He wasn’t the same seventeen-year-old who’d brought her to prom. This wasn’t for her, anyway, she told herself. It was for Luna.
Chapter 10 - Jacob
As Jacob was shuffled into the big house on the hill, a mixture of awe and shame fought a valiant war in the pit of his stomach. There was no doubt in his mind of exactly why he’d been brought to the home of the High Prophet. He sat in the only chair in the small waiting room, recalling that morning when he stood helpless, watching while Rachel was ripped from her home.
It all seemed so foreign to him that he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Had it been that morning or the one before? It didn’t matter, the scene played in his head over and over again like blades of a windmill, just spinning and spinning. Never stopping, never ceasing. It haunted his every moment.
He’d been on his way to speak to her. It was late, but he had to see her. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until he apologized for rushing away and leaving her alone to figure out what to do on her own. He planned to throw a pebble at her window. She slept right next to it just for that purpose. They’d done it millions of times before. She’d know right away who it was, and she would come out. And together they would figure out what to do next.
But that hadn’t been how things had progressed. By the time he’d reached the back of the barn, he’d been immobilized by the sound of loud voices within the house. A lantern was lit.
He’d crept closer. People stood in the family room. Four men on one side . . . And one girl on the other.
Oh, Rachel!
He’d wanted to run to her. To save her from the men who stood to condemn her but as he’d edged closer, a movement came from one of the several vehicles parked in the family’s drive. Someone was inside. Most likely, an elder. Regular members of the community did not own vehicles. It was forbidden.
He scanned the area again. Just one man occupied one large, white truck. It might as well have been twenty men in twenty vehicles.
There was nothing to hide behind, and he would never get past the driver and into the house. And even if he did. What could he have done? The odds, as it stood, were four to one. The guy in the truck made five . . . to one sixteen-year-old boy and a thirteen-year-old pregnant girl.
It was all his fault. He should have known better. She was only a youngling. Barely turned thirteen. And he’d soiled her forever. He’d dropped to the ground in shame.
The door to the house opened, and Jacob had bolted back to his feet. He ran back behind the barn to watch. If he couldn’t go to her, the least he could do was wait to see what they were going to do with her. A lone man exited the house. Even in the dark, his long flowing gown gave away his identity.
The High Prophet.
The man strolled gracefully to his fancy car and got inside, slamming the door as the engine roared to life. A foreboding washed over Jacob as he’d watched the vehicle drive away. It was unheard of for the High Prophet to visit anyone at their home. No, usually, if a matter was big enough to concern him, there would be a full-fledged meeting at the church. Something like this just didn’t happen.
Next, two elders exited the house, with Rachel between them. She kicked and fought, but she was no match for them. She’d gotten a good chunk out of one of them and almost made it away. Jacob had ran from behind the barn and sprinted toward them, but it had been too late.
Before he could make it to her, she’d been tossed into the back of the truck like a bale of hay as it took off, leaving dust in its wake. He fell to the ground. What would they do to her? Kill her? Was the rumor true? Did people actually get fleshed-out? And what did that mean anyway?
“Go home, son,” a voice called from behind. “You shall be dealt with accordingly.”
“What will you do to her?” he cried, not caring for himself.
“She shall be fleshed-out,” Elder Aaron said, holding his lacerated arm.
“She will not survive,” he cried. “She is with child.”
“God has spoken,” the other elder, Elder Joseph, said as they walked away, leaving him to stare.
“Good Lord, help her,” a voice said from the porch.
Rachel’s father.
Before Jacob could look back, the man had entered the house and closed the door. Jacob stared in awe. What had he done? A window covering stirred. It was Abigail. She’d seen the whole thing. He watched as she swiped at her eyes and the curtain fell back into position.
Jacob forced himself back to the present, and he stared at the framed pictures that lined the wall. Photographs were not allowed, except for the ones of the High Prophet and his family. And that was only to proclaim who was in charge. Or as Jacob now saw it, to intimidate the people into submission. Four generations of High Prophets lined the wall of the room. Each of them named Daniel. And then, next to the current dictator, was his son, also named Daniel. He would take over for his father when the man could no longer lead.
Daniel the fifth was only ten years old. Most had never seen the boy, as he was taught from home and did not leave his dwelling. But that day, Jacob got a glimpse of him. The boy sat alone on the floor of a room surrounded by all sorts of play items.
The room was so full of so many colorful objects that Jacob’s eyes had trouble adjusting. And the boy, apparently unamused, sat in the middle of it all and stared blankly out the window. But as Jacob sat in that small waiting room, the play possessions of the next High Prophet were of little concern to him.
His only worry was for Rachel.
Where was she? Where had they taken her?
Before he could contemplate another moment, the door opened, and a man entered. One he’d never seen before. And curiously, the man’s attire was different from anything Jacob had seen in the community. Instead of the jean material that was standard for men, his pants were brown and made of a softer fabric like some of the men he'd seen in the market.
He wore a button-down shirt tucked in with a jacket over top that matched his pants. Clearly, he was not one of them. The man looked more out of place than a fox in a hen house.
