Another man in gray camo walked in and to a podium at the front of the room. He grunted when he saw me. “Good job, Sister Elise and Brother Tom. Welcome, Sister Cecilia. We’re so glad you could join us.” He pointed. “We’ll begin class in five minutes.”
How did he already know my name? It made me feel oogie, for sure. “Thank you.” I turned in the direction he had pointed, though, and stayed my course.
A table of refreshments and snacks hugged the far wall. I sniffed. Sausage. Could the little white and red things be pigs in a blanket? I groaned on the inside. There was a short list of items that tested my vegetarian resolve, and little piggies were on it. No one else had plates or cups yet, thank goodness, so I looked away from the temptation.
Elise guided me with a light hand on my lower back to a seat nearest us at the end of the second row. I sat, eyes down, more conscious of male attention than I’d ever been in my life. So much for dressing down, my modest braid, no jewelry or makeup, and my little white Keds. It didn’t seem to matter to the lookers, though. I was undeniably a relatively young woman with blonde hair, blue eyes, good skin, and no ring on my left hand. But what they didn’t know was that I also had a baby Glock and years of experience with large animal control.
Elise crouched beside me and patted my knee. “I’ll come back for you after class.”
“Okay.” If I didn’t bolt before then under the ick, ick, ick weight of eyes on my body.
Elise slipped out, but Tom was rooted at the door, watching me. I glanced at his hand. No wedding ring either. He was all but drooling. Dear Heavenly Father, please tell me I am not The Bachelorette, Branch Davidian version, I prayed silently.
At the front of the room, the man at the podium raised his hands to shoulder height, palms up. “I’m Brother Edwin. Let’s begin with a prayer, shall we?”
With heads bowed and eyes closed around me, I snuck better looks at my compatriots/the contestants. Age range: twenties to fifties. All in moderately decent shape, like guys that do manual labor, not marathons or yoga. The youngest-looking one had a cross tattoo and was surprisingly sinister looking, but the others were unmarked. Short hair, as short as a buzz cut on one of the two oldest men. If I’d seen any of them out in public, they wouldn’t have terrified me, but I wouldn’t have felt entirely comfortable alone with them. Buzz Cut’s eyes flew open. I jerked mine away and closed them.
When the prayer ended, Elise poked her head back in the door. “Excuse me, one more new member has arrived.”
Another man appeared, his tall frame filling the doorway just right. My eyes traveled up from his well-turned-out camo to his face, and I was glad that the punch cups weren’t offered to us before class, otherwise I would have spewed fruity red juice all the way across the room. The dark hair and golden eyes, the left-tilting smile, the olive skin, the chiseled cheeks all belonged to Jack. My Jack.
His eyes swept across the room. If he saw me he didn’t register it, but there was no way he could have avoided it. I stood out like a leper. But I realized that if he called me out, I was toast.
My cover wasn’t blown. Yet.
Jack took a seat on the front row opposite me. My peripheral vision locked on him, cataloguing his every move, but I trained my eyes forward on Edwin, holding my hands gently clasped in my lap to hide their trembling. My brain picked at the new problem like a scab: what was Jack doing there? Maybe he’d come because he was worried about me. Or maybe he was trying to catch up to me to explain or apologize or beg me to reconsider. With the security camera texts and nanny cam, Jack could have followed me from the house. That had to be it. I thought back to the drive out from Amarillo. I got no visual memory of his Jeep, and it was impossible to miss with its patchwork of clashing panels. He could have rented a car—while I hadn’t done it for subterfuge, it had worked for me and could have planted the seed in his mind.
Or maybe he hadn’t followed me. Could someone have told him where I’d be? That would make sense, except no one knew. I hadn’t shared my plans with another living soul.
So he had to have been following me. Blood rushed to my cheeks. Maybe he didn’t trust me. Maybe he thought I had moved out because I was seeing someone else. What was the old expression, the guilty dog barks first? I had seen that envelope—Paige, Thur, 8 a.m.—and he hadn’t explained it to me when I gave him the chance. Jack had lied to me lately, a lot. I didn’t want to believe it, but was his presence here tonight evidence of infidelity?
