What's Done in Darkness

by Laura McHugh

  Late in the afternoon, when we had finished making and packing away the sandwiches and potato salad and beans and coleslaw and washed the last of the dishes, I thought I’d be able to slip away, but then Daddy came into the kitchen to announce that we would all sit down together for our final family supper. Tomorrow, Sylvie would become a Blackburn, and I would be going home.

  Mama had set aside some extra ham sandwiches for supper, but she didn’t complain when Daddy shook his head and said the occasion called for something heartier. After hours of cooking, the last thing I wanted to think about was preparing another meal, but Mama was already pulling out dishes that were barely dry, peeling carrots and chopping greens, heating up the leftover pork belly from the night before. Daddy gave a lengthy blessing and spent most of the meal recounting our family’s spiritual journey like it was scripture, with the truck-stop waitress playing Delilah to his Samson, indirectly leading him to a deeper relationship with the Lord.

  Mama kept her head bowed. I wondered how many times he had told this story, if it pained her when he mentioned the waitress, if it took effort not to wince. I’d placed much of the blame for our upended lives on my mother. She was the daughter of a tent revival preacher and had always been intensely religious. Joining Holy Rock was like returning home for her, and she’d probably been waiting for an excuse to make it happen. But watching my father lord over the table, mythologizing himself, it was clear that he had fully embraced his role as the divinely appointed ruler of our family. I remembered him wrapping his arms around me after a whipping, telling me that he didn’t want to hurt me, but it was his duty as my father to punish disobedience, to keep his flock on the righteous path. As though none of this had been his choice, his fault. I felt sorry now for blaming only my mother all these years.

  When the meal was over, Sylvie and I got up to clear the table. “Sarabeth!” she said. “Don’t worry about the dishes. You’d better go get your dress.”

  “Right,” I said. “Big day tomorrow.”

  “Yes it is,” Daddy said. “I’m giving away my little girl.”

  He rose from his seat at the head of the table to embrace my sister, and then, for the first time since I’d arrived, he held his arms out to me. I didn’t step into them like I’d done automatically all my life, even after a whipping. I didn’t move at all. Mama cleared her throat and Daddy let his arms drop. I had known it from the time I moved out, but I hadn’t truly felt it till now. I’d had to come back home to believe it. My parents—this place—no longer held power over me.

  On the way to pick up the dress, I took a detour, stopping in town to get a good-enough signal on my phone so I could look up the Blackburns’ website. It took a bit of searching because I couldn’t recall the exact name, but I finally landed on Rock of Faith Family Ministries. It was difficult to navigate on the small screen, but I wanted to see what kind of assistance they provided for families and people in need. Specifically, whether they offered counseling for children. It was mentioned in a long list of services and resources. The contact page didn’t include the Blackburns’ names, phone number, or a physical address, only a form to fill out and submit for more information.

  I called Farrow and it went to voicemail. I figured he would be back at work, trying to regroup after everything had fallen apart. I wanted to run something by him before I went to see Minnie, but I didn’t have time to wait. The wedding was less than twenty-four hours away, and this was my final night in Wisteria. I told him to check out the ministry, that I was looking at Rick Blackburn rather than Leon. That it might not have anything to do with Abby, but it might have something to do with me. I filled up my tank so I wouldn’t run out of gas in the hills at night and headed to the Blackburns’ place.

  * * *

  —

  “There you are,” Minnie said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  I was worried she was going to take me down in the basement again, but she had the dress hanging in the hall closet. It was long and shapeless as a shower curtain. “Looks beautiful,” I said.

  “You can change in Rachel’s room right here,” she offered, leading me in. A lamp burned on the nightstand next to the crib, where the baby lay sprawled on her back, asleep, wisps of dark hair framing her face. “All right,” Minnie said. “Let’s have a look.”

  I took off my dress and she traded me for the one she’d made. I stepped into it and buttoned it up. It fell all the way to my feet and cinched a bit too tight around the throat. It felt stiff, like she’d starched and ironed it.

