Down from the Mountain (19 page)

Thirty

In my dream, Aslan and I are in the same springtime meadow where we’ve been before. We sit next to a trickling stream. I watch how the sunlight makes the water silver shimmery. Suddenly my mother is right next to me. She’s laughing and happy. We hug each other. “You’re all better!” I say.

“So are you!” We hug and hug. Aslan laughs in delight over our joy.

“I had no idea it could be like this. I feel great here,” Mother says.

“You forgot about God as love,” Aslan says. He’s pushing logs around in a fire I hadn’t noticed before. Then he holds two sticks in his hands, each with a marshmallow he’s toasted in the fire. The marshmallows are perfectly golden and not burned.

“Do you remember these?” he asks. I do remember. We used to toast marshmallows years ago at sing-alongs around the campfire. That was before Ezekiel changed—became so punitive.

The three of us are together for a long, long time, relaxed and happy.

When I’m ready to burst from the joy of so much love and beauty, Aslan says, “It’s time.”

Somehow I understand. I have to say good-bye to Mother and Aslan. My heart is breaking. But Aslan takes my hand, and without using any words, he lets me know this is what’s meant to be. I know, too, that I’ll be all right, just as Mother will be all right—more than all right.

A nurse invades my dream.

“Eva, I need you to wake up and open your eyes.” When I do, she shines the light into my eyes like so many times before. “Okay, dear,” she says when she’s finished. “You can go back to sleep now.”

I try and try to return to the dream that was more than a dream, but I can’t.

“There’s no going back,” Aslan says inside my head. “Only forward.”

It hits me then. Mother is really gone. She’s with Aslan now.

A sob breaks through in my chest, forcing me to sit up so I can breathe.

“Are you okay?” Trevor’s voice sounds alarmed.

I shake my head. I feel my face scrunch up in agony and hear a scream come from my own mouth. I’m missing some part of me, an arm or a leg—no, something from inside. Something has been wrenched from me, taken from every fiber of my being. I’m empty, hollow, and desperate for what’s missing.

Trevor is suddenly next to me, his face contorted in grief for me. “What happened? What’s the matter?” he asks.

“Mother’s gone.” I choke out the words.

Trevor takes my hand. He’s crying now too. “We thought you were sleeping when Dr. Harris came with the news. I’m so sorry.”

My tears fall silently. Part of me is here in the hospital with a head injury and an IV in my arm that’s beginning to feel sore. Part of me is with Aslan and Mother back in my dream—or vision or whatever it was. It remains sharp and vibrant, yet with every passing second it seems further away.

How can I possibly survive without Mother, without Ezekiel and Annie and all of Righteous Path?

I cling to Trevor. Can he possibly make me whole? I can’t let him go or I’ll be totally alone. I
am
totally alone. He turns my face toward him. “You’ve got your father, Eva. Are you going to call him?”

“No!” I say. The force of my own voice startles me as much as it does him.

“Okay,” he says, looking troubled. He lifts my chin and looks directly in my eyes. “But you’ve got to live somewhere. You won’t be in the hospital forever.” He points to a card on my bedside table. “The hospital social worker was here while you were sleeping.”

“I could live with you,” I say.

“I’d love that, Eva, but it will never happen. I’m twenty, and you’re fourteen. Trust me, I’d get in big trouble if I let you live with me.”

I turn away from Trevor, from the bedside table and the card. I think about Mother. That’s where I want to live, with Mother. I’ve wanted to be with Mother for so long. Nothing can stop the sobs now. They’re coming from somewhere so deep.

When I’m completely wrung out, I realize that I’ve heard nothing about the baby. I sit up. “Was the baby a boy or a girl?”

“She had a boy. A tiny boy, just over three pounds. But she died before he was delivered, and he’d already died inside her.”

“He wasn’t the next prophet, was he?” I don’t know why I ask that. It sounds really stupid, and I can feel the heat rise in my face.

A flash of concern crosses Trevor’s face. “No, Eva. He was just an ordinary baby who didn’t make it.”

“Of course he was,” I say.

Trevor pulls up his chair as close to me as he can. “What do you need, Eva? How can I help?”

I shrug my shoulders. “You’re my friend and that helps. Right now I need to sleep until my head stops hurting. I’ll figure out what to do after that.”

“Okay,” he says. “I charged your cell phone so you’ll be able to call me if you need me.”

I lift myself up on one elbow. “What cell phone?” Trevor holds up Ezekiel’s phone from—how long ago was that? Could it have really been only last night?

“The charger from my phone worked perfectly. But we’ll have to get you your own charger.

“I don’t know … This phone’s not mine. It’s Ezekiel’s.”

“I wouldn’t worry about borrowing it, Eva. He can’t have it in jail. They denied him bail this morning. Trust me, he won’t need this.”

