Although not yet noon, the small cabin was dark enough to need the glow of the 40-watt lamp that Cozbi had turned on. A sagging full-size bed and two ladder-back chairs were among the few pieces of furniture the room boasted. The one item with the potential to cheer—the fireplace—yawned empty, a dusting of ash the only lingering remnant of past warmth and light.
I took a chair while Cozbi chose the bed. As she did, I noticed the pillow, centered under the headboard and so thin it barely caused a rise, was the only one on the bed. Glancing around, I spied its mate stacked neatly in a corner on top of two equally meager blankets.
Moses’s bed?
Cozbi watched my eyes, her face a careful blank.
I cleared my throat. “So how does this work?” I asked.
“It’s different for different people. Mostly I’m here to answer any questions and make sure you’re prepared for your decision to accept The Vow. I hate to say it, but Maliah’s right. This situation is fairly unorthodox. Usually it takes weeks before Father gives the sign that he feels a person is worthy. I’m told you will start your purification and time of meditation tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? That seems awfully fast to me too. I’m not, um, trying to question Father’s decision, but why is he doing this?” I asked.
“Why?” she echoed. “Don’t you know?”
“I have no idea. I didn’t ask for it, and I wouldn’t mind waiting. I didn’t even realize I was being rushed through until Maliah complained at breakfast.”
“Maliah will always find a reason to complain.”
I wondered if Cozbi had been informed of my discovery in the woods. “I get the impression things have been a bit chaotic since Enoch left. Could it be a mix-up?”
“I doubt it, but then again…” Cozbi broke off and looked thoughtful. “Enoch broke his Vow. Then he made it worse by running back to Las Vegas. Such a slap in the face. I was surprised Father was even willing to file a missing persons report. Normally, he avoids any involvement with infidels.”
“Father reported Enoch missing?”
Cozbi nodded. “Technically, Moses did, but he wouldn’t have unless Father ordered him to. Moses trailed Enoch to a hotel room on the strip. All his things were there, but it looked like there had been a struggle. Blood everywhere, they said.”
Huh? How could he have gone missing in Las Vegas and have body parts showing up here in Wisconsin? Had Enoch really been killed in Vegas? Then what? The killer brought his hand back to show Father? Or maybe the killer kept it for a trophy?
“He never, uh, showed up?” I asked. “I mean, his body or anything? Do the police think he was murdered?”
She snorted. “How would I know? They aren’t going to tell me anything.”
“You work at the sheriff’s department, right? Haven’t you heard anything?”
“I’m only a dispatcher, so it’s not likely that I’d know what the detectives are thinking.” Her reply seemed disingenuous and a shadow flitted across her face.
“Not even in such a small department?” I kept a playful note in my voice.
Cozbi finally smiled. “That’s usually true.”
“But not in this case? Do they know you live here?”
“Like you said, small department. Besides, I needed a ride home once; Dave Zandowski brought me.”
“He seems nice enough, anyway. He was flirting with Rachel.” I regretted my words as soon as they passed my lips.
Cozbi frowned. “What?”
“The day they were here interviewing people. It, uh, looked like he was flirting with Rachel. She never did anything improper, though. It seemed completely innocent. I was just kidding.”
“I wonder if that’s why…”
“Why what?”
A long pause drew out while Cozbi debated answering. She looked at me speculatively. I got the feeling if she did reply it would be with hopes of learning more from me.
“Why she met him for lunch the other day,” Cozbi finally said. “I had hoped it was about the investigation and not something worse.”
“Worse? Meaning maybe it was about Father or the Elect? Why are the police interested in us, anyway?”
A shutter went down behind her eyes. “You need to be prepared for persecution, Letty. People don’t understand why we choose to live the way we do. They’ll call us a cult and wage war against us just like in Waco.”
“But Rachel wouldn’t be a party to that. Everything she’s said to me about Father or the church has been positive. In fact, since she was the one who brought me to the Elect, I sort of expected her to be my mentor for my Naming. No offense.”
“None taken. Anyway, we’re straying off the subject. Where were we?”
“You were about to explain why I’ve been put forward for The Vow so quickly.”
She frowned. She hadn’t been going to do any such thing, and I could almost see her mind wrestling with whether she really had. “Well… I can’t say for sure, but…”
I waited. I’m good at that.
“The only thing I can think of is that you need to take The Vow before you’re eligible for marriage within the Elect.”
My face heated up. Father had hinted about seeing me with a highly ranked man. Eli? Not Justus, anyway. He was still struggling for a place on the ladder.
Cozbi might have had mind-reading abilities, because she nodded. “The women are having a field day trying to keep track of the men who might decide to seek you out. In fact, there may be more than they—or you—even know.” Her glance slid over to the bedding stacked against the wall.
The memory of Father’s nasty chuckle when he spoke about my future standing sent an awful thought shivering through me.
“The Elect doesn’t allow, um, well, marriage to more than one—”
“The issue of marriage isn’t before us, now. If you don’t take The Vow, it won’t even be an issue.”
Note to self: find out the church’s views on polygamy. Fast.
