by Charity B.
She sighs with her personal brand of drama and sits on the bed. “Will you at least tell me why? Why you won’t say who it was?”
This wasn’t something she could understand before it became so convoluted. And now, I’m confused too. “It happened because of my actions. I caused pain for this person, and they caused it back. Penance is paid.”
Her eyes widen as she smacks her hands against her cheeks—an odd thing she does when she tries to calm herself down. “Laur. I need you to listen to me very fucking closely. What happened to you wasn’t warranted, deserved, or some sick equalizer. It wasn’t goddamn penance. It was rape, okay?!”
What I don’t say is that speaking it aloud would make the shame real. The humiliation. If Zebadiah were to know I had his brother in my body, I don’t know how he would feel or react. My beliefs have always made things much clearer than I’d realized. Now, I’m struggling to accept the falsehood of everything I’ve held sacred. When you sin, you pay the price for it with suffering, but what happens when the sin isn’t real and the punishment does nothing for your soul? What’s the point in all of this? What are we fighting for? Living for? Dying for?
I haven’t read the notebooks that prove my life is a lie, though I know what was in them, and that Zebadiah was the one who chose to bring this all out in the open. In a rational part of my mind, I know he did what he thought was best for me and everyone, but the angry and scared part wishes he would have kept it within the compound. Now he, along with many of the other men, have been arrested and are awaiting trial.
For the third time in my life, my future as I know it has been wiped clean, leaving me disoriented and lost. It feels like my entire life was pointless.
My need to sleep and escape the thoughts in my mind is all I want in this moment. “I’m really tired, Kaila.”
Her shoulders fall, and she gets off the bed to pick up her purse. “I know you feel alone, but you’re not. I’m here for you just like I’ve always been.” She gives me a tender hug. “I love you, Laur.”
Everything she’s ever done has been to try to be a good friend, and I know she feels she did the right thing. I’m confused at what exactly I’m angry at, and I can’t think straight. Still, none of this changes my real feelings for her.
“I love you, too, Kaila.”
“WERE YOU EVER TOUCHED IN a sexual way by the man you call your husband?”
Marybeth shakes her head. “No, ma’am. He wouldn’t. He had no desire for me.”
“Was he unkind to you in any way?”
She nods, her blonde curls bouncing. “Yes.” My heart tightens because I never was cruel to her. “He was unfaithful to me.”
“Did he ever physically abuse you? Lay his hands on you in any way?”
The woman asking the questions is wearing a skirt, yet it’s very masculine. Her voice is loud, and her hair is cut short like a man’s. The ‘jury’, the group of people deciding our fates, watches her every move as an old woman in the corner types everything we say into her contraption.
Marybeth’s head shakes. “No ma’am. Not me.”
The woman tilts her head. “You say ‘not you’. Was he abusive to others?”
“Abusive? No. He punished those who deserved it by breaking spiritual law. It was his duty.”
The woman looks at the man in the black robe called the ‘judge’.
“You still believe this, even after the release of Zaaron Fitch’s notebooks?”
Next to me, Mr. Dressler, a man who they call our ‘court appointed lawyer’, stands. “Objection: relevance.”
He’s apparently here to defend us, though I don’t understand what stake he has in our futures.
The judge says, “Sustained.”
My mind hurts trying to follow what’s happening. I don’t understand half the words they speak.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” the woman states, with a nod.
They release Marybeth from her seat to call their next witness. A woman walks out who I don’t recognize. She appears to be in her late thirties to early forties with straight, red hair cut to her shoulders. Her white dress is sleeveless with yellow flowers on it. She sits, looking out across the courtroom.
I turn my head to all the men sitting next to me. Laurel Ann’s father, Benji’s brother, Doc Kilmer…all the men who had wives younger than the ‘age of consent’. I feel their hatred rolling off of them. They glare and threaten every chance they get. They keep us separate in the holding room they call a ‘jail’, so I have only seen them during the trial.
Apparently, this story is big news because large crowds are always gathered as we come and go from the courthouse building. They are desperate to talk to us, asking multiple questions that all seem to start with ‘People want to know,’ or ‘Is it true?”.
This world is loud and obnoxious. The men in the jail are brutes and imbeciles. The thought of having to remain there for any significant length of time has me thinking dark thoughts. I turn my head to Laurel Ann, and her eyes are already on me. She gives a sad smile and signs, I love you.
My stomach flips, bringing my own smile to my lips. I nod to her though I don’t dare return the gesture.
Turning back to the front of the courtroom, I watch Mr. Dressler stand to approach the unknown witness. She places her hand on their religious text, swearing to their God that she will not lie.
He asks, “Will you please state your name for the court?”
She nods slightly and looks past me into the spectator area. “Celeste Johnson.”
My jaw drops, and I, along with half the courtroom, turn our heads to Benji. He tenses, his eyes stuck on the witness. When I turn back to his mother, she’s staring at him as well, with tears in her eyes.
Mr. Dressler continues his questions. “You were a member of the group called ‘The Anointed’ for the first portion of your life. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“What were the circumstances under which you left?”
