Escape from Eden (5 page)

We all dressed silently. Bridgette and Dina darted out of the cottage door before the rest of us. I lingered over my trunk for a moment, weighing the chances of having two minutes alone with my sketchbook.

“Mia, come on,” Aliyah said, standing at the door.

I dropped the lid of the trunk. It closed in a muted bang.

Outside, members of the Flock walked in eerie silence along the dimly lit paths to the pavilion, dutiful soldiers of the Reverend. On the hill in the distance, the pavilion’s lights raged against the dark night. I glanced around for Mama and saw her carrying a sleeping Max draped over her shoulder. Kids five and younger didn’t attend the Bright Nights. They stayed in the nursery with two elderly nurses. The Reverend, though, considered age six the age of comprehension. Seeing Max’s sleepy little head, dark hair flopping over his eyes as Mama walked, made me wonder why. At six he understood and accepted many things, but being forced to stay awake and witness God-knows-what being done to one of the Flock was cruel.

As we took our places in the pavilion, the Reverend sat stone still on his throne, watching us. A self-assured half-smile almost disappeared under his thick, ginger-colored beard.

Aliyah settled next to me, Juanita on my other side. Next to her, Lily sat down, fiddling with the hem of her dress. I glanced behind me. Bridgette and Dina, clutching their Bibles to their chests like life vests, stared with rapt attention at the stage.

Mama was seated next to Max, and surrounded by the rest of her students from the schoolhouse, all sleepy little satellites. Octavio and the rest of the teenage boys occupied their assigned benches, across the aisle from us. Gabriel was not among them. I spotted his parents sitting with the other married couples toward the front.

The Flock settled in with quiet reverence under the Reverend’s stern gaze. I listened to the shuffle of feet, the occasional whispered question from the drowsy children.

“Let us pray,” the Reverend said, his voice booming over the loud speaker.

Obediently, we bowed our heads. But I couldn’t help peeking out from behind my hair, looking for Gabriel. I flicked my gaze to the shadowy wings of the stage. My stomach turned. Thaddeus stood by, as always, a looming menace.

But there was no sign of Gabriel. A small shudder went through me. It was going to be him tonight. It had to be.

“He who loves silver,” the Reverend said, drawing our attention to the stage, “will not be satisfied with silver; nor he who loves abundance, with increase.” He held his hands to his sides, palms up. “Ecclesiastes,” he said, rising from his chair with some effort. The Reverend’s bloated and sweaty appearance onstage disgusted me more than it usually did. A flush lit his cheeks as he lumbered back and forth. “Tonight I’ll discuss the sin of greed … ”

And he was off, on a Bright Night tangent. His intensity increased as he spoke, hands quaking, head shaking, sweat along his forehead. For two excruciating hours, I fidgeted on my bench, trying to look interested.

“Now,” the Reverend said in a voice that shocked many awake. “Let’s take a short intermission.” He sat back down on his throne, ignoring the looks of shock on our faces. Intermission? Bright Nights didn’t have intermissions. They were nonstop marathons of preaching and praying. “Agatha?” he called to the back of the pavilion. “Are you all set up?”

I saw Agatha placing plates on a long table, piled with what looked like the cookies we’d baked yesterday. She looked pale and drawn under the fluorescent lights.

Aliyah placed her hand on mine. “Are those the cookies you made?” she whispered with an edge of excitement.

“They are,” I said, dread settling over me.

Was I to be the example tonight? Should I have questioned more, resisted the idea of baking a treat for the Flock? Was I greedy to think that I, an ordinary member of this congregation, could bring such happiness to everyone with a simple gesture?

“Please,” the Reverend said. “Help yourselves to some refreshments and we’ll continue in fifteen minutes.”

People made their way to the back of the pavilion, lined up in an orderly fashion. Lily filed out and we followed her, Juanita mumbling something about milk. Aliyah squeezed my shoulders with eagerness.

As the line inched along, my eyes kept snapping to the Reverend and Thaddeus, now huddled together, talking quietly. As if they’d felt my stare, they both looked up, eyes meeting mine. I instantly grew light-headed and turned away.

Ahead of us, children jumped up and down, tugging at each other’s hands. I noticed Max and Mama at the start of the line, very close to the buffet table. Max’s expression darkened like a stormy sky as he examined the table’s contents. He began to cry.

