Deceived: Lured from the Truth (Secrets)

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Deceived: Lured from the Truth (Secrets) Page 13

by Melody Carlson


  “I thought he didn’t usually eat in the dining room.”

  “Not usually. But he ate lunch there today. And he was singing your praises.”

  I notice someone walking around the corner of the barn. So as we earlier agreed upon, I simply wave and keep walking as if I’m continuing on my way. Meanwhile, Josiah continues to wash the crates — crates that have probably never been so clean.

  I’ve already been informed that my study group will be led by Celeste. Not in her home though. Darlene Spencer, a wife of one of the deacons, is the host of Celeste’s group. And Darlene’s home looks more like what I expected Celeste’s to look like. Homespun and humble and slightly sparse. But in some ways it feels more comfortable to me than Celeste’s house.

  Now I’m given my second book since arriving here. It has an amateurish drawing of a rose on the cover and seems to have been written specifically for women. Judging by the table of contents, it’s about things like modesty, servitude, being a good wife, and preparing for motherhood. However, if I didn’t know better, I’d think it had been written a couple of centuries ago. I want to question some of the things I’m hearing, but that wouldn’t go over too well.

  Besides that, I know I should be honored to be included. It’s an elite group; I can just feel it. And although I’m clearly at the bottom of this feeding chain, I’m surprised I’ve been included at all. But at the same time, I’m flattered. And I’m slightly amazed at how I’m able to make myself fit in with these women. In some ways I probably fit in better with them than I do with people on the outside.

  The next week passes with the reassuring regularity of an expected routine. No surprises. And although the work is demanding and tiring and it feels like Eleanor is putting more and more responsibility on me, I like the challenge. And I like that people seem to appreciate a varied menu with tasty food. That makes me feel good. And it feels good to fall into bed exhausted every night, knowing I’ve done my best and someone is noticing. Plus it’s so quiet here that I sleep like a log.

  Besides working in the kitchen, I participate in Miriam’s advanced sewing class, and the women in there are impressed by my skills. I also attend all the church services as well as my women’s study group. By the end of my second week here, I feel like I’m very much a part of this community. And I feel happy.

  At the same time, I’m struggling with some guilt issues. I feel slightly hypocritical for my secret meetings with Josiah. I’m pretty sure that Celeste and Reverend Jim would not approve. And yet in a way I feel like they might secretly approve.

  Celeste drops little hints, as if she’s already planning a wedding for Josiah and me. And although it seems silly to consider marriage at my age, the idea is starting to grow on me. I don’t mind that these women might be grooming me to become Josiah’s wife. I think I would make a good wife, and I can imagine spending the rest of my life with Josiah.

  But when I imagine what my mom or some of my friends would say, I realize I could be living in a dream world. And that’s when I start to feel very confused. For that reason I’ve decided not to think about what people on the outside might say or do. Like Reverend Jim says again and again, “The world despises us because they despise God. We should expect nothing less than hatred and persecution from them.”

  That’s just one more reason to be thankful that I don’t have access to my cell phone. I can’t imagine having conversations with anyone on the outside. Even when I speak to Mom, I keep it brief and guarded.

  “You’re mature for your age,” Celeste tells me after my third study group meeting. “Some people grow up faster than others. I can tell you’re one of those.”

  “Thanks,” I murmur, trying to imitate the humility I’ve seen demonstrated by the other women in this group. They seem to be that way naturally, but I’m determined I can be more like that. I want to be more like that. I realize pride and arrogance are of the devil.

  “But I’m sure I have a long ways to go,” I tell her as I walk her to her house. For some reason accompanying her home has become a habit. A habit I enjoy. It makes me feel special being with Celeste. I’ve almost reconciled myself to the jealous glances this earns me. Because I’m beginning to realize this is their problem not mine.

  “Yes, we all have a long way to go, Rachel, but you’re coming along very nicely.”