“The Vow is a period of contemplation,” Cozbi continued as though reciting. “Throughout the Bible, people seeking a deeper understanding of God use fasting and isolation to facilitate that. We call it ‘taking The Vow’ or ‘our time in the desert.’ It’s twenty-four hours for men, and forty-eight or so for women. Our contemplation period goes from noon to noon over three days, however.”
“Why the difference?”
“Father believes women need more purifying.”
Said with a straight face yet. She waited to see if I would complain, but I held back. I wasn’t here to strike a blow for feminism, after all.
“You said it’s a fast?” I asked.
“Water only,” Cozbi said. “And no adornment, of course.”
I had already been stripped of jewelry and makeup, so that didn’t matter.
“During your period of contemplation, you’ll be taken to a small cabin where you are to reflect and meditate on your sins. Later, you’ll take The Vow before the Seven and then again before the entire church.”
“When do I get my new name?”
She finally smiled. “We’re going to have a feast day for you. You’ll be named then.”
Even though I was sure the Elect interpreted “feast” far differently than I might, I brightened up.
“Letty, you have to be certain about this.” Cozbi’s face resumed its expressionless nature. “This isn’t a game. The Vow can never be broken. It would be the one unforgivable sin. When you—”
“I thought the only unforgivable sin was denying the Holy Spirit” I said. “I remember reading that in the Bible. Somewhere.”
She hesitated. “By breaking The Vow, you will be breaking with the Holy Spirit. We’re here because we are working every day to be purified for the Lord’s return. To break The Vow means to separate from God. The punishment means being cast out from the Elect. The book of Revelation tells us you will be vomited from His mouth.”
“Huh. Yeah, that wouldn’t be good,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed
briefly, but she nodded as though signaling the end of the conversation. I was glad, because by now I had to pee like a racehorse. I wouldn’t put it past Father to disregard indoor plumbing in his subordinates little cabins, so I asked.
“Of course,” Cozbi said. “It’s the door on the left.”
I walked over and opened it. Not the bathroom. Instead, I opened the door to a small closet—a few dresses hung limply on wire hangers and a pair of men’s pants were folded on a shelf above the hanging clothes. I barely noticed them, however, because hanging on the back of the door was a brown leather cat-o’-nine-tails. It swayed slightly as I gawked at it, the knotted lashes making a slithery sound as they swung against the wood. I turned to Cozbi, dumbfounded.
She stared back impassively.
I shut the door. “Cozbi, I’m so sorry. I thought you said left. I didn’t mean—”
“I said right. But don’t worry about it.” She turned away. “It’s not mine.”
I had until the next day to back out. I was planning on using the evening to track down Eli and Beth and fill them in on the newly developed craziness. Polygamy? Ick. That whip? Ick infinity.
Unfortunately, Father called another mandatory gathering for the Elect at the Philadelphia Temple. All I wanted to do was lay down and take a nap. On the other hand, if I could see and talk to Maggie, we might be able to ditch this whole plan and bug out. Totally worth it.
The first person I saw upon entering the temple was Justus sitting next to Maliah. This time, when our eyes caught, his shifted away. I grabbed a seat next to Jala. I thought I’d given myself plenty of time to look around for Maggie, but I’d barely gotten settled before the show started.
There was the usual candle lighting and positioning of the Seven, but this time the ceremony seemed rushed and unfocused. Even Father strode in without the usual trumpet blast. Because of the disorientation, it took me a minute before I realized the Seven were only six.
Casper was missing.
Irritation—and I didn’t think it was because his supplicants were caught off guard—emanated off Father in nearly visible concentric waves. Silence laced with fear fell over the crowd. People ducked their heads to try to avoid eye contact with their golden-clad leader.
There were a few exceptions. Baara, as usual, appeared oblivious to the undercurrents. She sat up straight, looking excited. When Father’s roaming eye landed on her, she giggled and waved. Father’s jaw stiffened and he looked away. Rachel, seated beside Baara, reached over and laid a gentle, quelling hand on her shoulder. Baara drew away from her but subsided.
“A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he who breathes forth lies will not escape!” Father’s voice boomed across the congregation, causing more than a few, myself included, to jump. The rush of adrenaline made my heart thrash against my chest, and I broke out in a sweat. At this rate, I would be all set for menopause or a heart transplant, whichever came first.
Jala, seated next to me, whispered, “Proverbs 19:16.”
In front of us, Father raged on in a strident, Hitleresque screech, making no attempt at the sophisticated voice modulation which he had used to such great effect in previous messages. “Whoever slanders his neighbor secretly, I will destroy. Whoever has a haughty look and an arrogant heart, I will not endure.”
Jala whispered something about Psalms, but I didn’t catch the chapter or verse.
“Spreading untruths about the Elect is as sinful as betraying this church,” Father continued. Spittle flecked his lips. He banged his fist on the podium so hard I expected to hear the crack of either wood or bone. “It’s betrayal. How could it be otherwise? Hear me now. It will not be tolerated. It will not! Ask yourselves who, or what, are you placing your trust in? Those of the world?” He pointed outward, his hand shaking so hard in anger it looked palsied. “The world that has already betrayed you? The world that soils your very soul? And what will you do then, when the End is upon us? When your dalliance with the outside has made you unacceptable to The Way? Will you repent then?”
