by Jess Bentley
Chapter 71
Angel
This day is going so slowly. I even slept in an extra half an hour, laying in my bed as long as possible to make my chores seem more urgent. If they’re urgent, I assume they will go by faster.
But no.
Instead, I count every string bean that I pluck from the vine. I count every weed that I pull out of the dirt between the radishes and the lettuces. If we don't get some rain soon, this garden is going to turn completely to dust.
I turn on the soaker hose and use the remaining few inches of the rain barrel. It won't be enough. It will have to rain the next two or three days or we will have to ask Father Daddy to do something.
Father Daddy.
Father Daddy.
I can't stop thinking about it. Everything reminds me of him. The earthy scent of the dirt between my fingers. The sultry tops of the radish leaves under my thumb. I never noticed before how the whole world is organized this way. Things beget more things. All of life is about joining and reproducing and cultivating every effort for production.
I can't believe how Brother Owen and Father Daddy have altered my mind. I knew this ceremony was going to be magical, but how could I have known it was going to be like this? How could I have known there was going to be a real, secret place in my heart and my body that I had never explored before? I feel brand new. I feel reborn.
But really, I should have known. I had always been told that womanhood was a special place, apart from the girl that I was. But I suppose that day to day, I began to believe that it was simply more of the same. I became cynical. I lost faith in the idea of the magic until Father Daddy and Brother Owen showed me the way.
I have some green tomatoes that I can fry up later, and I happily twist them from their furry green stalks and put them in the basket along with the beans. It's a pretty good harvest for our tiny garden. We will eat well tonight, that's for certain.
As I trudge up the back steps, I try to focus on my next chores. Scrubbing the floor should take about an hour and a half. Getting the washing of the lines will take another hour. Dusting everything, yet again, maybe thirty to forty-five minutes. And then I will get dinner started. And then it will almost be dusk.
It will almost be time.
That makes sense. If I try to focus on my chores, I can crush the sparking flame in my chest that threatens to ignite me completely. I can't wait to see him. I can't believe he invited me! I really do think this is special between us. It must be.
It's so special, I don't even want to tell Tulip. I get the distinct feeling that Father Daddy would not approve of that. And I'd hate to find out that it was something everybody was doing, that's for certain.
But I also feel like it really isn't. He said I would be his favorite. He said it right out loud. And he never lies. So if I told Tulip, what would she think? Well, she would certainly tell everyone she could, more or less right away. I don't think that would be very good. But also, even if she didn’t tell everyone, it would make her feel jealous, wouldn't it? Being left out would have to hurt at least a little.
That's why it makes complete sense that I should keep this to myself.
And I love it. It's like having a treasure that I just stroke and stroke and stroke under my thumb. Something that I turn over in the light and look at it as it glitters, as it shimmers, as it reveals to me more and more iridescent forms in its depths. Such a beautiful thing. I’ve been given such a transcendent thing.
And I thought it was a demon! How ridiculous! How childish.
Eventually all the chores are done. Dinner is ready. My mother is nowhere. But then again, she hasn't really looked at me since the ceremony, not really. I think the whole idea makes her uncomfortable. She's probably concerned that I'll be moving on, taking on a Master. She's probably worried about who's going to do all the chores around here. Who is going to wake her in time for her duties. Who's going to listen to her complain.
No, I shouldn’t talk like that. She may be difficult, but she is my mother, after all.
I fix her a plate of food and invert another plate on top of it to keep it warm. I leave it at her spot at the simple wooden table, assuming she will return soon.
Actually, I'm sort of glad. This way there are no questions to be answered as I change into my new dress and skip lightly across the front porch.
The barn is lit, but there's no one around. It is sort of a strange sight, I think as I practically skip up the hard packed dirt of the path. Normally there are Family members gathered around the entrance, waiting to see what they can of the ceremony. But this time, it's just me. It feels so illicit. It's wonderfully naughty.
I open the door just a foot or so and slip inside, rolling it shut behind me. When I turn around, I'm sort of surprised to see Brother Owen is here as well. He smiles wide in greeting, crossing his legs casually and leaning his handsome face on his fist.
“Right on time, just as I expected,” Father Daddy calls out.
I smile back. I can't help it. I feel like there is a constant bubble inside me, like a hot air balloon. Something that makes me feel so light and wonderful. So warm. All I do is smile and smile and smile.
They both watch me intently as I walk across the floor. I'm happy to see Brother Owen is here as well. It seems comfortable to me, even though Father Daddy didn't mention it yesterday. I probably should have assumed that my formal training would include them both.
When I come to the platform, I simply step up without even asking. I stand at the edge, ready to receive instruction. Father Daddy's eyes drift over my new dress and he smiles appreciatively. He didn’t stay for dinner with the aunties, since he could sense the tension in the air, so he didn’t get to see it before now.
“You did a wonderful job on your gown, Angel,” he smiles. “You are gifted with so many skills.”
