The Mission (Clairmont Series Novel Book 2)

by L. J. Wilson

Adah looked confused, as if Evie had asked to make wine instead of jam out of her grapes. But she recovered, smiling. She glanced at the front window, which offered a full view of the meeting hall. “Reverend Kane isn’t here. I suppose it would be all right. After all, you’ll be married to Ezra this time tomorrow.”

  She sucked in a breath, processing Adah’s reaction if she knew the truth—not about Sebastian, but the fact that she’d already slept with her son. Was anything in Good Hope what it seemed? Evie felt exceedingly exposed. She hurried, leaving Adah Kane in her kitchen with her slaw and simplicity. Ezra stood with a garden hose, watering the last of the fall vegetables, cauliflower and butternut squash. Spying Evie, he dropped the garden hose, and a terrific smile broke over his face.

  “This is a surprise. What are you...” He rushed toward Evie but stopped and changed paths. Darting to the spigot, he shut it off. “Comes out with such a force. It wouldn’t do to have a flood the size of Noah’s Ark, not the day before our wedding.”

  She smiled weakly at his innocent joke. “Ezra, I need to speak with you. It’s important.”

  His light expression faltered, and he peered past her shoulder. Taking Evie by the hand, Ezra led her to the edge of the yard. On the Kane property line was an outbuilding, converted to their future living space. “Come inside,” he said, twisting the knob. “I have a good idea what’s been on your mind.”

  “What’s been on my mind?” Evie said, wondering if he’d been reading hers.

  “You’ve been distracted, upset all week. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Evie. I know you.”

  “That’s true. But you couldn’t possibly know…”

  “Well, I’ve taken a reasonable guess.”

  He looked her over and the sting of guilt drilled deeper. Was it that plain? Could Ezra sense what she’d been doing less than an hour ago, how much she wanted another man?

  “Like I told you, months ago in the barn, it’ll be fine.” Ezra clasped her hands, swinging them outward, like children playing a game. “After tomorrow it will hardly matter. You’ll be my wife, and no one will question—”

  “Ezra, what is it you think you know?”

  He said nothing aloud, his gaze traveling cautiously to her stomach. “Remember what I said to you about Abigail Strand’s baby. A ten-pound baby after a six-month marriage, I shouldn’t think—”

  “Ezra!” she snapped. “I’m not pregnant.” In fact, I’ve come here to tell you I can’t marry you at all—because of Sebastian… because of this life… Evie squeezed her eyes shut. Compared to that, pregnancy felt like a minor detail. “Ezra, no,” she said, halting the swing of their hands. “I’m not… It has nothing to do with that.”

  “It doesn’t?” he said, his face a mix of disappointment and confusion. “Then what brings you here, looking so beautiful and nervous?” He laughed and whispered, “I know it’s not the wedding night.” Ezra let go of her hands, brushing his through the air. “You haven’t even said a word about the paint.”

  New paint. Evie hadn’t noticed the smell or the fresh shade of beige on the walls. It was a Fathers of the Right tradition. When a couple married, their first home was prepared by members of the community. Families donated items—furniture to kitchenware, setting up housekeeping for the bride. Evie glanced around the space. It was interchangeable with all the homes in Good Hope. A burlap-colored couch was a spare that belonged to the Pruitts. Scatter rugs were strewn about, braided by the women of the sect, and an army of second-hand kitchen supplies lined the countertop. It was underwhelming and extraordinarily real. On a side table, on a sturdy metal easel, sat the only color in the room—a delicate painting of the sunflower field. Evie touched the picture’s frame. “This is beautiful, Ezra.”

  “You weren’t supposed to see it until tomorrow. I thought since you didn’t get the setting you wanted for the wedding, I’d paint a vision you can keep forever.”

  “That’s so like you.” Her fingertips fluttered over the hazy watercolor image—Ezra did have a talent with a paint brush. Such a short time ago, everything had looked so different. Evie blinked her damp eyes at the picture, which came into focus. “Ezra,” she said, spinning around. “My timing is awful, and what I need to tell you…. Well, know that it’s as hard to say as it will be to hear.”

  A stiff smile edged onto his face. “If something has you this upset, Evie, and I’ve no clue what it is, then I think you’d better tell me—now.”

