Blood of the Earth (30 page)

“Not that I know. Sam?” My brother shook his head. So maybe I was wrong.

“Did you know, ahead of time, about John and Leah’s proposal to me?” I asked. “To marry him and take care of her?”

Daddy nodded slowly. “After you caused that scene in the church, refusing the colonel.” His expression lightened at the memory, but I was remembering the whipping Daddy had given me after that scene. The whipping had been a large part of why I’d left home with John and Leah. “The womenfolk and me talked it over,” he said, “and we had to act fast. Seemed a wise decision to get you off compound property, and that left us with very few options. John was a good man, never beat his women. It was a painful choice, with him being unable to
father little’uns, and the hardship that would pose to you, but it was the safest route. The women handle such things, and they dealt with the Ingrams.”

Daddy cocked his head and the lantern light caught the gray in his hair, shining silver at his temples. His hair had been dark, with no gray, the last time I talked to him. But his eyes had been just as intense and shrewd. “Sister Erasmus tells me that John kept the truth from you. That he didn’t inform you your family were partners in the decision.”

I shook my head and blew out a slow breath, the sound suspiciously like tears. Bless Sister Erasmus for her gossiping ways.

“He always was a secretive old coot,” Daddy said, his voice holding no judgment, but no forgiveness either.

Mama Carmel placed a cup of warm herbal tea in my hands. I could smell mint and burdock root, and the taste suggested bilberry and pineapple, the color turmeric. I drained half the cup of tea, which was sweet with honey and gave me an energy boost I needed.

“Esther?” I asked. “Did Jackie take her?”

“Jackie took her,” Mud stated, sticking her head from behind a chair. “We’uns all know it.”

“We
don’t
know who took her,” Daddy said. “We got no evidence. The boys have been searching all night. And that note you gave Sister Erasmus wasn’t signed.”

To Daddy, I said, “I came here for other reasons than just personal and family. If you heard the local and state news, you know that there have been kidnappings of four townie girls. The police who saved me from Joshua asked me if the church was responsible.” Daddy reared back in affront. I ignored the insulted response. “They asked me if a homegrown terrorist group called the Human Speakers of Truth was using church land to regroup after the police raided them. He wondered if the church had fallen under even more evil since the colonel disappeared.” Daddy started to interrupt, and I knew what he was going to say, so I talked louder, the way that Unit Eighteen did things, not the respectful way I was brought up. “I agree that the police hate the church and all it stands for because it doesn’t fit with their religious and political belief systems, and are apt to accuse first and look for evidence later. I also agree that their feelings have some merit.” Daddy opened his mouth to debate that too, and I
shouted, “I won’t argue that, Daddy!” He shut his mouth, surprised. “That’s a discussion for another time. But the police are interested in the HST and the women they kidnapped.

“They have proof that two men, backsliders, were on church grounds just a few days ago, the same two who participated in a planned assassination attempt of PsyLED agents, them and Boaz Jenkins.” I pulled out the laptop again and showed them the photographs. “These two and Boaz helped to shoot up a hotel room the police were using. I know all that because Sister Erasmus saw the men here, and I saw security video of them making a getaway from the shooting. And I was in the hotel room when they shot it up.”

Daddy’s eyes went wide with scandal. The mamas gasped.

“Working, Daddy. I was working. I have a job now. With the police. So I know that the police are seeing the church in a bad light. As people who are harboring criminals.”

“This church was not involved with kidnapping,” he said firmly. “No criminals stayed here.”

I believed that he believed that, and looked from Sam to the womenfolk. “If the police find kidnapped women here, on church land, or even with a church family off the compound, at the Vaughns’, or the Peays’,” I added carefully, “or the
Stubbinses’
, the legal problems will be even worse than when child protective services came here. There will be police all over. For weeks. Maybe months. Some agency will find a legal way to deprive the church of its tax status. Some other agency will start an audit of all possible cash sales that didn’t result in sales tax paid or income tax claimed. Another agency will accuse the church of breaking child labor laws. Things you’uns been expecting for decades. This time the church will be broken up and people will be jailed. It won’t matter that the Nicholsons didn’t have anything to do with the kidnappings. If there’s
anything
going on, any hint of wrongdoing, the family may suffer anyway. If there’s anything I should know,
tell me, Daddy
. I’ll take it back to the police to protect you all.”

