by Kate L. Mary
Instead, I say, “We will.”
Chapter 13
After a few relaxing hours with Jared, dinner with my mother and George is even more tense than usual. My stepfather starts the meal by criticizing my mother’s cooking, and the worse his verbal abuse gets, the more my head begins to throb. By the time he finally pushes his chair away from the table so he can stand, I have a pounding headache.
I help my mother clear the table, hoping the ache will ease, but it only gets worse, reaching a blinding intensity by the time the dishes are washed and put away. Unless I take something, there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep a wink tonight, but every drug in the commune is stored in the hospital. If I want to get something, I’m going to have to ask permission.
Thirty seconds of massaging my temples does nothing, so I give up and head into the living room. George is sprawled out on the couch, his face red and sweaty and his thin hair plastered to his scalp. Repulsion shakes my body, and for once I’m happy to focus my gaze on the floor. Anything to avoid looking him in the eye.
“Brother George,” I say, keeping my head down. “Would it be okay if I went to the hospital to get some medicine? I have a headache.”
When George glares, his face gets redder and his cheeks puff out. I shift from foot to foot. He’s going to say no. He doesn’t care if I’m uncomfortable.
He snorts and waves toward the door. “I want you back here in less than twenty minutes.”
I mumble something that hopefully sounds like thank you as I head for the door.
The second my feet hit dirt, I start running.
It’s only mid April, and the night air is chilly. The rain from the last week still hangs in the air, making it feel damp against my skin, but it’s kind of nice after the stifling atmosphere in the house.
I slow to a brisk walk after only a minute of running and grip my cardigan tighter against my body. George said twenty minutes, but I’m going to drag this little bit of freedom out as long as I possibly can.
All the lights in the main building are off except the one over the front door, but when I step inside, I’m not greeted by complete darkness the way I thought I would be. The doors to the worship hall stand open, and the moonlight breaking through the stained glass window has leaked into the hall, bathing the foyer in red.
It almost looks like the room is coated in blood.
Every hair on my body stands up as the emptiness of the building envelops me. Fear and dread pool in my stomach, but I try to shake the feeling off because it’s ridiculous. There’s nothing in this building to be afraid of unless you count spiders.
It doesn’t work.
I head up anyway, taking the stairs two at a time. The second floor is just as silent as the first floor was, only darker. I peer into the dining hall as I pass, but it’s empty just like it should be.
Still, the dread hanging over me doesn’t ease.
When I reach the third floor, I burst through the hospital doors and freeze in my tracks. The lights in the reception area are still on, and nothing has been shut down for the day. The pit in my stomach grows, weighing me down with an even bigger feeling of dread.
Something isn’t right.
Calm down. Maybe there was an emergency, I tell myself.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is very wrong.
“Is anyone here?” I hold my breath and wait, but no one answers. “Hello?”
I tug on the hem of my cardigan until the loose thread pulls free, and it’s six inches long before I can make my fingers stop.
It’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about. There’s a logical reason the lights are still on.
The double doors open with a swish when I walk through, and my footsteps echo in the empty space. Someone has to be here. There’s no way Mother Ruth would’ve left the hospital like this.
So far, though, there’s nothing but emptiness.
When I pass through the second set of double doors, I pause and listen, but there’s only silence.
The operating room is in front of me, and I peer through the little window at the top of the door.
Empty.
I turn right and head to the x-ray room, but it’s empty, too.
That just leaves the delivery room.
My heart pounds harder with each step I take. There can’t be a woman in labor. It’s too quiet.
The door is slightly ajar, and I freeze for just a second before pushing it open the rest of the way, holding my breath.
It takes a minute to register what I’m seeing, and even then I can’t move. There’s a blanket spread out on the floor, and Mother Ruth is lying on top of it with her arms spread out on either side of her. Each of her hands rests on a pile of bunched up rags, and dark red lines that are close to four inches long move up her arms, starting at her wrists.
Cuts. Her wrists have been sliced open, and blood is dripping from them. Over her wrists, painting her pale skin red before collecting in circles that are dark enough to appear black.
The reality of what I’m seeing slams into me, and all the air whooshes out of my lungs. I grab the doorframe when the world starts to spin. Frantically, I search the room while trying to figure out who did this to her, but other than Mother Ruth, no one is around.
I stagger forward, still unsure what’s happening but knowing I have to do something.
Beneath her, the blanket is spread out neatly, and the piles of rags have been placed perfectly under her bleeding wrists. Almost like it was laid out that way to make the cleanup easier.
Me, I realize. I’ll be the one who has to clean the mess up.
That’s when reality swoops in, forcing a gasp out of me while my hand goes to my throat.
She did this to herself.
“Mother Ruth!” I fall to my knees at her side.
Grabbing the edge of the blanket, I press it against her wounded wrist while reaching over her for the other one, desperately trying to staunch the flow of life before it drips out of her completely.
Deep down, though, I know I’m too late.