  “Perfect,” she said. “What do you think?”

  There was no mirror to see myself, but I didn’t need one. “It’s…lovely,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  She beamed. “Pleased to help. Now, I was just going to have a glass of tea,” she said. “Join me.”

  “I’d love to,” I said. “I’ll just change out of this so it doesn’t get wrinkled.” I wasn’t sure how I’d wear it all day tomorrow. It felt like it was suffocating me and I’d wanted to rip it off my body within seconds of putting it on.

  “Oh, no, it’d be best if you could wear it around a bit, get a sense of whether you need any adjustments.”

  “Okay.” I smiled. “Sure.” I followed her to the kitchen and she busied herself getting out glasses and ice. “You know, I’ve been thinking about those peaches we had the other day, with Sylvie,” I said. “They were delicious.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “They’re from our own trees.”

  “I feel impolite asking,” I said. “But do you think we could have some with our tea? If you have any left? I’ve never had any quite that good.” I knew we had finished off the jar when I was there before, because I’d watched Sylvie spoon out the last of it when I asked for seconds, and Minnie was too mannerly to deny a guest’s request for food.

  “I have plenty,” she said. “I just need to fetch it from the cellar.”

  “I can do it,” I said. “I don’t mind. It’s out back, right? I’ll let you stay here with the baby.”

  She looked a little uncertain. “All right. If you don’t mind. You’ll need the flashlight.” She fetched one from the kitchen drawer. “You can go out thataway.”

  I went out on the back deck and down the steps to the yard. I had to put the flashlight in my armpit and yank open the cellar’s wooden door with both hands. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go in, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I stepped into the dark, cool space and shined the light around. It didn’t seem familiar. There were shelves of preserves and not much else. I walked to the far end and squatted down with my back to the wall and closed my eyes. It didn’t feel right. And there wasn’t any kind of sink or faucet to account for the sound of running water. This wasn’t the place where I’d been held.

  I was trying to make sense of it, to get the pieces to fit without forcing them together like Farrow and I had done before. The man who held me captive could have raped or killed me if he’d wanted to, but he didn’t. That was the part Sheriff Krieger found so hard to believe. But maybe the man had wanted something else.

  Not long before I went missing, I had turned down Pastor Rick’s offer of counseling. Now I wondered—if he was the man in the mask—if the abduction had been a disturbing attempt to fix me. Maybe he thought fear would make me obedient, that he could transform me through trauma into the sort of girl my parents wanted me to be. And maybe he had satisfied his own perverted urges in the process, looking at my naked body while I was blindfolded, the way he had looked at Retta.

  But things got out of hand. He’d grown angry when I fought back, and when the scissors accidentally cut my hair. We all knew the verse from Corinthians. Mama had inscribed it in my prayer book: But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering. He lost control then, chopping it off, a fitting punishment for a disobedient girl. When I stabbed him, maybe he
decided I was beyond saving and just wanted to be rid of me, and that’s why he dumped me at the side of the road.

  I’d been to the Blackburns’ three times now since I’d returned to Wisteria, and I had yet to see Pastor Rick. Farrow had said that Destiny’s mother hid her burns under long sleeves. Maybe the pastor was hiding something from me. A scar he didn’t want me to see, one that I had carved with the scissors. He wouldn’t be able to hide it forever. If I didn’t see him tonight, I’d see him at the wedding, standing before the entire congregation, marrying my sister to his son.

  I grabbed a jar of peaches, brushed off my dress, and hurried back to the house, where Minnie had the tea waiting. She scooped a generous portion of the fruit into a dessert bowl for me and we sat across from each other at the table. The new dress bunched uncomfortably around the middle when I sat down. I looked around but didn’t see my old dress anywhere.

  “Finally,” she said. “Everything’s ready for tomorrow and we can relax and have a proper visit, you and me. Such a busy week.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I can’t imagine how you fit everything in—preparing for a wedding, taking care of a baby, helping out with youth group, running a ministry.”

