The Girl Behind the Red Rope Page 9

  I would work extra hard to stay in line. I would show everyone that I was sorry for the danger I’d placed us all in. I would love the children and be a pure example for them—the thought of any harm coming to them because of me made me sick. I would show honor and respect to every member of our holy haven and be a shining example that made Rose proud.

  They were keeping Jamie isolated at the clinic. My mother said he’d had a rough morning, and they wanted to keep visitors to a minimum. He’d asked for me again, which only made my desire to see him grow. But I wasn’t in a position to question Rose’s decision to deny any visitors.

  The afternoon was the worst for me, because normally I’d be caring for the children. I used some of the time to bathe again and take special care to prepare myself for my visit with Andrew. I would be the perfect wife for him, even if I didn’t care for being with him. Who was I to say what should or shouldn’t be? Especially now.

  Near dusk, sparkling clean and resolved to be the perfect bride, I told my mother I loved her, then headed out to my husband’s house, where I would prepare dinner and fulfill his needs.

  It was then, crossing the south side of our small town, that I became aware of my place as the shunned woman I would be until I regained the trust of the community. Mary Hansen was hurrying home with little Bart, passing by the supply store, when I stepped onto the main street. The boy immediately brightened as he always did when he saw me.

  “Grace!” He started toward me, but his mother grabbed his hand and jerked him back, speaking to him in a hushed voice. She didn’t acknowledge me with her customary greeting or smile. I was off-limits to her son.

  And rightly so, but the rejection was a knife to my heart. Only a handful of others were out at that time of day, but they all avoided me. They weren’t cruel or angry, but I could hardly have felt more conspicuous.

  There goes the woman caught in sin. Best not go near.

  Even Alice, as she stepped out of the hardware store, glanced in my direction before quickly turning her head and heading the opposite way.

  I walked faster, wishing I’d taken the path behind the houses. It was okay. I was only paying the price I had asked to pay. And that price was supposed to hurt.

  But it made me want to cry. For the first time since my marriage, I could not get to Andrew’s house fast enough.

  His home was similar to all the homes in Haven Valley. Two stories, the main bedroom and bathroom on the bottom floor, with two small additional bedrooms upstairs. A simple kitchen, living room, and mudroom. The layout was almost identical to my mother’s home, but even after spending two nights a week here for the last five months, the space felt new and strange.

  It was the smell, I thought. Musky and dank. And Andrew liked to keep the drapes closed. But tonight I would embrace all of that.

  He was a simple man with few strong preferences, so cooking for him was easy. The same was true of his house. Although style and design weren’t encouraged, most people added small personal touches.

  Andrew had nothing personal on display. Nothing on the walls, no rugs, nothing on the coffee table. Not even a knickknack to be seen. He’d packed all of his first wife’s belongings in a box and stored it away. I had been upstairs once when first shown the house, but not since, because the rooms were empty.

  He’d told me once over dinner that I could do whatever I liked with the home when I moved in. I had often tried to imagine what I might do, but the thought of living with him made my gut turn.

  Not tonight. Well, yes, it did make me a bit queasy, but I tried my best, humming as I quickly prepared the meal, forcing myself to imagine making the house my own. Not so difficult, really. The first thing I would do was add color. Flowers. I wanted our child to imagine a world full of life and wonder.

  I remembered the tiny jeans and red shirts that my mother used to dress little Lukas in. He’d been such an adorable boy.

  What would you wear today, Lukas? Remember that Spider-Man shirt you used to waddle around in?

  The thought made me stop in the middle of clipping the beans. If Lukas and my child deserved color, didn’t I as well? I had accepted the laws that discouraged displays of beauty in fear of losing my purity, but would I wish such a thing on my own infant? Was it so wrong for me to want a red dress if I longed to dress my innocent child in red?

  But it was exactly those kinds of thoughts that had led Jamie into disobedience. I had to watch my thoughts!

  Dinner was to be green beans, boiled potatoes, and chicken, all of which I set in serving dishes on the table, ready for Andrew as always. Normally I’d be watching the time, waiting for his arrival at six o’clock on the dot.

  Today I was distracted by Jamie. I prayed he was okay. How would he be after such a terrifying ordeal?

  And Bobbie. Could I trust her? And my mother, who was still upset. And Rose, to whom I’d lied.

  The last couple of weeks, Andrew had taken to placing his hand on my shoulder and kissing the top of my head when he arrived. Tonight he opened the door, walked straight past me, and sat at his place at the head of the table without so much as a word.

  I quickly took my place at the table, bowed my head as he offered prayers, and started in on my food, hoping he would show me grace.