Her eyes open, and she blinks once before they focus on my face. They’re glassy and distant, but I can tell she knows I’m here. My own eyes sting, and I can’t force any words to come out. Mother Ruth’s face is pale, more lifeless than I’ve ever seen it before, and her skin feels cool in contrast to mine.
Giving up on trying to press the blanket to her wrist for a moment, I press two shaky fingertips against her throat. There’s still a pulse, but it’s faint.
She doesn’t have much time left.
“Willow,” she whispers. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, haggard breath before opening them again. “I’m glad you found me.”
Her voice is barely audible, and she winces with each word like it takes a lot of effort to speak.
I’m torn, unsure of what to do.
Run for help?
Stay with her?
The pit in my stomach tightens, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like a child.
“Why did you do this?” A sob accompanies the words, and my eyes fill with tears, blurring her face until I can barely see her smile.
Smile? Why is she smiling?
She lifts her hand and touches my face. It’s gentle. So light that if it weren’t for the warm blood she leaves on my cheek, I might not even notice it.
“Your family—” she whispers, trying to lift her head so she’s closer to me. “Look for your family in Austin.”
She’s telling me where my mother and father were from, I realize.
But where’s Austin? Texas, maybe?
That was where the Children of David lived when my mother joined, so it’s possible. Only I have no idea where I am now or how to get to Texas even if I could leave here, which I can’t. She must know it, too. She must know what her husband threatened to do. She must know he’s capable of that and much more.
Before I can collect my thoughts enough to respond, Mother Ruth’s arm drops to her side and
her body goes slack.
Tears stream down my face while a torrent of sobs shake my body. My hands are too unsteady to even attempt to take her pulse, so instead I lay my head on her chest and listen for a heartbeat. I know there won’t be one, but I can’t stop myself.
Just like I thought, I’m met with silence.
My tears come faster, and I scoot back, but I can’t move away.
What do I do now?
I should tell Father David his wife is dead, but I can’t get my legs to work, and I can’t tear my eyes off Mother Ruth’s motionless body. Her life was tragic, and living here must have been awful for her. How did she manage it this long? Maybe she had wonderful memories from her childhood like Jared does, or something else that was a comfort to her. Maybe.
Her blank eyes stare back at me, totally hollow just like that stupid snail shell. They’re not much different than they were in life, I realize.
I should have been nicer to her. I should have thanked her for showing me kindness, for telling me about my family. Maybe it’s not too late. I don’t know much about the afterlife—only what I’ve heard here—and for all I know, she could still be here with me.
Closing my eyes, I say a silent thank you to Mother Ruth. Hopefully, there really is a God, and she’s with Him now. At peace, finally.
Footsteps echo through the hospital at my back, and my eyes fly open. I spin to face the door just as Father David comes into view. At first, there’s annoyance, even a little impatience, in his eyes, but it doesn’t last long. There’s blood everywhere, all over me and all over the blanket under me, and I can tell when he sees it, because his eyes get huge.
He stops just inside the door.
“She’s dead,” I manage to sputter.
Father David doesn’t look at me, but instead scans the room, looking the bloody towels over, and then studying his wife. The expression on his face tells me I don’t have to explain what happened here. He knows she did this to herself.
When he finally looks my way, there isn’t an ounce of emotion in his brown eyes.
Why not? There should be something. Anger or sorrow, something to indicate he’s just found his wife of close to thirty years dead. But they’re blank, and seeing the indifference makes my stomach harden like nothing else here has. Even in death, he can’t give this woman any respect.
He takes another step into the room, and his gaze moves back to his dead wife. “Leave, Willow. I’ll take care of this.”
I don’t respond. I just jump to my feet and run from the room, through the first set of double doors, past the exam rooms, and out into the reception area. I’m gasping for breath, but I don’t slow as I charge down the stairs and dash out into the cold night. Once there, the light above the door highlights Mother Ruth’s blood. I’m covered in it, and I want it off.
Instead of heading home, I turn right and start running again.
This time, I don’t stop until I’ve reached the edge of the pond. Even once I get there, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m gasping, trying to catch my breath as I stand there, staring at the rippling surface of the pond as it sparkles under moonlight.
I’m already shivering from the night air, but that doesn’t stop me from stripping off my clothes. I toss them aside, unconcerned about the goose bumps popping up on my arms and legs or the steam rising in front of me with every breath I let out.
Even naked, I feel like I’m covered in Mother Ruth’s blood, and I want it off.
Taking a deep breath, I jump as far as I can.
The icy water engulfs me, and I scream, letting all the air out of my lungs in a burst that bubbles to the surface. My feet hit the soft, mushy bottom, and mud oozes between my toes. I kick away from it, pulling myself up through the water and resurfacing in the center of the pond.
Goose bumps cover every inch of my body, but I dive back under anyway. This time, I stay down, holding my breath until my lungs burn then blowing it out as I swim back to the surface.
Why haven’t I ever done this before? I’ve been to this pond hundreds of times since moving to Mt. David, but not once have I considered jumping in, even during the summer months when I was hot and sweaty.
