by Kate L. Mary
She shook her head and gently took my hand in hers. “No, child, I’m not going to send you back. Abe is going to make a call to child protective services. They’ll make sure you’re taken care of. You can stay here until then. We’ll keep you safe.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I liked the word protective, so I just nodded and allowed her to continue holding my hand. It helped ease some of the pain inside me.
“Would you like to take a bath and get cleaned up a bit? I can give you some clean clothes. I found some old dresses that belonged to my daughters. They’ll be a bit big, and they’re pretty worn, but they’re clean.”
I nodded because a bath sounded wonderful. Even though Annabel and the doctor had cleaned me up a little, I had run all night through the dusty wilderness, and my skin was gritty with dirt.
“Good, let’s get you cleaned up, then.”
Chapter 3
A soft tap on the bathroom door is all it takes to jolt me back to the present.
“Willow, are you ill?”
My mother’s meek voice not only matches her personality perfectly, it also makes it nearly impossible for me to hate her. She isn’t intentionally trying to hurt me, and as crazy as it seems, she truly believes this place is good. Her weakness makes her believe it, though, and I do resent her for that.
I drag myself up off the bathroom floor and try to gather my strength. It’s in there. Somewhere. I know it is. I promised myself I’d never be weak like my mother, and in most things I’ve succeeded. No matter how hard Father David tried to break me, I’ve never given in.
David is my only weakness.
“I’m fine.” I bite my lip, fighting to control the bitterness flowing through my body like poison. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
Now that the steam from my shower is gone, it’s impossible to avoid my reflection. My red hair sits flat against my head where it dried, and dark rings circle my blue eyes while red veins cut through the whites. Rest has been difficult to come by, because the closer the wedding gets, the more vivid the dreams become.
Almost three years have passed since the night of my union. I’d like to say the memories have faded, but they haven’t. I live with that night every day, dream about it almost every night, and relive it every time I’m near David. When the images come screaming back, I’m not glimpsing the past, but looking into my future.
In just three weeks, on my eighteenth birthday, David and I will finally become one. Thinking about it causes bile to rise in my throat once again, but this time I manage to swallow it down. I don’t want to think about my upcoming union, but it’s impossible to forget. Ever since Father David announced I would be his son’s bride, and the future Wife of David, I’ve had to live in the shadow of that day.
Sometimes when I think about it, I consider slitting my wrists.
“I will get out of here,” I say aloud, trying to sound confident. Trying to reassure the wounded girl looking back at me.
It helps ease some of the agony inside me even though I know it’s never going to happen.
I rewet my tangled hair and brush it out before heading to my room to dress. All the girls in the community wear the same long dark skirt, white blouse, and gray cardigan sweater on chilly days. At least I get to wear my hair down since I’m still single. Once I’m married, though, I won’t have a choice. I’ll be forced to put it up in a bun like all the other married women in the community.
I close my eyes and slowly count to ten, repeating the words in my head I said just a few minutes ago, I will get out of here.
In the kitchen, there’s a plate of food waiting for me, cold after the drama of the morning.
My mother stares at me as I take a seat at the table, wringing her hands like she finds it impossible to hold still. “You’re dressed.”
My jaw clenches, and bitter words rise inside me, but I bite them back. Every time I see David, my hatred for my mother grows. His visits were so sporadic before that I was able to overcome some of the bitterness, but with the wedding getting closer, David has been around more and more.
“If you’re ill, you can stay home,” my mother says. “You don’t have to go to work if you’re not feeling well.”
Some of my hatred slips away, and I force myself to meet my mother’s blue eyes, which are as empty as usual. The urge to protect her living deep inside me claws its way to the surface. I know what my absence from work would mean for her, and I know she’s telling me she’ll endure it if she has to. Even though her offer is more of an automatic response than a sign of any real affection—something she thinks a mother should do more than something she actually wants to do—I know I can’t let her face that punishment for me.
“It’s okay, I’m not ill,” I say, trying to give her a reassuring smile. “I feel fine now.”
Her face relaxes a bit, but she doesn’t stop twisting her hands. I doubt she even realizes she’s doing it.
My mother has always been quiet and insecure, making the commune the perfect place for her. She’s someone who needs to be taken care of, and Father David and his flock were the perfect solution when my own father died. They took her in, supported her, and gave her everything she needed to survive. Even helped her raise me. She doesn’t mind that women are second-class citizens here. It seems perfectly natural to her. Just like it seems natural that her new husband hits her when she does something he doesn’t like. In her mind, she doesn’t deserve anything better.
My mother watches me from the kitchen, twisting her entwined fingers the whole time. The eggs taste like cold, mushy paper, but I shovel them down so I can get to work and away from her piercing blue eyes.
