Before Kelvin even says anything, I shake my head, hard, and back away. I know he wants me to go in there but there’s no way.
“Go as far back as you can,” he whispers, pushing me forward. He’s so anxious he doesn’t even realize that I’m resisting, or if he does, he doesn’t care. I duck and reach to pull the chain dangling from the lightbulb, but he bats my hand away. “Leave it!” he orders, and then, with a final push, I’m in the room, the door closes and I hear the latch slide into place. My world goes black, and the cold seeps under my skin.
Reaching out to where the door should be, I feel for a handle, but there is nothing on this side. I shove it with my shoulder, but it doesn’t budge. A shudder runs through me, my mouth opens to scream, but then I hear the clatter of heels on the floor above my head. Male voices are raised in anger, but I can’t make out the words.
I clamp my mouth shut and swallow the panic. Hunching over, I try to do as he said, but my head keeps cracking on the low ceiling. Getting down on my hands and knees, I attempt to crawl, but my stupid dress makes that impossible. I tuck the hem into my apron and creep forward on my hands and knees, like an animal. Deeper and deeper I go into the darkness. When my head smacks against the far wall, I sit down and rest my back against it, drawing my knees up to my chest. I circle them tight with my arms and drop my head. Something tickles my cheek and I swat at it. Was it a spider? I shudder again.
A wave of claustrophobic panic threatens to undo me, but I clench my jaw, knowing that something serious is happening upstairs and I have to remain calm. In my old life, when I was first living on the streets, an experienced girl taught me a technique for making the time with customers go by faster. I learned to detach my mind from my body, and I’d travel to faraway, exotic places. I imagined hot sand between my toes on a white sand beach in Mexico, the burning heat of the sun scorching my skin, or the cold slap of wind as I cycled through the foothills in Nepal. My adventures were endless, and each day I searched the Internet for more and more places to travel to in my mind. Maybe it will work here too. I hunker down, letting my mind drift.
The down quilt covering me is thick but weightless. I sink back into the fluffy pillows and gaze out the window at the snowcapped mountain peaks of the Swiss Alps. I stroke the Saint Bernard dog who is lounging on the bed beside me, panting happily. I press my forehead to his and scratch him behind the ears, not even minding his doggy breath. If he were a cat he’d be purring. I am safe, warm and loved. There is food to eat and family to hang with...
A sudden stomp on the floor over my head snaps me back to the present. The angry voices are still at it in the room over my head. I try to find my way back to that imaginary bed in the cozy room, but I’ve begun to shiver and I find I’m no longer able to detach. What is going on upstairs?
I squeeze my knees even tighter to my chest. I thought the police had given up on me. We first got to know one another when I was just a little girl, living with my mom. Social workers used to arrive on a regular basis, sometimes to take me to foster care and sometimes to check on our living conditions. I realize now that even though she was into drugs and hadn’t a clue about how to bring up a kid, Mom loved me like crazy, so she raised hell at the sight of them. I was all she had and she didn’t want to lose me. She’d push me behind her and throw pots and pans at the social workers, swearing her head off. They began bringing police protection with them. By the time I was twelve, I no longer waited for the social workers to rescue me from her. I’d begun running away from home, and the situation reversed. The police began returning me to her.
There’s only so many ways for a thirteen-year-old girl on her own to survive, and it seems there’s nothing you can’t get used to after a time. That’s when the police started dragging me to group homes, and then juvie jail, but the situation never changed. As soon as I was released, I was right back on the streets. It was the only thing I knew how to do. I couldn’t make it in school. I was too different from the other kids, and they never failed to remind me of that.
Everything changed when I met Jacob. At first I thought he was just another customer, but he only wanted to take me out for lunch once a week when he came to town to pick up a load of fertilizer. After a time I grew to trust him. He began telling me about Unity, and it sounded like a nice place with everyone working together for the common good. Despite that, I don’t think I would have agreed to come with him if it weren’t for the close call...
