Luckily the healer had sent Brother DJ into town with instructions to buy a breast pump, which Amos had heard of, back in the world, but had never had cause to witness. He’d been only nineteen years old when he’d arrived in Eden.
So young. So foolishly trusting.
His heart hurt with the knowledge of truth, like having the scales ripped from his eyes. But he was no longer nineteen and foolish. He was forty-nine, with a daughter to protect. So he’d spent the Sabbath day sitting in the rocking chair that he’d made with his own hands, thinking and planning until darkness had fallen.
He was still thinking and planning. He had been all day today as he’d worked in his woodshop. He stepped back from the cabinet he’d made for their newest family – a single mother with two children. They’d recently been brought in from the city. He thought about the woman, about why she’d chosen to come to Eden. Her son was barely twelve and had already gotten involved with a dangerous gang. The daughter was fourteen, pregnant, and clearly unhappy to have been ripped away from civilization. Even unhappier to have been immediately married off to one of the compound’s men.
Luckily neither of them had been given to Ephraim or DJ. The mother accepted the rules of the compound – had embraced them, even. She’d been grateful for the structure, pinning her hopes on Eden helping her children to straighten up and fly right. Her attitude was common enough.
No one was brought here against their will. Not bound and helpless, anyway. Rhoda had been lied to, she’d confided. Or at least hadn’t been informed that she’d be required to wed within hours of her arrival.
She was happy with me, though. He hoped so. God, he hoped he’d at least done that right.
‘Brother Amos?’
Amos spun around, startled at the sight of DJ Belmont in the doorway of his workshop. He put his hand to his racing heart and forced a smile. ‘Brother DJ. What brings you here?’
What if he knew? What if DJ knew that he’d listened to Pastor’s call? That he’d seen Ephraim kill three people? That he’d seen the computer in the office?
He realized that he’d gripped the carving knife in his hand a little too tightly and dropped it on the worktable beside him.
DJ didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘I was wondering if you had any finished items to take into town.’
‘Not at the moment,’ Amos said. The hope chest was almost finished, but he was saving that to smuggle out Abigail, if he could find the right time. That time is now. ‘But I will in a few days.’ He tilted his head, wondering how much latitude he’d earned for his thirty years of service to Eden. ‘I have a piece in mind that will be rather substantial and will require two people to move, plus some setup once it’s delivered. I was wondering if I might accompany you on one of your deliveries.’
He had no such piece in mind, but he needed to know if his request would be shut down immediately. He needed to know if he’d be able to accompany Abigail once he had the hope chest finished.
There was no way he was putting his child in a chest and simply turning his back on her. She was no Moses to be hidden in the bulrushes, hoping for a good person to find her at the other end of her journey. Besides, they’d already tried to smuggle Miriam out. Amos had made the chest big enough for her to hide in, but something had gone wrong and there’d been no one to help her. Now she was dead, as was her whole family.
Surprise flickered in DJ’s eyes before he smoothed his expression to one of almost condescension, as if Amos were a small boy asking for a pet pony. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Pastor.’
Which meant no. Well, then. That answers that. Disappointment swirled with the panic in his gut, but Amos merely nodded, keeping his own expression smiling and mild. ‘Of course. Let him know that the piece I’m considering should bring a good price from any of the shops, but if he doesn’t believe it wise for me to accompany you, then I won’t plan to build it.’
DJ inclined his head. ‘I’ll tell him. When do you think you’ll have’ – he startled abruptly, blinking as if something had shocked him – ‘something ready for me to take to town?’
‘In a few days. Thursday at the latest.’
DJ smiled absently. ‘Thank you, Brother Amos.’ He turned and hurried out the door.
Amos went to the window, watching as DJ crossed the common space, heading for the gate. You need to follow him. Find out what’s happening in this little corner of hell.
As casually as he was able, Amos ambled across the yard, then, looking both ways, slipped into the trees that bordered the community.
On instinct, he headed toward the boulder that hid the satellite dish, gratified when he spied DJ perched on the same fake rock where Pastor had sat on Saturday evening. Amos had passed that boulder a hundred times over the almost six months since they’d moved here, but he’d never really seen it. He paid attention to trees, not rocks. He might have passed by it another hundred, maybe thousand, times without ever thinking to check beneath it.
DJ had a device similar to the one that Pastor had used, tapping it as Pastor had. Putting the phone to his ear, DJ snapped, ‘What is it?’
He listened, his body growing more and more rigid as each second passed. ‘What did she look like?’
Who is ‘she’? Amos wondered, then stared when DJ paled.
‘Are you sure? Mercy Callahan? Are you sure that’s what her credit card said? Mercy?’
Mercy? Mercy? Amos covered his mouth with his hand to cover his own gasp. He didn’t know the name Callahan, but how many Mercys could there be? Especially how many Mercys could make DJ this agitated?
But Mercy was dead. DJ had told them so. She’d died when Rhoda had smuggled her out.
A kernel of hope began to take root in his rapidly beating heart. What if DJ lied? Ephraim had lied. Pastor had lied. Why not DJ, too?
Which meant . . . Mercy might be alive. Mind reeling yet again, Amos watched as DJ lurched to his feet and began to pace.
‘What did she buy?’ A pause. ‘Yeah, I remember it. “Surely goodness and mercy.” Fucking goddamn verse. I never should have let him start carving that stupid Bible verse into the fucking wood.’
Mercy bought something I made. Oh, dear Lord. Amos felt light-headed and had to lean against a tree.
DJ went even paler. ‘She did what? Me? She described me? Fucking hell, why didn’t you say that first? Did you get the license plate on her car? Send it to me.’ Another pause, during which DJ checked the screen of the device, before returning it to his ear. ‘Yeah, I got it. Thanks.’ He ran a hand through his hair as he listened again. ‘No, I haven’t seen the news lately, but thanks for the heads-up. I . . . owe you.’
He said the last two words like they tasted bad. ‘No, I don’t have any more product. We had to leave it behind when we moved. It’ll be a few months before we have a new batch.’ He grimaced. ‘Yeah, I know. The market’s shrinking, blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it before. But there’s still a market, right? The demand for shrooms isn’t just going to disappear overnight because a few cities have decriminalized.’ He stopped pacing, blowing out an impatient breath. ‘No. I’ve told you before, I do not have facilities to make meth even if I wanted to. Look, I need to go. Thanks for the warning. I’ll leave tonight as soon as I can get away. Can you keep her there? Like damage her tires or something?’ He exhaled heavily. ‘Right. I guess not. No, thanks anyway. I’ll see you tonight.’