Down from the Mountain (15 page)

Twenty-Three

At breakfast, Rachel approaches me all excited. “We’re going to town. Brother Paul and Jacob drove a ways down the road. They said it’s still icy but if we’re careful, we should be fine. I’ll start loading the van.”

I can’t match her excitement because Mother is not at breakfast again, and if I’m gone all day, it will be at least tonight before I have another chance to talk to Mother. I decide Rachel must be as stir-crazy about being stuck on the compound as I am.

Jacob leans across the table and says something to Mother Helen. He looks tall and confident. Mother Helen is puffed up with pride. Her son, who is not supposed to be special to her, now holds a special role in Righteous Path. He wears a gun and holster all the time these days. Instead of school, he spends his time patrolling the property on horseback or doing important tasks with Prophet Ezekiel.

When Jacob sees me, he gives me a polite nod and a half smile. I return the motion. It’s the only way we interact. Any feelings he had for me seem to have vanished and I’m glad. He is like a brother to me. Anything else would be wrong, not to mention dangerous. But I’m glad we shared that kiss. Now I know what it’s like to be kissed.

I hurry to finish my oatmeal so I can fix a tray for Mother before someone else does. But I’m too late. Rose is almost out the door with a tray when I stop her. “Let me take that for you, Mother Rose,” I say sweetly. But she holds the tray more firmly.

“You have your own jobs to do,” she squeaks. “Now let me do mine.”

I ignore her scolding tone. “How is Mother Martha doing? She’s so rarely at meals anymore.”

Rose purses her lips as if it’s none of my concern, but she answers. “She’s pale and tired, but she knows that she’s in God’s hands and accepts His will. You need to do the same.”

The whole time I’m dressing for town in the garage, I’m fuming silently about Mother Rose. I’d love to say to her that if she understood mother-daughter love, she wouldn’t try to stop me from being with my mother at every turn. I’d love to tell her that Annie would be a much happier person if Mother Rose cared about her the way Mother Helen cares about Jacob and Mother Rebecca cares about Daniel and David. I’d love to tell her about the families I see together in Boulder, mothers and fathers laughing and talking with their kids.

The fireworks inside must show on my face because Rachel whistles. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” I say. I change the subject quickly so she doesn’t ask more questions.

“How much of the jewelry money did Ez … er … Prophet Ezekiel give us back for materials?”

“He gave me two hundred for groceries and just one-fifty for beading stuff. But I’m not worried. Do what you always do, and we’ll be fine.”

Dear God, I hope she doesn’t know what I always do. “What’s that?” I ask as casually as I can sound.

She laughs. “I don’t know, rub two crystals together, say some magic words, pray, whatever you’ve been doing to more than double our monies.”

I relax a little.

“I don’t know if Prophet Ezekiel realizes what a bright head you’ve got on your shoulders, but besides creating great designs, you’re a natural at business.”

“Thank you, Rachel.” It’s unusual for her to be this complimentary. It’s unusual for anyone at Righteous Path to be this complimentary. I can’t think of anything else to say so I bask in the warmth her words have given me.

We drive in silence for a long while. I’m intrigued by Rachel’s skill in negotiating these treacherous roads. She slows down before hitting a patch of ice but keeps a steady pace when we’re actually driving on one. I’m grateful I can’t get a license until I’m sixteen. The steep curves still scare me. It’s truly a miracle that I got us home safely that time.

“Where’s my satchel?” Rachel asks, her voice sounding rattled.

“It’s on the floor.” I lift it up to show her. “What do you have in this thing? It’s so full,” I say. She pulls it away from me and rifles through it, driving with only one hand.

“I don’t feel the wallet. The wallet’s not in here!” It’s rare for Rachel to panic, but I hear it in her voice now.

“I’ll help you look,” I say, sticking my hand inside.

“No!” she says and moves the purse next to the door on the driver’s side.

“Let me look on the floor,” I say, more curious than offended. “Maybe it dropped out.” I look on the floor and reach under the seat. Immediately I feel the soft leather of the wallet and something else too. Something metal. I hand her the wallet and watch as she guzzles air in relief.

The metal thing turns out to be a gun. We both gasp. “It’s loaded!” I say.

