Little One

by Sarah A. Denzil

  “Yes, sister,” Esther said.

  “Good. Angel will bring you supper and a hot chocolate in a few hours. I suggest you get some sleep and stay in bed until then. You’ll be fine in the morning.”

  “Thank you, sister,” Esther said.

  “God wants us to be in good shape for the Reckoning, Esther. You should remember that.”

  “Yes, sister.”

  Ruth stepped out and closed the door, leaving Esther all alone. She spread her fingers out wide on the soft sheets. They were plain white, but they were luxurious. Above her, was a patterned sconce and a small light shade in the shape of a rose. The bed was solid pine and the windowsill too. She saw a chest of drawers and a door that she assumed opened into a closet. The room was warm with plenty of sunlight drifting in to brighten the darker corners. This was a lovely room and it was the first time Esther had been in it. She removed the wet cloth and rolled onto her side, deciding to take Ruth’s advice about sleeping. Why waste such a comfortable bed? But as she was drifting off into slumber, she heard raised voices coming from outside the room.

  Esther swung her legs over the bed and slowly stood. She stepped lightly across the wooden floorboards and listened at the door. When she heard Father James speaking, she realised that she was in the room above his office. Esther got down on her knees and pressed her ear to a crack between two floorboards. She could hear Father James and someone else. A deep, resonating voice with a clipped accent. Father Adam.

  “You’re believing your own bullshit now, Roger. I think you might have lost your actual mind. And what’s worse is that those people out there are eating up every word. This isn’t what we set up in any way and I’m fed up with trying to play along with this idiocy.”

  “You’re telling me I’m crazy, but you’re the one who can’t remember my name. There’s no Roger here, Adam.”

  “Yes, there is. There always has been. I know who you are, and I know where you came from. I was there with you, right from the beginning. The Children of James. Body and Soul. I was the one who made up all the gibberish about inner wellness and external goals. I did it three decades ago. The bastard child of a drunk, foolish man and a philosophy textbook. You’ve twisted it into all this religious nonsense and tell people you can speak to God, Rog, it’s… it’s… dangerous.”

  “God does speak to me, Adam.”

  “NO, HE DOESN’T! It’s a lie. You’re going to commit mass murder over a lie? We started this cult to get laid and make money!” Esther heard stomping footsteps as Adam strode around the room. Her fingertips began to sweat as she stayed there on her hands and knees, listening. “It’s gone too far. You’ve gone too far. The things you’ve done. I’ve tried not to say anything, I really have, but I can’t bite my tongue anymore. You’ve married children, Roger. You’re a paedophile!”

  “They were over twelve,” Father said. “Just like in the Bible, and in every ancient civilisation and every medieval—”

  “Listen to yourself justifying it.” Adam sounded as though he was half-sobbing. “This has to stop. You need to close down the ranch, move away and find your peace elsewhere, without dragging all of these innocent people along with you. You can’t keep doing this. Not to those children. Come on.” Father James was silent. “Come on, please. Agree with me, Roger. Come on.” Still silence. “Please stop it. That’s the only reason I came back. I don’t want to join the family, I want to break it up.”

  Esther held her breath. In these silences she was sure that they’d be able to hear her ragged breath through the crack.

  “I think it’s best that you leave,” Father James said.

  “The ranch?”

  Another pause.

  “No,” Father said. “You can stay in the house, but you must leave my office.”

  “If I want to leave the ranch, will I be permitted?” Adam asked.

  “Of course,” Father James said. “After the Reckoning. Don’t worry, you won’t be waiting long.”

