Mom shakes her head. “He never lied to me. He was on a leave of absence from CE, so he volunteered at the cannery.”
I can't believe my ears. It has to be a lie.
“I thought you knew this,” Mom says. “Why are we discussing it?”
“I don't think you mentioned it,” I say.
“I know this won't be an easy adjustment for you. That's why I told Hunter it would be best for us to wait and get married next year. Then we can all get more accustomed to one another.”
I nod, the suffocating weight on my chest lifting off.
She smiles. “I love you, and I love Hunter. I need both of you in my life.”
As I look into Mom's sparkling eyes, my hope fades. How will I ever rescue her from Gideon now?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“She’s getting married?” Timothy echoes, sitting across from me at a picnic table in the woods of Corinth.
I nod, relieved to share this news with someone who might offer me helpful advice. Arkin was as dumbfounded by the news as I was.
Elder Timothy lowers his eyes, setting his chin on his fist. “And you think this man loves her?”
“He has to, right? I don’t understand why a spy would be forced to marry. That seems unnecessary,” I say, closing my Bible.
“Thank God you didn’t come out with the truth to her like you’d planned. She wouldn’t have received it well.”
“I know Hunter was spying on me,” I say, running my fingers along the raised letters on my Bible cover. “The story he told my mom doesn’t make sense.”
“It sounds like what began with spying ended with love,” he says.
“It sounds disturbing,” I say, searching his face for agreement. It’s a blank slate. “How will I ever be able to convince her of the truth now?”
“With prayer and preparation. You weren’t ready the other night.”
“I don’t see how any of this is going to work,” I say, an ache creeping into my chest.
“I used to write letters to my wife, letting her know I was here in the outskirts, alive and waiting for her,” the elder says, fingering a silver wedding band on his hand, “but she hasn’t left Gideon yet.”
“So how do you deal with it?” I ask.
“I keep praying for her. She has her own free will to choose Jesus or not choose Him. No one will be dragged into the Kingdom of God kicking and screaming. It has to be a choice.”
He’s right, but it’s still unfair. It would have been easier to reach Mom before Hunter came into the picture. Now it would be impossible.
“How do I prepare to tell my mom?” I ask.
“By growing in faith,” he says.
He went on to explain what he meant, sharing Scripture passages with me. This would be the routine of our mentoring sessions in the weeks to come. By September, I spent most of my time thinking about the Bible and looking forward to our conversations.
“Tell me about you and Arkin,” Timothy says, one rainy September day.
I adjust my position on the rug in the cabin, trying to buy myself time. “What about us?”
“What do you think about him? Is he a young man of God?”
“Definitely. If he hadn't taught me so much about Jesus and answered my questions, I wouldn't be here today.”
“He’s a remarkable young man. His parents did an outstanding job,” he says. “Do you have feelings for him?”
I shrug. “He's my friend.”
He chuckles. “Your whole demeanor changes when you talk about him. Did you know that?”
“Don't tell him, okay?”
He places his hand on his heart. “I promise on my heart and my life.”
A chill runs up my spine. Petra used to promise the exact same way.
►▼◄
I endure the challenges of living a life in Gideon and a life in Corinth month after month. I often make my way there three afternoons a week, rushing back home before curfew. By the grace of God, Mom never suspects it and assumes I’m completing homework or spending time with classmates.
When I return to Corinth on a Wednesday at the end of October, Arkin meets me with an urgent look.
“Elder collapsed,” he says. “He's been unconscious for two days, and he looks awful. I don't know if he's going to come out of this.”
This news makes me lightheaded. After all the bonding I did with Timothy, the thought of losing him makes me sick with grief.
“Can I go see him?” I ask.
“Yes, but I have to tell you something,” he says, putting a hand on each of my shoulders. “I wanted to tell you before, but I was never allowed to, and now I'm afraid it's too late.”
“What?” I ask, confused by his words.
“Timothy isn't his real name,” he says. “His name in Gideon was Corbin Santos.”
I step back from his grasp. “What?”
“He's your father.”
I shake my head. “My dad is dead. He was executed when I was little.”
“He was the one who escaped from CE before Petra,” he says. “Timothy is your dad.”
I stumble back. Can it be true? No, Dad was big and strong. Timothy couldn't be him.
“When your dad became sick again last summer, he sent a missionary for Petra first,” he says. “Then he sent me for you. He wanted to make sure you and Petra knew the Lord before he died.”
I can't listen to him any longer. Petra. Of course they would try to rescue Petra. She was “unique” because she was the daughter of one of their leaders. I turn and run full speed back toward the cabins.
“Raissa! Wait!” he shouts.
I take a sharp turn to the right and head to Timothy's cabin. I don't hesitate at the door but throw it open. An elderly woman sitting in a chair and two men kneeling in front of Timothy's bed turn to see the commotion. Sarai sets down the pot she carries and hurries to me.
“It's okay,” she says. “Let's not disturb their prayers.”
“I want to see my father,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Sarai's dark eyes widen, and she steps back. The praying guests rise.