“Come with me,” the man said.
Moving down the long dark hallway he’d traveled only moments before, Jacob followed silently. As they passed the priestly playroom once again, young Daniel looked up at him. A sad, almost haunting look permeated the boy’s eyes and spread sorrow so thick Jacob could breathe it in the air.
What it must be like to be confined to your home for your entire childhood? Was that what it took to harden the High Prophet into such an untouchable state of being? Jacob’s eyes were caught in the boy’s stare, unable to tear them away.
“Keep moving,” the man said from further down the long, dark hallway.
Jacob pulled his eyes away and continued down the corridor until the man led him into an enormous room with the highest ceilings he’d ever seen. The windows were so all-consuming, it was like he was standing in a glass room. Strange lanterns lined the walls emitting a bright light that rivaled the sun.
The floor was plush with a rug that spanned from one end of the room to the other. Strangely enough, it seemed to be attached to the bottom of the walls. And the oddest thing of all was a big, flat, black box that hung on the far wall. Items in the room reflected in it, but it was too dark to be a mirror. The strangeness of the room was a distraction for only a moment when Jacob spotted the High Prophet.
There on a platform in the most stunning chair Jacob had ever seen, sat the man who, with a mere look, commanded the respect of the entire community. The High Prophet sat erect as his long, golden hair flowed down his back. His clean-shaven face matched no other married man in the community. But the most unnerving of all was his eyes. Jacob looked for only a moment, and the man seemed to have gained entrance into his very soul. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked away.
“Come closer,” High Prophet Daniel said.
Jacob took a few steps in his direction.
“You are excused, Marcus,” the High Prophet said, and the man
turned and left the room.
“Jacob, is it?” he asked with what seemed to be a kind tone.
“Yes, sir, High Prophet, sir.” Jacob had no idea how to address the man.
The High Prophet laughed. “No need to fear me, young man. I am not a monster.”
Jacob calmed just a bit.
“Have a seat, Jacob.” High Prophet Daniel waved his hand at a chair across from him.
Jacob took the offered seat for fear that if he didn’t, his legs might give out on him at any moment.
“It has come to my attention that you have been ensnared into sin by the wiles of a beautiful young woman? Is this true?”
Jacob looked away for fear that the man would see the certainty in his eyes. Jacob was to blame, and he’d planned to tell the man so, but the mere sight of the High Prophet terrified Jacob into speechlessness.
It was my fault. Not hers. It is me you should punish. I am to blame.
He wanted to say those words aloud, but his brain would not communicate with his mouth, so instead, he sat in stunned silence.
“It would not be the first time this has happened, young man. That is the reason we have such rules in our community. We do much to keep the raging hormones of the young to a minimum until they are of proper marrying age. And then, that is why we allow the Lord to choose who they marry.” He paused as if deep in thought and then continued. “If we were to allow a woman to choose, she would want to run the household. It has happened since the beginning of time.”
Jacob had no idea where he was going with that line of talk. He was only sixteen.
“Did you know, Eve, the first woman, seduced her husband into the very first sin against God?”
The story of Adam and Eve had been the subject of many sermons on sin. The first man and woman as well as the first to sin against God.
Jacob nodded.
“That is why we cannot allow a woman to dictate the confines of a marriage. A woman must be silent. She must be submissive. And she must not be the only wife. It is the only way for the man to maintain control of his family. Lest he fall into sin through the conniving deceit of a woman.” The High Prophet put his hands in the air. “A woman, my man, is only good for two things. One—” He put up a perfectly groomed finger. “To serve the needs of her husband. And two—” He put up another one. “To bear children.”
Jacob’s head spun with questions. Is that what men really thought of the opposite sex? Was there no other reason for a woman? Love? Companionship? To share in the joys of life?
He thought of Rachel. So fun, loving. She made him smile. Made his heart swell with love. Filled him with emotions he’d never felt before.
Were these sinful feelings? Did God despise such emotions?
The High Prophet had not brought him here to listen to his childish questions, so he refrained from asking.
“Now, I understand how you think you feel about this young lady, but your feelings are not real. You are too young to know what is best for you. And God has not chosen this girl for you. You are not equally yoked.”
Equally what?
The man was saying so many strange things that Jacob could not comprehend it all. He dared ask the one question he wanted, above all else, to know.
“Is she well?” His voice was barely audible to his own ears.
The High Prophet raised his eyebrows as if he’d never seen a man so bold.
Just when Jacob had resolved himself to not receiving an answer, the man folded his hands in his lap and spoke. “She left of her own free will. Whether she is well or not, I cannot say. She was given the option to repent and stay, and she chose to leave.”
Heat crept up Jacob’s neck and burned at his ears. The image of Rachel being thrown into the back of a pick-up, kicking and screaming revisited his memory. That had not been of her own free will. There was no way she’d been given a choice.
And now, in front of the High Prophet, he couldn’t bring himself to defend the girl he’d professed his love for. The girl he’d soiled, impregnated, banished. Jacob was a coward.
Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue, keepeth his soul from troubles.