My shivering turns to shudders and I squeeze my eyes tight. I’ve been able to forget this horror, until now...
He was going to murder me. In sickening detail he described how he was going to do it...carving my naked body with his hunting knife...slowly getting deeper...nicking my organs. The pain would be severe, but not so severe that I’d pass out and escape the torture. He said that I would pay for my sins as the others had done before me, starting with his mother. There was nothing I could do, my hands were tied behind my back. I had to listen to him, my stomach a huge cramp as his car hurtled down the highway.
And then the doe was there...in the center of the highway... her eyes large in the car headlights. It was as if time stood still for a moment, the deer looking directly at me, telling me she was there to protect me. He slammed on the brakes, swerved to miss her, lost control and hit a tree instead. It knocked us both out cold, and when I awoke I was in the emergency room of the hospital. The man had disappeared as soon as he came to, and I snuck out before social services got involved.
I saw Jacob the next day and he asked about the bruises on my face. I told him about the doe, and he looked at me with awe and said I must be one of the chosen ones. That God put that doe there to save me.
I wouldn’t have bought into it but I couldn’t get the eyes of that doe out of my mind. She really did appear to be sending me a message, and in the state I was in, I was willing to believe it was a message from God. So when Jacob once again invited me to come here, I gladly agreed. I knew I couldn’t do that work again anyway, and I had nothing to lose. I convinced myself that I would be happy living here, even if it was so old-fashioned. Maybe God truly was looking out for me, and putting Jacob in my life was His way to keep me safe. No more cold nights on the streets. No more arrests. And for the most part I have been content.
Heavy footsteps bang down the stairs. I curl up as small as I can and squeeze my eyes shut. I hear the latch being unfastened and the door creaks open. Holding my breath, I will myself to be invisible.
I don’t dare open my eyes, but even with them shut, I know the beam of a flashlight is exploring the crawl space. Am I far enough back? A throat clears and feet shuffle on the floor. Have they discovered me? Just when I think I can’t hold my breath another second, the light blinks off, throwing me back into pitch-blackness, and the door is yanked shut. My breath escapes in a whoosh.
The feet clomp up the stairs and I don’t hear any more voices. It feels like forever until I hear the sound of car tires scraping along the gravel driveway again. A moment later a single set of footsteps descends the stairs and the door opens.
“Taviana, you can come out.”
My arms and legs have cramped up, but I struggle toward the light. My knee traps my dress under me and I hear it rip. Kelvin offers me a hand when I reach the door. Blinking in the bright light, I stiffly follow him back up the stairs and into the kitchen, where his wives and some of the older children have congregated. Nanette is there but, just like everyone else, she avoids making eye contact with me. All their faces are serious and no one is talking. Even Celeste’s mom, Irene, is here, which is surprising as she’s on complete bed rest now. It’s Irene who gives me a mug of herbal tea and a sympathetic look. I accept the tea gratefully. I’m cold, right down to my core.
“I guess you know that we just had a visit from the police, Taviana,” Kelvin says to me. He lowers himself into a chair at the head of the large table and motions for me to take one.
I nod and carry on rubbing my arms with my hands. I feel a shawl
being draped over my shoulders and turn to see Irene stepping away.
“They accused us of keeping you here against your will,” he tells me.
“That’s not true,” I say. “I could leave anytime I want.”
He nods. “And I appreciate all the help you’ve given my wives, especially now, with Irene’s condition being what it is.”
Irene and I make eye contact, and she smiles warmly again. I do my best to smile back.
“The trouble is,” Kelvin continues, “our small community needs to keep a very low profile in the greater world. The laws of this country conflict with the laws of our faith, but because we keep to ourselves and don’t cause any trouble, we are left alone.”
I had wondered how they got away with the plural wife thing.
“We are also protected by laws that entitle us to religious freedom, to practice our faith.”