It’s probably because no one ever swims in this pond, but I’m probably one of the few people in the community who actually knows how to swim. I learned at Annabel and Abe’s, but if I hadn’t run away, I never would have had the chance.
I lay on my back in the water, floating listlessly on the surface while I stare up at the sky, thinking about the pool in Annabel’s back yard and how hard she worked to teach me to swim. I was scared at first, terrified of drowning, but she was patient, and I’m so thankful for it.
Above me, the moon is full and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The stars stare back at me as I allow myself to relax, floating on the surface of the pond, only moving my hands a little so I don’t sink. It’s calming and peaceful, and I do my best to forget where I am. And how trapped I feel.
It doesn’t take long for George to break through my peacefulness, though. He told me to be back in twenty minutes, and I’m way past that. He’s going to be furious, especially when I come back soaking wet.
I swim to the side of the pond and hoist myself out. My hair is dripping, but I only pause for a moment to wring it out before pulling my clothes back on. I’m shivering, and the fabric sticks to my damp skin, but there’s no time to worry. I need to get back.
The second I’m dressed, I take off, running back toward the houses. I only slow a little when I pass the main building. It’s as dark and silent as it was when I left, which doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t someone be there? Helping Father David or something? As far as I can tell, though, nothing is happening.
When I get home, I pause outside my front door to calm my breathing. George is going to be angry, but I’m not sure what he’ll do. There’s only one way to find out, though, and I can’t put it off forever, so I push the door open.
Thankfully, I’m greeted by darkness.
They went to bed.
I’m halfway through the living room when my feet stop working. There’s no mistaking the sounds coming from my mother’s room, and for a second, I can’t do anything. My body shakes, and my lungs won’t work. It’s like I’ve been transported back and I’m in David’s bed. His hands are on me, his stubble scratching my face….
Bile rises in my throat, and I force myself to move. Even when I’m safely in my room, I can’t push the sounds or memories away.
I bolt upright, my heart thudding to the rhythm of the pounding on my door.
George is yelling for me.
Rolling out of bed, I stumble across the room and yank the door open. George’s face is redder than usual, and I take a step back, bracing myself, certain he’s going to hit me for staying out last night.
“Get dressed. Father David has called a gathering,” he growls. He turns away but stops after two steps and glances over his shoulder, narrowing his beady eyes. “And don’t think I didn’t notice how long you were gone last night. We’ll deal with that later.”
By the time I’m ready to go, my mother and George have already left. There’s no breakfast waiting for me.
I relive last night as I walk to the main building. The gathering will be about Mother Ruth, that I know for sure, but I’m less certain how Father David will handle the whole thing. Will he tell the Children the truth? Will he admit their Mother took her own life?
It doesn’t seem like something he would do.
The foyer is already crowded, the men lingering in the hall, chatting as usual and completely oblivious to what they’re about to hear.
Bitterness bites at me like a venomous snake. There won’t be very many tears shed over the passing of Mother Ruth, and the unjustness of it makes my stomach twist into painful knots.
Even in death, I can’t stop pitying her.
I’m just about to step into the worship hall when someone grabs my elbow.
I turn and am met with the s
omber face of Father David. “I would like to speak to you, Sister Willow,” he says mockingly.
My elbow still clasped in his hand, he leads me deeper into the building to his office, shutting the door before finally releasing me.
Luckily, being alone with him doesn’t scare me the way being alone with his son does. Father David won’t hurt me. He can’t afford to.
“We need to come to another understanding,” he begins, giving me a stern look. “I don’t want you telling anyone what happened last night. Do you understand me? Whatever I say in that worship hall is the truth, and you will go along with it.”
Even though it doesn’t really surprise me to learn that he plans to lie about Mother Ruth’s death, it makes me pity her more than I already did, and it takes me a few seconds to force out the words he’s waiting to hear.
“Of course.”
He smiles as he leans against the desk behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “My son took the news well. He said it must have been God’s will. You know, since you will be married in two weeks. The Children will have a new Mother.” He lifts his eyebrows. “There will be a new Wife of David.”
His words hit me like a punch in the gut, knocking the wind out of me, and I gasp.
This is the real reason Father David wanted to talk to me. So I would understand the gravity of what’s about to happen. How could my future be more suffocating than it already was? This. This is how. Not only will I be married in just two weeks, but I will also be a symbol of submission for all the women in the commune. Their example of how a wife should act. There will be no room for error now.
“Do you hear what I’m saying to you?” He uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer to me.
I nod, but I can’t speak.
“Good, then let’s go to the worship hall. It’s time for me to tell the Children they’ve lost their Mother.”
I cross my arms over my chest as I follow him out, hugging myself. The urge to run is almost overwhelming, but it’s pointless. There is nowhere for me to run. No hope. No future. Nothing.
Father David walks quickly toward the worship hall, not even bothering to make sure I’m following. The few men left in the foyer file in behind their leader, and I follow them. I don’t bother looking for my mother, but instead take a seat in the last row. Nothing really registers other than the fact that now, more than ever, I am a prisoner.
