“Was the meeting of the elders much as you remembered?”
“There are fewer elders now. All of them are close friends of Uncle Jonathon’s.”
“Yes, Jonathon values loyalty.” Eleanor waited expectantly, one eyebrow raised a millimeter.
“They did what they could to explain the sect’s goals to me. And, of course, Uncle Jonathon led us in study.”
“Goals?”
“Increasing self-sufficiency in all areas. Proper reserves of food, water and financial resources.”
“Tithing has fallen short of his expectations.” Eleanor sipped her water. “It disturbs him.”
“Yes, apparently he has received prophecies of increased hardship in the land.”
“Are the elders still resistant to increasing tithes?”
Matthew hesitated. “A few. Now I’ve told you about my day, I want to hear what my beautiful bride learned today.”
Angel opened her mouth, but Eleanor took the lead. “We started with needlecraft, but it will take time to develop her skills. I gave Angel practice swatches for this evening.”
“I’ve never sewn before, either. I’ll get it tonight, though.” If it kills me. She would tackle it like any other new challenge, subduing the darn needle, thread and fabric into submission.
She glanced up to see Matthew smile. “I’m sure you will. You do anything you set your mind to.”
“Her education has been lacking.” Eleanor’s voice held a note of censure. “What are these young women taught in the world today?”
Angel wondered what Eleanor’s reaction would be if she knew the truth about Angel’s studies. Strength training and martial arts. Investigative skills. How to subdue a suspect.
Eleanor would probably be horrified.
Angel smothered a smile. Maybe she couldn’t thread a needle, but she could incapacitate a man twice her size.
The meal continued and Angel was lulled by the quiet conversation.
“I tried to teach Angel how to make biscuits,” Ruth said, shaking her head sadly. “They were hard as rocks.”
Angel’s face grew warm. She wanted to feel empathy for the girl who’d been raised in such a restrictive environment, but something about her rubbed Angel the wrong way. It was one thing for Eleanor to pronounce her a domestic failure, but Ruth had no right to ridicule her.
Her reply was tart. “Fortunately there are some wifely skills my husband values more than baking.”
But her barb seemed to go right over Ruth’s head. The girl’s pretty brows knit together in a frown.
Eleanor’s expression was bland. The woman would have made an excellent poker player.
It was Matthew who came to her rescue. “Angelina, you are a bride among brides. I’m always pleased with your wit and loyalty.”
“And you, Matthew, are my heart and soul.” Her voice came out softer, dreamier than she’d intended.
Matthew’s expression warmed, his eyes darkened. She must’ve laid it on thick, because it looked as if he believed her.
Shaking her head, Angel hoped he was simply a better actor than she’d originally thought.
A few minutes later Matthew leaned back in his chair. “Aunt Eleanor, that was a wonderful meal. Ruth, Angel, thank you, too.”
Eleanor nodded, smiling briefly. “You are most welcome. Ruth, would you please sort the children’s laundry Grace brought over today? Angel, you can help me with the dishes.”
Fatigue seeped through her. But she figured leaving dirty dishes soaking till morning was unacceptable to Eleanor. Sighing, she said, “Yes, Eleanor.”
Matthew stood, reaching for his plate.
“Matthew.” Eleanor’s tone was sharp. “We will attend to clearing.”
His mouth tightened. He shrugged. “I’ll go on the front porch and get some air.”
“As long as you’re inside by dark. There’s a curfew.”
He nodded. “I’ll abide by the rules.”
Angel was surprised at his easy compliance. Why did these people blindly obey rules that seemed arbitrary? After only a short time the restrictions were weighing heavily on her. Earlier she’d found humor in the silly ways in which the women ingratiated themselves with the men. Then she’d gotten angry. Now, tired and out of her element, the rules made her sad.
Matthew paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Angel, I’ll be ready to have my bath drawn when I come inside.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Right, like that was going to happen. She’d clear and wash dishes, then drag her exhausted body up the stairs to run him a bath.
Angel braced her hands on her hips. “Your arms don’t look broken.”
Eleanor stepped forward. “It is our way. A small show of concern for your husband’s well-being.”
A wave of homesickness hit Angel hard. She longed for her own bed and people who genuinely cared about her. “What about me?” she whispered. “What about my well-being?”
Eleanor touched her shoulder, her eyes warm with concern. “What is good for the family is ultimately good for you.”
Angel wiped moisture from her cheek, amazed that she’d teared up. “Is it really, Eleanor? Or is it merely a way to persuade me to give up my rights as a human being?”
She didn’t wait for a response. She brushed past Matthew and ran upstairs to their room.
MATTHEW STOOD ON the front porch, leaning against the house. There were no rockers or chairs as there would have been in his father’s day, when it was considered good for folks to gather in fellowship. On the contrary, Eleanor had given the impression Jonathon didn’t like folks to congregate on their own. Why? he wondered.
He was torn between defying the curfew to see what happened and going upstairs to make sure Angel was all right. Her fragility after dinner scared him. He wondered if, despite her brave front, Zion’s Gate might be too much for her. But they had an important purpose for being here; he only hoped she could fulfill her duties.