The sun is shining when I step outside, and I have to squint against the brilliant rays. It’s still early, but already the commune is alive with activity. I fall in line with the masses, heading down the main street. I pass house after house, each one the same as the last. There are forty houses in the community, each with either three or four bedrooms. Plenty of space for a growing family. The Book of David has instructed us to procreate, so the homes of Mt. David were built with that in mind. They’re nothing fancy, but they meet our needs. Rectangular and unattractive, they’re made of an ugly brown brick and contain a small kitchen and one and a half bathrooms, as well as a living area. All our furniture is second-hand and equally unattractive, but we have everything we need to live comfortably.
Father David created a nice little community here; even I have to admit that. We have barns full of animals, as well as gardens and orchards that provide us with every kind of fruit or vegetable that can be grown in this area. On the surface, it looks comfortable and welcoming, but looks can be deceiving.
We have electricity, but no televisions or radios. In fact, we have no real form of entertainment at all. No books or magazines, very few toys for the children, and no games of any kind. It doesn’t matter to most of the kids here, because many of them don’t even know such things exist. I know, though.
It’s better here than it was in Texas, but we’re not any less secluded. If it’s possible, we might be even more cut off from the world. I have no idea how far we are from the nearest town, but I do know not very many people are aware this place exists. They don’t need to, because we are as self-sufficient as we can get. We grow our own fruits and vegetables inside the commune and prepare our own food, making most of our clothing as well. There isn’t much reason to leave the grounds of Mt. David, but even when something from the outside world is needed, only the elders or our leader, Father David, go to town. A woman would never be able to leave. Especially not a teenage girl.
Shoulders bump into me as I walk, but I don’t react. There are almost three hundred people trapped within the walls of this commune, but most of the time I feel alone. Especially at times like this, surrounded by silent people who are too beaten down and broken to even have a conversation.
The main building comes into view, which is the most important building in our community and loc
ated in the very center of the commune, and most of the people around me head into the building when I do. We are bunched together as we move, like a group of migrating birds. I pass the classrooms and the worship hall on the first floor, and all around me people fan out while others move to the stairs. I am one of them, caught in the middle of the crowd as our feet thump against the steps in unison, making us sound like an army marching off to war. We reach the second floor, and the rest of the people break off, heading into the dining hall and kitchen where we eat together on special occasions, while I continue my trek up.
I pause when I reach the third floor, just outside the door leading into the hospital wing. This is the job I was given when I turned fifteen, after my betrothal and my escape, after they found me and brought me back. After I endured my punishment and finally repented. The Wife of David is supposed to be a servant, so it’s natural that I would work in the hospital. Just like David’s mother does. But being with that woman every day is torture. She is a ghost of a person, even more timid and worn out than my own mother. Even worse, looking her in the eye makes me feel as if my future is staring back at me, and it’s terrifying.
When I finally push the door open and walk in, Sister Sarah looks up from where she sits behind the reception desk. The smile she flashes is bright and welcoming. Sincere. I’m running late, and I know Dr. Jones will have something to say about it, but I find myself stopping. There’s a good chance this will be the only smile I get today. Sister Sarah is one of the few happy women I know in the community. She believes in Father David with all her heart, yet somehow she’s still able to smile.
Then again, maybe believing is the only way to truly be happy in this place.
“Good morning, Sister Willow,” Sarah says as she hauls herself to her feet.
She raises her hands over her head, stretching as she bends back slightly, and her round belly sticks out.
Sarah is older than I am, but still young to be on her fourth child. Her first was born when she was only fifteen years old, a result of her union. It’s sick, thinking about a child having a baby, but she and her family looked at it as a blessing, and three years later when she and her husband were finally married, the little girl was standing at their side. Sarah has had a baby every year since she got married. It isn’t uncommon for the women here to have eight or nine children, and it looks as if Sarah is well on her way to trying to break some kind of record. I can’t imagine how I’ll do it when my time comes, managing baby after baby in a world I hate while living with a man I detest. Will I be able to love our children, or will I look at them and see David staring back at me?
“My back hurts more and more every day,” Sarah says when she’s finished stretching. “I can’t wait for the baby to come.”
“It isn’t long now, right?” I lean against the desk, my heart still pounding from the trek upstairs. Or maybe it’s from thinking about the children David and I could soon have.
A few strands of blonde hair manage to escape her tight bun when Sarah nods enthusiastically, and I find myself wondering what their secret is. How did they break out of such a confining prison?
“Three weeks, not long at all!”
Sarah’s words ring in my ears, and my stomach twists. She’s right.
“It will be here in no time,” I murmur.
She smiles as she lowers herself back into her chair, oblivious to the fact that I’m no longer talking about the birth of her baby. The happiness in her brown eyes forces me to turn away. Looking at her makes it difficult for me to breathe, and suddenly, Sarah’s round belly no longer represents a baby to me, but is instead a reminder of the prison I’m about to be forced into.
“I have to get to work,” I mumble as I head through the double doors. “I’ll see you later.”
Sarah’s chipper goodbye follows me through the double doors, but they flap shut before I can force myself to respond.