  Esther pulled herself off the floor and climbed back into the bed. She pulled the duvet up over her head and pressed her hands against her ears. She didn’t want to hear anymore.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Finally, Fran tapped on Adrian’s icon in the video call app. His face filled the screen and her conflicted heart twisted. Part of her ached for him, for the warmth of his arms and the comfort of his voice. Another part of her resented him. Every time she thought about their relationship, or about Chloe, her mind drifted back to the meadow in the Catalina mountains. The others around her, breathing with her, touching her, sharing her pain. Fran and Adrian had lost a child together and yet they’d grieved apart. It was a phenomenon she hadn’t noticed until that day. Perhaps she’d been blind to it, or perhaps she’d wilfully ignored it.

  She let out a shaky breath, waiting for him to answer. He never did. With some disappointment, she cancelled the call and sat down on the bed. It was late and she was tired. Lifting her feet, she rested her head on the pillow and soon slipped into sleep, pondering, as her eyes closed, that he would never know how she called him hoping he would talk her out of what she had planned.

  The next morning, Fran got up early and dressed. She ordered breakfast to the room and then worked on her piece, describing the draw of the cult, the dark charisma of the leader, the sense of community that hid the darker underbelly. Mid-morning, she received another email from Caleb.

  Hi Francesca,

  We would love to see you back on the ranch. Father James was extremely impressed with you and thought you were an excellent fit. I think so too.

  Have you had time to read the Book of James yet? I would love to meet and discuss any questions you might have.

  Also, if you don’t mind, I’ve attached another questionnaire. This one is more about demographics, that kind of thing. It’s purely for our records.

  Speak soon,

  Caleb

  Fran opened the document and skim-read it. She almost let out a laugh. If any temptation remained, the scales truly fell from her eyes now. The questionnaire about demographics was an obvious attempt to figure out how much money she had. The questions focused on her career, how much she earned, how cautious she was about savings, the size of her house, the number of cars she owned, that kind of thing. They wanted to figure out if she could contribute financially to the cult.

  “Father wants a new gold ring,” Fran said out loud.

  She grabbed a waffle from her breakfast plate, munched it down and finished with a slurp orange juice. At least that confirmed the scam. Once Fran had closed her laptop and placed the empty breakfast plate on the hotel coffee table, she felt tired. Yes, the blatant money-grab had amused her for a moment, but then she thought of the insidiousness behind the smiling face of the cult. The missing children, the obvious dislike of authorities, the man with his sunglasses on.

  Her connection with Caleb muddied the waters. She found it difficult to think of him as anything other than a sweet lad who’d lost his way. But was he innocent? Were any of the devotees innocent? If children had been hidden, hurt or worse, and members of the cult knew about it, then perhaps they all deserved punishment. Maybe even Mary. She lay down on the bed and crossed her ankles. Fran thought about her upbringing: the church choirs, the Sunday school, the nativity plays. She’d had a middle-English experience with religion and maintained moderate views her whole life. Did that make her qualified to analyse the actions of someone indoctrinated into a cult?

  For the first time in a while she thought about calling her mum. But she hadn’t told either of her parents about coming to Arizona and it felt too difficult to try and explain why she was so fixated on saving Mary and Esther.

  She checked her phone and found a new text message from Adrian. I’m sorry I missed your call. How are you? Do you want to chat? Fran text back. No, that’s okay, it was a goodnight call. Everything all right in the village? A moment later he replied. There’s talk. She waited, watching the Adrian is typing… message float a
cross the screen. Emily thinks you’ve left me. Some people say you’re a lesbian! Fran sent him a laughing emoji. Goodness, they do think I’m interesting! She typed. Adrian sent her an emoji of a woman dancing, but she wasn’t sure what he meant. I’m off to the library now, Franny. I miss you. Fran let out a sigh and typed back, I miss you too.

  After pouring herself a cup of coffee using the hotel machine, she opened her laptop and composed a reply to Caleb.

  Hi Caleb,

  Thanks so much for sending this through. I’ll get it back to you ASAP, but I need to check with my husband on some of the answers. In the meantime, I wondered whether I could visit the ranch again? I loved it there so much. Perhaps you could give me a tour? It’d be great to chat about the Book of James. I’m almost done.