“Excuse me,” I said as I moved past people in line.

I followed Mama, who had picked him up and was making her way back to their seats. Max was allergic to peanuts. I knew it, too. But when I was making the cookies, I didn’t realize they were for the Flock. I sat down beside them.

“Cookies have peanuts,” Max sobbed.

I stroked the hair out of his eyes. “You know what?” I said. “I don’t even want any cookies.”

Mama smiled at me, her anger from earlier melting away, and patted Max’s arm.

“Why not?” Max asked.

“Will they make me healthy? Will they give me strength? Could I work harder, longer, after I ate one?” I shook my head, making a show for Max. “No, Maxie. No, they couldn’t help me. Those cookies would taste good, then what? They’d just give me cavities and probably make my stomach hurt if I ate too many.”

“You have a point, child.” I turned to see the Reverend had overheard me. “You do indeed have a point.”

His expression was unreadable, his eyes two flat black circles. But I did hear the slightest bit of admiration in his voice.

Mama, Max, and I watched the Flock as they ate, savoring each bite. The girls from my cottage huddled around our seats, eating their cookies and grinning. In the six months I’d known her, I hadn’t seen Lily smile so generously. There was a sweetness to her that reminded me of Aliyah.

Octavio caught my eye and held up a cookie. He pointed to it, then to me.

I smiled and nodded. I made them, I mouthed.

He grinned, his wide mouth spreading across his face. I’d never known someone to smile with his entire being, but Octavio did. He shot me a thumbs-up and pointed to his other hand. He had a pile of cookies wrapped in a napkin. Placing his palm over his heart, he bowed his head in a regal, and sincere, thank you.

The Reverend allowed the Flock to eat and sip on little cups of milk. Everyone chatted about how delicious the cookies were, and I couldn’t help a small feeling of pride bloom in my chest.

From what I could tell we went a full fifteen minutes without interruption. Then, in a flat, almost disgusted tone, the Reverend called us back to our seats. I kissed Max on the forehead and my mother on the cheek, and joined the girls. I felt the buzz of excitement around them, like sparks in the air. A few months after I began cooking in Edenton, I understood the power of food. Food nourished, it made people feel safe, cared for; but food bringing joy to Edenton was so rare.

Once the Flock settled down, the Reverend said, “Delicious, weren’t they? Agatha has such a talent for baking.”

Agatha, standing on the side of the stage with her hands clenched in front of her, smiled politely, glancing over the Flock as people let out a series of “Amens.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother bring Max to her chest in a protective hug. He wasn’t crying any longer, but his eyes were rimmed in red.

“Now,” said the Reverend. He stood then, folding his hands behind him. He began to pace. “Tonight, I’ve orchestrated the ultimate lesson on greed.”

All movement ceased. Only wide-eyed gazes shifted to follow the Reverend walk back and forth along the edge of the stage. Silence reigned.

He smiled out over us. “Those of you who ate one cookie will be fine.”

I shot a confused look at Juanita. She shrugged.

“Those who ate two cookies will experience a little stomach trouble, nothing more.”

Around the pavilion hands went involuntarily to abdomens. My own stomach, even though I hadn’t eaten any cookies, roiled. My palms began to sweat. I rubbed them against my skirt.

“Those who ate three will spend the rest of the night vomiting.”

Panic stabbed me. A round of gasps swept across the Flock.

“And those who ate four or more?” He paused, scrutinizing us as we sat staring up at him, dumbfounded. “Will be dead before sunrise.”

The last words Lily said to us before she died were, “My mom used to make peanut butter cookies.” Unshed tears glistened on her lashes.

Then, before we could say goodbye, she and ten others were escorted from the pavilion.

Octavio was among them.

I called out his name, the shriek of my voice echoing through the pavilion, and ran out from under the roof onto the shorn grass leading to one of the pathways through the jungle.

Octavio pivoted around, wrestled his arm free from the guard, and sprinted toward me. Light from the pavilion washed out his features. In the sickly glow of the pavilion’s too-bright lights, his lips looked parched. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a dry voice.

“Sorry for what?” I asked.

“For being greedy.” He slowly lifted one shoulder, confusion darkening his eyes. “For wanting to eat something you made.”