“Good Lord,” Rachel says. “Put that back. I swear somebody’s going to get killed.”

“Somebody’s going to get killed,” I repeat, wondering if she disagrees about Ezekiel gathering guns and making us all learn how to shoot them. But I don’t dare ask her. If that’s not what she’s implying, the stakes could be high.

When Rachel stops in front of Beads Galore, she says, “See you around three thirty.”

I’m surprised because it’s only eleven a.m. and that’s more time than she usually takes to go to Costco. Maybe she forgot to mention other errands she plans to run. She pulls away wearing a cheerful smile.

How ironic. The one time I want nothing more than to be back on the compound to find a way to speak with Mother, I’m offered the longest time in Boulder.

Twenty-Four

“Hello, Eva.” It’s the voice of Mrs. Jenkins, the nice librarian who helped me get a library card. Even though she knows my real name is Lily, she calls me Eva because I asked her to. It’s too scary to go by my real name. “Eva,” she calls again. I look all over but I can’t see her.

She laughs. “Look up,” she says.

Now I see her. She’s high on a ladder arranging baskets of flowers on the top of the bookshelves. Three baskets of flowers sit on the floor next to the ladder.

“Hello, Mrs. Jenkins.” I stifle a giggle. She’s wearing red glasses with little white dots on them that go with her ladybug shirt and red skirt. “I bet you have a hundred pairs of glasses.”

She flashes a bright smile. “Not quite a hundred, but I’m getting there. Several of my patrons are keeping count.” She points to the flower baskets on the floor. “Would you mind handing me those?”

Even though the flowers are plastic, the colors brighten my mood. Handing them to her, I feel a lightness I haven’t felt for a long time. Nothing is light at Righteous Path.

When we’re finished, I gather the courage to ask for a favor. “Could I please use your phone?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to the one on her desk. “But you have to dial nine first.”

After the fourth ring Trevor starts talking. I interrupt him to say that it’s Eva and that I’m at the library but he’s not listening. “Please leave a message after the beep.”

Oh, it’s an answering machine. He told me he had one of those.
Beep.

The idea of talking into a recorder makes me so nervous that I open my mouth and nothing comes out but “um.”

Just then Trevor picks up the phone, sounding out of breath. “Eva? Are you at the library?”

“Wow, you recognized my voice from me saying ‘um’?”

“Yup. You have a very distinctive way of saying ‘um,’” he says.

We both laugh.

“Yes, I’m at the library,” I tell him.

“See you in ten minutes,” Trevor says.

Mrs. Jenkins approaches the desk. “Is there anything I can help you with?” she asks.

My hands feel clammy all of a sudden but I make myself ask her anyway. I lean in close enough so she can hear my whisper. “Is there anything on the computer about what might go wrong with a pregnancy?”

Her eyes automatically drop to my stomach.

“Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my mother.” I hope my face isn’t as red as it is hot.

“What makes you think she might have a problem?” Mrs. Jenkins asks.

“She had a tough time when she had me, and she’s been pretty sick during this whole pregnancy.”

“How far is she into her pregnancy?” she asks.

“Eight months,” I tell her.

“What does her physician say?”

“She doesn’t have a doctor.”

“Oh,” she says, “a midwife then.”

I remember that Mother Esther said that all the mothers would be midwives. “Yeah, she has midwives. But they don’t say anything except to trust God.”

She leads me across the room to the computer on her own desk. She sits down at her chair and motions me to pull up a chair next to hers. She types “pregnancy problems, third trimester” onto the Google bar, but pauses before she hits Enter. “Eva, do you know much about pregnancy—about fetal development and the birth process?”

“Yes,” I say but instantly feel guilty. I can tell by her half frown that she knows I don’t know much about either.

Finally she sighs. “How about I stay right here and answer questions if you have them.”

“I can do this,” I say. But her offer touches me deeply.

She could be my friend. Funny that the two people I can trust are both heathens—or people from the larger society.

Within minutes my head is spinning with new terms like “placenta previa” and “gestational diabetes,” along with other terrifying concepts. Trevor dashes through the front door so I immediately close out the screen. I don’t want him to see me looking at this pregnancy stuff.

We exchange hugs. “You don’t look so good,” he says. “Are you okay?”

