by Kate L. Mary
I may have been successful in hiding my shock over seeing the date printed on a calendar, but I failed miserably when I saw their television for the first time. When the pictures on the screen flickered to life right in front of me, I couldn’t look away. That first day I could barely focus on anything else, and I sat there for hours, watching anything and everything, flipping through channels, watching commercials as if they held all the secrets of the world, marveling over the images of a world I had never seen before. A place that held neighborhoods with neat little houses and green lawns, where kids ran and played and laughed, where they went to school with other children their age and grew up and dated and chose who they would marry. It didn’t seem real, but I knew it was, and it made me hate my mother and Father David even more than I already did.
I might have stayed glued to the television for the next week if there weren’t so many other things for me to learn, but my appetite for knowledge made it easy to tear myself away. In the living room, I found an old dusty set of books called encyclopedias and began to look through them one by one. I’d already learned we lived in Texas from the television, but I had no idea how many other states there were. Using the encyclopedia, I was able to find out all kinds of amazing things about the country I lived in. How old we were, how the first settlers had come over on boats from a country that existed across a massive ocean, the wars waged on our soil, the freedoms won. Every page seemed to hold new wonders, and I felt certain that even if I read every page, I’d never be able to cram all the information into my brain.
I was a child, though, and it wasn’t long before other things won out over reading. Abe took me out to see the animals, letting me ride in the front seat of the truck right next to him. I’d spent my whole life around cows since we had several in our barns at the commune, but Abe had hundreds of them, and seeing so many fenced together like that was overwhelming, both in sight and smell.
It was the horses that really caught my attention, though. Abe had three of them, two that were deep brown and a third only a tad lighter than the desert stretching out around us. He taught me how to ride, and the feeling of the powerful animal under me as it trotted and charged across the earth was the most exhilarating thing I had ever experienced.
I was able to experience things most children took for granted, and for the first time, I felt hope. And joy.
My third day at the ranch brought other, less pleasant discoveries, though. I was watching television with Annabel and Abe when a news story about the anniversary of the Waco siege came on. I leaned closer as the woman on the television talked about the group, and the man who had been their leader. She called them a cult and described this man, David Koresh, as charismatic and persuasive, and the more she talked, the more I thought about Father David.
I asked Annabel a lot of questions about the group, and she told me as much as she could, but her memory of the events was fuzzy. So she looked it up for me on her computer, and after that I spent hours on the Internet reading about cults and their leaders. The more I read, the more I understood exactly what Father David was.
I stayed at the ranch for almost two weeks, and it was the only time in my life I could remember being truly happy. Annabel in particular made that time special. She spent time with me the way my mother never had, and for the first time I understood what a real mother and daughter relationship should be like. I understood how it felt to be cared for.
The woman who raised me had never been affectionate, not even when I was a young child. For as long as I could remember, I’d felt as if unnamed ghosts from her past surrounded us, and most of the memories from my childhood were of my mother crying. The other women in the commune were the ones who really raised me. Not her. She carried a sadness with her that I would never be able to understand, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t forgive her indifference. There were too many nights of me tucking her into bed and comforting her as she cried, but she had never been there to comfort me when I needed it.
None of that was true with Annabel. She spent time with me, talked to me, showed me how to sew and bake. Showed me true affection. I knew the time she spent with me wasn’t a burden, but that she genuinely loved doing it, and I basked in the attention. I was fifteen, but still such a child in many ways, and being with Annabel made me feel even younger.
The first thing we baked together were chocolate chip cookies. I’d never had chocolate before, or sweets of any kind, for that matter, and when she handed me a cookie, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It was soft and warm when I bit into it, gooey and delicious. It was a million times better than anything I’d ever tasted—even better than the orange juice—and I immediately fell in love. I ate close to a dozen cookies that night and went to bed with a stomachache, but it was worth every wonderful bite.
By the end of the first week, I grew anxious. I worried Father David would find me, and wondered exactly who was supposed to come get me from Annabel and Abe. I was torn by the idea of leaving. Part of me wanted to stay on the ranch forever, but another part needed to get as far away as possible. I knew I wasn’t really safe, and every night when I went to bed, I worried I would wake to find myself back with the Children. My dreams were riddled with images of David on top of me while Father David sat in the corner, smiling and telling his son God wanted him to do it. More than once I woke up screaming, but Annabel was always there to comfort me.
Ultimately, the comfort the older woman showed me overshadowed my worry, and before long my anxiety began to melt away. Even though I was close to the commune and I knew Father David could still find me, I felt safe on the ranch. Safer than I’d ever felt before.
“Annabel,” I said to her one day after thinking it over carefully and deciding I wanted to stay with them. “Didn’t you say someone was coming for me?”
She frowned and sat next to me on the couch. “Yes, Willow, someone will be coming for you.”
Where would they take me if they came? Would I once again be hidden from the world? I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the way things were now that I knew so much, had seen so many things.