“Oh, I suspect she practiced for a very long time, didn't you, Angel?” Brother Owen asks me. He is smiling as well, and my chest puffs up with pride. I've never been so admired before. Not obviously, anyway. I like this feeling.
“Why, yes I practiced a little, I suppose,” I say, though actually I've probably spent hundreds of hours practicing. “I'm very glad you like it. Thank you.”
“Would you like to take off? Or shall we take it off for you?”
My heart leaps. I return Father Daddy's brazen stare, trying to remain calm.
“I'm here to learn,” I say carefully. “Do with me whatever you will.”
Father Daddy takes the initiative, standing from his throne and taking a step toward me. Brother Owen does the same. When he’s close enough, he reaches down to gather my hem in his hand. The backs of his knuckles stroke my calf.
“Dids Silas tell you how to act when your Master touches you this way?”
“He told me that when my Master touches me, I should make myself available to him,” I answer automatically.
His smile is sincere and relieved. Slowly, he draws his lower lip between his teeth as he continues to stroke me. I’m already trembling where I stand.
“Yes! Exactly, yes,” he says emphatically, as though this was supposed to be a hard lesson to learn. How could be difficult? All I want to do is please them.
“Raise your arms,” Brother Owen murmurs.
I comply immediately, watching Father Daddy for his reaction. His eyes drift toward my ankles as Brother Owen gathers the hem of my new dress in his hands. Father Daddy's eyes watch the skin as it is revealed, inch by inch. He looks hungry.
Brother Owen slips the dress over my head and places it delicately over the arm of his throne. I try not to shiver in the cold night air as I stand naked before them, illuminated by the strings of lights along the ceiling.
“The reason I told you, Angel,” Father Daddy says, “is that your training is to understand your role in the Family. As a woman, you hold the key to managing our nature. Men are like animals. Women tend to them, nurture and coach them. Do you understand?”
I nod, but the nod ends i
n a shrug. I don't really understand.
“We are only beasts without you,” Brother Owen adds. “You are the balance that a man needs. It's your job to understand him. To anticipate him. To scold him when he needs to be scolded, and to service him when he needs to be serviced.”
I shudder, trying to understand. Could this be true? Could I really have a kind of power?
“What do you need?” I dare to ask.
Father Daddy shrugs. “All men need to release. It clears our minds and spirits. But there are two of us… what can you do?”
I sense that this is a challenge, a test. I sense that even with my limited understanding, I must already have all the information I need, or he would not have asked me.
I drop to my knees.
Father Daddy and Brother Owen turn toward me slightly as my hands float in the air, reaching for each of their trousers. I unzip both of them at the same time and release their beautiful manhoods. Holding them both at the same time, I stroke the velvety shafts from base to tip, delighting as they both grow rigid, so very rigid in my hands.
“That's good, so good,” Father Daddy groans. He tips his head back.
I begin to understand. I hear the urgency in their voices, their low, beastly rumbles. I stroke them, varying the pressure until I find the grip that elicits the most desperate sounds from their throats. In mere moments, I have them both ready, hard as timber, rolling their hips back and forth like pistons.
He was right. I do have this control. I can do a thing I've never even heard of before. I can bring them to the edge of what they want… Find the deep lust inside both of them and make it howl…
“I want to make you come,” I call out, lifting my chin. They both tilt their heads back to the ceiling at the same time, arching their backs and clawing at the air. Then both thicken suddenly my palms and release their seed. It spurts out, dousing my cheeks and chin with its pearly, hot honey. I gasp at the sight, this fountain of beauty that I've orchestrated with just my hands.
Gradually, I slow as they pant, shuddering, eventually leaning forward and backing away slightly.
“That was… amazing,” Brother Owen gasps. He takes deep breaths through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Did I tell you? She's going to be my favorite,” Father Daddy adds breathlessly.
I'm filled to bursting with pride. I feel their seed cooling on my skin, dripping down in thick globs onto my belly.
Brother Owen pulls his shirt over his head and uses it to wipe the seed from my cheeks and collarbone. It smells like him — masculine, woody, musk.
“Beautiful, beautiful,” he says again.
I don't even want to ask. Is he talking about me? Or is he talking about the act?
Certainly, it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
Chapter 72
Silas
I know what the numbers mean. I stare at them in the leather bound bookkeeping ledger until they slide up and down the page like slot machine reels.
But they keep coming up close to zero.
It's a terrible fantasy. What would happen to us we couldn't continue here? No matter what kind of work we do, there's still common things we have to take care of. Utilities. Property taxes. Upkeep on the individual homes and the land. We are as self-sustaining as we can be, but the reality is that money is how the world works. We don't have a lot of ways to make income, so we don't have a lot of money. I like to think we have a lot of other things that make up for it.
And besides, the principle is that we should be self-sustaining. It’s part of God’s proof that He approves of my efforts here. Somehow it always works out, if only just barely. But his approval won’t matter if we can't afford the land.