She shifts in her seat, her eyes scanning along the row of men accompanying me. “My husband at the time was very cruel and abusive. I suffered years of rape, ordained by our Prophet, bearing three children during my time there. There was one night that had me so terrified, I thought my husband might take my life. I was young, selfish, and scared. I ran, but I was gone no longer than six hours before I longed for my children. I feared for their safety, forcing me to return.” Tears pour down her face as the judge hands her a box with napkins in it. She thanks him, drying her eyes to continue. “I was deemed possessed by the Devil. The Prophet ordered that I have the demons abolished with a ritual that involved being buried alive. I refused. I didn’t want to be there, anyway.” She sniffles and wipes her nose. “They cast me out without my children, without food, or money. I was alone in a world I didn’t know.”
Mr. Dressler paces the floor, glancing at the jury. “You say you were raped by your husband…” He pushes his spectacles up his nose as he stops in front of Celeste. “How old were you the first time this occurred?”
“I was twelve.”
Murmurs and gasps ripple across the courtroom.
“And the age of your former husband at the time of the first alleged rape?”
She sighs, looking down at her feet. “I don’t remember exactly. Forty-two? Forty-three?”
“Is that man in this room?”
Glancing across the row of us again, as if needing to be certain, she says, “No, sir.”
Mr. Dressler begins pacing in front of the witness stand. “And was it common for girls of such a young age to be married to a man that much older?”
She bites her lip. “Yes, it was the will of Zaaron. We called it being bound, but yes, it was a frequent occurrence. Once a girl began her period she was ready to have children.”
He looks at the jury to make his next statement. “Did any of the other girls admit to being raped? Or were they happy to be following what they believed to be their righteous path?”
She rings her hands at her chest. “Y-yes, I mean, there were those who seemed content in their bindings, but there were many cases of sexual abuse on the compound. Not just of young wives. One situation still eats at my mind to this day. A friend of mine was bound to Josiah Fitch, the Prophet. She was distraught after finding him molesting one of his grandsons, who at the time was very young…around six or seven, I think. She was sick about it.”
My blood goes cold as if thrust into a winter storm. I whip my head around to Zeke to find him looking at me with horrified eyes. It had to have been one of us. While my grandfather wasn’t any kinder than my father, I don’t remember anything like that. I swallow hard, turning back to Celeste.
“Was anyone else aware of this?”
“Not that I know of, sir. Just myself, my friend, and the Prophet.”
Mr. Dressler’s lips press in a hard line when he turns his back to her. “Is Josiah Fitch or your friend in this room?”
She gives the slightest shake of the head. “No, sir.”
“Is there anyone who can back up these accusations? You said that they would not let you take your children. Are you not simply saying these things as a way to get back at your former family and church?
“N-no!” Her hands slam against the witness stand. “She wouldn’t have lied about this! And neither would I.”
Mr. Dressler raises his eyebrows at the jury before walking back to his seat. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
The female lawyer stands and approaches Benji’s mother. “Ms. Johnson, is it true that Josiah Fitch has multiple grandsons who are very close in age?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“And do you know which of these boys was the victim of this sexual abuse?” Celeste looks to her hands, nodding. I think I’m going to be sick all over these ill-fitting trousers. “Can you tell the court his name?” the manly woman asks.
“Objection!” Mr. Dressler calls. “Hearsay.”
The judge waves his hand. “Overruled.” Turning to Celeste, he nods, “Answer the question, Ms. Johnson.”
She closes her eyes for a moment before opening them again and looking out into the spectator area.
“Ezekiel Fitch.”
2 months later…
I don’t know how I’m going to survive in this place another eight months. It’s been impossible to stop thinking of these people as heathens and Philistines. They are corrupt, vile, and uncivilized. Violence is in every dark corner of this place. The only thing that’s kept me out of harm’s way this far is keeping my head down and only speaking when spoken to. I obey the rules and blend into the background.
I’ve done my best to be compliant and cooperative with the authorities resulting in a deal of nine months. If I’m honest with myself, I got off easy. Over sixty children were taken away and put into the same child care system Laurel Ann was in. According to Zeke, most of the followers have fled, though there are those who returned to the compound after the investigation to be led by their ‘Prophet’, Jacob. I can’t say I’m surprised. I know he was jealous that I was the first born. I always thought that odd. If anyone had a right to be jealous, it’s Zeke. I beat him for first born son by only three months, where Jacob is two years behind us.
Any man with a bride younger than the age of sixteen got time in prison. By the end of the six-week trial, there were dozens of abuse charges. I was personally found guilty of child endangerment with assault and battery.
Since we so publicly found out about Zeke’s history with my grandfather, he and I haven’t had the chance to have a real conversation about it. I’ve talked to him on the phone, and he’s visited once since then. While he seems a little different, it’s not necessarily bad. He’s clearly taken with Kaila as she seems to be all he talks about when we do get the chance.
Laurel Ann says her old house has been turned upside down. There was nowhere anyone knew to go, so Zeke, Benji, Samuel, Mia, and Kelsey Garret are all staying in their three-bedroom house until they all find other arrangements.
Marybeth was taken, along with the other children. I still feel guilty with how things happened with her and often hope she can find happiness.