  For a second time that day, there was no knock, just Nolan Creek speaking as he appeared in the doorway. “Ezra, your mother said you were out here.” His eyes cut to Evie. “She, um… she didn’t say Evie was with you.”

  “She gave us some time to ourselves. Evie and I, we were about to discuss something important.” He turned and his voice was different—thicker. And for the first time, Evie heard the hint of a man. “Give us a moment, Brother Creek. I’ll be right out.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  Evie’s heart pounded, waiting for Brother Creek to renege on his agreement with Sebastian. He narrowed his eyes in her direction.

  “Your father,” he said, looking to Ezra. “He has an errand for you. Brother Pruitt is in the meeting hall. He’ll tell you the details. You can speak to Evie later—for the rest of your life, if you like.”

  She knotted her brow at words that sounded like a promise.

  “Go… Now. Reverend Kane has not had a good day, and I wouldn’t be the one to try his patience.”

  As quick as Evie had heard the faint inkling of a man, it vanished. Ezra reached for her hand, squeezing Evie’s fingers, which were cold and shaking. “I’ll be back. We’ll finish our talk.” She smiled as she always did when Ezra was coming or going. Evie smoothed the front of her skirt, watching until Ezra disappeared into the house.

  “I take it you’ve not done anything foolish yet?”

  “Brother Creek, maybe it would be best for all of us if you let me see this through.”

  “I can’t do that,” he said. “And not for your sake, but ours—all of us.”

  “My reasons have nothing to do with other sect members. Why should my feelings matter to anyone other than Ezra?”

  “So I’m right. That’s what you’re doing out here. Tell me, is this a new habit of yours—cozying up with men behind closed doors to wreak havoc?”

  A week ago, Evie might not have challenged any man belonging to the Fathers of the Right. Not today. Evie drew on her newfound resolve. “Brother Creek, if you care at all about Ezra, you’ll let me do this my way. It isn’t your concern.”

  “You’re wrong, Evie. Nothing is that simple in Good Hope. Anything to do with preserving our ways is my concern. If you don’t marry Ezra—whatever your reason, you’ll shake this community to its core. If you refuse to be Ezra’s wife and stay here, how will that work? Look at the fuss and curiosity caused by my refusal to marry—and that’s to a woman seen as a simple match. It’s not a proclamation Reverend Kane’s been asserting for years. Worse, if you were to leave here, leave Ezra behind… Conceive what they’ll think? I can’t let that happen. This year alone we’ve been weakened by the abandonment of three families. I can’t have the Fathers of the Right crumble around me. I can’t lose this place.”

  “Why? Are you so afraid of what’s beyond our walls?”

  “I am.” His mouth twitched, the tiny movement conveying gut-wrenching fear. “God help me, I’ve been tempted.” He drew a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at his upper lip. “If you must know, I’ve succumbed.”

  “I’m not sure…” Evie tipped her head, trying to absorb the inference. She recalled his pleading prayers. “Brother Creek, how is it you’ve…”

  “Those trips I’ve made with the Reverend to Philadelphia. There’s an area—inner city, a place he’s never been. While the Reverend’s taken private meetings, I’ve gone off on my own, a place where one finds other men who…” Evie covered her mouth with trembling fingertips. Nolan Creek’s speech dropped to a covert whis
per. “The mission, he said you knew this about me.”

  “I suspected,” she said. “Although that’s different than knowing.” She batted her eyes at him. “I suppose shock is as present as air today.” Silence teetered, Evie processing his candidness. She guessed there was comradery in dark secrets. “I’m sorry for whatever your troubles are, Brother Creek. I don’t wish you any ill will—but maybe it’s better to stop hiding. Maybe there’s something to be said for following your heart or your instinct or simply what you’re made of.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “Here, in Good Hope, it’s not a remote consideration. Out there… out there it wouldn’t be openly tolerated. But none of that matters nearly as much as how God would smite me.”

  It was a lot to take in, but it didn’t change Evie’s mind—not about Sebastian. “I can’t marry Ezra to save your way of life. You can’t expect that I would.”

  He nodded, blotting his lip again. “I thought as much. I know you’re a willful girl.” Brother Creek stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket, but his whole body stood firmer. “Then I’ll ask you this, will you marry Ezra to save the life of the mission?”

