“Won’t you get in trouble for letting me out of my room?” Hannah asked.
“If anybody notices, I’ll make up some story, maybe say you fell sick, and I was walking you over to see the nurse. During all the commotion from the explosion, I’ll say you knocked me over and ran away. I tried to catch you, but you were too fast for me.”
“Pretty lame story,” Hannah observed.
Nicole shrugged. “It is, but I’m considered a faithful follower. I think they’ll give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Another man ran past. Luckily, he didn’t turn his head or look our way. “You need to get moving.” I squeezed Hannah’s hand, then pulled mine free. “Fly, baby girl.”
Nicole tugged on Hannah’s arm. The girl resisted for a few seconds before whirling around. They raced toward the back of the camp complex.
“Please help them.” I whispered a prayer to Pastor Derek’s God.
I closed the window and returned the stack of brochures and travel guides to the cabinet. Rebecca might come check on me. I ran across the room and lay down on the bed, leaving the impression of my head on the pillow and the sheets slightly askew. If she looked at the bed, it would appear that I’d been napping when the bomb went off.
My gaze swept the room. Nothing looked out of place and nothing betrayed evidence of my search for a weapon. I sat on the brocade sofa and waited. And waited. Hours passed. Maybe Hannah had gotten away this time. If she’d been captured again, I bet Rebecca would have shown up to rub it in my face.
Finally, a key rattled in the lock, and the cabin door swung open. Rebecca swept into the room, followed by Nicole and poor, mousy Justine.
“It’s time to dress for the wedding,” she said. She stopped in her tracks, as if shocked by what she saw. “Silly me!” Rebecca slapped a hand to her brow. “I totally forgot to brush your hair after your bath. You can’t show up at your wedding with your hair looking like a rat’s nest.”
I’d finger combed my hair in an attempt to untangle the worst of the knots, but my hair was by no means silky smooth.
“Sit down right here.” Rebecca patted the desk chair and pulled a wide-toothed comb from her pocket. “I’ll make sure to get all the snarls out.”
I gritted my teeth while Rebecca yanked at my hair, painfully working out the tangles.
When she was finished, she pulled a small vial of perfume from her pocket, one of the samples I’d purloined from the inn. Not the wild-fig perfume I’d worn for Ripper—thank the universe for a small mercy—but a light floral scent. Rebecca touched the dropper to my throat and wrists, then daubed a few drops between my breasts. She winked slyly, as if we shared a secret about what Pastor Bill liked.
The three women helped me into the wedding gown, a loose-fitting prairie dress with a high neck and long sleeves. It was a hot day. The tall, pleated collar and wrist-length sleeves would make me drip with sweat.
“There’s nothing like a modest wedding dress to showcase a woman’s glories. Stand in front of the mirror so you can see how pretty you look,” Rebecca ordered.
In my mind’s eye, I saw Ali bent over double, hooting with laughter. God, I missed my best friend.
I wished I could tell Rebecca that she didn’t have to try so hard to make me feel powerless and miserable. I didn’t give two hoots about her passive-aggressive jibes or her phony compliments. I wasn’t her rival for Bill’s attentions.
I was a woman with a plan that would knock the queen bee right off her throne.
I stepped up to the mirror and dutifully studied my reflection. The dowdy dress was sewn from a heavy white cotton fabric with a white-eyelet overlay.
Rebecca fastened a bonnet over my head. A bonnet. That tied with a bow beneath my chin. Add a pair of pantaloons and I’d look like Little House on the Prairie meets Little Bo Peep.
The white gown would show blood. Lots of it.
“I need to fetch Hannah for the wedding,” Nicole said. “Pastor Bill wants her to attend.”
I met her eyes briefly, knowing exactly what she was up to. It was almost time to spring Pastor Derek from his jail cell.
With a flick of her hand, Rebecca dismissed Nicole.
At a quarter past five o’clock, Rebecca beamed at me as if we were best friends. “We should be on our way. A bride should always be fashionably late for her wedding. Builds the groom’s anticipation for the wedding night, you know.”
She unlocked the door and led Justine and me toward the chapel. In the distance, a man stood guard over a break in the fence.
The double doors to the small chapel stood open, probably to let in a cooling breeze. Deacon Morris waited for us in the vestibule and offered me his arm, apparently standing in for my father when I walked down the aisle.
Ruth—from the laundry—played a hymn on the piano.
I’ve never been one of those girls who fantasized about my dream wedding. Riffling through wedding magazines, swooning over engagement rings and dresses, that was Ali’s thing, not mine. If I imagined my wedding, my fantasies ran more toward the wedding night and the man I’d eventually share my life with.
If I had fantasized about the perfect storybook wedding, this farcical ceremony would have been a bitter disappointment. Instead of bridesmaids, Rebecca and Justine—my future sister wives—traipsed up the aisle ahead of me. Instead of the man of my dreams waiting for me at the altar, a paunchy fifty-something wearing a brown suit and a bolero tie stood in his place. Deacon what’s-his-name, a bald man of about fifty, held a Bible, ready to officiate over this sham wedding.
Deacon Morris and I made our way up the aisle with a ridiculous step-pause-step-pause gait, almost as if I couldn’t make up my mind if I wanted to keep moving forward. Our awkward shuffle reflected reality. Pastor Bill was the very last man I wanted to marry. Pause. And I was absolutely determined to go through with it. Step.
The congregation stood as we passed. A little more than twenty people were in attendance. The rest—six or seven men—must have been standing guard along the camp’s perimeter or hunting for Levi.
Deacon Morris made a show of handing me off to Pastor Bill, relinquishing my arm with a flourish and a bow. Pastor Bill took my hand.
I glanced down at his pale, stubby fingers with their hairy knuckles. My gaze moved to his face. He met my eyes and leered, his eyes alight with triumph.
Not so fast, buddy. You won’t like the little surprise I have waiting for you in our marriage bed.
Deacon what’s-his-name cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God and these witnesses, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
EIGHTEEN
Ripper
Three days ago
Kyle stared at me, bug-eyed and limbs locked in place. He’d stepped backwards onto a loose board and something clicked. I gingerly lifted the loose board and shook my head. The thin wood covering the cartridge trap had splintered under the pressure of Kyle’s weight. The cartridge had slipped off the firing pin, thank fuck. Otherwise it would’ve blown a hole in his foot.
That was a close call. Too fucking close. First Vince fell into a Punji stake trap, now Kyle came within a hair’s breadth of triggering a cartridge trap. Only dumb luck spared him from a catastrophic injury. Gotta think that no matter how good their intentions, this was no job for untrained amateurs.