I lie in my bunk, reading a book by someone named Edgar. It’s about a man trapped in a cell and the torture he endures there. I can’t help but relate to the man trying not to fall in the pit.
“Inmate!” I look up because my cell mate is in medical. “You have a visitor.”
I put the book down, and stand. There was a large part of me hoping he wouldn’t come. When he requested visitation, I was surprised. The last time we spoke, I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with him. He’s clearly stubborn and doesn’t give up easily. Zeke has met with him a few times and asked me to give him a chance, so I approved his visitation.
I follow the guard from my cell into a long hall. I look at the gun on his belt and wish that I could have one as a form of protection in this place. We had one rifle on the compound that the gate guard would use. When we were kids, one of my uncles was the guard on duty, and he shot the gun off once for me and Zeb. It was extremely loud. The bullet hit the ground several yards away, tossing up dirt and bits of grass. We were equally mesmerized and terrified by it. We both stood there staring where the bullet had hit, simultaneously saying, “Whoa.”
The guard leads me into a room to search me. The first time this happened, I was not aware of how incredibly intricate their searches were. Luckily, the guard was ready for my reaction when his hand went to the last place I expected. He stopped me before I hit him and added more time to my sentence.
Once I’m cleared, the guard leads me back down the hall and into another. I see Shayne through the glass while I’m led past the visitation room. Now that I’ve accepted the fact that it’s not his fault who his father was, just as it isn’t mine, I realize he looks strikingly like Ezekiel.
He stands to greet me, holding his hand out as I approach the table. “It means a lot that you agreed to see me.”
I take his hand, not sure how to act around my illegitimate half-brother. “Well, Zeke has spoken highly of you, Mr. Hiland.”
The air blows through his lips. “Come on, don’t call me that. My professors call me that. Shayne is fine.”
“Professors? You’re still in school?”
I’ll admit this interests me. In the Anointed Land, eighteen was the latest anyone studied their lessons, besides me, when I studied for sermons. Since being in here, I’ve heard about school for adults called ‘college’. You can study to specialize in any field, much like the families in the Anointed Land, but instead, you get to choose.
“Yeah, I’m studying Psychology.” I’ve never felt stupid before. My lack of knowledge about this world was never an issue until now. He must read my confusion because he says, “A doctor of the mind.” He taps his temple. Leaning forward, he rests his forearms on the table. “That’s actually one of the things I wanted to discuss with you.” I feel guilt at the way his eyes turn downcast. I intimidate him, and there’s no purpose for that anymore. “I don’t have any other siblings, and as you know, I never knew my father. I want to get to know you, Ezekiel, and your friends. Many of them have expressed interest in furthering their education, and I would like to help anyway I can. There are programs…” Shaking his head to himself, he looks up at me, directly in the eyes. “I know what you said last time we met. I just didn’t want to step on any toes or anything.”
As he awaits my response, he shocks me when he quickly tugs on his ear lobe before he rubs his lower lip. It’s a gesture my father often made.
While it may not be holy, we share the same blood. He’s offering to help us navigate a place we were taught nothing of. Everything I’ve ever known was a lie, and he’s showing the most kindness I’ve seen in this world. It would be foolish to turn away his olive branch.
“I must apologize for my reaction to your visit. I was going through a lot at that particular time and was still blind to reality.” His
lip quirks, making me realize how young he really is. There’s an eagerness and innocence he possesses that suggests this life has yet to devastate him. “It would be an honor to get to know you, Shayne.”
His smirk grows into a big grin as he lays his hands flat against the table. “Seriously?”
I laugh at his shock because he’s definitely entitled to it.
“Of course. We’re brothers.”
8 months later…
MY PALMS WON’T STOP SWEATING as I look at the prison gates. It’s been over three months since I’ve seen Zebadiah. The drive from Hobart to McAlister is a long one, and it’s hard to match up my work schedule with his visitations.
I tug on my shorts because I still feel so exposed. Kaila has been more than thrilled with my willingness to expand on my style preferences. I still struggle with changing my way of thinking and my anger at it all. Although I write and talk to Zeb on the phone all the time, I’ve needed him beside me. Kaila doesn’t understand what it’s like to get your faith stolen. Benji and Sammy seem to be more than thrilled with their freedom and have been wrapped up in their new handmade furniture business. I still don’t really know how Zeke feels about it.
Kaila pushed me to name Jacob as my attacker, even crossing the line of telling Zeke. That made me furious. She had no right to do that. Fortunately, Zeke knows how to keep a secret and has kept his word to not tell Zeb.
At first, I never planned to tell Zebadiah, then I realized how unfair that was when he was honest with me about his own demons. I decided it was unfair to worry him while he was trapped in that place, and I convinced myself I’d wait. Now he’s getting out, and I know I need to tell him.
“He’ll think you look beautiful,” Benji says as he leans against the hood of his car. “Stop being so nervous.”
Rubbing my hand down my exposed arm, I admit, “I never dressed like this when I visited him. He’s never seen me this way.”
He grins. “After nine months away from you, I bet he’ll be more than ready to get into those shorts.”