Sobs broke out from a few people. I checked Baara, but instead of looking troubled, she had a beatific look on her face as she gazed up at Father.
“It will be too late.” Father thundered, forcing my attention back to center. His hands gripped the podium so hard that his knuckles gleamed starkly white against the oak. He paused, visibly trying to rein himself back in. He took a deep breath. The effort took far longer than a mere count of ten. Finally, in a quieter voice, he said. “It will surely be too late. You will be lost.”
Father took another deep breath and flexed his fingers. His eyes scanned over the crowd as though seeing us for the first time. Something—hopefully, sanity—seemed to seep back into his face. Whatever it was, it didn’t bring peace to his expression. Maybe he was finally registering the abject fear in most of his flock’s faces. A very few—Rachel and Jala among them—looked disturbed, almost angry. Next to me, Jala’s hands were clenched in her lap.
Whether he saw them or not, I couldn’t tell, but a wary glint crept into Father’s eyes. He seemed to take a mental step back from whatever precipice he had been heading toward. He cleared his throat.
Then, he said, “‘Blessed is the man whom the Father corrects, so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty.’ And I should add ‘woman’ as well.” His chuckle floundered and died in the thick air. He cleared his throat again. “We must embrace discipline. Without it, sinfulness will creep back into your hearts and into your actions. As it already has for some of you. As your leader, I must be ever vigilant. Always ready to do battle with the Enemy who would worm his way into our mission, taking your souls as his trophies. This is a battle for your very souls.”
Though his voice had risen again, he kept it modulated and controlled. The congregation seemed to relax a bit, ready to settle in for a normal, “you’re all going to hell if you don’t listen to me” sermon.
“It is a battle I will win,” Father said softly. His eyes seemed to settle on Baara. Or was it Rachel. Baara gazed raptly up at him.
Then a switch seemed to flip: his lips thinned, his face swelled again as blood began an ominous creep back up his neck as he stared at her. I saw Rachel place a protective arm around Baara’s shoulders, although Baara seemed remarkably unaffected by the scrutiny.
“This is why,” Father continued, “if I discover—and I will—who is at the heart of this evil, this betrayal…” He finally wrenched his gaze away, and it swept the crowd like a prison tower searchlight. “You will be sliced out of this community like a cancer and driven from my presence. You will be cast aside like the serpent you are.”
A gasp ran through the congregation. Baara yelped as though pinched.
“I will protect this church. At all costs.” Then he stepped back from the podium, shooting a baleful eye across the room. Without looking away from us, he signaled to Moses, standing just behind him. Taken by surprise, Moses sprang forward, almost stumbling in his haste. Father whispered something to him, then spun on his heel and stomped out, slamming the side door behind him.
Moses moved awkwardly to the podium, then apparently thought better of assuming Father’s place and stood to the side of it. When he cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple leaped as wildly as a frog trying to escape from a paper bag. Baara’s giggle danced around the room, causing Moses to flush.
“Uh, Father has, uh, one more announcement. As it is not part of his—” A blank expression wiped his face clean of any appearance of intelligence. More giggles from Baara. Moses obviously hadn’t been prepared to stand before the church, and his terror led me to believe this was an unprecedented assignment. He twitched back to life and continued where he had left off. “Not part of the important message he just gave us. The one about forbidding gossip. This is separate. Uh, Father would like you all to pray for one of our members who has left the shelter of the Elect in order to act as a missionary in these, uh, troubled times.”
Well, that certainly had a “Pay no a
ttention to the man behind the curtain” ring to it.
Moses, obviously at a loss for how to wind things up, nodded blankly several times, shifting from Pez dispenser to bobblehead. Eli moved forward and whispered in his ear.
“Oh,” Moses said, turning back to us. “Priella. She’s the one to pray for.”
Heaving a sigh of relief, Moses stepped abruptly back into formation, colliding with Dathan, who almost knocked over one of the standing candle holders. Eli was able to grab it before it set off a game of flaming, falling dominoes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I waited just outside the temple door for my friends. People parted in streams like a river around a rock. No sign of Maggie or Beth. Maybe Beth had waylaid the elusive Maggie and was even now convincing her to get the hell out of Dodge. I could only hope.
Cozbi and Baara came out together, though each seemed wrapped up in her own thoughts. Rachel was right behind them. She reached forward and tapped Cozbi’s shoulder. I had lost track of Jala in the crowd, but she caught up just in time to hear Rachel say to Cozbi, “When is this going to stop?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cozbi said, despite the fact her frozen face and darting eyes said she knew exactly what Rachel meant.
“Look,” Rachel said. “Your husband is the highest-ranking man in the church. Couldn’t you talk to—”
“I said I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cozbi’s shrill voice cut across the yard. She started to walk away.
Rachel grabbed her sleeve. “Yes, you do. Do you really believe Priella is on mission work? Really? Does that make any sense? She was being shunned and that was never lifted. They would never trust her to represent us. What are they trying to hide?”
The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (A Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mystery Book 4) Page 18