  The way Celeste says this reminds me of something Eleanor might say while checking on a large roast. However, I know Celeste means this as a compliment. And coming from the wife of our leader, it is high praise indeed. I’m working so hard to fit into my new family. Sometimes I question myself and my motives on this — am I trying too hard? Am I trying to fit in, or am I simply trying to outshine the others? If it’s the latter, I need to work harder on humbling myself.

  “The devil uses pride to devour the soul,” Reverend Jim says often. “Servitude and humility are the antidote to pride.”

  Now I follow Miriam’s example every night, by hitting my knees before going to bed. At first I just did this because I knew it would please her. It was also a good way to deflect her inquisitions regarding my whereabouts after spending time with Josiah. But after a while, I began to sincerely apply myself to my prayers.

  Reverend Jim says that God expects us to pray regularly. He says that each minute we spend in God’s presence secures three minutes in heaven — whether it’s time spent in meetings or servitude or prayer, it all adds up. And since eternity is so much longer than our earthly lives, we need to ensure that we have plenty of time stockpiled for later use.

  But when I mention things like this to Josiah, thinking he’ll be proud of me for my spiritual devotion, he seems slightly indifferent. Sometimes he even changes the subject. And sometimes I wonder if we’re in different places spiritually. What if I outgrow him? The idea of this is so disturbing that I can barely consider it. Because the truth is: Josiah is the reason I’m here. Without Josiah I wouldn’t have done any of this. But that’s even more disturbing. God is supposed to be the reason I’m here.

  By mid-August, I notice that there can be a little nip in the air in the evenings. That’s because we’re in the mountains. According to Celeste, there’s still plenty of warm weather left. But because of the cooling temperatures, Josiah decided to build a protective structure in the woods for us — our secret hideaway. He’s worked hard to pile up old logs and branches, creating a small hut that’s so well camouflaged, you can’t even see it until you nearly stumble onto it. Down a twisting path and a good distance from the footbridge, our private getaway reminds me of a hobbit house.

  Josiah says we’ll really appreciate our little hut when the weather starts to change. “I heard it gets quite cold here when summer ends,” he told me the first time I saw his building project. Of course, that was a startling thought to me. Not that it will get cold. But that summer will end. Because that’s something I’ve tried to block out. When summer ends my mom will expect me to come home. And resume my life and finish high school.

  I’ve only talked to Mom three times since moving here. And our conversations get briefer each time. I almost get the feeling she’s as relieved as I am when I tell her I have to go. Like she’s so caught up in her own bachelorette lifestyle, she doesn’t really care about me anymore. For all I know, she might even be worried that I’ll be an intrusion in her compact condo.

  Yet at the same time, I’m not sure how she’d react if I told her I was never coming home. She could easily play the parent card and insist I return. But then I can simply point out that I turn eighteen in late September. I’ll be considered an adult then. How can she tell me what to do?

  “You’re changing,” Josiah tells me, interrupting my stewing over what feels like my very uncertain future. We’re both reclining on a mattress of evergreen needles, and everything smells so fresh and green in here that after a day spent toiling in the kitchen, it’s a tonic for my soul.

  “What do you mean I’m changing?”

  He rolls over on his side and, pushi
ng a strand of hair off my forehead, studies me. “I’m not sure how exactly. But you seem different.”

  “Different good or different bad?”

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Just different.”

  I sit up now, looking intently at him. “I’m really trying to fit in here. I’m working hard in the kitchen. Attending my groups. Are you saying I’m not doing it right? I’m not trying hard enough?”

  Now he looks perplexed. “Maybe that’s it. Maybe you’re trying too hard, Rachel. Maybe you’re losing yourself by trying so hard to be like …” He sighs, then looks up at the thatched roof overhead.

  “Like what?”

  He looks at me with a creased forehead. “Like the rest of them.”

  I frown at him. “What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that why we’re here? To change and get better?”

  “What if changing isn’t better?”

  “What if it is?”

  Closing his eyes, he exhales loudly.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. Suddenly I feel worried. Are we drifting apart? I don’t think I could do this without him.