  After Evie left the cabin, Sebastian packed and unpacked his duffel bag. The street-savvy, headstrong parts of him said to get the hell out of Good Hope. Take his chances. The rational parts wouldn’t let him leave without Evie—or maybe it was the irrational parts. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rubbed his hands over denim-covered thighs. He thought about what he and Evie would be doing right there, in that bed, if Nolan Creek hadn’t walked in. If this bizarre place wasn’t wedged between them. If only he had more time. The thought hit a precipice as the cabin door burst open and Reverend Kane came through. His movements were serpent-like—too silent for such a large man. His followers were blind to everything, including his physical approach.

  He glanced at the duffel bag. “Good. You’re thinking about leaving. That will facilitate the discussion.”

  “Yeah, feels as if I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  “You flatter yourself, Mission, if you think you were ever welcome.”

  “Right. Either way, I’ve healed up enough to take my chances outside Good Hope. It’s a big world—the Godfathers can’t track every corner. They haven’t found me here.”

  “Thanks only to my silence, which I wouldn’t be quick to dismiss.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You’ve wondered what my connection is to your father.”

  “I’ve got a good idea. I may not know you, but I know Andor. If you’re doing business with him, somehow… some way, you’re tied into his drug scene.”

  The Reverend stretched his arms out, shifting them in a vague gesture. “Good Hope was meant to be a self-sustaining, inclusive community. Years ago, it became apparent that our survival could not be maintained by way of farmers’ markets and quilts sold at county fairs.”

  Sebastian furrowed his brow. “So you deal drugs to supplement your income?”

  “I do not—” he boomed. The Reverend turned, avoiding Sebastian’s glare and stoking the fire.

  Sebastian remained on guard. It could be that the Reverend was contemplating striking his unwanted, all too aware guest with the hot steel rod. He guessed Duncan Kane saw himself as a courier, like Andor—hardly the image of an actual dealer. That guy bore a deep scar, slick attitude, and no morals. Drug dealers looked nothing like his father or a man cloaked by a robe and religion. Sebastian shook his head at the absurdity.

  The Reverend spoke directly to the burning logs. “The Fathers of the Right provide a discreet, unassuming point of exchange for product.” He looked at Sebastian. “If anything, our role was ingenious. So unlikely it’s diverted law enforcement for years.” Removing the iron from the fire, he dug the glowing tip into the floor.

  “You miserable fuck,” Sebastian said, unfazed by the weapon he held. “You pious trader—anointed leader, my ass. You’re worse than Andor. He was only responsible for a son. You? You’ve got one hand in the lowest end of society, the other around the throat of your devout followers. That’s a hell of a scam, Duncan,” he said, deliberately employing disrespect. “All your missions to South America, you weren’t spreading the word—you were picking up contraband.”

  “I’ll not discuss the details of my means or motives with you, Mission,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And I’ll certainly not be judged either.”

  “If it helps you sleep,” Sebastian said. “But here’s what’s not adding up. If you’re running drugs into the States, why divulge such a damning secret to me? There must be a reason.”

  “Several,” he said without hesitating. “I’ve been communicating with your people. There’s news, and it doesn’t bode well for you. Your Godfathers have done further backtracking. That last drug shipment wasn’t the first to be altered. Apparently, for the past year, consignments were tainted. None were as glaringly bad as the one that put a price on your head or caused them to beat you within a breath of your life. Just the same, there is now a documented trail of tainted product being delivered to Greece—product that traces back to you.

  “Confirmed first-rate goods,” he said as if speaking about imported silk from the West Indies, “that I personally delivered to your father. It turned substandard by the time it arrived in the Port of Piraeus. You,” he said, poking a finger at Sebastian, “were the only man with access. It’s clear to the Godfathers—and to me—that you substituted the product I delivered, selling the real goods for personal profit.” He shook his head at Sebastian. “Greed, I assure you, it is a sin.”

  A small smile pushed onto Sebastian’s face.

  “You find this amusing? Then you’re willing to forgo any more claims of denial?”

  “And admitting anything to you would benefit me how?” Sebastian said.

  “How much do you value your life? Share with me the location and profit of your vast income. My continued protection will be worth it.”