There’s a banging at the front door and we all jump in unison. Deborah makes eye contact with Kelvin, and he nods. She leaves the kitchen. I can feel the increased tension in the room as we wait to see who’s there. A moment later, Jacob and the Prophet enter the room, followed by Deborah.
Jacob’s eyes meet mine, and I see the concern in them. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I just nod.
Kelvin is standing again, clearly anxious at finding the Prophet in his home.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Clearly it has not been a good evening,” the Prophet replies. He glances about the room but stops when he sees me. I watch as he sizes me up. “I would ask, please, that we be left alone with only the men and this one girl.” His eyes are still fixed on me.
Kelvin nods. “Ladies, children, off you go.”
The room clears and the Prophet and Jacob join Kelvin and me at the table. I want to drink my tea, yet I feel it might be rude in their presence. I wrap my cold hands around the warm mug instead.
“The police came to my home first tonight,” the Prophet says, “accusing us of harboring this...this runaway.”
I feel my face burn, and I drop my gaze to my lap.
“Apparently some boys from Highrock reported talking with her here late one evening.”
Uh-oh.
“I told them I knew nothing about a runaway,” he continues, “but they snooped about until some innocent child revealed where she was living. I saw one of my boys hightail it over here to warn you, and I’m assuming he arrived in time.”
“Yes, sir, he did,” Kelvin says.
“Kelvin,” the Prophet continues, “I clearly had a lapse in judgment when I agreed to let this girl live here. I don’t need to explain to you why we can’t be drawing attention to Unity, especially police attention. Surely you remember what happened in ‘92, when all our children were dragged from their beds in the night and taken to Springdale? Reporters and police officers descended upon our little community, and our faith became the target of vicious accusations. Pictures of us were splashed on the front pages of newspapers right across the nation. It’s taken us years to put that event behind us and carry on living the simple peaceful life we strive for.”
“I remember it well,” Kelvin says.
“So the question is,” the Prophet says, “why are we tempting a repeat of that event by harboring a runaway in our community?”
For a man who is supposed to be so great and wise and the channel through which God speaks to us, he sure is insensitive. I’ve been treated like family here and don’t appreciate being called a “runaway.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Jacob says, stepping into the conversation and rescuing Kelvin. “It is I who brought Taviana to Unity. I found her living on the streets, and she told me a story that led me to believe she’s one of God’s chosen people. I could see that she needed a safe and caring place to live. You may not realize it, sir, but Taviana has been a good and obedient member of our community. She works hard at whatever task she is given.”
Kelvin takes it up from there. “Taviana has been a contributing member in my home over the past few months. My wife Irene is struggling in her current condition, and Taviana has been a tremendous help to her.”
“That may well be,” the Prophet says, “but because of her, the police are now questioning our traditions again. Tonight one of them said that they ‘know’ of things that go on in this town. I did not like the tone of his voice or what he was implying. I cannot allow this girl to continue living among us and drawing attention our way. I have the safety of our whole community to consider. She must leave immediately.” He pushes back his chair and stands up.
“With all due respect, sir,” Jacob says, also rising to his feet, “my conscience would not allow me to send her back to the life she was leading.”
“Then send her somewhere else,” the Prophet says.
“Perhaps you could ask for the Divine’s guidance,” Jacob says quietly, “and assign her to a husband.” He hesitates before continuing. “I would be honored to have a woman such as her as a wife.”
A woman? A sister wife? I can’t believe I’m hearing this.
The Prophet glares at him. “That would only make matters worse,” he snarls. “You know exactly what they would say about us then. It’s one thing to assign our own daughters to husbands, but something altogether different with a Gentile’s daughter.”
There is a silence in the kitchen. I can hear the floorboards creaking upstairs as the others get ready for bed.
“You have one week, Jacob, to find her a different place to live. She is no longer welcome in Unity or in The Movement.”
He stomps out of the kitchen and slams the front door behind him. Babies all over the house cry out as they are startled awake.