  I took a bite of peach, sweet and tart, like it had just been plucked fresh from the tree. I hadn’t been lying when I flattered her. I could eat the whole jar.

  “Well, the ministry’s certainly a big undertaking, but it’s truly our calling from God. All those years I was waiting for a baby, praying for Him to reveal His plan, and one day it was clear what we had to do. Once I dedicated myself to helping other people’s children, along came one of my own. Each of us are instruments of God, vessels—we must be willing to serve His purpose, no matter how challenging, no matter what cost.” Minnie took a long swallow of tea.

  “Ronnie was telling me about the website. He’s really proud of his work.”

  “It’s a blessing to have him,” she said. “We’re not much into technology, but a good ministry has to be able to get the word out and reach the families who need our help. The website was necessary for that. Now we can help troubled children throughout the Ozarks and beyond.”

  I wondered what she meant by “troubled.” Girls like me, who talked back to their parents? Girls who refused arranged marriages? Girls who wanted to get their ears pierced and wear pants? Farrow had said the cases weren’t connected after all, but there was something we all had in common. We were “troubled,” or troublesome—or at least someone thought so. Abby’s adoptive parents called her difficult. Eva Winters had stolen and crashed her parents’ car. Destiny’s mother had been strict, quick to dole out harsh punishment for the slightest infraction.

  Minnie said the ministry reached across the Ozarks and beyond. How many girls would Pastor Rick “help”? I wasn’t the first and I wouldn’t be the last. Parents frustrated with their children would unknowingly subject them to torture. But it didn’t quite make sense. Wouldn’t there be too great a risk of someone finding out? Unless…the parents already knew. I thought of Trina, Destiny’s mother, faking tears while she stoked the fire. She’d known all along where her daughter was. My mother had brought the pastor to talk to me and I’d refused. What if Pastor Rick hadn’t snatched me on his own? What if she’d asked him to? Eva’s parents said the pastor had sent their daughter on a mission trip, but no one had heard from her. No one was looking for her. The ministry offered services for families who wanted to fix problem children, or maybe just get rid of them.

  I knew Minnie was genuinely passionate about ministering to young girls, trying to mold them in her image and impart the values of chastity and fertility, which she’d clearly succeeded in doing with Sylvie. I believed she could be involved, but surely she wasn’t aware of everything her husband was doing. She would never approve of him having sexual contact with underage girls. I had brought Retta’s slips of paper to show her, in the pocket of my dress. The dress Minnie had taken from me.

  “How did you and the pastor choose Sylvie for Noah?” I said.

  She smiled and leaned forward in her seat. “After you left, she was needing someone to look up to. I took her under my wing. Such a good girl. She’s strong in her faith.” Minnie tilted her head. “It must be hard for you. To see your little sister getting married. But it’s not too late for you. You can start a family, too, before you lose out on your best childbearing years.”

  I forced a polite half smile.

  “You haven’t touched your tea,” she said. Down the hall, the baby squawked and began to cry. “Every time I hear that little cry, I’m reminded what a blessing she is.” Minnie craned her neck toward Rachel’s room to listen, and just above her collar, I saw a flash of pale, pearly skin. It was puckered like a scar.

  I stopped breathing. The baby quieted, and when Minnie turned back to me, whatever I had seen was covered by the collar. I thought of the struggle on the basement floor, when I grabbed the scissors, tried to remember how I’d held them, the angle of the blade as I slashed. Would the mark look like the one on Minnie’s neck?

  Minnie frowned. I couldn’t tell if she’d caught me staring, if the look on my face gave me away. If Minnie was the one I’d stabbed, she and Rick were in it together. He was the one who’d grabbed me at the farm stand. Minnie was the one who’d gotten angry, cut my hair, bashed me in the face hard enough to knock me unconscious. Which one of them had let me go?

  “Where’s the pastor tonight?” I asked.