“Okay,” I say.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, but I want you to call me if you need anything or just want to talk. Will you promise to call me?”

“I promise.”

“Good. I’m going to take off, then.”

“Wait!” I say as he approaches the door. “How did you know where to send the police and ambulance? I never told you where I lived.”

He looks suddenly exhausted. “Maybe we should talk about that tomorrow.”

I grab the side rails to steady myself against the room spinning again and turn to see him better. “Please, Trevor. Tell me now.”

Trevor sighs, drops his backpack, and straddles a folding chair backward. “Okay, but this isn’t going to sound good,” he says. “See, when my class was assigned to research and write a paper about an alternative religion, one of the guys followed some Righteous Path members from Boulder to see where you lived. I think it was Ezekiel he followed. Anyway, he lost track of the vehicle in Grand Hill, but stopped to ask questions of some of the townspeople. They weren’t very friendly.

“When he reported this to the class, my professor had fits and said we had no business intruding to do our research.”

“No kidding,” I say. “That’s just what Ezekiel warned us about—nosy heath—I mean, outsiders following us.” For a minute I’m confused. Here was something Ezekiel was right about.

“But Ezekiel thought they’d follow you in order to do harm. My classmate didn’t mean harm.”

“That’s true,” I say. And notice I can breathe again.

“So when you and Rachel came into the Wi-Fi Café a few days later, I had a chance to get to know you without being intrusive—at least I hope so.”

“I’m glad I got to know you,” I say.

“There’s more. When I learned that Ezekiel cut your hair as punishment, I started worrying about you. Then when we both forgot about the holidays, I couldn’t stop thinking about you—afraid you’d gotten caught or confessed or lost faith in me. So I went to Righteous Path in the hopes that I could do something. Maybe I could talk to Ezekiel or rescue you or something.”

“When?”

“The day after Christmas.”

“Oh, Trevor. You were the intruder!”

“Yup, you know the rest. One of the guys shot at me. He missed, of course, but he did hit my car. He took out the light on the driver’s side.”

“Trevor, I can’t believe you put yourself in so much danger.”

“Why? You lived it every day. Anyway, I went to the police and made a report, and they hadn’t followed up on it when I called them again because your mother was in labor.”

I think about the guns, the training, the paranoia, the prayer sessions and fasts, and I want to cry.

Suddenly I can’t keep my eyes open. “You should go. We both need sleep,” I say.

Thirty-One

Sharp blades of light stab my eyes and make the pain in my head almost unbearable. For a moment I’m confused. Where am I? Slowly it all comes back: hospital, concussion. Mother is dead, Ezekiel arrested. I scream my anguish into a pillow so no one can hear me. Over and over I scream. When the pounding is too great to scream anymore, I reach around for the call button and push it.

“What can I do for you, honey?” Her voice is syrup. Sticky, icky syrup. “Hmm? What’s wrong, honey?”

Mother calls me “honey.” Only Mother. It’s our secret. I don’t even know this woman.

I point to the window. “The light hurts my eyes. Please close the blinds,” I tell the nurse. She leisurely walks to the windows and closes them. “I need the bathroom too and something for this pain. Can I go by myself?”

The nurse shakes her head. “You’re still getting dizzy spells, and you’re on strong pain medication. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll walk you to the bathroom and stand outside the door. You call if you need help.”

“Okay.” I sigh.

She pats her uniform pocket. “I did bring you something for pain.”

After the shot, I must fall asleep again because Dr. Wilson has to wake me up when she comes in. “How are you feeling?” she asks as she makes herself comfortable sitting on the edge of my bed.

She is so caring and maternal that tears spring to my eyes. “My head hurts really bad. I’ve never had such a bad headache in my life, and it won’t go away.”

“I know. I was pretty worried about your concussion. Your brain swelled quite a bit, and I thought I might have to cut open your skull to relieve the pressure. Fortunately, the tests show that the swelling is going down. We’ll want to keep you for a couple more days, at least, to make sure you continue to progress. I’m sorry about your headaches”—she lays her hand over mine—“and so sorry about your mother and the baby.”

I mumble a thank-you and drop my eyes, afraid I’ll start to cry because of her kindness.

“I know you haven’t seen any relatives for a long time, but could we contact someone for you about living arrangements?”

“No.” I say it hard and fast. “My father would be the only one, and please, please don’t contact him.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because it would break Mother’s heart.”

I think about Annie and the others. “Is that what’s happening with Annie and Jacob and the twins? Will they go to relatives? Will they go to foster homes?”

Dr. Wilson shrugs her shoulders and holds out the palms of her hands. “I don’t know, dear. I’m not working with any of them, just you.”

She stands up. “Oh, Eva, I’m getting ahead of myself. Don’t worry about any of this today. I’m sure your friends will be well cared for. And so will you. Just get some rest for now, and we’ll think more about where you should live when you’re feeling better.”