Jacob turned his head to find the source of those words. There was no one else in the room besides the two of them. He shook his head to clear the fog. His first thought was that God had spoken to him, but that couldn’t be. God only spoke to the High Prophet.
Dehydration. That could happen if one did not drink enough water, and he certainly hadn’t. That, combined with the lack of sleep, was enough for anyone to hear voices. Yet and still, he heeded the nudging to keep his mouth closed.
The High Prophet cleared his throat, and Jacob turned his attention back to the man.
“Jacob.” He leaned forward. “To provide for your premature physical needs, the elders have agreed that you shall be allowed to marry early. The matter has been petitioned before the Lord, and God has spoken, A wife has been granted to you to quell your sinful nature. You shall be married in two weeks.”
Again, Jacob’s head whirled. Married? He was only sixteen. And Rachel was . . . gone. “Who . . . uh, am I to marry?”
The man stared at him for a while before answering. “God has spoken. For your castigation, you shall marry Abigail Pence.”
“Abigail? Rachel’s sister?” Jacob stared at the man before him. “She is only thirteen.”
The man let out a hearty laugh. “Was Rachel not thirteen? Did you not see a problem with having relations with her still?”
What could he say to that? The man spoke the truth. Abigail was merely three days older than Rachel. But Abigail? Why Abigail?
“But High Prophet, Abigail is not . . . I mean why—” He couldn’t think of a valid excuse. The man had him cornered. The only thing left to do was to agree and somehow hope to escape before the date. He would not do that to Abigail . . . or Rachel.
Jacob nodded his acceptance. “Yes, High Prophet.”
“And Jacob.” The man leaned closer. “You are forbidden to speak that name again. It shall be banned from speech. A curse to all men from this day forward. Do you understand me?”
Again, Jacob nodded.
Chapter 11 - Luna
“Luna, are you awake?” a voice whispered through the blanket pulled up over the top of Luna’s head. It was Tabitha.
Groggily, Luna sat up and glanced out the window. It was pitch black outside. Which was no different than inside. The Chosen didn’t believe in electricity. It was —wait for it —yep . . . Worldly.
“What time is it?” Luna asked, somewhat annoyed that she’d been woken from a great dream in which she was back at home with her mom. They had been cuddled together on the long, tan couch watching Grey’s Anatomy. Their all-time favorite show. Just like old times, a two-liter of soda and a bowl of popcorn sat on the table in front of them. But as reality rolled in and hit her like a ton of bricks, she sighed. That would never happen again.
She’s dead. My mother is dead.
“I do not know,” Tabitha whispered. “Are you well? Was Father’s punishment harsh?”
For the first time since Naaman left her room, the reason he didn’t physically discipline her made complete sense. It hadn’t been necessary. What he’d accomplished was something far worse. He’d wounded her for the rest of her life. Broken her will. Crushed her determination. Stolen all reason to fight. To escape. To live.
Her lip trembled. “I’m okay,” she lied.
Tabitha wouldn’t understand. She had three mothers. Technically Esther was her biological mother, but all three of the mothers cared for each of the children as if they were their own. There was no real distinction between them. They were respected equally. Many of the younglings did not even know which mother was theirs.
Until the age of maturity, which was thirteen, the children were not told who their biological mother was. And even then, they were not allowed to speak of it to anyone else. Luna only knew who Tabitha’s natural mother was because she’d gotten it out of her one night
. Besides, it wasn’t hard to tell. Tabitha was the spitting image of Esther. Same short stature, caring blue eyes, and soft smile.
Sometimes for fun, Luna watched the kids and tried to guess which of them belonged to which mother. She’d gotten it pretty much down. All she had to do was watch. The mothers treated certain children differently than others. Most likely, it was some kind of maternal instinct. And the children, well, they all seemed to gravitate to particular mothers. No matter how they tried, biology had a way of telling all. And these people were not her family. Biologically speaking or otherwise. No matter how they tried, they never would be.
“Father says you have had a change of heart. He said you no longer fight the marriage. Is that true?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Luna hesitated then turned toward Tabitha. “He told you that?”
“No. I overheard him speaking to Mama Deborah.” She glanced down in a moment of shame for her indiscretion of eavesdropping, but only for a moment before she spoke again. “She is not getting better. Mama Esther says she only has a little time left before she shall be with the Lord.”
“And I will take her place,” Luna said. “I heard him say it.”
Although no one had told her this directly, it was true. She’d overheard a conversation shortly after her arrival that alluded to it. She didn’t understand it then and still didn’t.
The only thing she was sure of was that Naaman needed to replace Deborah to regain his worthiness in God’s eyes. Elder Aaron had told him he had shamed himself, and his sin had taken his wife from him. Luna wasn’t sure what that sin was, but somehow, she believed she was to be the woman’s replacement so that Naaman could be right in his god’s eyes once again.
“No. You have it all wrong. Whatever it is you heard, you misunderstood. Father explained it to me. He is saving your soul. The only way for you to enter The Kingdom is to be married to him,” she whispered into the darkness.
The Chosen Page 5