty-six-year-old wife and mother. Behind her, on the porch, are her triplets and little girl. They’re watching us intently, and then the boys start asking who I am, and what I'm here for.
"This is your Uncle James," Harper says. "My brother."
"You have a bro-bro?" a little guy asks.
I smile, kneeling before him. "Yeah, I'm your mama's little brother."
"Why have we never met you?" another boy asks.
At this, I look up at Harper who’s wiping her eyes. "Because, Cedar, sometimes life makes it hard to see the people you love."
"Did you miss him?" he asks his mama.
"Very much."
At this, her little ones beam. "Party?" the little girl asks. "Tea party, mama!?"
Harper laughs, picking up the little girl. "No tea party now. Later. Let mama have a cup of coffee with her brother first, okay?"
They listen, running into the house, and Harper and I follow behind them.
"Your home is beautiful," I tell her, noticing the custom woodwork, the fine banister, and built-in bookcases, the fireplace is massive, covered in river rock and is a focal point for the room.
The other place your eyes can't help but land on is the wall of family photos. There are dozens of frames: the kids sitting under a Christmas tree, fishing with their dad, photos of Harper and Jaxon on a TV set––the logo for a reality show behind them, and what looks like a big vacation with friends at a lake. Looking at them, I feel pride in my sister, for carving herself such a beautiful and rich life.
That is what I want with Cherish.
That is what I'm determined to find.
Harper calls to me from the kitchen, but before I turn to answer, my eyes land on another photograph of a family that isn't my sisters. The man's arms are covered in tattoos, and he’s holding newborn twins. Next to him are three more children, stair-stepped in age, looking about 3, 2, and 1. And with them is a woman I know. Well.
"Is that Honor?" I ask, choking on my words. Honor. As in Luke's Honor. As in, what the actual hell.
Then Cedar is back, standing beside me. "Yeah, that's Auntie Honor. And that's Uncle Hawk. You're my uncle, too. You should be best friends."
I walk into the kitchen with wide eyes. "Auntie Honor?" I shake my head, pulling up on a stool at the island. "What is going on here? Have you been to the compound? Where are mom and dad? The rest of our siblings?"
Harper pulls her lips together tight, pouring us coffee, and pausing a beat too long.
"It's a long story."
"I have nowhere to be." I take the coffee and lift it to my lips. "And I've got a story of my own."
"You go first," Harper says. "Where in God's name have you been?"
She tells me all about Honor running away—just weeks after I left— and then meeting Jaxon's cousin Hawk, falling love, and having his twins, just a few months ago.
And I explain what happened the night Abigail’s father and his buddies knocked me out and left me for dead on a freight train. By then I've finished two cups of coffee and am tired of talking.
"I can't believe they did that to you. I bet Abigail thinks you’re dead if she saw all that." Harper wipes a tear from her eye. "Well, I can believe it, I'm just so sorry. And Jonah is in Florida, all alone?"
"He had no reason to return. His family is as fucked up as ours, only he didn't have a woman to come back for."
"And you do?"
I look at her like she's crazy. "I've gotta find Cherish."
"Cherish?" Harper scrunches up her nose.
"Abigail."
Harper's face falls. "I wish I had an answer for you. After Honor and her sister-wives left, there was reportedly some police activity at the compound. No one left for a while, several months passed, but then the police cases were closed, and the compound had made right for whatever shady activity was going on."
"Then why did they go?" I ask.
Harper shrugs. "We have no idea, James. We only know they're gone at all because it was in the paper. No one up on the mountain has any contact with the Lord's Will Church... and we want to keep it that way. I have nothing against believing in God, or a higher power... but we have major issues with brainwashing women and children, and denying women rights to their bodies."
"Believe me, Harper, I'm on your side here. I don't want to see dad ever again; he was there when I was beaten with a shovel." I feel the anger rising within me, and I wish with all that I am that I could erase history, make the past disappear.
"They must have kept it real quiet. Honor thought you had run away or they ran you out. No one knew you were beaten and forced away like that."
I run a hand over my beard. "I know you want nothing to do with that cult, but I have to find it. Find her. Cherish is with them, and she is my everything, Harper."
She presses her hand to her chest. "I just don't want you finding them... they will kill you."
I see she’s broken up about what they did to me—and I understand—but what she doesn't realize is that I would do anything to get Cherish back.
"I don't have a choice, dammit. I love her."
At this Harper nods. "I'm just scared you're going to get hurt... and what if—"
I shake my head, ending the conversation. "There are no what-ifs when it comes to Cherish and me. I've loved her since I was four years old."
Harper bit her bottom lip, but neither of us says anymore. The truth is, she and I both know we have no idea where the cult went.