It’s like someone lifted a boulder off my back. It’s so good not to have to think about the future right now. I begin to relax.

A little while later, a nurse comes in with everything I need for a sponge bath. When she leaves me alone to wash up, I continue to think about everyone at Righteous Path—how betrayed Annie must feel to learn that Ezekiel isn’t a prophet. Or maybe not. Maybe she still believes in him and blames me for his arrest. Maybe all the women still believe in him. Maybe they’ll all continue living together at the compound. Maybe I’ll never know and never see them again.

When I’ve finished brushing my teeth and washing up, the tray lady knocks on my door. My mouth waters before I can even see what’s under the dome. And when I see that it’s a grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup, veggie sticks, and apple pie, I dive right in. This is the first solid food I’ve had since I’ve been here. And it’s delicious.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of someone at my door. When I see who it is, I drop the grilled cheese. “Rachel! Oh, Rachel! I was afraid I’d never see you again!”

She rushes to my bed. We cling to each other, both of us crying. I seem to lose all my strength and collapse in her arms. “You’re here! I’m so happy you’re here.”

“I’m so happy
you’re
here,” Rachel says. “I don’t mean here in the hospital. I mean here
safe.
I was so scared for you. From the time I left you in Boulder until the police told me you got out okay, I’ve been praying for you.”

I pull back until we’re at arm’s length. “Mother died, Rachel. The baby died too.”

“I know.” I can hear a sob lodged in her throat. “I’m so sorry.”

She sits in the chair next to my bed and leans forward as if she’s about to tell me a secret. “Actually, the day before I left, I was pretty sure the baby had already died. When I brought Martha her tray, my hand touched her arm and it seemed hot. I touched her cheek and she was burning up. I knew that if she was fighting an infection, the baby was probably dead. So I point-blank asked her if the baby was still moving. She looked away and didn’t answer. That’s when I knew. And it’s when I started to panic. She didn’t dare give birth to a stillborn when Ezekiel expected a prophet. I had to get us help from the police.”

“You were trying to get us help?” She nods, but it doesn’t help. I’m angry. “You left me completely alone to drive the van on icy roads in the dark. And I had to face Ezekiel alone.”

Rachel looks devastated. “And he did
that
to you.” She covers her face with her hands and sobs, deep, loud sobs.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Because I know you, Eva. You never would have gone with me and left your mother. You never would have believed that the police would help us.”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. But I don’t say so.

“And you’re so competent, Eva. I knew you’d navigate that road just fine. I also didn’t think Ezekiel would take it out on you. I knew I had to act quickly, before that baby was born.”

I shiver and tuck the blanket closer around me. “I can’t imagine what Ezekiel would have done if Mother delivered a dead baby at the compound,” I say.

Rachel shakes her head. “One thing’s for certain, he would have blamed it on us—on our sins. He would have made us pray day and night and fast until we were so hungry and weak we couldn’t think straight.”

“We were half-starved already.” My voice is shaky. “I think that’s probably why the baby didn’t develop right. Mother didn’t get enough nutrition.”

Rachel looks as if she’s someplace far away. “And why most of his wives didn’t get pregnant at all or lost the baby at some point before birth. Like me.”

I’m silent. When her attention returns to the room, she touches my arm. “You were so brave to rescue Mother Martha. I don’t know if I’d have had your courage.”

I pull away and shrug my shoulders. “What good did it do? I didn’t save her.”

“Nobody could have saved her by then. But you did save yourself and probably everyone else there. Is it true you put all the guns in the back of the van?”

“Yeah, except for the ones Jacob and Ezekiel were carrying. Mother actually laughed when I told her.”

A little giggle escapes from my throat, and then a full-out laugh. I know it’s wrong but I can’t stop. “Remember his sermons?” I say when my laughter slows enough for me to speak.

Rachel nods.

I mimic him. “‘The righteous shall prevail,’ ‘God will lead us to victory,’ ‘We’ll take the heathens down.’”

I crack up, laughing again. “It was supposed to be a holy war. But he was the only one who got shot.” Now tears of laughter are running down my cheek. “And he shot himself.”

Rachel shakes her head. “It’s too sad to laugh,” she says.

It’s true, and my tears become ones of grief. I cry because of how we lived, how we were deceived, how much time was lost following a false prophet. I cry because of the relationships I wasn’t allowed with my parents and longed for desperately. I cry because I don’t know how to live in the broader world.

Rachel cries right along with me, though neither of us says anything out loud.

“Do you think that Annie will get help for her asthma now, and Jacob will get his teeth replaced?”

“I don’t know. It depends on what they come to believe. Right now, they’re both in foster homes. I understand that they’re both distressed—Jacob because he now sees Ezekiel as a fraud, and Annie because she believes she’s being polluted by the heathen world.”

“Did you believe in him, Rachel?”