“But I want to stay here, with you,” I said, my voice shaking just like my legs were.
Annabel put her arms around me and pulled me close. She kissed the top of my head. “I know, and I wish you could stay here, too, but it’s not up to us. We need to get the authorities involved. To figure out who hurt you and make sure no one else gets hurt.” She pulled back so she could look me in the eye, studying me with a deep frown on her face. “I wish you would tell me who it was.”
I shook my head. No matter how certain I was that I never wanted to go back, I couldn’t betray the Children. “I can’t,” I said, looking down at my hands.
“You take your time, Willow, but I hope you will eventually tell me.”
I swallowed and looked up. Her eyes were full of disappointment, but she managed to give me a reassuring smile.
But I didn’t tell her, and it was something I’d always regret. For so many reasons.
Chapter 6
I lean against the truck of an apple tree and concentrate on the moon reflecting off the shimmering waters of the pond.
My time on the ranch is the only thing that’s saved me from having nightmares every time I fall asleep. Sometimes, if the conditions are just right, I dream about being back at the ranch instead of having nightmares about David. No tears wake me on those nights, but in the morning when the sun peeks through the small cracks in my curtains, waking me to yet another day in Mt. David, it’s impossible to keep the tears away.
That’s when the real nightmare starts.
A sob breaks out of me now, shaking my body and echoing across the dark night. I should have gone home when I left David’s—George will be furious—but I couldn’t bring myself to set foot inside that suffocating building. I needed time to clear my head and prepare myself for the future. Wherever that may be.
More than anything else that happened tonight, the look in Moth
er Ruth’s eyes has shaken me the most. I thought I knew everything about that woman, but I was wrong. Somewhere deep inside, behind the ghost that has inhabited her body for as long as I can remember, she’s still alive. If that pathetic creature pities me, then my future is even more bleak than I thought it was.
I will get out of here. It’s my only comfort at the moment, so I repeat it to myself, I will get out of here.
It doesn’t help, and the tightening that started in my stomach the moment my gaze met Mother Ruth’s intensifies. I tug at the hem of my sweater as I try to focus on something else.
Jared.
His cute, crooked grin flashes through my mind, and a tiny smile curls up my lips. For just a second, I allow myself to think about how attractive he is and what my life might be like if we were somewhere else. If we were different people. If my innocence hadn’t been shattered three years ago, if I were whole instead of a remnant of what I once was.
To my surprise, thinking about Jared doesn’t fill me with terror. It doesn’t make the knots in my stomach tighten, and when my heart pounds faster, it isn’t from the fear. It’s a strange sensation for me. New. Since the night of my betrothal, I’ve never been able to think about any man without feeling hate or bitterness or panic.
With Jared, though, I’m filled with something I haven’t felt since my days with Annabel and Abe. Hope. It isn’t hope for me, because I’ve pretty much given up on the thought that I’ll ever escape this life—no matter how many pep talks I give myself—but hope for Jared. Hope that he’ll be able to get out. That he’ll choose to leave and start a new life. Even if I can’t.
No, I will get out of here. I don’t believe it deep down, but a part of me takes comfort in the lie.
After what has to be an hour of sitting in silence, I drag myself to my feet. I need to go home or there will be trouble for my mother. It’s already after nine o’clock, and George is going to be furious. He’s a firm believer in Father David’s teachings, and he doesn’t think women should have any freedom.
Just like I thought, I find George sitting on the living room couch. Waiting for me. I step inside, and even before I have the door shut, every muscle in my body has tensed until it feels like I’m made of stone. My stepfather is a short man, only five seven like me, and his body is round and soft, his belly larger than average in our community. What’s left of his dark hair is combed over his scalp, and the bare skin shines through the strands, glistening with sweat. His dark eyes are hard and sharp and angry. Always angry. When he gets upset, his entire face turns bright red, reminding me of a tomato. Sometimes, when he loses his temper, his cheeks get so puffy I imagine him exploding, blowing up into a million pieces.
“Where have you been?” he growls as he drags himself to his feet.
“I had dinner with David,” I say, bowing my head. Trying to look repentant and meek even though inside, my body is sizzling. Preparing for a fight.
Deep down, I know he won’t, but I find myself hoping George will let my absence go at that.
“That was at seven. I’m not a fool, Willow. Dinner doesn’t take two hours!” He crosses the room to me in two strides that seem impossibly long for his short legs. When he grabs my arm, his grip feels like it will snap my bones in half. “Where were you?”
Heat floods my body, and a thousand replies pop into my head, all of which are likely to get me slapped, so I clamp my mouth shut and work on keeping my breathing even. George’s grip gets tighter by the second, and his fingers dig into my flesh. I’ll have a bruise there tomorrow for sure, but it won’t be the first time he’s left a mark on my body, and it certainly won’t be the worst.
“I took a walk to reflect on my future,” I finally manage to get out. My stepfather will be furious no matter what I say, but maybe if I’m honest he won’t hit me. Or my mother.