  For long minutes, neither of us talked, though I could feel him glancing at me on occasion. I knew I should beg his forgiveness and offer him a renewed vow of obedience, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak it aloud.

  I heard him lay down his silverware, and I looked up to see his elbows perched on the table’s end, fingers intertwined and resting just in front of his mouth, eyes contemplative but kind. They were always kind.

  “I want to understand what you were thinking, Grace,” Andrew said in his low, calm voice. “But I’m struggling.”

  “It was a terrible mistake,” I said, lowering my eyes to my plate.

  “I’ve been sick to my stomach all day.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause any problems. It was wrong of me.”

  Andrew often struggled with stomach issues, particularly when he was upset. He rarely showed his frustration, but I saw it in him every time we were together. There was a ticking time bomb of fear in him that he’d found a way to control with great effort.

  But that was true for all of Haven Valley. How else does one live, knowing that evil lurks to prey on the impure?

  “You could have come to me when Jamie first asked for your help.”

  “I should have.”

  “I wish you would look at me,” Andrew said.

  His comment caught me off guard. I raised my eyes. Not to his eyes, but rather to the line of his jaw. As girls we were taught this was the appropriate place to look at an interested man when speaking with him. The eyes were much too personal. As my husband, Andrew was an interested man.

  “I am your husband.” His tone was gentle.

  I shifted my eyes to his. They were light brown, flecks of darker brown patterned throughout. I lowered my gaze again, unnerved by the extended eye contact.

  “I had hoped that after five months you would feel more comfortable with me,” he said.

  I felt a stab of guilt. I had been a horrible wife. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. You’re safe here with me. I care for you.”

  His words should have warmed my chest, but they made me uneasy. At times I thought it would be easier if he disliked me. That would be something I could deal with. But my failure to return his affection only filled me with more guilt.

  “I was worried about you,” he continued. “Terrified for you.” He cleared his throat and picked up his fork. “I will continue to pray for your brother’s swift recovery.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Please remember that you can always come to me. I’ll never turn my back on you.”

  “That’s kind of you.” Far kinder than I deserved.

  Those were the last words spoken at the dinner table.

  That night I jo
ined Andrew in his bed as expected. But he knew I was in shame, and he made no attempt to touch me. Even in that he was being the best husband he knew to be.

  Or maybe his apparent disinterest in me was the result of his cramping gut and repeated visits to the toilet. Either way, I had to find a way to feel differently about him. One day I would be carrying his child.

  ROSE STOOD IN THE BASEMENT UNDERNEATH HAVEN Valley’s Chapel, drawing deep breaths of anticipation. Soon. Any moment now.

  As the daughter of a conservative minister, she’d grown up in churches with basements and sanctuaries similar to this one. Her experience with the church had turned ugly when a brutal man, sick with power, stole her innocence and replaced it with terror.

  That man was her father, though he made his children call him Pastor. Unlike other clergy who were kind and gentle, her father was a beast who only taught about the dangers of sin and the hell that awaited those unwilling to repent from their wickedness. Naturally, he expected perfection from his children.

  Rose was no stranger to the wrath and punishment of God. It had been pumped into her brain from the moment she’d been born. Both she and her older sister, Lily, worked their fingers to the bone trying to obtain the perfection required to live in the Pastor’s home. Their silent and weak mother, Ethel, another subject of the Pastor’s wrath, stood by and watched as he constantly ridiculed his daughters for their weaknesses.

  The punishments for broken rules were severe. He used to say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” A mockery of sorts, it amplified the pain, as if Pastor were suffering as he dealt out wrath according to the laws of raising a child in perfect righteousness.

  The only relief Rose found was in Lily. They secretly whispered to each other of the day when they would escape the house to see the world in all of its wonder.

  But they never escaped together, because Lily had become sick with pneumonia and died.

  Actually, it wasn’t the pneumonia that had killed Lily; it was the vile threats of Pastor, who demanded she repent of whatever sin had caused the illness. He wasn’t about to be seen as a leader whose own children failed to attain the holiness required of them.

  Or maybe it was the pneumonia, but Rose blamed her father for robbing Lily of the will to fight the disease.

  Rose was sixteen, and the only light in her dark world had been extinguished. She’d tried to kill herself with a rusty nail that night.

  Sylous had come to her for the first time then. Whispered to her about how he could protect her, save her, and set her on a different path. A chosen path on which she would be safe from all the cruel people who lived in sin.

  All she had to do was agree. Would she?

  She had. And as his first show of power, Sylous had killed her father in his home office as Rose looked on. He showed Pastor monsters terrifying enough to send him into cardiac arrest.

  It was the first time Rose had seen a Fury—the true wrath of God, not the manipulated version Pastor used to justify his violence.