“We'll take a break,” one of the men says, gesturing for the others to follow him.
The somber trio head for the door. The white-haired woman pauses in front of me and places a soft hand on my cheek.
“Have faith, child,” she whispers, her blue eyes shimmering with tears.
I wait for the elders to step out before I approach the bed.
“Arkin told you?” Sarai asks, following me to Timothy's side.
I nod, now combining the blur of memories I have of my father with the man who lay in the bed before me.
“Then it's true?” I ask, looking down at Timothy's pale, peaceful face.
Sarai nods as Arkin steps through the cabin door.
Timothy's steady breathing gives the impression of sleep. I stare down at the frail man, memories sweeping through my mind like a flash flood. Petra and I played hide-and-seek with him when we were younger, ending our play with an eruption of giggles. My parents argued in hushed tones behind their bedroom door back then. Until CE dragged Dad away in handcuffs.
I sit in the chair beside the bed and take his hand, cold and heavy, into my own.
“Does my mom know he's alive?” I ask, directing my question to both Arkin and Sarai.
“Code Enforcement sent your mother a letter,” Sarai says. “They told her he'd been executed, but your father sent a message saying he was alive. He sent her many messages over the years. She wouldn't respond.”
“She lied to me and Petra,” I say. “She never told us he was in the outskirts.”
“I know you want to bring your mom here,” Arkin says, “but she's already had many opportunities. She's lost.”
I shake my head, refusing to hear his words. “She has her reasons. If I talk to her, I know I can make sense of it all for her. She'll listen to me.”
The words tumble from my mouth, but even I can't believe them.
My father’s eyes open halfway. He squeezes my hand.
“Daddy,” I utter.
“Praise God!” Sarai cries. “Water. Arkin, get him water.”
He hurries away as I grasp my father's hand. Sarai pulls two pillows from under the bed.
“We need to sit him up. He's dehydrated. He needs to drink,” she says.
I squeeze between the short, wooden headboard and wall and ease my hands under his underarms. I lift him up as Sarai places the pillows behind his head and back. Arkin brings the water, and Timothy sips it as Arkin holds the clay cup to his lips.
“How long have I been out?” Timothy asks.
Arkin pulls the cup away. “Two days. I thought you were going to die.”
“Praise the Lord,” he says. “I didn't want to leave without speaking to Raissa as my daughter.”
I wipe my eyes and fight back more tears as I sit in the chair beside the bed.
“I'm sorry I left you,” he says, reaching for my hand. “I wanted you here with me, but it would've been wrong to take you from your mother.”
I nod, overwhelmed by a churning blend of emotions. Part of me wants to run away from Corinth. The other part of me wants to scream at him for getting into trouble and abandoning the family, yet I understand why he did it. Knowing what I know, I would sacrifice anything for my faith. Corbin Santos risked his freedom, his family, and his life for the Gospel. How can I not admire such faith?
“You did what you had to do,” I say, “but why did you let me find out like this? Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
“I was afraid,” he says. “The Lord tells us not to fear, but I denied His power. He's given you a heart of forgiveness. I can see that now, but I was afraid you would hate me if you knew the truth. I didn't want to lose you again.”
Sarai brings a bowl of broth to the bedside. “He needs more liquids and plenty of rest.”
“She's right,” Timothy says. “I thank God for this woman. If it weren't for Sarai's constant care, I wouldn't be alive.”
“But what if you ...?” I can’t say it. I won’t.
He releases my hand. “Don't live in fear. Go home and pray God will give us more time together.”
I stagger to the cabin door, struggling to keep my emotions under control. I won’t break down. This can’t be our last moment together. God has more planned for us than this. Arkin follows me out of the cabin and takes my hand.
“I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before today,” he says.
I stop at the post where Fire waits. “It's okay. You were doing what he told you to do.”
“He's going to be okay,” he says. “Please don't worry.”
He hugs me, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Thank you for telling me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The pencil lead traces along the jaw line on the image. Then I darken the eyes on his face. I drew my father as he appeared in Corinth. Seeing him as who he really is has brought back new memories, both happy ones and troubling ones.
With my memory confirming Timothy as my father, I found the past few days away from Corinth especially difficult. My last encounter with Dad was encouraging, but his recovery is uncertain. If I return, he might be dead and buried. That would be too much to handle so shortly after discovering he is alive.
The familiar beep resounds throughout the classroom to end the period. I close my sketchbook and gather my belongings.
As I sling my backpack over my shoulders, I stand face-to-face with a classmate who usually sits at the front. With a blank expression, he offers me a folded piece of paper. I give him a puzzled look, so he extends the paper closer to me. I take the paper, and he turns and leaves the room.
Unfolding the note, I find familiar handwriting. The words read: Your father is out of bed and walking. -A.
I sigh and stuff the note into my pocket.
Thank you, God.
Immediately after school, I rush back to Corinth, eager to see Dad in better condition. Arkin greets me with one of those grins he used to have before he lost his parents.
“Did you get my note?” he asks.