I head deeper into the hospital, passing dark exam rooms while my stomach aches with the knowledge that I’m a prisoner in my own life. The hospital isn’t huge, but it has state-of-the-art equipment that would rival any medical facility of this size in the real world. Father David and the elders spared no expense when they built it. Not that they needed to. There’s more than enough money to keep this place running for generations. Everyone who joins the Children of David signs all their assets over to the church.
I pass through a second set of double doors, and when they swing open, I’m greeted by the sound of voices. The operating room in front of me is empty, and so is the delivery room to my left, so I go right, toward the room that houses the x-ray equipment. That’s where I find the doctor, studying an x-ray while Mother Ruth helps a young man into a wheelchair.
All three of them look up when I enter, and I instinctively lower my head and hunch my shoulders, doing my best impression of Mother Ruth.
From behind lowered lashes, I watch as the doctor narrows his eyes on me. “You are late, Sister Willow.” His tone is cold and unforgiving, but I’m used to it.
I keep my head down as I nod. “I’m sorry, Dr. Jones. I was ill this morning,” I say, trying to sound as repentant as possible even though I don’t care at all.
“Well, let’s not make a habit of it,” he snaps, turning away from me. “Take this young man back to exam room one while Mother Ruth cleans up.”
I nod but say nothing as I move over to take Mother Ruth’s place behind the wheelchair. The doctor doesn’t want to hear from me anyway.
When I’ve made it out into the hall and the double doors have shut behind us, I sneak a peek at the man, being sure to keep my head down so he can’t tell. Jared Ross. I’ve seen him around, of course, but we’ve never spoken. Men and women don’t intermingle in the community except in situations like this, so there’s never been an opportunity for us to interact before now. He works in the barns, which I can tell from the mud on his pants and boots, and the scent of dirt and livestock wafting from him.
Neither of us talks as I push him into an empty room. I flip on the lights, making Jared squint, and I take the opportunity to look him over.
He’s older than I am, but not by much, maybe nineteen. Possibly edging toward twenty. Working in the barn has made him muscular, and his broad shoulders and thick forearms strain against the plain, gray work shirt he’s wearing. His boyish looks contrast with his size, though, and the healthy glow to his skin and bleached blond hair—both from the sun—only add to his youthful appearance.
He blinks a few times, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light, and I find myself taking a step closer. They are the most fascinating color I’ve ever seen. The irises are bluish-gray, and a small golden brown ring circles his pupils, spreading out in little points at places. Almost as if a star is trapped behind them. They are absolutely beautiful, and for a few totally uncharacteristic seconds, I forget where I am and find myself mesmerized.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, making me jump.
Warmth spreads up my neck and across my cheeks as I look away, and I shake my head. “I’m sorry.” I take a step back, broadening the space between us. “I was just fascinated by the color of your eyes.”
To my shock, Jared smiles, revealing perfectly straight teeth. He tilts his head to the side, and for the second time, I forget who I am and where we are as I admire his square jaw and straight nose. Jared’s eyes search mine, and his smile stretches wider. It’s crooked and cute, and I get the impression that if we were different people, he’d have something teasing to say to me.
His easy demeanor catches me off-guard, and I find myself totally speechless. Jared isn’t nearly as standoffish as most of the people in the community, and it doesn’t make sense. Men do not smile at women the way he’s smiling at me right now. Not here. Not with the teachings of Father David hanging over our heads.
David.
Heat floods my body, and around me the room seems to shrink in size. My eyes fly to the door, which is shut. Meaning Jared and I are alone in this small
space. The beat of my heart grows louder in my ears, and just like that, David is here. Touching me. Making every inch of my skin crawl. It feels real enough that I have to close my eyes to calm myself down.
I work on controlling my breathing while struggling to push the memories away. It takes a few seconds to regain my composure, though, and even when I open my eyes, my body is still shaking.
I find Jared watching me, his friendly smile gone, and a confused but worried frown has taken its place. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say, turning my back on the man who won’t stop staring at me.
My fingers are still trembling when I pull the door open. I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to force the tremors away. Inhale. Exhale. Focusing on the air moving in and out of my lungs. Counting each breath. Forcing my body to stay grounded in reality and accept that David is not here with me. Not now.
Somehow, by the time I turn back to face Jared, I’m more in control of my body.
“Would you like to stay in your chair, or can I help you to the bed?” The steady tone of my voice is a testament to how good I’ve gotten at pretending everything is okay.
Jared blinks then looks from me to the open door before settling his gaze on my face. “I think the bed would be more comfortable.”
I push the chair over so it’s right next to the bed and put the brakes on. When I turn to help him stand, Jared pushes himself up, shifting all of his weight to his left foot. He puts his right arm around my shoulders, and his sleeve rides up. His bare skin on my neck is like a bolt of lightning striking me, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have to wrap my arm around his waist and help him as he hops to the bed.
The second his weight is off me, I stumble away, putting distance between us.
Jared lifts his leg so his injured ankle is resting on the bed before turning to look at me, and a million questions flit through his eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Of course,” I snap then slam my mouth shut as heat rushes to my face.