Then again, this was the new members class. It was highly unlikely they’d let him in on his first visit.
My cheeks and ears burned, and I was more confused than ever. I wished I could wipe the color away. My inner emotional state was on display to the men sneaking glances at me, every one of them in the room except Jack.
I felt Edwin staring at me. I straightened in my chair and smiled at him, letting my lashes bat down twice. My mother had always said it was a shame to leave good tools in the toolbox, even though I hated playing the vamp. It was an effective distractor, and Edwin flushed. He cleared his throat and resumed taking us through the history and mission of Mighty is His Word.
“Our soldiers are the living embodiment of the Wrath of God,” he said, his voice full and proud.
Mary Alice Hodges had threatened me with that wrath of God when I met her, and the police had shown up minutes later and arrested me. To hear Edwin so matter-of-factly owning up to what I considered terrorism was chilling.
Edwin segued into our responsibilities as members. “You will be required to build a family of soldiers. Single persons marry fellow members and are allowed to have two biological children. The rest of your household is to be built through foster care with the kids in the system that no one wants, the ones for whom the state pays a premium for their care. You are to add to your army until your state income minus a 10 percent tithe to the church is sufficient for your needs. All members thus will be freed from outside employment and can dedicate themselves to God’s work. Real property is to be deeded to the church, although you will of course be able to reside in your primary residence. Our members find this takes an enormous burden off their minds.”
A grinding noise filled my ears. I looked around for the cause but everyone else was glaring at me accusingly. Argh, I’d ground my own teeth. I was trapped in Hell. Edwin had just confirmed the worst of my fears about the church’s intentions toward the foster children. I’d known the Hodges got paid more for taking special needs kids, and that they hadn’t applied to adopt Betsy until we got her a settlement with the county. But this was bigger. Mighty is His Word was institutionalizing the use of these kids as income for their army. I was ill, and I couldn’t wait to tell Wallace, and to figure out our next steps. There were a lot of kids caught up in this dangerous charade, and I had to help them. I eased my hand around my phone. Moving as slowly as I could, I tried to text him, but Edwin’s eyes bored into me, and I stopped. I couldn’t do anything to bring the Wrath of God down on Jack or me.
After another hour of listening to Edwin, Buzz Cut raised his hand.
Edwin nodded. “Yes, Brother Chet?”
“Are there enough women to go around for this plan?”
Edwin rubbed the five-o’clock shadow on his chin. “Well, our single men do outnumber our women.”
“So how’s it get decided then, who gets to marry who?”
“Seniority.”
“So, you mean the fella that’s been here the longest marries the woman who’s been here the longest?”
“No, the man chooses.”
I raised my hand.
“Sister Cecilia?” Edwin said.
I lowered it. As much as I wanted to speak my mind about women getting a voice in the matter, I shouldn’t. “Oh, I was just stretching. Sorry.”
“So he could get her?” Chet, the man formerly known as Buzz Cut, gestured at me.
Tom spoke. “Yes, he will.” And the way he looked at me turned my stomach.
Chet grimaced and shook his head.
Edwin grinned. “And I do believe Brother Tom is next up.”
Young Tattoo Guy sang out, “Here comes the bride,” and everyone laughed but Jack. And me.
“Any more questions?” Edwin asked us.
No one spoke.
“Well, we have a mandatory retreat for new members once a month. It runs from Thursday through Sunday service, and we hold it out at our compound.” He gave us an address, and I typed it into an email to myself. “Remember, this month’s retreat is tomorrow. Sign up with Brother Tom before you leave. But first we’re going to go around the room so you can introduce yourself to each other before we adjourn for snacks.” He pointed at Jack.
Jack started to speak but Edwin interrupted him. “Stand up, face your fellow soldiers.”
Jack stood and turned toward the room. “I’m Dave.”
“Good evening, Brother Dave,” Edwin said.
“I’m new to the area. Work with horses. Looking for jobs, if you know of any.”
“Where are you from?”