My gut heaved. Something I made. A warm tear tracked down my check and I swiped it away. “You shouldn’t be sorry,” I whispered.

“Of course I should,” he said. He hooked his finger under my chin and lifted my face to meet his. “I sinned, and I’m being punished for it. I deserve this. And you—”a small curve of his dry lips—“take care of Juanita for me.” He nodded to his sister, waved to his mother, and joined the guard who waited patiently behind him.

“No,” I whispered, watching helplessly as they were led off, away from the pavilion. “Freddie!” I said to the guard. “Where are you taking them?”

Freddie allowed Octavio to join the ill-fated group on his own and turned to me. “To the cove beach.”

“Why?”

“That’s where we’re taking them to die.”

Something in me twisted and I leaned over, placing my hands on my knees as a wave of nausea overtook me. I had done this to them. Guilt pressed down on me, darkening the edges of my sight. I swallowed down bile and straightened, looking up to watch the group wend their way along the path, the bordering lights blurring in the humidity, as if they were walking through clouds.

From where I stood outside the pavilion, I could see Juanita sitting in her seat, hands intertwined in her lap, her eyes fixed on me. I silently pleaded for her forgiveness, for her understanding, but she slowly turned to face the stage, unblinking, along with the rest of the Flock. All focused on the Reverend. As if simply looking at the sinners would taint their souls.

“Child,” the Reverend called to me. “Your concern is commendable, but poorly directed.”

“Poorly directed?”

The words didn’t even make sense to me. My head was cloudy, confused. All I could think was that I’d killed eleven people. Killed.

Someone caught me by the shoulder and my heart jumped. Doc Gladstone stood next to me, a dark leather bag in his hand. “Go back into the pavilion, Mia.”

“They’re dying, Doc Gladstone,” I whispered.

He dipped to my ear. “Mia, go sit down.”

“Doctor?” the Reverend called. “Shouldn’t you tend to the sinners? Ensure that the rest of their time here in Edenton is as painless as it possibly can be. Now, God wanted these folks to suffer, let me be clear about that. And I, the Reverend Elias Eden, am going against God to provide them comfort in their final hours.” He bowed his head. “Let us pray God absolves me for my sin.”

Doc Gladstone patted my shoulder. “Go on,” he said and then ran off to follow the path to the beach. He looked so strong and powerful, dreadlocks flying behind him like a cape.

But I couldn’t move. My feet seemed rooted to the ground. No one would look at me, not Juanita, Aliyah, nor Mama. Like I was as expendable as any tree in the jungle behind me. Like what I was feeling—the shock and horror of it–didn’t matter.

Like those eleven people didn’t matter, either.

“Why pray for your absolution?” I asked aloud, my throat tight.

The Reverend raised his head and deliberately, slowly, turned to glare at me. “Excuse me, child?”

I licked my lips, swallowed, and spoke. “Why does the Flock pray for your absolution? Shouldn’t those eleven people be absolved?”

A round of horrified gasps echoed in the pavilion.

“They were punished for their greed,” the Reverend said through his teeth.

“They ate a few cookies,” I answered.

The Reverend’s eyes narrowed on me, a wicked twist on his mouth. “Maria, come take your child back to her seat.”

Mama stood, straightened out her skirt, and wove her way through the little kids seated on the benches. She didn’t look at me until she drew closer. Her eyes were emotionless, but her grip was tight on my upper arm.

“Don’t do this, Mia,” she said under her breath. “It’s not your place to question what happens here.”

I jerked away from her, disgusted by her complacency, and pointed to the Reverend. “You killed eleven people!” I said.

“No, you did,” he snapped. “You assisted Agatha in baking, correct?”

“I—” I stopped.

Mama’s expectant stare bore into me. “Answer him, Mia.”

“I did bake them,” I admitted, but the rest of the words—I didn’t know about the poison—were stolen from my lips by her softening, warm expression.

“It’s as if the hand of God reached down through you to teach our Flock a lesson on greed.” Mama brushed my hair back from my forehead. “I’m proud of you, Mia.”

“P-proud of me?” I said, searching her eyes, looking for something to make sense of her reaction. “Those people are dying, Mama!”

“Thaddeus!” the Reverend yelled. “Take Mia away. Find something for her to do until she comes to her senses about this.”

Mama stepped away from me, hands dropping to her sides.