I motion him to follow and hurry up the winding stairs to our favorite room.

Trevor hasn’t even pulled off his backpack before I drop into a chair and start wiping away tears. “It’s my mother.”

He pulls a chair up right next to me and takes my hand. His forehead is all scrunched in concern.

I let him pull me into a hug. I’m beyond tired of keeping things inside, and Trevor has been more a friend to me than anyone at Righteous Path. At least I don’t have to worry about him turning me in.

Suddenly I’m blubbering out the whole story, how Mother Martha is pregnant with the next prophet, how we’re not allowed to get medical attention, how she almost died having me and has been sick her whole pregnancy, and how she came to me in the barn, a place she never goes, to tell me we had to talk but we were interrupted. I even tell him about the blood on the back of her skirt. “I didn’t have an opportunity to talk to her because talking in private would mean we were trying to have a special relationship and we’d get punished.”

The shocked look on Trevor’s face intensifies with each of my statements.

“I think if she went to so much trouble to talk to me, something must be wrong. But if there’s a problem with her pregnancy, there’s nothing I can do because we’re not allowed to get medical help.”

“Whoa!” Trevor says. “I gotta back it up here.”

I let myself breathe in some of the air I missed during my big outburst, while Trevor looks thoughtful. “Ezekiel says that your mother’s baby is going to be the next prophet?”

“Yes. Prophet Ezekiel had a visitation from God.” I realize that I’m saying this as if it were fact—as if Ezekiel really did have visitations from God, as if the baby would really be a prophet, as if I was talking to someone at Righteous Path where you didn’t dare express doubts. But I can’t make my lips form the words that say I don’t believe him. “The baby will be a boy, of course.”

“Right.” Trevor rolls his eyes. “Ezekiel can’t imagine a female prophet, can he?”

I’m confused by his sarcastic tone at first. But then I remember what Trevor once said about men and women being equal. What an interesting concept!

Trevor shakes his head. “No way Ezekiel knows the gender without a medical test.” He leans forward. “You guys don’t use doctors ever? Not even when somebody breaks a bone?”

“Not for anything,” I say. “I don’t want her to die.”

His mouth is locked in a strange open position. I can tell he’s horrified.

In a sad way, Trevor’s reaction feels good to me. I’ve had to hide my own horror so many times. It’s the feeling I squelched when Jacob lost his front teeth at the hands of his father when he tried to protect his mother. Ezekiel had said to pray for a miracle, and God might let his front teeth grow back. I prayed like crazy. We all did. But he never grew new teeth.

It’s the same feeling I have every time I look at Mother Miriam with her left arm dangling uselessly at her side. She broke it several years ago and wasn’t allowed to get it fixed. For months she spent every extra minute in the chapel praying for a healing. It’s the feeling I have now, knowing that Mother Martha may be in trouble with her pregnancy and I can’t do anything about it.

“But why?” Trevor asks.

I open my mouth to respond but he interrupts.

“Never mind. I know why.” He holds up his thumb using it to count. “One, it’s God’s will that we suffer. Two …” He adds his index finger to the first. “Whatever the suffering is, it is punishment for your sins.” I nod emphatically. “Three, if you pray hard enough, God will heal you.”

“Exactly!” I blurt out.

“Four,” he continues, “if God doesn’t answer your prayers, then you’re not worthy.”

He puts his hand down and looks disgusted.

“Five,” I say, “medicine is from the devil.”

Trevor sighs. “Eva, do you believe all this?”

“No,” I blurt out. Suddenly I freeze. I cannot move or breathe or speak. I said I don’t believe. Now something terrible is about to happen. I know it.

“Are you okay?” Trevor says.

I can’t respond. “I’m not sure what I believe, but I know my mother can’t die having this baby.”

“Do you think a loving God would want his chosen people to suffer while he gives the rest of us the gift of science?”

A loving God—like Aslan. The gift of science. I let the words roll around in my head, remembering the little girl and her inhaler. Everything in the outside world is topsy-turvy from Righteous Path. The opposite of what I’ve been taught.

“You look terrified,” Trevor says. “But you haven’t done anything wrong, and there’s nobody who will hurt you.”

“Prophet Ezekiel will hurt me. And if Ezekiel’s words are really coming from God, God will hurt me too.”

