Deceived: Lured from the Truth (Secrets) (16 page)

“Ah … the garden, which is really out behind the dairy barn, and two thirty plus five equals seven thirty.”

“You got it.”

“I feel like we’re starring in a James Bond movie.” I look down at my dress, then laugh. “Well, a very conservative James Bond movie.”

He laughs too, kissing me one final time.

Then I take off with feet that feel light. And I can’t help but imagine I’m on a great adventure as I make my way through the dusky woods and back across the bridge to my cabin, where Miriam is waiting for me with a suspicious expression.

“Why are you so late? I was about to go out looking for you.”

“Oh, there was so much to do in the kitchen tonight.” I kick off my shoes. “What a day. I had no idea there was so much work. But then I never cooked for a hundred people before.” I continue to ramble on and on, and Miriam soon grows tired of my chatter.

“Please.” She holds up her hands. “I like peace and quiet before bedtime.” Then she changes into her long white nightgown and, just like last night, drops to her knees in front of her bed. Bowing her head, she remains there while I go into the bathroom and get ready for bed.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Miriam is standing in front of the narrow closet with the door open, staring at the colorful dresses I’ve hung in there. “Did Celeste give you all of these?” she asks in a suspicious tone.

“Yes. I thought it seemed overly generous, but she insisted.”

Now Miriam turns to peer at me with narrowed eyes. “Why would she give you so many dresses?”

I bite my lip, trying to think of a good reason. I just shrug. “Maybe she felt sorry for me.”

“Sorry? For you?”

So I tell her about my parents’ divorce and my mom losing our home. I try to make it sound pathetic, hoping to distract her and eliminate her suspicions.

However, she seems completely unimpressed. “Well, if you want to exchange sad tales, perhaps I should share mine.”

I sit on my bed and cross one leg over the other. “Sure, I’d love to hear your story.”

But I am as unprepared for what she tells me as I am for the way she tells it. In a flat, unemotional monotone, she tells me how both her parents were killed in a car wreck that resulted from a flash flood when she was young. “After that I was sent to live with my mother’s sister and her alcoholic husband. There I was sexually abused by my uncle and my cousins until I was fourteen and finally got the nerve to run away.”

“Oh!” My hand is pressed over my mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t be. God has rescued me from that life of depravity.” She peels back the covers on her bed and fluffs her pillow. “But next time you want to win my favor with a sob story, you might want to think again.”

I want to say something more to her … something to make her feel better … to show her that I feel for her and am truly sorry for her pain. But I can think of nothing that sounds quite right. So I simply say good night.

[CHAPTER 14]

W
hen Josiah and I meet behind the dairy barn, we don’t embrace. He warns me that it’s too easy to be seen here. And just in case someone is watching, he uses the hose to wash off the delivery crates. I simply stand back and watch, thinking how handsome he looks in his jeans and T-shirt and tall black rubber boots.

“Oh, I almost forgot something.” He turns off the hose, then reaches into his back pocket and removes an envelope. “This is from Nadine.”

I stare in wonder at the envelope.

“It’s your check. She was going to send it to your mom. But after I gave her the uniform as well as a piece of my mind, she asked me to bring it to you.”

“So Nadine knows I’m here?” For some reason this makes me uneasy.

“I sort of spilled the beans on that. I hope that was okay.”

I nod as I run my fingers over the envelope. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Anyway, if it makes you feel any better, I think she might feel badly for how that whole thing went down. I almost got the feeling she’s rethinking her decision to let you go.” Now he looks concerned. “What if she wanted you to come back?”

I can’t help but laugh. “I would rather walk barefoot on broken glass than work for her again.”

His face lights in a smile. “Oh, good.”

I can tell he wants to touch me, but we both just stand there.

“You make this place better.” He rinses off another crate. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to stick around.”

“Really?” I’m shocked by this. “You were going to leave?”

He shrugs as he sets the dripping crate on top of the others. “I wasn’t sure I really fit in. But with you here — well, now it feels different.”

I beam at him. “That’s how I feel about having you here. Even when I’m cooking, I’m thinking of you.”

He chuckles. “And I haven’t even told you how much the food has improved since you came. Not that it’s why I’m glad you’re here. But everyone seems to be noticing the improved cuisine. Even my uncle commented on it.”

“I thought he didn’t usually eat in the dining room.”

“Not usually. But he ate lunch there today. And he was singing your praises.”

I notice someone walking around the corner of the barn. So as we earlier agreed upon, I simply wave and keep walking as if I’m continuing on my way. Meanwhile, Josiah continues to wash the crates — crates that have probably never been so clean.

I’ve already been informed that my study group will be led by Celeste. Not in her home though. Darlene Spencer, a wife of one of the deacons, is the host of Celeste’s group. And Darlene’s home looks more like what I expected Celeste’s to look like. Homespun and humble and slightly sparse. But in some ways it feels more comfortable to me than Celeste’s house.

Now I’m given my second book since arriving here. It has an amateurish drawing of a rose on the cover and seems to have been written specifically for women. Judging by the table of contents, it’s about things like modesty, servitude, being a good wife, and preparing for motherhood. However, if I didn’t know better, I’d think it had been written a couple of centuries ago. I want to question some of the things I’m hearing, but that wouldn’t go over too well.

Besides that, I know I should be honored to be included. It’s an elite group; I can just feel it. And although I’m clearly at the bottom of this feeding chain, I’m surprised I’ve been included at all. But at the same time, I’m flattered. And I’m slightly amazed at how I’m able to make myself fit in with these women. In some ways I probably fit in better with them than I do with people on the outside.