Daddy was looking at his palms again, and without looking up, he said, “I know in my heart that no one has girls here, but I also know how far Jackie has strayed from the blood of his salvation . . .”

He sighed and turned his hands over, assessing the backs
as if they belonged to someone else. “This has been a long time coming.” He looked up. “Sam. When the church bell rings and the compound is mostly empty, can you and the boys get a look inside Jackson’s new punishment room, like we talked about, and rescue Esther, if she’s there?”

Like we talked about,
I thought, an ancient anger easing its way from my heart.

“You’ll have to do it alone,” Daddy added. “I’ll be keeping everyone busy in the church.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make it fast and clean. No bloodshed if you can help it.”

Sam nodded, his jaw tight.

“When you finish with Jackie’s, go inside the new guest quarters. Make sure Nell’s kidnapped girls aren’t there. Without getting hurt. Without being seen or causing a hullabaloo.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll go straight into the Jackson house first. Then we’ll check the old punishment house through the trapdoor.” Sam said to me, “Daddy and me cut a trapdoor into the punishment house when Brother Ephraim took our mama.”

My gaze jerked to Mama. She was looking at her hands still, a mimicry of Daddy. Her face was tight and pained and shamed. I kept my eyes on her as I asked, “Why did you let Mama go to the punishment house, Daddy?”

“That was my choice,” Mama said, her voice so soft I might have missed her words if I hadn’t been watching her so closely. “It was me or Phoebe. And I couldn’t let her be hurt.”

I shook my head in confusion. Phoebe was Mama’s baby sister. “I don’t understand.”

Daddy said, “Phoebe was staying with us because she refused to marry Ephraim.” He smiled, but his humor was thin. “Not quite as dramatically as you did, but she caused a ruckus. Dramatics run in your mama’s family.” Mama smiled at her lap, and Daddy continued his story. “Ephraim come to the house, demanding Phoebe for punishment. I was gone, buying wood to make some cabinets for a townie contractor. None of the boys was old enough or trained to defend the place. That’s been rectified now,” he said with a satisfaction that sounded like bones grinding. “All my boys know to defend against churchmen who come to take our women. But back then I wasn’t prepared. The leadership of the church was
changing, taking us into new and wicked directions, to mistreat our women, in direct contradiction of Scripture.” He shook his head again and looked at Mama.

“Your mama is a brave woman,” he said, his voice full of pride and pain both. “She hid Phoebe and sent Sam to find me. She told Ephraim it was her decision to refuse Phoebe to be his wife. Before I got back, he done dragged Cora off. The men with him wouldn’t let me take her back. I appealed the punishment, but the colonel said she had acted with false pride and defiance and he upheld the ruling.”

I felt as if the ground had opened up and swallowed me whole. “Where was I,” I demanded, “when this happened?”

The look Sam gave me was surly. “You were with Mary, a girl who married Boaz Jenkins. You’d stolen my bubble gum and took off. Missed chores. Stayed gone all day. I spanked your bottom for that.” I remembered the spanking. But I didn’t remember anything of the rest of this tale.

“You were too young to be told,” Mama said. “If things had been different we would a shared with you the family histories and stories when you became affianced. That didn’t work out so good. You accepted John and Leah and took off. We never had the chance to share with you. Not a single thing.”

Daddy said, “That night, a couple of the Campbell boys took the guards some drink and kept ’em busy while Sam and me cut a hole in the floor and rescued your mama. We was too late to save her from being hurt.” He looked at his wife, love and tenderness in his eyes. “Your mama,” he repeated with pride, “is a brave woman.”

“Why do you stay here?” I asked. “I could give you land on my wood—”

The front door slammed open, banging on the wall, an icy draft blowing through, and I clamped down on my words. A man stood there, underdressed for the cold in a flannel shirt and jeans, a pump-action shotgun in his hands, held across his body. At his feet was a dog, a bluetick hound . . . acting
squirrelly
, his tail flashing, feet dancing, whining, a strange light in his eyes.

“Bascomb got a scent,” the man said, gesturing to the dog with the stock of his shotgun. “He led me toward the new preacher’s house.” He stepped inside. “You gonna help me rescue my Esther or not?”

I figured the man was Jedidiah Whisnut, but the sound of the church bell ringing cut him off. A couple dozen pairs of feet banged down the stairs and a gaggle of young’uns and little’uns raced down and into the front room, which was suddenly filled with family.