  Best,

  Fran

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Grace grabbed Esther’s hands and pulled her up from the grass. “We can stay up late tonight. Father James said we should have an Observance!” Her cheeks were flushed pink from excitement. She squealed with joy, dropped Esther’s hands, and then ran over to Delilah and Paul to relay the news.

  Esther knelt back down and picked up her trowel. Her hands were shaking. An Observation meant a celebration. It meant the consumption of alcohol was allowed (for the adults) and dancing was encouraged (for everyone). The children could stay up as late as they wanted. They usually built a fire and Elijah played the fiddle. They didn’t do it often, maybe two or three times a year, and rarely in the heat of the summer like now. It was a strange time for an Observance, which meant one thing: there was someone new coming to the farm. Father James only went to this kind of trouble when there was a recruit he wanted to join. But that was good, wasn’t it? Surely if Father James was obsessed with recruiting more family members it meant that the Reckoning wasn’t going to happen any time soon, no matter what Father James had said in his anger a few nights ago.

  She dug at the hard soil, turning it over with no real purpose. There wasn’t anything new to plant and she’d already removed every weed she could find. She heard Grace laughing with the other kids and dug at the soil even harder. She resented them, now. None of them ever had stomach aches like her or fainted in the sermon hall like she had. Esther was the one who carried all the strain. She was the one Father James had chosen for his special task at the Reckoning. And now Esther knew more than she should know. She knew that Father Adam and Father James were fighting.

  The day after she’d overheard the argument, Esther was surprised to see Father Adam still here at the ranch. Why hadn’t he been thrown out? Perhaps it was because they were brothers. Mary said that family argued but still loved each other. That had to be it. Father James was too kind to throw Adam out of the family. That was the reason, it had to be.

  But Esther still decided not to tell Father about who Fran was or about Mary’s strange ramblings in the kitchen. She also decided not to tell Mary about Fran. Things were getting too complicated and she didn’t want to be in the middle of it all. Besides, Mary was so out of it that telling her probably wouldn’t help anyway.

  Esther was finding it difficult to speak at all. She hadn’t interacted with anyone all day. Even when Grace chatted to her, she simply nodded along to the words without properly listening.

  For the rest of the day, she carried on with her chores, distancing herself from the other children. She watched them gather in groups, whispering behind fingers while casting her pitying glances. Grace and Delilah rocked a fussy Judith back and forth in a pram, staring right at her when they giggled. Esther felt like she was withering away. She couldn’t quite put it into words when she thought about it, but she knew she felt dried-up and hollow. Yet she carried on regardless, collecting eggs, chopping onions in the kitchen, washing bedsheets.

  She showered alone this time, then dressed in the corner of the shelter listening to the laughter from the other kids. Stinky was laughing along with them, too, and they were calling him John for a change. As Esther tried to braid her own hair, she realised that she’d replaced Stinky as the outsider. She’d become the one the other kids mocked. Hatred soured in her stomach. She’d show them. On the day of the Reckoning, she’d show them. Esther tied her hair and strode out of the storm shelter, climbing the steps up to the ranch. They were a short distance away from the rest of the outbuildings, the entrance obscured by a patch of creosote bushes and mesquite. She saw a lizard scuttle its way down the steps and bent to catch it. Once a tarantula had wandered into the bunker. Esther had woken up to see it walking slowly over Grace’s sleeping bag. Her heart had been pounding, but she knew they were harmless. She’d scooped it quietly into a bowl, being careful not to wake Grace, and took it outside. Now she wished she’d left the spider crawling all over her.

