Outside (10 page)

I wince at the sound of his name. Did she
have
to mention him? Beth’s eyes are on me and slowly, I meet her gaze. There’s a small, hidden smile on her lips.

“Nothing a little Pepto-Bismol can’t handle,” she says, patting my arm.

After choking down a spoonful of pink liquid, Beth makes me a couple pieces of buttered toast and pours me a glass of water.

Holly doesn’t stick around. She takes her mug and a bowl of cereal back up to her room.

“So,” Beth says, taking a seat across from me. “I spoke to Ms. Jackson yesterday while you were shopping with Holly.”

I scowl at my toast. “The woman with red hair?”

“Yep. She, uh, she says you can see your mother.”

My head snaps up and my eyes widen. Panic and excitement tumble together in my already volatile stomach. “Shiloh is reopened? I can go home?” It’s for the best. The longer I stay here, the worse I’ll be corrupted, it seems. I can’t be trusted on my own. I
need
Mother and the Elders’ guidance.

“No,” she says slowly. “Not home. But you can visit with your mother. For an hour per week at Ms. Jackson’s office in Gainesville.”

I blink.

“In fact, Ms. Jackson would like you to come today, if you’re up for it.”

“Today?” Oh Lord, please. Not today. She’ll
know
!

“Only if you’re up for it,” Beth says again, eyeing me closely. Her eyebrows pull together. “You don’t have to, you know. If you’re afraid or-”

Shaking my head, I let my eyes drop to my plate of half-eaten toast. “No. I’ll go.” Guilty people hide. Like in Genesis, after they ate the forbidden fruit, they hid from the Lord out of shame. I will not conceal my sins. Then again, I won’t go in with them on display them either.

“She can’t hurt you,” Beth says. “No one will let her hurt you again, okay?”

I nod.

Holly helps me with my hair after I bathe and get dressed in an acceptable skirt and top. I refuse to let her straighten the waves, though. Mother would not approve of artificially straightened hair.

“Just an inch, Alaina. Please? It’s so damaged. Look at it!” She pulls a section of hair around and shows me the tips. They’re ragged and dry, resembling straw more so than hair. “You won’t even be able to tell,” she says to me through the mirror over her dresser.

I sigh. It’s a daily argument. I’ve explained what the bible says in 1 Corinthians 11 about a woman’s hair being her glory and her covering, but she just won’t listen. Frankly, I’ve read the verses so many times in these past few weeks that I’m starting to wonder what the big deal is about a hair trim myself. It doesn’t actually say that women can’t cut their hair. And if it’s ragged and unhealthy on the ends, is it really still her glory? “Do you promise?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes! I
swear
. It’ll look so much better and you won’t even notice it’s been cut.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I watch myself in the mirror. It’s a risk. If Mother notices, I’ll be in serious trouble. At the same time, the ends are bound to break off on their own eventually, so there’s little difference.

“Okay, go ahead. But please be careful.”

The drive to Ms. Jackson’s office is long. Holly stayed home, so it’s just Beth and I in her small car with the colorful stickers.

“Nervous?” she asks as we pull into the parking lot.

Exhaling slowly, I say, “A little.”

“Just remember, I’ll be right outside the door and Ms. Jackson will be there, observing. You’re safe, okay?” Beth’s hand shakes as she shifts the car into park. I suspect she’s more nervous than I am. But why?

Inside, we ride an elevator to the eighth floor. As soon as Beth opens the door to Ms. Jackson’s office, the air leaves my lungs.

Mother is sitting in a chair across from Ms. Jackson’s desk.

My first instinct is to run to her, but the sour expression on her face keeps me at Beth’s side. It’s obvious she hasn’t forgiven me for bringing that book into Shiloh.

“Good. Right on time,” Ms. Jackson says, getting up from her desk. “Why don’t we move down the hall into the conference room where we’ll be more comfortable?”

Mother stands, wordlessly.

“I’ll be in the waiting room,” Beth says quietly. She squeezes my shoulder gently, smiling, but her eyes are worried as they flicker to Mother. “Hello, Leah.”

Mother narrows her eyes and says, “Get thee behind me, Satan. You mind not the things of the Lord, but the things of men.”

“Perhaps we can continue this conversation at another time,” Ms. Jackson says, stepping between the two of them.

I bite down on my lip and take a step back just in case the Lord sends a bolt of lightning to smite Beth. For what, I don’t know.

“I’m trying to help,” Beth says to Mother. “If I hadn’t gone and got her, she’d be in a foster home right now.”

“Better in a home of strangers than in a house of whores,” Mother spits before marching out of the office.

Beth blinks like she’s been slapped and turns to me. “I’ll be right over there.” She points to the waiting room outside the office.

I nod and Ms. Jackson guides me out of her office and down the hall.

Ms. Jackson takes a seat at the far end of the long table in the conference room with a notepad. “Just pretend I’m not here, okay?”

Mother takes a seat and I perch uneasily across from her. For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Finally, unable to control myself, I say, “I’ve missed you.”

Mother watches me, her face still as stone. “You forget your place,” she says quietly.

I lower my head and stare at my hands in my lap. Of course. I should have waited for her to speak first. How could I have forgotten?

“Whose shoes are those?” Mother asks. Her tone is even, but clipped.

“Holly’s.” It comes out barely above a whisper. I keep my eyes trained on my hands.

“And the skirt?”

“It’s mine. I…” Oh no! I can’t tell her how I got it, or that I deliver papers for money. She’ll think I’m greedy and materialistic.

“Yours?” She draws the word out, daring me to explain.