The next week passes with the reassuring regularity of an expected routine. No surprises. And although the work is demanding and tiring and it feels like Eleanor is putting more and more responsibility on me, I like the challenge. And I like that people seem to appreciate a varied menu with tasty food. That makes me feel good. And it feels good to fall into bed exhausted every night, knowing I’ve done my best and someone is noticing. Plus it’s so quiet here that I sleep like a log.

Besides working in the kitchen, I participate in Miriam’s advanced sewing class, and the women in there are impressed by my skills. I also attend all the church services as well as my women’s study group. By the end of my second week here, I feel like I’m very much a part of this community. And I feel happy.

At the same time, I’m struggling with some guilt issues. I feel slightly hypocritical for my secret meetings with Josiah. I’m pretty sure that Celeste and Reverend Jim would not approve. And yet in a way I feel like they might secretly approve.

Celeste drops little hints, as if she’s already planning a wedding for Josiah and me. And although it seems silly to consider marriage at my age, the idea is starting to grow on me. I don’t mind that these women might be grooming me to become Josiah’s wife. I think I would make a good wife, and I can imagine spending the rest of my life with Josiah.

But when I imagine what my mom or some of my friends would say, I realize I could be living in a dream world. And that’s when I start to feel very confused. For that reason I’ve decided not to think about what people on the outside might say or do. Like Reverend Jim says again and again, “The world despises us because they despise God. We should expect nothing less than hatred and persecution from them.”

That’s just one more reason to be thankful that I don’t have access to my cell phone. I can’t imagine having conversations with anyone on the outside. Even when I speak to Mom, I keep it brief and guarded.

“You’re mature for your age,” Celeste tells me after my third study group meeting. “Some people grow up faster than others. I can tell you’re one of those.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, trying to imitate the humility I’ve seen demonstrated by the other women in this group. They seem to be that way naturally, but I’m determined I can be more like that. I want to be more like that. I realize pride and arrogance are of the devil.

“But I’m sure I have a long ways to go,” I tell her as I walk her to her house. For some reason accompanying her home has become a habit. A habit I enjoy. It makes me feel special being with Celeste. I’ve almost reconciled myself to the jealous glances this earns me. Because I’m beginning to realize this is their problem not mine.

“Yes, we all have a long way to go, Rachel, but you’re coming along very nicely.”

The way Celeste says this reminds me of something Eleanor might say while checking on a large roast. However, I know Celeste means this as a compliment. And coming from the wife of our leader, it is high praise indeed. I’m working so hard to fit into my new family. Sometimes I question myself and my motives on this — am I trying too hard? Am I trying to fit in, or am I simply trying to outshine the others? If it’s the latter, I need to work harder on humbling myself.

“The devil uses pride to devour the soul,” Reverend Jim says often. “Servitude and humility are the antidote to pride.”

Now I follow Miriam’s example every night, by hitting my knees before going to bed. At first I just did this because I knew it would please her. It was also a good way to deflect her inquisitions regarding my whereabouts after spending time with Josiah. But after a while, I began to sincerely apply myself to my prayers.

Reverend Jim says that God expects us to pray regularly. He says that each minute we spend in God’s presence secures three minutes in heaven — whether it’s time spent in meetings or servitude or prayer, it all adds up. And since eternity is so much longer than our earthly lives, we need to ensure that we have plenty of time stockpiled for later use.

But when I mention things like this to Josiah, thinking he’ll be proud of me for my spiritual devotion, he seems slightly indifferent. Sometimes he even changes the subject. And sometimes I wonder if we’re in different places spiritually.
What if I outgrow him?
The idea of this is so disturbing that I can barely consider it. Because the truth is: Josiah is the reason I’m here. Without Josiah I wouldn’t have done any of this. But that’s even more disturbing. God is supposed to be the reason I’m here.

By mid-August, I notice that there can be a little nip in the air in the evenings. That’s because we’re in the mountains. According to Celeste, there’s still plenty of warm weather left. But because of the cooling temperatures, Josiah decided to build a protective structure in the woods for us — our secret hideaway. He’s worked hard to pile up old logs and branches, creating a small hut that’s so well camouflaged, you can’t even see it until you nearly stumble onto it. Down a twisting path and a good distance from the footbridge, our private getaway reminds me of a hobbit house.

Josiah says we’ll really appreciate our little hut when the weather starts to change. “I heard it gets quite cold here when summer ends,” he told me the first time I saw his building project. Of course, that was a startling thought to me. Not that it will get cold. But that summer will end. Because that’s something I’ve tried to block out. When summer ends my mom will expect me to come home. And resume my life and finish high school.

I’ve only talked to Mom three times since moving here. And our conversations get briefer each time. I almost get the feeling she’s as relieved as I am when I tell her I have to go. Like she’s so caught up in her own bachelorette lifestyle, she doesn’t really care about me anymore. For all I know, she might even be worried that I’ll be an intrusion in her compact condo.

Yet at the same time, I’m not sure how she’d react if I told her I was never coming home. She could easily play the parent card and insist I return. But then I can simply point out that I turn eighteen in late September. I’ll be considered an adult then. How can she tell me what to do?

“You’re changing,” Josiah tells me, interrupting my stewing over what feels like my very uncertain future. We’re both reclining on a mattress of evergreen needles, and everything smells so fresh and green in here that after a day spent toiling in the kitchen, it’s a tonic for my soul.

“What do you mean I’m changing?”

He rolls over on his side and, pushing a strand of hair off my forehead, studies me. “I’m not sure how exactly. But you seem different.”

“Different good or different bad?”