  He reaches up and grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me down on him and then we are kissing. And, as usual, when we’re kissing, I forget about everything else. But when the kissing’s over, I feel guilty. As usual. I feel guilty and confused.

  Then we take our different routes back to our cabins, and I hurry to get ready for bed. Avoiding Miriam’s piercing eyes, I fall down on my knees and silently beg God to forgive me.

  The next day I’m surprised to cross paths with Monique. Oh, I suppose it’s possible we’ve crossed paths before, but I didn’t recognize her. And seeing her now, dressed in what looks like one of Miriam’s castoff dresses and with her harsh makeup removed and her hair pulled back in a single braid, she looks completely different. Even her tattoos are hidden. Although I suspect they’re still there, simply concealed by the long sleeves and skirt.

  “Rachel,” she hisses at me as I’m heading for the restroom in the dining hall. It’s a few minutes before dinner, and I’m trying to grab a quick break before the place starts filling up.

  I blink at her. “Monique?”

  “Yes, of course. Who did you think it was?”

  “Sorry.” I make an uneasy smile and nod to the door. “I have to use the facilities.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to you in there.”

  Once we’re inside the ladies’ room, Monique looks around, to confirm that we’re alone, and then scoots the tall stainless-steel wastebasket in front of the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “For security.” She nods to a stall. “Go ahead and do your thing. Just listen. Okay?”

  Not seeing how I can argue, since I really need to go, I enter the stall and proceed to “do my thing.” While I go, she is rambling, complaining, and whining.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” she says as I flush the toilet. “I’ve had it with this place. Everyone here is nuts and it’s getting nuttier every day.”

  I don’t know what to say, but I’m glad she put the trash container by the door because I really wouldn’t want anyone else to hear her going on like this. I come out, glancing curiously at her as I meticulously wash my hands.

  “Deacon Clarence is insisting that I marry him,” she tells me in a hushed tone.

  “What?” I turn to stare at her as I dry my hands. She’s clearly crazy.

  “You heard me, Rachel. Deacon Clarence plans to take me as his wife — I mean, like any day now.”

  “But he’s married,” I say as I toss the towel in the wastebasket still blocking the door. “I even know his wife.”

  Monique rolls her eyes. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. He’s definitely married. His wife’s name is Cindy and he has three kids and — ”

  “No, I mean are you seriously that clueless?”

  “What do you mean?” I tip my head to one side, trying to figure her out.

  “I mean are you really that naive, Rachel? You don’t know that these dudes believe it’s just fine to have multiple wives? I thought you were all cozy with Celeste and Jim. Haven’t they mentioned this to you by now?”

  “No.” I firmly shake my head. “And I don’t believe you.”

  She uses a foul word. “And I thought you could help me.”

  “Help you … how?” I edge nervously toward the door, hoping to move that can and make a fast break out of here before she totally flips out on me. Monique clearly sounds like she’s losing it — big time.

  “Help me get out of here, Rachel. I want you to talk to Josiah for me. I know you guys are close. And I know he makes deliveries. But I never get a chance to speak to him. Just tell him I need to leave and ask if I can ride with him when he’s — ”

  Just then the door moves, bumping noisily into the can. I hurry over and slide it out of the way, smiling innocently as Bethany comes in.

  “What’s wrong with the door?” she asks.

  “Nothing,” I assure her. Then without looking back at Monique, I hurry out of there. I don’t know why she’s blocking doors and spouting such crazy stuff, but the girl needs some serious help. Just not from me. And not from Josiah. Monique is trouble. And someone higher up needs to deal with her.

  Fortunately this is one of our rendezvous evenings, and I can’t wait to sneak out into the woods and tell Josiah what I just heard. Maybe we can both laugh about it. And maybe Josiah can talk to his uncle, suggest that Monique take a few days off. I’ve heard from Miriam that working in the dairy is one of the toughest jobs here. Maybe Monique just needs a break. Or some counseling.