Daddy said, “We’re helping. Close the door, Jedidiah.” To Sam he said, softly enough that Jedidiah couldn’t have heard, “Change of plans, and you won’t have much time. Keep Whisnut close. Tie him down if you have to. I don’t want him doing something heroic and stupid and ruining things.” Louder, he said, “Sam, Jackie’ll be leaving his house in a few minutes. Skip what chores ain’t done. Take charge of your brothers. Send Rethel and Narvin to the Campbells’ and tell their boys we might need help. Send Rudolph to get the Vaughn boys to take security down just like we planned. Send Zeke and Harry to get the compound’s dogs secured. You, Amos, Rufus, and Jedidiah follow Bascomb’s nose. Find out if Esther is in Jackie’s house or the old punishment house. Get her safe. And if there’s signs of Jackie’s own women being mistreated, take photos and bring ’em to me at the church. Looks like our plans are getting moved up a mite.”

I didn’t know what plans he was talking about, but it sounded like the Nicholsons, the Vaughns, and the Campbells had formed a faction and were going to cause a ruckus. In the compound and in the church itself. A small sinful part of me felt proud that I had shown them the way, but then maybe Mama’s dramatic family had done that a long time ago. I reached into my pocket, took out the cell phone that had been given to me, and turned it on. I pulled up the last contact and dialed Rick.

“Damn it, Nell!” he answered.

I said, “My brothers and Esther’s intended have been hunting for Esther. They’re getting ready to check Jackson’s house and the old punishment house. Then they’re going to check on the Stubbins farm, to see what’s going on there. I’ll call back if I get intel.” I thumbed the call off and made sure the ringtone was off, but I left the phone itself on. I placed it in Sam’s hand. “If you find the girls and get in trouble, punch the word
SEND
. That’ll redial that number. Tell the man who answers who you are and what’s going on. Federal officers will come.” Sam looked oddly amused as he pocketed the cell.

Daddy countermanded what I had said. “Don’t call in
outsiders
unless you have to. Rescue Esther. If you see churchwomen that have been abused, but they ain’t in immediate harm or bodily danger, get out and get back to me as per your training. Them rescues we’ll handle as a family, us and our crowd. Iffen it’s outsiders, leave ’em be but call your sister’s police officer. Don’t be messing with evidence.” Sam raced off and Daddy handed me my coat, saying, “We’ll make a fuss at the devotions ourselves.” He looked at his wives, a severe set to his mouth. “I believe that an accusation against Joshua Purdy would be appropriate today. And it may come to an accusation against Preacher Jack.”

Sam sent his younger brothers off to gather forces. Daddy sent others of his sons with messages to the Peays, Cohens, and Adens, warning that there would be “stringent verbal debate” at devotions. To his sons, he added, “And iffen there’s trouble at the church, get back here and institute the safety measures. Understood?”

A dozen voices said, “Yes, sir!”

Having no idea what was about to happen, I picked up my basket and walked with my family to the chapel.

*   *   *

The chapel was on the far side of the compound from the Nicholson house, a cold walk in the gray light of dawn. The white clapboard building was centered in a ring of green grass and oak trees, and blooming, perennial fall flowers, many of which I had planted long ago and still flourished, testament to my gift with plants. The steeple was tall and narrow, mounted with a weathered wooden cross. Electric lights burned from within, through the clear panes of glass, some appearing irregular, and with air bubbles in them from when they had been hand-blown over a century ago. At one time, this building had been as much my home as anyplace on Earth. Now, after all the shattering revelations, I didn’t know what to think about home or family or safety.
Why did my family stay here?

Walking behind Daddy and Mama Carmel, one arm through Mama’s and the other through Mama Grace’s, surrounded by young’uns and effectively hidden by the family, I climbed the steps to the church and entered. The interior walls were still white-painted wallboard, the pews hand-shaped oak
that had been treated recently, and was shiny, unlike my memories of them, seating as many as four hundred worshipers. The dais at the front placed the preacher three steps higher than the congregation, with a fancy carved wood podium. The floors were wood as well, and our feet were loud as we entered the church and Daddy led us to the Nicholson pews. My great-grandfather had shaped four of the pews, and his name was carved into the olive branch on the armrests. Every family had contributed at least one pew, and the family names were similarly carved. Daddy stood aside and we filed in.