And I could be spending a long-ass time looking down dead ends to find her.
Later that night, once we've finished dinner, Jaxon and I are on the front porch having a beer, and looking out at his gorgeous piece of property. The sky is still blue, the days in July stretching nice and long, and the kids are outside on the playground their father built them.
Jaxon's a big burly guy, but I'm damn burly myself. Working construction in Miami has taken away all my soft edges and made my exterior hard in ways it never used to be.
"Look," Jaxon says. "We can always use a hand on our crew. I heard you've worked construction for years—you'd be an asset to us. You can stay here for a while until—"
"No, Jaxon, you don't get it." I set down my beer. "I know you and Harper think I'm headed off on a wild goose chase but—"
Jaxon cuts me off. "Hell no, you wanna find your woman? Good. I want that for you too. I don't want her living with
those motherfuckers. I want you to be happy. All I’m saying is, once you find her, what's your plan? Maybe get yourself a fucking house, a place your woman can make a home. Otherwise, it's gonna be damn hard to—"
Now it's my turn to cut him off. "I get it, Jaxon, I do. It's complicated and I need a plan. I realize—even if I do find where they've relocated—I can't just show up and demand she come with me. They almost killed me for being alone with her." I sigh, shaking my head. "But that doesn't mean I’m going to stop trying."
I've said my piece, and surprisingly it doesn't get me any pushback from Jaxon. Maybe he respects me for drawing a line in the sand.
"Look," I tell him. "I've been traveling for weeks. I'm exhausted and just need some space clear my head." Looking at all the kids fussing now over Harper's bedtime call, I know I need more peace and quiet than this house tonight. "I'm thinking of heading up to my uncle's old cabin and checking it out. Stay there for the night to just decompress. You been out there lately?"
Jaxon shakes his head. "Not in the last year or so. We thought about trying to buy the land from your father—the deed's in his name—but we didn't want to mess with him."
"I can understand that." Running my hand over my neck, I ask, "Do you have a sleeping bag I can borrow, maybe a few granolas bars or something to tide me over?"
Jaxon nods. "I can set you up with gear all right. I'll even throw in a bottle of whiskey. I'm thinking you could use a stiff drink or two."
Chapter Nine
Cherish
I've been up here a month. No one has come looking for me, thank God.
I'm cut off from the outside world, but I don't mind. In fact, I'm glad. I don't want to know what happened to everyone when they left the compound. Or if they left at all.
Knowing that kind of information is only going to stress me out and hold me back. Right now, I can't have that. Right now, I need to focus on my babies. On our survival.
Our future.
The cabin is in rough shape, but what's new? I'm in rough shape myself. But honestly, this place could be infested with rodents and I wouldn't mind. I'm experiencing the sweet taste of freedom for the first time in my life, and it’s more beautiful than I could've ever imagined.
We drove up here when it was late at night, and spent the first night in the van. I'd nurse one baby, buckle them back in their car seat, and then nurse the next. I rotated like that for hours, and eventually, they all passed out with milk drool on their chin. Then I could capture a few hours of rest myself.
The next day I got to work. On the lush, green grass I laid out a blanket and set my babies in a row while I began unloading my van. I wasn't intimidated by the undertaking—I was motivated by it.
I may be sheltered and naïve in some ways, and surely my education is lacking—but my common sense? It's at full throttle. After losing James, I stopped being so scared. Not outwardly, of course, I still maintained a meek and mild demeanor, and in a lot of ways, I didn't even have a choice in it. I was on bedrest for months.
But inwardly, the way I thought about things really began to change. I worked to forgive myself for having been scared for so long, not accepting the love that James had been offering me so freely.
I regret that I hadn't been able to. With all that I am, I regret that. He gave me a gift he'll never know he gave. His death opened my heart and mind. I wanted to be a braver and stronger mother for my children. I wanted to be the kind of woman James would be proud of. That is why I planned this exit. That’s why I'm here right now, digging up dirt in a tidy row, planting lettuce and spinach. That’s why I am at this cabin, creating a makeshift home, with no intention of leaving—because I am stronger now.
Eventually, someone will find me. I just have this sinking feeling, but it's not gonna happen for a while. Also, I can't sit around fearing what will happen next. I'm choosing to live today to its fullest capacity. I'm choosing to kneel before a patch of earth and plant tiny seeds, knowing that whatever pokes out of the ground will be food that will nourish me.
Inside the cabin, I hear a baby crying. There are bassinets in the one room cabin, and I stand, wiping my hands on my long cotton nightgown, it's much too hot for the heavy clothes I wore back at the compound. Taking my trowel with me, I set it on the front porch, along with my gardening gloves and then step inside.