Rachel smirks. “Completely.” She sighs. “I
needed
to believe in him. I was so angry with God for taking my parents. And Ezekiel’s beliefs were a great comfort to me. It was like being with my minister father again. I also liked the idea of being one of the chosen ones, safe from the fires of hell.”

“I guess I liked that too,” I say. “But I didn’t choose him. For a long time I just wanted to go back home. I hated that he was in charge.”

A nurse brings in fresh water and an ice bag for my head. I thank her and enjoy the immediate relief I get from the ice.

“So, what made you change your mind about Ezekiel, Rachel?”

“Lots of things. Everything he said and did seemed self-serving. I changed my mind ages ago. I just didn’t know how to leave without money or job experience or a decent education. But the last straw for me was when Ezekiel said he was going to marry you.

“Was that when you stopped believing? Or was it when you saw that your mother’s pregnancy was in trouble?” she asks.

“Remember the parable about the seeds that I had to memorize?”

“Sure, I remember.”

“I really believed we were the lucky ones. We were the seeds strewn into the rich soil God gave us through Ezekiel. But then there were a hundred little things that made me wonder about Ezekiel. For a long time I was so worried about punishment that I forgot God is love. Ezekiel seemed to forget that too. Little by little, I came to realize that Ezekiel was not the good soil.”

“You’re right,” she says.

Rachel opens the curtains and peers out my window. “You have a great view,” she says.

My head isn’t hurting as much now, and I’m curious. I sit up as tall as I can in my bed to see what it’s like out. I gasp. My room looks over a beautiful courtyard. The snow is almost melted and the trees are beginning to bud. Little rivulets of water make their way to a stream that winds around the courtyard. But it’s what I see next to the stream that takes my breath away—purple crocuses, some in full bloom, some just beginning to open.

I stifle an urge to clap. Aslan is here too. He’s not just in Narnia. For the first time I feel that I’ll really be okay in the bigger world.

I lie back on the bed and close my eyes, reveling in the heaven on earth I just witnessed. But then something occurs to me and I sit up again.

“Rachel, where are you hiding?”

She looks confused for a minute. “I’m in a women’s shelter, Eva, but I’m not hiding. Ezekiel’s in jail with no bond. With all the charges, he’ll probably be locked up for a long time.”

“Could I stay with you when I get out of the hospital? I won’t be any trouble, and I can do chores and …”

“Hold on! You can’t stay in a women’s shelter. In the real world you’re still a child. A social worker will help you find a relative, like they did me when my parents died, or you’ll go to a foster home. But you have a father, right? Don’t you want to try and find him?”

“I already know how to find him, I think.”

Rachel’s eyes grow large. “You do?”

I reluctantly pull the article out of the little drawer in my bedside table and hand it to her. The quizzical look on Rachel’s face changes to one of amazement as she reads it. When she’s done, she holds it to her chest as if it’s a long-lost treasure.

“How could you be afraid to contact him? He’s searched for you all this time. And how did you get this? Did a nurse pull it up on a computer?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s a long story. Rachel, look at that little girl in the pictures.”

“She’s adorable.”

“I know. That’s what my father is looking for. He’s not looking for a tall, spindly, almost fifteen-year-old who hasn’t had a real education and who has a big bandage around her head. Now I know that he wanted me this whole time. Mother must have kept his letters and phone calls from me, though I’ll never understand why.”

Rachel looks at me for a long while. “You have a great opportunity here. If I could bring my parents back for one day …” She clamps her lips together and covers her mouth with a fist.

A nurse walks in with a syringe. “I can’t believe you haven’t asked for more pain meds,” she says. “We’re an hour overdue and Dr. Wilson wants us to make sure we don’t let the pain get out of control.”

As the nurse is putting the medicine in my IV, Rachel leans over and kisses my forehead.

“I’ve got to go, but I’ll be back tomorrow—promise. And I’ll see if I can get information about what the others are doing.”

Rachel is barely out the door before I’m back to sleep.

When I wake up again, it’s dark outside. The pain in my head is less intense than it was earlier, and I begin to believe that I’m actually going to get better. I pick up the cell phone on my bedside table and find the phone number printed in the article. I’m scared, but I’ve done other scary things. If I had the courage to rescue Mother, I certainly have the courage to make this phone call to my father.

I have to dial the number several times because I keep messing up. Finally I get it right. On the third ring a man answers the phone.

“Hello.” His voice, strange and familiar, begins to fill some of the empty space inside me with warmth. It takes me a minute to swallow through the lump in my throat.

“Hello,” he says again.

“Is this Charles Wells?” My voice is timid, uncertain.

“Yes, it is,” he says. There is a long pause, and when he speaks again, it’s his voice that’s timid. “Who’s calling?”

I let out a long breath, and something like relief and awe and joy fill my heart all at once. “Daddy, it’s me. Lily.”