Almost half the people here now have never known another life but Kingdom Come. When I first started it, many people brought their children who were just toddlers. They grew up here, playing in the fields. Working alongside their parents to build their homes. Tending the gardens, learning trades. Learning about community and faith.
If I let them go into a world of iPhones and politics and raw consumption and greed… How would they even cope?
How could I even prepare them?
That question... It's not even an option. No matter what happens, we have to be here, we have to succeed. I will figure something out.
Owen swings open the door and strides into the room, again interrupting my thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if he has some kind of preternatural ability to understand when I am feeling a little bit lost. Here he is again, just when I am most vulnerable.
He sits in the chair across from me and waits silently, like he often does.
Come to think of it, he usually does. He listens to me. He is my most trusted advisor. As brothers, we grew apart for a long time. Disagreements with our father — what to do about his raging alcoholism, his unmanageable violence — all those things drove us apart.
But little by little, Kingdom Come brought us back together. Now we’re really the brothers we should have always been.
I spread my hands on the desk, closing the book in front of me and diverting my attention to him. It's the least I can do for him. Literally, the very least.
His smile broadens. He knows what I'm doing. Once again, he understands me.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I don't have a lot left but my honesty. “It's getting very difficult,” I admit. Instantly I feel a small breath of air, a weight lifted. Confession is good for the soul, after all.
“We are we going to do?” he asks me carefully.
I shake my head, staring at the closed book in front of me. What can I tell him? What can I tell anyone? Our options are quickly diminishing.
“Whatever happened with that foster program?” he asks me.
My shake my head, exhaling through my nose. “Do we really want that? The county, the state officials sniffing around every home here? Asking questions? Judging this?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “They’re foster kids, Silas. They need a place. We have all the room we could ever ask for. It doesn’t hurt that they offer a stipend, and we could give them good homes. Why not consider it again?”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t think it's that simple. We can’t trust them to understand.”
He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.
“And our… other option?”
He means Angel.
I want to stop breathing.
“I feel that… I mean…” I stammer. I stop myself and swallow, hard. Why does every time I think of her turn into some kind of schoolboy embarrassment? How does she do this to me?
“I know what you mean,” he chuckles. “She is something, isn't she? I'm not sure we've ever had someone like her. Her spirit… her cleverness… and she's beautiful!”
I nod. She is. It's undoubtedly true. It's a fact. And yet, I hate hearing him say that. He's saying it because he wants other men to look at her.
He stares at me seriously. I feel his eyes like lasers, hot against the skin of my forehead.
“Silas… you're not thinking of keeping her, are you? I mean, for yourself? You know you can't —”
“— I know I can't,” I reply immediately.
I can't. My role here is too significant. I can't be responsible for one woman, above all the other women. I can't be choosing a favorite like that. It would cloud my judgment.
But she already has. She's clouding my judgment in every moment I can’t shake her from my thoughts. There is a cloud of her that falls over everything I'm trying to think about.
Which could endanger us all. I know that.
I look up, finally, and meet Owen's eyes. He understands. I know it right away. He understands exactly what I'm thinking, but he doesn't seem to judge me. He doesn't seem upset. He seems to be of the same mind.
And yet, he still wants to do it.
“How much time do we have?”
I look at the book again.<
br />
“If nothing changes?” I sigh. The answer weighs heavily upon me. “Weeks, Owen. The tax bill is already overdue. We only have weeks. Weeks before everything is lost.”
“Then if we have no other options…” he suggests softly. I hear the pain in his voice too. He may feel the same way about her that I do.
“We should continue to train her, then,” I suggest. “We should prepare her.”
It sounds like a logical statement, but I wonder how much of that is simply wanting to be near her. Would I really risk everything just to be near her?
He frowns sadly, then finally seems to surrender to the idea.
“Whatever you think is best,” he finally says, fingering the wooden cross around his neck. His eyes are sympathetic and tender. I watch him carefully, letting the connection fully join. I don't have to protect myself from Owen. He's proven himself in a million ways. I'm not sure why I am so protective, when he's really the only one who understands me.
“Thank you,” I say. Then I add, somewhat less sincerely: “I'm sure it will all be all right.”
Chapter 73
Owen
I rack my brain, trying to figure out if there’s anything else that we can do. Besides taking Angel and giving her away. It’s so hard to imagine never seeing her again. My mind races with possibilities, each one more outlandish than the next.
Could I run away with her?
No. Silas would never forgive me, and our problems wouldn’t be solved. Neither of us could survive alone. But it’s hard to imagine what will happen to her without feeling a dull ache in my belly.
Angel. You will save us. Somehow, you’ll save us. I wonder if the Good Lord above cares for us. He cares for the smallest sparrow, so how does he not care that we are about to lose what matters to us most?
Either the perfect Angel or the Family: one of these has to be sacrificed, forever. I rub my belly slowly, trying to quell the rising ache inside. The fabric of my plaid shirt feels rough against my palm.