I'm barefoot and my feet pitter-patter against the worn wood floor.
"Is that you fussing, Jamie?" I ask my little girl. The moment we drove away from the compound I stopped calling her Harmony, the name her father gave her, and I started calling her Jamie. After her father, of course.
I sit on the single rocking chair in the house. The wicker seat had broken, but I patched it up and made a cushion for it. Thankfully I remembered my sewing kit and several yards of fabric when I packed the van.
I've also made curtains for the window. I know it could be seen as silly, to be setting up shop here like this, when the truth is I am trespassing, but I've always wanted to have a place of my own. I've never been able to do that as a sister-wife. I was the youngest of George's, and certainly not one with a very loud voice, considering the bedrest.
I lay my girl back in her bassinet. She'd only been napping for about half an hour, so I’m surprised she woke at all, but now that she's fed, along with her brothers, I bet she'll be out for at least a few hours. Then all three will wake up, crying again to nurse, but they'll be in bed for the rest of the night except for the feedings.
I look at the clock and see that it's 7:30, and a hint of sunlight still shines through the windows. I stand and shut the curtains, and then take my most prized possession, my guitar, and carry it out to the porch.
Sitting on the steps I position my guitar in my lap and begin singing the song that I always return to; If God Only Knows. The one that I will probably always return to. The song that means more now than it ever did. The song that has become my heart's offering to James; a way to remember him now that he is gone.
As I'm strumming, I hear a car come up the road, quickly. My hands start shaking immediately, fear rising in my belly. The lyrics, God only knows what I'd be without you... I don't want them to be true. I want to know who I am when I am alone, I want to be strong and courageous even if I've lost half my heart.
I blink back my fear as the car comes to halt. I stand, pulling shut the door to the cabin, the only protection I can offer my babies.
The car engine cuts off within a matter of seconds; I don't have time to run even if I wanted. But I don't want to—I can't leave my children.
And then the man gets out of the car. A big burly, muscled man with a beard and—and oh my God.
He is here.
He isn't dead.
God only knows what I'd be without you.
I don't want to know.
And now you are here.
And I won't have to know.
I'm running then, tripping over my legs and falling to the ground and lying at his feet and pulling him to me and I don't how this is real—but it is. I touch his boots; they are leather and I cling to his legs and they aren't broken and I reach for his hands and they are rough and calloused and familiar.
He pulls me to him, refusing to let go.
And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. They are the eyes I see when I close my own at night. And his arms, they wrap around me, reminding me of the past.
And his lips, they find mine. And they bring me to the present.
The here and the now and our dream for a future.
His kiss.
His kiss.
It is real.
James is here.
And he is mine.
Chapter Ten
James
I pull her to me, she’s a mess of tears and long flowing hair and sunburned cheeks and she’s shaking.
Shaking like she saw a ghost.
"I thought you were dead," she says, pulling from my lips, sobs escaping her, her heart pounding so loudly I press my hand to her breast to steady it. Steady h
er. Touch her. Feel her.
She is real.
This is no dream.
This is destiny.
"I thought—" She covers her mouth, then she drops her hands and then they are on my rough face, over my beard, and through my long hair. "James, I thought you were gone."
I shake my head, pushing her loose hair from her tear-streaked face. "I'm not gone, love, I'm here. I'm here now."
"It's been... so long, James. I thought..." She shakes her head, and I wrap my arms tightly around her, hating to see her broken, unable to believe I've found her myself. What on God's green Earth is she doing here?
I take her hand, leading her to a big oak tree several yards from the house, because where else would I lead this woman?
I explain how I was left for dead; how Jonah kept me alive. How we struggled for a year but I was determined to come back here and fight for her... only to find that she was gone. That the entire compound was a ghost town.
"But then I came to see Harper, and decided to come here, to my uncle's old cabin until I came up with a plan as to how to find you... and here you are."
"You found me." She covers her eyes as tears continue to escape her. "I really thought you were dead, James, and I had no one I could talk about it with. I grieved you... I wept for you... and here you are."
I pull her to me, kissing her again, softly. "Here I am." I cup her face with my palms, our lips brushing, she smells like a wood fire and fresh air, like earth. She smells like hard work and determination, but more than that, she smells free.
And she looks free too. Different than I've ever seen her. Her hair is loose, not tied in a long braid. She isn't wearing a blouse, buttoned to the neck, and buttoned at the wrists. She isn't in her regular hand-sewn skirt either, she wears nothing but a nightgown.
"James," she whispers, leaning into my hand, pressing my other hand to her other cheek. "Is this a dream?"