“El Paso area’s where I grew up. Then it was San Angelo. Midland. Lubbock. I just keep moving on wherever the good Lord takes me.”
He sat and the metal legs of his chair squeaked on the floor.
“Thanks, Brother Dave. And I apologize. I forgot my manners. Ladies first. Sister Cecilia?”
I stood and fourteen male eyes roved over my body while Jack’s stayed on my feet. I wrapped my arms around my chest, comforting and protecting myself at the same time.
My heart slammed against my rib cage, and when I spoke my voice had a little vibrato to it. “I’m Cecilia. I’m living in Pampa, but I’m from Dallas. I’m hoping to work with kids.” I sat, keeping my eyes chest high on Edwin and as far away from Tom and Chet as possible.
Edwin grinned at Tom, and Tom winked at him. Edwin guided the remaining men through the introductions then released us to meet and greet.
I started to bolt from the room, but Tom blocked my path. “It would be my honor to get you some refreshments, Sister.”
“Oh, I’m, I, uh, need to get on the road, early day—”
“Just five minutes so we can get better acquainted.” He gripped my upper arm so firmly that I had no choice but to let him guide me to the table. “Excuse us,” he said to the men that were in line.
Jack wasn’t one of them. Maybe he’d made it out the door, luckier than me. I wished he hadn’t, though, as Tom had all but marked me like a dog at a hydrant. The men parted so Tom could make a plate for me. He dug into the pigs in a blanket.
“Oh no, I . . .”
He stopped. “What?”
If I said I was a vegetarian, they’d all think I was a tree-hugging liberal. No tree-hugging liberal would consider joining this church. I had to assimilate. “I’m watching my figure. Just two, please.” I smoothed my hand down my side, and from the slight bulge of his eyes, it must have given him just enough of an idea of what was underneath to make him forget I had almost turned down God’s greatest gift to cocktail parties and church socials.
When he had finished, he held the plate out to me. I took a blanket and bit into it, piggy and all. Warm grease oozed into my mouth. I tried to hold it in, but a moan escaped from my lips a la Meg Ryan in the When Harry Met Sally orgasm scene. I didn’t care what it did to the men around me. All I knew was that whatever else came of tonight, I’d have a hard time forgetting the taste-bud bliss of that moment. I savored both of my piggies and chased them with fruit punch.
Tom never took his eyes off of me. “Will you be attending the retreat this weekend?”
I cast my eyes down. “I have a job interview.” I paused and added, “But I’ll pray about it, and see what God has in store for me.”
“I certainly hope he sends you. May I see you safely home this evening?”
“Oh my. We’ve only just met. I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
He nodded. “I hope we get to know each other better soon, Sister Cecilia.”
With my fingers crossed behind my back, I said, “That would be nice. But I’m afraid I need to go now. My mother and I promised to talk on the phone when we each got home, and I can’t worry her.”
Tom fussed and cajoled, but finally accepted that I couldn’t stay. I bid a hasty adieu to the others and somehow managed to get out of there before Brother Tom arranged for a quickie wedding that I couldn’t escape.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Taking the long way home through Pampa, I kept a sharp eye on my rearview mirror, but I was practically the only car on the dark, windy highway until I got back to I-40. I called Jack when I felt safe. Voice mail.
I left him a message: “What were you doing at Mighty is His Word? We need to talk, Jack. As soon as possible. Please.”
I called Wallace next, but had to leave him a voice mail as well. I pounded the steering wheel and shouted real cuss words.
I decided to try Shangri-La before heading to my parents’, in the hope that Jack would be there, even though he’d said he’d be staying at the office. All the lights were out when I got there, though, and his Jeep wasn’t in the garage. I decided to pick up Chloe and check on Legolas quickly since I was there.
I went to the back door, but the puppy was gone. In a panic, I ran back into the house. “Chloe? Here, girl. Come, Chloe.” I whistled and clapped my hands together. As I passed the table I saw Jack had left another note.
Didn’t know your plans, so I took Chloe. Jack
A surge of disappointment coursed through me. I went back to the stable and in the light of the full moon saw Legolas lying down, asleep.