Jacob, Kelvin and I remain at the table in stunned silence. Eventually Kelvin speaks. “Nanette came to me last night, Taviana. She mentioned that Celeste is having impure thoughts and that you may be responsible for them.”
I don’t answer. I doubt his oldest daughter is the only girl in Unity having impure thoughts.
“Perhaps you have overstayed your welcome after all,” he says. “I will help Jacob find a place for you to live in Springdale, or somewhere else, and we will try to find you work as well. I’ll certainly vouch for your character and your work ethic.”
I push my chair away from the table and stand up. “I never asked to come here,” I tell the men. “Jacob invited me. I was surviving on my own before, and I will survive again. I don’t need you to find me anything. A ride into Springdale tomorrow is all that I need.”
“Taviana...” Jacob begins.
His eyes look so sad, and I think about how he offered to marry me to keep me here. “Thanks for all you’ve done, Jacob,” I tell him. “This isn’t your fault. You rescued me, and I’ve had a safe place to live for a year and a half. I have learned a lot. I appreciate that.”
He looks like he’s about to cry. It would do the Prophet good to take some sensitivity training from this man.
I leave the kitchen and begin to climb the back stairs to the upstairs bedrooms. Just as I reach the landing, I hear the back door creak open. I watch to see who could be coming in. A face peeks around the door, checking to see if the coast is clear. It’s Celeste! Our eyes meet and I wave for her to go back outside.
Her eyes open wide, but she gets the message and steps back out the door. I continue up the stairs to the bedroom and climb into bed.
Chapter Seven
CELESTE
As soon as I poke my head in the house, I know that something has happened here tonight. It’s like the air is electrically charged. It’s late and everyone should be in bed, but Taviana’s signal lets me know that someone must still be up. I step back outside and cross the yard to the barn. I hope Taviana will come and get me when it’s safe to go in.
The minutes tick by. I crouch in the wet grass and lean against the barn wall. Looking up, I’m awed by the starry heavens. The moon is a slender crescent in the sky. I breathe deeply and let the stillness of the evening float gently d
own on me.
I should be worried. I should be remorseful. Instead I can’t stop smiling. It feels exhilarating, being outside late at night, alone. I am not supposed to be here. I was not supposed to be at the river. A week ago I would have suffered agonizing guilt for such behavior, but today I’m only feeling a rush of joy at getting away with it. What has happened to me?
Eventually I see a figure slip out the side door of the house.
“Taviana, over here,” I call out quietly.
Taviana makes her way over to where I’m crouching and takes my hand in hers. I can feel her shaking. Or is it me that’s shaking?
“Let’s go inside,” I say, nodding toward the barn.
Sliding the door open, we slip through and inch our way down the corridor. Light from the moon shines through the broken slats in the walls and roof, but our eyes aren’t yet accustomed to the dim light. We stumble upon a pile of old horse blankets that have been thrown into a corner. Taviana pulls me down onto them with her and we tug one over us to keep warm. I breathe in the musty scent of sweaty horse.
“Okay, you first,” she tells me. “Where have you been?”
“I met Jon by the river.” The words simply burst out of my mouth. So much for keeping it my little secret.
As soon as the words are out, I realize how inadequate my description of the evening is. I need to expand on it, explain how special it was, how scary, how sad and how exciting, but before I have a chance, she has her arms around me in a hug.
“Celeste! You monkey! I’d hoped that’s what you were going to tell me, yet I didn’t really believe you’d do it.”
“You hoped?”
“Yeah, well, I know it’s breaking rules and all that, but it’s so clear you and Jon are hot for each other.”
“Hot for each other?”
“Just an expression. So, spit it out. What happened?”
“Well.” I sit back, remembering. “First we built rock statues.”
“You what?”
I laugh at her question. “You remember that boy I told you about who made that amazing tower out of perfectly balanced rocks, the one that I destroyed?”
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