"I know you are done asking the other men on the mountain for help, and I know you'll never ask me for any—but I'm not asking. I'm telling. Let me come meet those babies of yours, and pour you some whiskey for getting through these last five months, all right?"
He doesn’t let me talk him out of it, and he tells me he'll be on the next flight coming to Idaho.
I look around the tiny cabin, shaking the bottle for Andrew, and thank God I'm not in this alone.
Chapter Sixteen
For so long I held onto regret. Regretting the choices I made—mostly that I wasn't braver, sooner. Knowing that one night with James might have to be enough for a lifetime.
After driving in a van for what seems like an entire day, we end up the middle of nowhere, at a compound very like the one we just left. Except this one is much more permanent. There were maybe a hundred of us before, not counting children.
But this place is much larger than that. There are hundreds of people here, and not just people from the Lord's Will Bible Church, we have now merged with a sister church of so-called believers. Apparently, our doctrine matched up enough that we can join forces without causing unrest.
They'd been here less than a month when I arrived, and everyone is still getting settled. At first, I hoped I would get lost in the shuffle. I don't know our exact location, of course, no one will tell the women. The people from Lord's Will were raised in the real world, homeschooled, and churchgoers, but for the most part, they are people like me. We haven't been living this lifestyle for very long.
The people here, though, have been living this lifestyle forever. How they've been going unnoticed for so long is beyond me. I catch on pretty quick that if this has been their way of life for a decade, no police officer is coming after them.
And certainly, no one is going to be coming after me.
The moment I'm pulled from of the van, George drags me to the church elders. Luke is here, still. And how that man is still holding his head high, after his three wives left him, is beyond me. But he's here, wearing his suit and tie, next to some men I've never seen before. Apparently, they are the pastors here, the heads of the church. And when I stand before them, I'm told to get on my knees.
I brace myself, terrified of what they are going to ask me next, already gritting my teeth, refusing to be the woman they want me to be.
Theirs.
But to my surprise, they don't ask me to sleep with them. They don't take off my clothes. Now I'm not saying they are good people, but they truly believe I am a sinner and I need to repent. They also believe that I wasn't holy enough to be returned to my husband. Yet.
I try to explain that I had been forced away from my children.
They told me losing my babies was a part of God's plan for me. Of course, this idea is ludicrous, but I know better than to talk back. So, I stop talking about my children at all, and I bow my head, and I pray to a God I've never understood, asking for salvation from this hell.
Somehow, somewhere, something hears my still, small voice.
They send me to the kitchen, where I am to work back-breaking labor, washing dishes and making food. I work 12 hours a day, no freedom, no privileges. And then, and only then, if I prove myself as a woman will I be allowed back into my husband's home.
Apparently, once I am at George's home I'll be allowed my own bedroom, have the honor of carrying his children, and the privilege of shopping trips in town. These men must think that will appeal to me.
That's the last thing I want.
I lived with George before, and his wives, and I know that even though I would be given more 'freedom', the cost is just too great. They're fools to think I would want more than a cot in the pantry. More than my hands in soapy water, washing dishes for the compound, day in and day out. This punishment is a privilege and they don't know it.
I'm certainly not going to tell them.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" Elder Luke asks.
"Forgive me," I beg, feigning sorrow.
A month passes this way.
I don't hear from James.
A month passes this way.
My milk has dried up, my babies will soon forget my face.
A month passes this way.
I miss my period.
A month passes this way.
My breasts are tender once more.
I throw up every morning like clockwork.
Another sinner, a woman who just started working in the kitchen a few days ago, presses her hand to my back when she finds me in the bathroom.
"Are you okay?" she asks. "Are you with child?" Her name is Grace, and she offers it to me.
I nod, hoping I can trust her. Hoping she won't betray me with this truth. I haven't lain with George since I've returned. And I already know my time is running out.
"I'm four months along. If I weren't wearing such a large dress and apron, everyone would already know."