  The baby’s cries grew louder. “Excuse me a moment,” she said. “I need to get Rachel.”

  Minnie disappeared down the back hall and I waited to be sure she was out of sight and then raced as quickly and as quietly as I could to the front door. I felt a rush of relief as I hit the porch and eased the door shut behind me, but when I reached the bottom of the steps and started to run for my car, I realized that I was too late. My car wasn’t where I’d left it. It was gone, and my phone along with it.

  CHAPTER 28

  SARABETH, THEN

  AGE 18

  My father brought me home from the station in the middle of the night and Mama hurried me up to bed, whispering so as not to wake anyone. Sylvie wasn’t there, and Mama said she’d taken to sleeping in her and Daddy’s room. I fell asleep almost immediately from sheer exhaustion but woke at dawn, too anxious to stay in bed. Mama heard me on the stairs and whisked me back into my room, insisting that I needed to rest. She brought fresh biscuits and a glass of milk and made sure the curtains were shut tight.

  There was nothing to fill the time. I stared at the shelf where my books had once been. All that remained was the Guide for Godly Girls. I opened it up, but most of the pages were missing. Mama had removed the ones I’d defaced, probably worried that the number of the Beast would open a door for the Devil. Sylvie had half a dozen of the homemade journals stacked neatly on the dresser on her side of the room. When the shelf paper ran out, Mama had started covering them with remnants of Christmas wrapping. I had never peeked to see how Sylvie filled all those pages, because I liked to pretend we had some measure of privacy in our room, though there was no doubt Mama would have read them. I picked up the one at the top of the stack, recognizing the red-and-green paper from the package of shelled walnuts the Darlings had gifted us last Christmas.

  The journal was filled with Sylvie’s careful handwriting, and as I flipped through the pages, I spotted my name. Fissures formed in my heart as I read her prayers. Dear Lord, please help my sister Sarabeth to be good.

  I could hear people from church as they came by with offerings. They brought deer steaks and freshly plucked chickens and cured ham. And guns: shotguns and rifles and revolvers, enough for every member of the family to carry one in each hand. That was what people did in difficult times, provide prayer and sustenance and firepower. My father accepted the meat with gratitude and politely declined the weapons, explaining that he and Eli had hunting rifles
and that should be enough to protect the house.

  His voice was strong and unwavering. He didn’t sound worried that we were in any danger. You were let go, he’d said matter-of-factly on the ride home, as though that meant the ordeal was over. It felt like he was disappointed in me somehow. Neither of my parents came right out and said they didn’t believe me, like Sheriff Krieger had, but they seemed to have their doubts.

  When night came, I slept fitfully. I wished Sylvie could have been there in the room with me, but Mama had insisted that I needed peace and quiet to recover, even though the last thing I wanted after a week of silent solitude was to be alone. She acted as though my well-being was her foremost concern, but it felt like an excuse to keep me isolated from my brothers and sister, as though she feared my mere presence would somehow taint them.

  The next day, the reporters came. They descended on the farm with their vans and cameras and antennas. They knocked on the door. The phone rang and rang and rang until someone unplugged it. I heard my mother praying for them to go away and leave us in peace. There was another knock at the door, one that my parents answered. I peeked out through the curtains and saw a police cruiser. Later, when Mama brought up a lukewarm bowl of bean soup for dinner, she told me that I would have to go back to the police station in the morning, that one of the deputies would come to fetch me.

  I didn’t want to go to the police station and have Sheriff Krieger ask me the same questions all over again, each one punctuated by an irritable sigh. I couldn’t stay in my room forever, nor could I imagine what would happen when they let me out. Maybe my parents would move forward with the arranged marriage as though nothing had changed, or maybe no one would want to marry me now, whether they believed my story or not. Maybe I would be a pariah in my own home. Retta hadn’t called or come to check on me, and neither had Tom, though both Retta’s mother and Mrs. Darling had stopped by to bring us food. I didn’t know whether my friends hadn’t wanted to come along or hadn’t been allowed.