  But when I finally make it to our secret hideaway and spill my story to Josiah, he becomes very quiet. Too quiet.

  “Is she losing her mind?” I press. “I mean, first she barricades me with her in the bathroom. Then she announces that Deacon Clarence is going to marry her. And then she tells me that she wants you to help her get out of here. I mean … seriously?”

  “Rachel …” He sits up and, wrapping his arms around his knees, watches me closely, and I can see him weighing his response in his mind.

  This worries me. “What? What is going on? Do you know?”

  “Do you really not know?”

  “Not know what?” Suddenly my chest tightens and my heart races, and not in a good way. It’s more like how you feel after waking from a nightmare or if you need to run for your life.

  “Hasn’t Celeste told you … told you … about … ?”

  “Told me about what?”

  He gets a grim expression now. “Hasn’t she informed you that deacons in the church are allowed to marry more than one wife?”

  “What the — ?” I sit up straight, glaring at him. “You cannot be serious. Are you telling me that Monique was telling me the truth?”

  He just nods.

  “Well, that’s just unbelievable.”

  “Surely you’ve heard about religious groups like this before. Churches that have spun off of other churches.”

  “Is that what this is — a spin-off of GEF?”

  He looks tired. “I tried to make myself believe it wasn’t. But I think I was wrong.”

  I feel blindsided. How did I miss this? Did I see signs and was simply in deep denial? My head feels like it’s spinning. “I’m so confused.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel. I thought you knew. Surely you’ve heard of these kinds of groups before. It’s not terribly uncommon in the States.”

  I frown at him. “Well, sure, I watched Sister Wives a couple of times back when it first came out. But it was like watching a freak show. And to be honest, it was pretty hard to believe. I honestly thought they made the whole thing up for ratings — and the people were just actors.”

  “Some people believe it’s perfectly acceptable to live like that. Some say it’s biblical. Don’t forget that some of the fathers of our faith had multiple wives. Including Abraham, Jacob, David, Solomon … I could go on. My uncle has shown me these passages in the
Bible enough times. And I mean the real Bible too. Not just my uncle’s real testament.”

  I peer curiously at him. “Do you believe that? I mean, that it’s okay to have multiple wives?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not personally. But at the same time I try not to judge others. I try to be open. Still, it’s a fine balance sometimes.” He pushes his hair back with a frustrated look. “I’m still trying to figure these things out.”

  “And I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. You’re not pulling my leg, are you, Josiah? Just for clarity, are you actually saying that Reverend Jim and the deacons honestly believe it’s okay to commit bigamy?”

  “Some have more than just two wives.” He shakes his head sadly. “So you really didn’t know … I just assumed it would’ve been discussed in Celeste’s group.”

  Now I try to remember. “There’s been a lot of teaching about being a wife and a mother, but I never heard it put quite like that — I’ve never heard anyone mention multiple wives.”

  “Maybe they’re trying to break you in slowly.”

  “Break me in?”

  “Well, you’re here, Rachel. What did you expect? And my aunt likes you a lot. I’m sure they’re trying to indoctrinate you.”

  “Indoctrinate me?” I find this term offensive. It smacks of brainwashing.

  “Whatever you call it. They’re grooming you. Surely, you can see that.”

  “What about you?” I demand.

  “What about me?”

  “Well, you’re here too. Are they indoctrinating you as well?”

  “I’m sure they’re trying. Uncle Jim meets with me regularly. Like I said, he keeps telling me about our fathers of faith and their multiple wives. But he knows I’m resistant to some things.”

  “Like polygamy?”

  He takes in a deep breath, then just chuckles. “You actually sound jealous.” His tone has a slight teasing sound to it. And that irritates me.

  “Of course I’d be jealous if I thought you were like that.” I stand up. “Because if you think I’d settle for being married to someone who wants more than one wife, you better think again.” Okay, even as I say this, I can hear how ridiculous I sound. It’s not as if he’s asking me to marry him. I move for the door. “I need to get back to my cabin.”

 

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