  “I’m not telling you a damn thing—mostly because there’s nothing to tell.”

  “Where’s the money hidden, Mission—in a bank, under a rock?”

  “There is no money. It’s gone,” he said. “Every dime.”

  The Reverend moved closer, his hair parted in the middle, a dull grayish-brown. Pock-marked cheeks filled the basins of his narrow face. Sebastian watched a thin smile emerge. “How convenient… and unlikely. For whatever you are, you’re not a drug user—that would have been evident weeks ago. So what’s become of your ill-gotten gains?”

  “I’m telling you, there’s no money. If there was, don’t you think I would have used it to vanish the moment I could walk farther than the john?”

  “A point I’ve wholly considered. Why do you think you’ve been guarded day and night? If you did slip away, I suspected your first stop would be the treasure you’re harboring. It’s been more than a month—and nothing. Time’s up.”

  “You can’t take what’s not there.”

  “Clearly, from the near squalor of the life you led, you haven’t spent it.”

  Sebastian shrugged. He no longer saw a point in hiding the truth. “Missions, Reverend. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be all about? I became aware of a situation where dirty money could be put to good use. Simplest terms, I stole from the rich and gave to the poor—helped out a friend and his many relatives.”

  “A Robin Hood scenario?” His stare turned examining. “You surprise me. I didn’t see benevolence on your short list of virtues.”

  “Interesting. I thought it would have been first on yours.”

  “Again, your judgment is irrelevant.” The Reverend’s stare didn’t waver.

  “If you don’t believe me, I could point you to a relocated, third-world village of over one-hundred people. They’re currently adjusting to life in the United States.”

  “But even if such a story was true, you wouldn’t share the details.”

  “Not likely. Not with you. You’d just have them deported. So I guess t
hat leaves us between a rock and a hard place. Trust me, Reverend. The transportation might have been free, but getting them out of their terrorized homeland ran an easy six digits—about the going rate for several kilos of high-grade cocaine, fresh off the farm in Colombia.”

  “Worth a beating that nearly cost you your life?”

  “Not everything went according to plan. I took a risk. I paid a price.”

  He nodded. “It’s not cowardly—I’ll give you that.” His gaze ran the length of Sebastian’s frame. “If what you say is true, then the money is gone. That’s unfortunate. With a profit to share, I might have come to your aid. At least shuttled you out of here with your life. If it isn’t true… Well, it hardly matters. I can be patient. It seems you’ll be under my watch for some time to come, just not in Good Hope.”

  “And why is that? Why the fuck wouldn’t I just take off out of here?”

  “As you noted, your risk wasn’t without consequences. I’m afraid that continues. The Godfathers of the Night on this side of the world are now in debt to the homeland faction in Greece. They’re a powerful group. That beating you received—you’re aware of their penchant for retribution.”

  Sebastian grazed his hand over his stomach, the ribs that finally did not feel tender to the touch.

  “Your father…” The Reverend removed an envelope from his jacket pocket.

  “You saw Andor?”

  “Earlier today. Other than asking if you were alive, he didn’t ask much.”

  Sebastian shrugged, feeling an old punch to the gut.

  “He sent this, concerned that you might find my persuasion lacking.”

  Sebastian took the envelope. His name was scrawled on the outside in his father’s handwriting.

  “Your Uncle Paulos… the other men you’re friendly with on your freighter, their families—something that may influence you more—are in real danger. The Godfathers are owed money—a lot of it. My guess is you have a solid sum in your head.”

  About 150K, give or take a few grand… The bargain price of moving Bim’s village to safety… After skimming off the top for more than a year, Sebastian made the near fatal error of trading the entire last shipment of drugs for a lump sum—there was no choice. The remainder of the Sudanese village, women and children, were on the verge of being slaughtered by the newest and most heinous group of warlords to invade the region. Bim had called it genocide. What Sebastian had done previously, moving people in twos and threes, multiplied to forty times that number. They were desperate people pleading for help, out of terror, out of options. Sebastian had made some inquiries in the Port of Piraeus. Money talked, and he was able to contract safe transport for Bim’s village out of the Sudan. Vinny and a few other crew members had helped secure their passage aboard the freighter. And now, because of Sebastian’s actions, their lives were in danger too.