Blinking back nervous tears, I peek up at her. “I didn’t have anything when I was taken from Shiloh. Beth was kind enough-”

“No one here is
kind
,” she snaps. “You’d do well to remember that. It’s a ploy. A trick to gain your trust and lead you further away from the Lord.” She leans forward, stretching most of the way across the table so we’re nose to nose. “You’re their prisoner. Not their guest,” she hisses.

At the other end of the table, Ms. Jackson clears her throat loudly and Mother sits back in her chair, her spine stiff and straight.

I straighten up too. For Mother. To show her that
they
have not gotten to me. I’m still a respectable woman of the Lord.

As the thought crosses my mind, so does Adam’s infectious grin.

Mother and I regard each other in silence under Ms. Jackson’s watchful eye.

I don’t
feel
like a prisoner with Beth and Holly. Besides, they’re family. That changes things a little, doesn’t it?

I’m itching to mention it to Mother. To plead their case. They’re
good
people, just misled and stuck on the outside. Maybe they can be converted and join us when we return to Shiloh.

“Mother,” I say softly, knowing that I’m speaking out of turn again. “When we return to Shiloh-”

She shakes her head, her jaw set. “There is no returning, Alaina. There is no Shiloh now.”

My eyebrows pull together. Everything Ms. Jackson and Beth told me about Elder Berman and Shiloh is
true
? My stomach turns. I think I’m going to be sick. If there’s no Shiloh, there’s no home for me to return to when this is all over. “How is that possible? Won’t one of the other Elders-?”

“We were deceived. All of us. A demon masquerading as a prophet of the Lord.” Her eyes are cold and hard. She glances at Ms. Jackson, softening her tone. “And I allowed him to lay his hands on you, to punish you severely. I should never have permitted such harsh discipline.” Turning her eyes back to me, she smiles but it’s forced. Tight. She’s saying these things for Ms. Jackson’s benefit. She doesn’t mean them. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Unsure what to say, I slouch against the back of my chair. Question after question pops into my head and I fight the urge to blurt them all. “Where will we go, then?” It slips out and I clamp my mouth shut quickly.

Her smile falters when I don’t immediately offer my forgiveness. “I’m working on that.” She holds her hand out to me across the table. “Let’s pray.”

I glance down the table at Ms. Jackson before taking Mother’s hand and bowing my head.

“Lord,” she begins. “We ask that you protect your servant, Alaina. She is in grave peril of losing her way. Her faith is being tested at every turn and it is my fear that she has given in more times than she will admit.”

My head snaps up and Mother tightens her hold on my hand.

“By allowing herself to be lulled into a sense of comfort with the sinners that have taken her from me, she has weakened herself.” Mother squeezes my fingers hard. “Remind her, Lord. Remind her of what is at stake,” she says through clenched teeth.

I try to pull my hand free of her grip, but it’s no use. My fingers are numb under her hold. Desperately, I look to Ms. Jackson for help, afraid to speak up and upset Mother further. Ms. Jackson is glued to her notebook, writing furiously, not paying any attention to me at all.

Mother jerks my arm, bringing my attention back to her. She’s looking at me now as she prays. “Remind her that this is life and death and no one is to be trusted with her salvation except for me.” She loosens her grip on my hand and I pull away quickly, rubbing my fingers under the table. “Amen.”

I blink at her. “Amen,” I say.

“And now for some quiet reflection on what it means to be a good woman of the Lord,” she says, sitting back in her chair. She smiles.

We stare at each other, not speaking, and after a while I find myself eyeing the clock on the wall over her shoulder, ready to be done with the visit.

Ms. Jackson lets us know when our time is up and I stand before Mother, eager to leave. Ready to get away from Mother’s cold, probing, judgmental stare.

I love her. I do. But the longer I sit with her, having her reprimand me one moment and then offer me false, tight smiles for Ms. Jackson’s sake the next, the more I wonder where Beth is. Beth
is
kind, no matter what Mother says. I’ve never experienced kindness like what Beth has shown me. Holly too, but in a different way.

“Goodbye, Mother,” I say. “You’ve certainly given me plenty to think about.”

She smiles. This time it’s real and I realize she thinks I mean that I will be thinking about her warnings and reprimands.

Mother only smiles when she’s disciplining me.

When we return to Beth’s house, I go to my room and close the door. Facedown on the bed, I pray to the Lord for clarity. I ask him to help me with my conflicted feelings about Mother and the sense of displacement, knowing I can never return to Shiloh.

As soon as I say
Amen
, something rattles and chimes on the big dresser across from the bed. It’s the phone Holly gave me. The one I took to Adam’s house last night. The one that holds evidence of my sinful evening in the form of photographs. If I knew how to erase them, I would.

Adam showed me how to take pictures and after that, I snapped photos of everything: Adam, Adam’s shoes, the candy, me, me with a mouthful of candy, the spilled Coke on the countertop…

Scowling, I push myself off the bed and pick up the phone. There’s a message on the screen.

Hey. You busy?

I unlock the phone like Holly showed me and open the message again. There’s no name attached to it. Just a string of numbers.

Maybe it’s the Lord.

No. He wouldn’t send a message like this. That’s silly.

But it could be a sign. Maybe the Lord has sent someone to help me.

It takes me several tries to tap the right letters, but I send a message back.

Who is asking?

The one-word reply comes within seconds and my stomach drops into my toes.

Adam
.

I’m nervous as I descend the stairs for dinner a while later. Adam’s coming. He and Drew are returning Holly’s car after Adam drove us home because Holly drank too much. His last message said:
See you soon
. That was twenty minutes ago.

Should I tell Beth and Holly?

The doorbell rings as I step off the last stair.

“I got it,” Holly yells, streaking past me in the hallway to get to the front door first.

I hang back, lurking near the stairs in case I need to make a hasty exit.

She throws open the door and grins. “Took y’all long enough. We’re having enchiladas. You wanna stay and eat?”