My phone rang. It was Wallace, and I answered it quickly, trotting away from the stable so as not to wake Legolas. “Hey, thanks for calling me back.”
“Hey, yourself. What’s got your panties in a wad tonight?”
“It’s about Mighty is His Word.”
“Not again, Emily. I gotta go—”
“Wait. I have something. I promise. I went to a new members meeting at their church in Sanford.”
“You are relentless.”
“It’s one of my best qualities. Listen to this.” I filled him in on what Edwin had said as I took a seat at the glass-topped patio table Jack and I had bought the month before.
When I finished, Wallace was silent.
“Well?” I demanded.
“It sounds provocative, I admit, but Emily, these kids are cared for, they have homes, food, clothes, and they go to school and stay out of trouble. So what if their church wants them to be soldiers for God? What does that really mean anyway? It’s not like Charles Manson directing the Family to commit mass murder to start the Helter Skelter Armageddon.”
Manson had believed that a race war would trigger the end of the world as we knew it, and I hadn’t noticed any nonwhite faces in Mighty is His Word except the foster kids. But that wasn’t entirely fair. I hadn’t seen any evidence of racial hatred. “You know a lot about Manson. I’m impressed.”
“I took a few religious studies classes in college.”
So had I, to try to understand my mother’s side of the family. “You?”
“Bite me. I find the ways different groups explain God to be very interesting, Missy. And Mighty is His Word is just tapping into the Second Amendment “Live Free or Die” subculture, which, if you haven’t noticed, there is plenty of out here in West Texas.”
I put my elbow on the table and my forehead in my palm. “They hate gays.”
“I know. And they subjugate women. But they also take care of kids we can’t find homes for anywhere else.”
“What if I could find homes for them?” I thought of all that land in New Mexico. Jack’s family’s ranch. Laura. Her equine therapy dreams. We could do it. She had passion and drive, and so did I. And, well, even if Jack and I didn’t work out, maybe it wouldn’t be too weird and I could still help her.
“Get real.”
I couldn’t sit anymore. I got up and walked the length of the patio. “I’m s
erious. If I could find homes for them, would you listen to me?”
“Emily, we’re talking about more than a hundred kids and counting. Just out of my office.”
“I know,” I said, pacing.
“And you’re not going to be successful removing them just because the church tells its members to foster kids in need and raise them up in God’s army. In fact, you’ll be laughed out of court around here.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“So, I’ll get more.”
“How?”
I stopped, thinking. I wasn’t sure how yet—and I hoped that the road didn’t take me past Tom again—but I knew I could do it. And maybe Jack could help me, since he’d been out there now and seen it, too. Maybe he’d learned more than I had, which I would ask him, as soon as he returned my calls, which might be the twelfth of never since I’d ducked his the previous day.
“How?” Wallace repeated, pulling me back.
“It doesn’t matter how. I just will.”
His voice softened. “Be careful, Emily. Think about it. You’re threatening their livelihood and their membership.”
“I will. I promise.”
We said good-bye and ended the call. I knew Wallace had the best of intentions, and I wasn’t mad at him, not really. I was mad at the system. I was mad at bad parents who didn’t care for their kids. I was mad at people who waited on perfect little white babies instead of giving homes to all the others that Mighty is His Word welcomed into their army with open arms. Blood near boiling, I returned to the stable and Legolas.
“Hey, boy.” I opened the stall door, but he didn’t get up. I crouched and petted his soft nose. I pressed my face against his neck. After a few minutes, he put his head down and went back to sleep, so I nestled in beside him to close my eyes for a few moments, feeling sorry for myself. No fiancé. No adopted daughter, or birth child for that matter. No puppy. Just a horse. Come to think of it, what else did I really have in Amarillo? A crazy mother, an ex-con/killer father, and friends that were misfits-bordering-on-outcasts in the community. How my cup runneth over. Immediately I regretted my uncharitable thoughts. These people loved me. They were good to me. But it’s true, all that other stuff is true, too.
Hell to Pay (What Doesn’t Kill You, #7): An Emily Romantic Mystery Page 24