Glancing around, he noted the layout of the lane. On closer inspection he realized that what appeared to be typical Mexican adobe homes were in reality small fortresses. Thick adobe walls, small high windows protected by decorative wrought-iron bars. Stout front doors—apparently only one way in and one way out. Except for Eleanor’s house, where there was a separate entrance to Jonathon’s study.
Shadows lengthened and an eerie quiet fell.
The door opened behind him. He looked over his shoulder. “Eleanor.”
“It’s almost dark.”
“I’ll be in shortly.”
She stepped beside him. “Are you sure coming here was a good idea? Our way can be difficult for someone not born to it.”
“I know it was the right thing to do.” How else would he find out whether Rebecca was alive and well? And find out how his father really died so many years ago. “Angel will adjust.”
“I hope so.”
He watched a sliver of a moon rise over Raphael’s house. A mournful howl nearby made his scalp prickle. “Coyotes?”
“Probably. Or one of our neighbor’s dogs. He keeps many.”
“Does he breed dogs?”
“No. They patrol his compound.”
“Sounds kind of sinister.”
“This is a different world than what you were used to in Arizona. There are…dangers.”
“What kind of dangers?”
“You will have to ask your uncle. Please, come inside. He’ll hold me responsible if you’re seen out after dark.”
His aunt knew him well. He might have rebelled against the edict just to see what happened. But not if it meant making life hard for her.
“I’ll come inside. Suddenly I’m very tired.” And he was. Deep down in his soul.
MATTHEW STOOD AT the bathroom door listening to the soft lap-lap of water whenever Angel shifted in the bathtub. At least that was the only explanation he could devise for the sounds. An occasional trickle or splash were the only interruptions.
He
smiled, amused by Angel’s quiet rebellion. It reassured him after her tears. Wandering into the sleeping area, he wished for a TV. But televisions had not been allowed, even in his father’s day. It was seen as a waste of time and sometimes downright evil. There were occasions when he had to agree. Now wasn’t one of them.
Matthew retrieved his Bible from the nightstand and read for a few minutes. Then he realized he hadn’t heard a sound from the bathroom recently.
He went to the bathroom door. “Angel?”
When he didn’t receive an answer, he called again.
Still no reply.
Uneasiness prickled the back of his neck as he contemplated several scenarios. None of the possibilities were good. She had seemed upset earlier, but she was a fighter, a survivor at heart. But people slipped in the tub all the time. What if she’d sunk below the water and was drowning at this very moment?
“Angel?” Twisting the knob, he was relieved to find the door unlocked. He hesitated. Before he could have second thoughts, Matthew opened the door and stepped into the small bathroom.
Angel reclined in the tub, eyes closed, her hair piled on top of her head. A few stray wisps clung wetly to her neck, next to the earphone cord. Somehow she’d managed to smuggle in an MP3 player.
Matthew exhaled in relief.
Then he saw that she was naked, really, truly naked. His gaze traveled over her bare breasts, down the curve of her hip visible through the water. She had to be the most perfectly formed woman he had ever seen.
Heat pooled in his groin.
Shaking his head, Matthew called himself every kind of fool. What kind of man spied on a woman in the bath?
He turned to leave, hoping she would never know what he’d done.
“In or out, Matt. You’re letting in a breeze.”
He froze.
Damn.
Slowly he closed the door and rested his forehead against it. This had to look bad. “I’d hoped to get out of here without you knowing I’d been here.”
“Peeping doesn’t suit you, Matt. Very undignified. And desperate. You don’t impress me as a desperate man.”
If only she knew.
But his intentions had initially been good. How would she react if he admitted being afraid she’d hurt herself? It would bother her that he might suspect she wasn’t as self-reliant as she’d like everyone to believe. “I came in here to remind you of your place. Is this how you interpret ‘running my bath’?”
“Nobody said I couldn’t use it first.”
“Correct, as usual, Angelina.” He chuckled, pushing away from the door. He turned but kept his gaze fixed on her face. “You followed the letter of the law, if not the intent.”
“Sorry, Matt, the devil made me do it.”
His gaze was drawn to her chest in spite of himself. He focused on her MP3 player on the floor. “Do you have any other electronic gadgets you got past the inspection?”
She shrugged, an action that drew his gaze like heat-seeking radar and nearly raised her bare breasts above water level.
He swallowed hard.
Reaching for a towel, Angel said, “Now, since someone let in all that cold air, I’m going to get out of the bath. I’m not particularly prudish, but I would appreciate some privacy.”
“Yes. I’ll leave you alone.” Matthew stepped out of the bathroom and quickly shut the door behind him, glad to escape the humiliation of being branded a pervert.
Angel’s chuckle mocked him through the door.
Then he realized she’d never answered his question.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANGEL WAS SO BORED she was afraid her eyeballs would roll back in her head. Sunday at Zion’s Gate was pure torture. Church lasted all day. Matthew had warned her it would be. But she’d thought he was exaggerating.
First, they’d had services with the whole population of Zion’s Gate. Jonathon’s sermon had been full of fire and brimstone, of how the principle of plural marriage was the only salvation, the only hope of a righteous place in heaven. Glancing around her at Jonathon’s wives and children sitting together, she figured he must have a pretty darn good place reserved.