I think about Trevor’s confidence that God is a loving God. “Trevor, how do you know that God is loving? Did you read
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?
”

“By C. S. Lewis. Sure, I read it.”

“Oh, that’s how you know.”

“What?” He shakes his head. “I take it
you
read
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
, and that’s how
you
know that God is loving. But most Christ-based religions see God as loving—and not as eager to punish.”

“God is loving.” I let myself say the words. “I
know
this inside myself. And that makes me think”—I whisper these next words—“that Ezekiel is not really hearing God’s voice.”

I cannot look at Trevor’s face. So he lifts my head and I have to see him. He’s smiling. A huge, mouthy smile that gives me courage.

“Ezekiel is wrong,” I say out loud. “He’s wrong about a lot of things—like refusing to let us use modern medicine. My mother deserves to see a doctor.” I study Trevor’s face carefully.

“Of course she does. Where do you think medicine comes from?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Ezekiel would say it comes from the devil. But I think maybe it comes from God.”

Trevor nods. “I believe—and lots of other people do too—that we’re partners with God. God gives us intelligence, and we are responsible for using it. He gave us mold, for instance, and the intelligence to figure out how to use it to make antibiotics.”

I look at him puzzled.

“Antibiotics are used to fight infections.”

“But we can invent bad things too, like bombs,” I say.

“Right. I think that the biggest gift is love, and if we use our intelligence in a loving way, we invent stuff that’s for the good of everyone. If we miss the love part, we invent things that are bad for people.”

“Whew! You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, then gets serious again. “Eva, your mother needs to get to a doctor.”

According to the wall clock, I have less than an hour before Rachel returns. We haven’t even started to order the beads, but I don’t care.

The room is quiet for some time before Trevor speaks again. “You could just leave and tell the police that your mother is being held prisoner,” he finally says. “You could walk out of this library with whatever money you brought to buy beads, and we could get you a home through Social Services. Or you could even search for your father. Have you thought of that?”

I stare at him. It sounds so easy, so terrifying.

I shake my head. “I can’t leave Mother. Especially since she’s in danger.”

More silence.

“What would happen if I simply drove out to the compound and we brought your mother to a doctor?”

“No!” My heart beats wildly and I think I might faint. “They’d shoot us dead.”

Trevor looks stunned. “They’d actually kill us?”

“Yes. Mother Martha is carrying the next prophet. No one is going to get near her. Plus, Ezekiel is convinced that we will be attacked at some point. But you can’t tell anyone about the guns. I’ll think of a way to get her out of there and to a hospital.”

“Well, at least we have another month before the baby’s due,” Trevor says.

“Right. And circumstances change,” I add. “Maybe Ezekiel will go on a trip. Pray for the perfect opportunity to get her to a doctor.”

I excuse myself to use the bathroom. Maybe if I splash some water on my face, I can take down the swelling in my eyes and pull it together a little better.

When I return, Trevor is on his laptop. But I don’t care about beads right now. I lay my head on the table, my arms folded underneath like a pillow.

“Look,” he says. “If I type your father’s name on the Google bar, we might find some information. But I need his first name.”

I don’t move. “I can’t, Trevor.”

“Why not?”

“Because he left me. He never called or wrote or visited me before we joined Righteous Path. And he didn’t try to find me when he got back from China.”

“How do you know that he didn’t try?”

“Because. Mother told me. Ezekiel told me. Ezekiel said my father was evil.” I raise my head, thinking. “Maybe Mother lied to me. She was so angry at Daddy. Maybe she lied.” I picture Daddy lifting me up and twirling me around the way he used to. We’re both laughing so hard. Then he hugs me close. With my head pressed against his chest, I hear the strong thump, thump, thump of his heart.

This was a daddy who really loved me. Why did he leave me?

“Maybe Ezekiel and your mother were better at hiding you than your dad was at finding you.”

Finding out about him doesn’t mean I have to get in touch with him. Still, I’m terrified to say his name. Punishment is always swift and severe at Righteous Path for saying the name of the damned. I type it onto the Google bar: Charles Wells.

“You have to push Enter,” Trevor says.

I hesitate. I know that finding out anything about my father will change my life, and I have no idea what that change will look like.

I do it anyway.