  Outside the shelter, the sun was low, but it would be a few hours before it set. The cicadas were chirping inside scrubby patches of Bermuda grass. Her shoes were covered in dust almost immediately, despite cleaning them before she came out. Esther heard even more laughter drifting above the whine of the cicadas. She worked her way around the horse barn towards the sermon hall. A cheer sounded out and she realised they’d already lit the campfire. During an Observation she would normally run straight to the front of the group to watch the dancing flames, but something about this occasion didn’t sit right with her. She hung back, slowing her stride, swishing her hand at mosquitos. All around her the others gathered, walking where she walked, chatting and laughing and smiling. They didn’t acknowledge her—it was rare for the adults to acknowledge the children around the ranch. Only during Father James’s sermons did the adults show any love for the children. Esther wondered why she hadn’t noticed that earlier.

  In a sudden burst of movement, the other kids, all of them, ran into her, knocking Esther into the dirt. She landed heavily on her hands, scraping a knee and bumping her nose against the compacted soil. Almost immediately, she wanted to cry. She wanted to sob and call for her mother, but Mary would make things worse and no one would care if she cried. As she climbed to her feet, Grace turned around and looked at her, eyes full of guilt, or maybe pity, Esther didn’t fully understand what she saw in them, but she knew she hated it. Then Grace turned back and ran with the others, kicking up her heels in excitement.

  Her knee was sore but not bleeding, so she brushed herself down and carried on towards the fire field. Long, white shapes of bodies flickered before the fire, shimmering almost as bright as the flames. Esther could tell that the fire had recently been lit because the flames were low, still gathering their strength. She saw the family spread around the field; a small cluster gathered close to where Elijah was playing his fiddle. She watched his bow scratch back and forth, frantic, dizzying. Father James stood near his bodyguards, hips swaying to the music. Because of the fire and the already warm evening, most of the group were in light linen tunics and skirts with their sleeves rolled up. She saw her mother sitting on a chair near the fire and the sight of her made Esther’s body jolt with revulsion. Her skin was illuminated yellow from the fire, hazy through the smoke, but even with that touch of colour she resembled a ghost. Esther stumbled away and leaned against an elephant tree.

  From there she watched the others for a short while. Delilah and Grace danced hand in hand, braids flying as they spun giddily around the flames. Elijah tapped his foot and dipped his knees to the beat. Her time in England felt like it happened a million years ago. To think that Mary had her calling him daddy. He’d barely said a word to her since marrying Hannah.

  Angel stood next to her husband, Aaron, cuddling Judith close to her chest. Her dark skin was afire with an amber glow. Ruth sat on a chair swigging beer from a can, smiling to the other grey-haired Originals. Isaiah stood behind Father James with his arms crossed. Esther noticed the gun on his hip, and she stared at it for a while. She checked Zachary and the new bodyguards she didn’t know. They were all carrying guns. It wasn’t an unusual sight, but it frightened her nonetheless.

  Then
her eyes drifted away to movement coming in from the yard. She saw Caleb walking with an outsider. They were always easy to spot from a distance, their clothing much brighter and tighter. The woman was slightly sunburnt, slim, walking with a straight spine, her hair short. She knew it was Fran right away. She pressed herself against the tree thinking about being in the park in the middle of that horrible village, Fran’s hair pulled back by a sweatband, her hand outstretched. She’d resisted it then but perhaps she’d take it now.

  Panic rose up from her abdomen to her chest to her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She latched onto the tree, the strength of the wood keeping her standing. For a fleeting second, she wanted to be rescued. She wanted to leave. Her eyes flitted across the landscape towards the dark peaks of the mountains. Could she run away? No, she wouldn’t survive out there. She’d get lost and bitten by a snake or eaten by a coyote. But staying here frightened her too. Esther’s instinct told her that Fran arriving at the ranch was dangerous for many reasons. There was sweat rolling down her forehead. Finally, before Fran came close enough to see her, she turned away from the fire and began running back towards the storm shelter. At least she could hide away until it was all over. But as she sprinted around the corner of the horse barn, she ran straight into Father Adam.

  He grasped her shoulders and crouched down to her height. “Goodness. Are you all right?” Esther didn’t answer. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead. “Let me take you to your mother.”