Next, she’d helped Eleanor teach one of the children’s classes. After that they’d taken a break long enough for the women to return home to retrieve food they’d prepared the night before. A potluck picnic lunch was planned in honor of Matthew’s return. Then there would be more classes and Bible study for the remainder of the day.
Sitting next to Matthew at a long picnic table, she felt like an exhibit at the zoo. People streamed by, welcoming him, congratulating them on their marriage. And glancing frequently at her belly.
Angel longed to jump up on the table and scream, No, I’m not pregnant! And I don’t intend to be. Not now. Maybe not ever. And certainly not by a Stone.
But she managed to retain her composure, keeping her attention focused on her plate, nodding every once in a while when Matthew referred to her. Nobody seemed to expect her to contribute to the conversation.
Matthew nudged her with his elbow. “Angel, I’d like you to meet my brother, Raphael.”
She looked up to see a man with sandy hair and a medium build. Goodness seemed to emanate from him, casting him in a warm glow.
Taking his outstretched hand, she was stunned by the beauty of his smile.
“Pleasure to meet you, Angel,” he murmured. “These are my wives, Beatrice, Mary and Grace.”
Angel had quit trying to remember Jonathon’s wives’ names. At least Raphael’s were in a manageable number. She nodded to the women and said hello. Plain was the adjective she would have chosen to describe all three. And for two of them, it would have been kind.
They moved on, summoned by Raphael’s mother, who had already been introduced.
“We were very close until our father died. Then Raphael’s mother was sealed to an older elder and my mother was sealed to Uncle Jonathon.”
“Raphael seems like a nice guy.”
“Yes, he is.” Matthew held her gaze. “That surprises you, doesn’t it? That there are good men at Zion’s Gate?”
She shrugged. “I guess it does.”
“The fundamentalist sects have gotten a bad rap in recent years. Many of them deservedly so. But Raphael is a good man and would make an excellent leader for the group.”
“But your uncle will never allow it.”
“Precisely. That’s why Raphael isn’t given any real responsibility. Why he only has three wives. And probably the reason the wife of his heart was given to another man.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. He and Theresa were in love for as long as I can remember. But apparently Uncle Jonathon and the elders learned of their infatuation. Theresa was married off to another elder. In time, Raphael received his wives.”
“Women nobody else wanted.”
Matthew glanced away. “That I couldn’t say. I believe Raphael has been kind to them. And they have gifted him with children.”
“So that makes it okay?”
“Yes.”
“How sad.”
“Yes, it is sad. There’s much about our life that’s sad.”
“Matthew?”
“What?”
“That’s the only time I’ve heard you refer to it as ‘our’ life, present tense.” A horrible thought occurred to her. “You’re not thinking of staying on, are you?”
He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing here for me.”
“Yet it draws you all the same.”
“It was everything I knew until I was fifteen. The people, the conventions, everything is familiar yet different. It was very hard to leave.”
“Yet you think you can leave a second time?”
“I’ll have to.”
Their conversation was interrupted when another family came up to offer their congratulations.
After they left, Angel rose. “I’m going to walk a little. Then I’ll help the women clean up.”
Angel strolled around the squar
e, aware that glances followed her every move. She resisted the urge to turn around and make a rude gesture.
Oddly enough, she found comfort in knowing she was a complete outsider and would probably never be accepted here. For the most part, people gave her a wide berth when she wasn’t with Matthew. Breathing deeply, she reveled in the feeling of being alone in the midst of all this togetherness. The tension eased from her shoulders.
She admired the intense blue of the sky interspersed with wispy clouds. Peace stole over her. In some ways, the Zion’s Gate life was simple. Every thought and action was prescribed. It might be very easy to just go with the flow. If she were a different kind of person, that is.
The first couple of days had been especially difficult. She was accustomed to action, challenge, danger. But now she was becoming used to the repetitive domestic work of cooking, cleaning and washing clothes. Unfortunately Eleanor didn’t allow her to participate much in the children’s schooling. She probably feared Angel would corrupt their fresh, inquisitive minds.
“Hello, Sister Angel.” Ruth fell into step beside her.
“Ruth.” She nodded stiffly. It was bad enough she had to tolerate this girl at Eleanor’s house.
“Brother Jonathon’s sermon was very moving.”
“Um, yes, I guess.” Only if she referred to her digestive tract.
Ruth glanced at her sideways. “You see the importance of the principle?”
“I think I understand Jonathon’s point.”
“Then you will welcome more wives for Matthew when the time comes?”
Angel was rendered speechless, something she’d thought nearly impossible. Her smart mouth had never failed her. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Ruth was a product of her environment. Who could blame her for setting her sights on Matthew? He was young, handsome and possible heir apparent to Jonathon. For a girl with few prospects except marriage to a much older man, Matthew would be the most eligible guy around.
She tempered her instinctive response, trying to sound open to a lifestyle she found abhorrent. “I will always try to make Matthew happy. To be the best wife possible.”
“Even if that means sharing him with another wife?”
Carrie Weaver - Count on a Cop Page 7