I dismount Fire and tie the horse to the post. “That's why I'm here.”
“I was afraid you wouldn't come back,” he says.
“I needed time to process everything,” I say. “Is he in his cabin?”
“At the sanctuary. He's getting ready to address the village with some announcement from the council.”
Droves of villagers head toward the sanctuary in the woods beyond the cabins. Arkin and I drift into the crowd. A few believers greet me when I enter the sanctuary, as though I never left.
The sanctuary has become a special place for me. The Holy Spirit touched me there several times when I joined in worship alongside Arkin and Dad. Now Dad stands at the podium, waiting for the believers to settle in on the benches.
After the weak and elderly are seated, the children sit on the benches, leaving the remaining believers to fill in the gaps or stand around the edge of the sanctuary in a semi-circle.
When Dad raises his hand, the crowd’s chatter dies down, and he speaks.
“Let's begin with a word of prayer,” he says, his voice as strong as it was the day we all prayed for my memory to return.
I bow my head and close my eyes. The eloquence of his prayer amazes me. Will I someday follow in his footsteps and lead the people of Corinth? My future career will no longer be determined by a career placement test. The realization both excites and frightens me.
“God, guide us through this meeting and grant us Your wisdom in the coming months,” Timothy prays in closing. “In Jesus' name, we pray. Amen.”
The crowd echoes, “Amen.”
Everyone opens their eyes, and tension spreads across the crowd. A nervous anticipation permeates from their silence. Dad’s gaze runs across the crowd, and his eyes stop at mine. He grins at me and then returns his attention to the crowd.
“Thank you for joining me this afternoon, my friends,” he says. “When we gather on short notice, the issue is usually imperative, and this time is no different.
“This morning, the council gathered to hear a report from our missionary leaders. As you know, believers have struggled to keep our villages hidden since the raid on Philippi. All of our villages are still safe, but we now face a new kind of threat. Orders from the officials of Gideon have been passed down to Code Enforcement to build a twenty-foot, defensive wall surrounding the entire border of the city-state.”
The crowd erupts in noise, and my knees weaken.
“We all know what this means,” Dad says. “Our missions to Gideon will be impossible, and we will be permanently separated from anyone in Gideon we love.”
The villagers whisper with shocked expressions.
“We’ve received this top-secret information weeks late,” he says. “Work on the wall has all ready started in the area between Philippi and Gideon. Based on the work they’ve finished, we expect Gideon to be completely enclosed by mid-January.”
Some believers murmur while others weep in one another's arms. I blink away hot tears. Once the entire wall is built, I will never see my mother again.
“What will we do, Elder?” a man asks from the edge of the woods.
“We know our first and most important course of action is prayer,” Dad says. “The next step will be to increase our number of missionaries to Gideon.”
“What about the helicopter mission?” Josiah asks, standing not far from me and Arkin.
“We will forge ahead,” Dad says. “The council says the helicopter must now be finished before the wall's completion. That changes our mission date to December 31.”
During the New Year's Eve celebration. The center of Gideon will be overcrowded on that one day of the year. Thousands of citizens would read the messages dropped by the flying machine.
“We expect a larger number present at the centennial celebration,�
�� Dad says, “but by then, the wall will be finished. The people of Gideon will never be able to choose the Gospel and escape the Code if they are trapped inside.”
“We need more man-power, more tools and parts,” Josiah says. “That deadline is less than two months away.”
“We will recruit the help of every believer across the villages and across Gideon,” Dad says. “If this plan is the Lord's will, we will be successful.”
►▼◄
I have nightmares about the wall. The charcoal black structure towers as high as my apartment building. Arkin and my parents scream at me from the other side, crying for help. When I reach out my hand toward it, the heat from the wall burns my fingers—no way over it and no way through it. I awake from the dream weak and depressed, yet the nightmare propels me to pray harder about the wall and the EP drop on New Year's Eve. It also pushes me to help Josiah with every free moment Dad gives me.
“We need a part from CE,” Josiah says, climbing out of the helicopter, “and we don't have any missionaries in the inventory department.”
“What kind of part?” I ask.
“It's for the on-board computer system. Do you know anyone in CE?”
I have to restrain my laughter. “There's no way the guy I know would do it.”
“Hunter probably wouldn't,” Arkin says, slipping out of the helicopter, “but what about Ogden? Couldn't he get the part?”
I chuckle. “Are you serious?
“I'm dead serious,” he says, wiping his filthy hands on a rag. “You told me he wanted to come back here. His loyalty to his father and the Code has been shaken. If anyone would help us, it'd be Og.”
I shake my head. “I don't see how he could get away with it.”
“Are we talking about that kid with the glasses?” Josiah asks. “What's his link to Code Enforcement?”
“His father is the chief,” I say.
Josiah grins. “To God be the glory! Put that kid on the mission.”
Although the entire idea is insane, I follow Josiah's orders and take the drawing of the necessary computer part to school, hoping to catch Ogden. With a little investigating, I find out he’s in the chess club.
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