“You don’t need to reflect on your future, you just need to reflect on your past and the sins you’ve committed against David.” His grip tightens, and against my will, my face scrunches up in pain. A glint of satisfaction flashes in his eyes, and a split second later, he releases my arm and shoves me toward the hallway. “Get to bed!”
I only stumble a few steps before regaining my footing. I rub my throbbing arm as I head across the room, and for the first time notice my mother standing off to the side. She’s more like a piece of furniture than a person these days, silent and utilitarian, here only to meet George’s needs. I should feel some kind of pity for her, but instead bitterness springs up inside me. It’s sharp and painful when it wraps its fingers around my heart and squeezes, and I can’t stop it from seeping inside the organ.
It’s not that I expect my mother to stop George. We both know it wouldn’t do any good, but it would be nice to see some kind of human emotion on her face. Remorse for what she’s turned my life into, regret for marrying George, anger that he’s hurting us both. Anything to show she’s my mother. But there’s nothing. Only emptiness.
Has she finally given up feeling anything at all? For years, everything she did looked painful. It was like every breath, every movement, and every action physically hurt. Just being alive was excruciating. Now, though, she merely looks empty.
When I open my eyes, the room is still dark. I’m shaking and drenched in sweat, and David’s presence still hangs over me. He’s like my shadow these days, following me while I work, haunting my dreams. I can never escape him completely. The worst part of it is that soon I’ll be his.
It’s only six thirty in the morning, and outside the sun has just begun to light up the horizon, but I can’t even think about going back to sleep. It’s Saturday, which means no work at the hospital. But I can’t just lie in my room all day, not with George here, so I drag myself out of bed. Hopefully, a shower will wash away the nightmares.
The water is still cold when I step in, and the icy stream is like dozens of little needles poking me at once. I squeeze my eyes shut and stand still, letting the water rinse the sweat from my body. Goose bumps cover every inch of my skin, and my teeth chatter as shivers work their way through me. It seems to take forever for the water to get warm.
By the time I’m dressed, it’s nearly seven. There’s movement coming from my mother’s room, and my stomach tightens painfully at the sound of George’s grunting. Images that have no business being in my head flood my brain. David naked. George holding my mother down. Father David watching, his smiling face hidden behind shadows and making him look like the evil man he is. Each picture is worse than the last, and the longer I stand in the hallway, the more intense they become.
I hurry from the house.
The morning air is chilly when I let out a deep sigh of relief, and a puff rises up in front of me, magnified by the rays of the morning sun. This early, the community is utterly silent. Most people are probably still asleep since Saturday is the only day of the week we’re allowed the luxury of sleeping in. I walk down the street, passing the dark and silent houses in a hurry, keeping my head down. The quietness of the community is slightly unnerving, which doesn’t really make sense. I should be used to this noiseless existence by now.
The closer I get to the pond, the lighter I feel, and by the time I pass the main building, some of the tension in my body has eased. The dew is heavy this morning and the air damp, and I hug myself against the spring breeze, rubbing my arms to warm them. The sun is a giant orange ball on the horizon, setting the sky on fire, and the light reflects off the drops of moisture clinging to the grass, and they sparkle. A thick cloud of steam rises from my mouth with every exhale, and I deliberately draw them out so I can watch the steam rise and dissipate in front of me, turning into nothingness before my eyes.
There’s nothing I love more than being outside. It’s the only time I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of suffocating.
By the time I’ve reached the pond, the dew has soaked through my shoes and socks and my feet are soaking wet. My toes have gone numb, but right now all that matters is grabbing some time for myself b
efore reality comes crashing back in on me, so I ignore the dew and lower myself onto grass. Within seconds, the moisture has soaked through my skirt, but I barely notice it as I pull my knees up and hug them tightly against my chest, watching the sun rise higher in the sky.
Time passes, slow and easy. My body relaxes like it only can when I’m truly alone, and my troubles seem to disappear the same way the steam did when it rose from my mouth.
I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting next to the pond when the sound of footsteps breaks the silence, but the sun is already well over the horizon and the sky is bright. My mind wanders to yesterday, and a slow smile breaks across my face as I turn toward the sound, expecting to see Jared’s smiling face.
It isn’t Jared, though. It’s Father David.
My smile dissolves as every muscle in my body tightens.
He’s grinning as he heads my way. Most people find that fake smile welcoming, but to me it’s always seemed evil. Something he hides his true nature behind. A mask that covers the darkness living inside him.
A lump forms in my throat that I can’t swallow down, and I find it impossible to look away. I’ve grown up with Father David as my leader, and although he looks older than he did when I was a child, not much about his appearance has changed over the years. He’s tall, towering over most of the other men in the community, and lean. His brown eyes still carry the same look of careful observation they always have, and his wavy brown hair hangs to just past his shoulders. The few streaks of gray in it and the lines by his eyes are the only real physical change, but his personality has become more menacing in recent years. Although I doubt many other people have noticed it.