  Her mother mourned the loss of her husband, oblivious to how the heart attack had occurred. Despite her compassion for her mother, Rose couldn’t stomach another day in the house with a woman who still treasured the monster she’d married. So she left with Sylous.

  In the wake of such oppression, living homeless proved to be a blessing. For several years Sylous guided her as she blossomed into a young woman with strong character and beauty that turned heads. Sylous appeared and vanished at will, but whenever she needed him, he was there.

  She was twenty-three and single, still living on the streets in San Francisco, when Sylous first promised her true sight and a community that would follow her. They would find a place in the hills of Tennessee, hidden away for them alone. A terrible tribulation was coming to the world, he’d said, but he would protect them from that Fury if they followed him.

  Rose smiled as she recounted the events that had delivered them to Haven Valley. She’d moved to a small town in Tennessee, married Harrison at Sylous’s instruction, and begun the process of assembling the faithful. Ten years later, Sylous had shown them all the Fury.

  Three years following that day of true sight, they’d moved to this valley so far off the beaten tracks that even if the world hadn’t succumbed to the Fury, no one would pay them any mind.

  She scanned the basement, eager for his presence. It was a small square room—wall-to-wall brick with exposed pipes and cement for a floor, several storage rooms, and a root cellar, all off-limits to the others.

  A single staircase led up to the narrow hall that ran behind the main sanctuary and ended in the only office in the building. The whole Chapel was quite small. The sanctuary, one short hall, one little office, and the basement.

  It was the perfect place for them to meet. He would, if needed, come to wherever Rose was, but he called her here.

  She felt Sylous the moment he entered the room, like an electric charge that drew every hair on her skin. One moment she was standing in cool, damp air, the next she was enveloped by a force much greater than herself.

  In that moment Sylous was all she felt. Then she was herself again, rooted to a lesser reality, awash in his presence.

  “I can feel your worry from here,” Sylous said.

  She turned to face him as he stepped into the light of the single shaded bulb that hung from the ceiling.

  “Should I not be worried?” she asked.

  “Have you lost your faith in me?”

  “No, of course not. Never.”

  “Then try not to worry so much. It will age you, darling.”

  Rose took a deep breath and tried to settle her nerves. “Maybe we should shut these two out of the community. They’ve disrupted everything.”

  He offered her a kind smile. “All were chosen for a reason.”

  “They shouldn’t be allowed the glory of reclaiming the earth, not after their sins against us.”

  “They will stay.”

  “Even if they place all we’ve built at risk?”

  “Are two so dangerous? You’re assuming they don’t play a role in delivering you to the glory you wait for. All things work together for good, at least for those in the narrow way.”

  “They doubt that narrow way,” Rose snapped. She knew she’d spoken too harshly the moment the words had left her mouth. “Forgive me, I misspoke.”

  “The truth of how you feel is written inside your heart. I can see it clearly,” Sylous said tenderly. “There’s no need to raise your voice.”

  “I’m . . .” She was exposed before him, as always. Naked. It was she who doubted as much as Jamie had. Not doubted the Fury, but that they would survive the Fury.

  Sylous moved closer, holding her gaze. “They’ve handed you the opportunity to reignite faith.”

  “They make others uncomfortable.”

  “Good. Perhaps some have become a little too comfortable in this safe haven. It needed a good shaking. You might even say it was by design.”

  “You knew the boy was sneaking beyond the perimeter?”

  Sylous said nothing, which was answer enough. How could she have doubted after so many years under his guidance?

  “I wish you would tell me these things,” Rose said. His enigmatic way sometimes bruised her heart and cracked her ego. Why didn’t he trust her?

  “I’ve offended you,” he said.

  Rose swallowed and dropped her eyes to his feet. She watched his shoes cross the distance between them, stopping only a foot from her. She felt his warm fingers brush her chin, and she closed her eyes as the touch sparked new life inside her chest.

  “I never intended to hurt your feelings, my love,” Sylous said as he drew his fingers along her cheek and back behind her ear. Rose inhaled desire as he traced the outline of her face. Her heart beat out of rhythm. Her skin tingled. Awe of Sylous had quickly turned to love long ago. He was her truest companion, the one she dreamed of and longed for.

  Next to God, Sylous had become her everything.

/>   “Everything I do is for you and this safe haven you’ve built for me,” Sylous said. “Do you doubt that?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Have I not always come to you in your time of need?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I not provide you with enough power to change the world?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I not commit myself to your protection?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have I not always been faithful to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And yet you still doubt me. What you don’t fully understand is that I need you as much as you need me. I live to see you safe. Your destruction is my destruction. I have given myself over to your salvation.”

  Rose looked up, taken aback by his confession. She reached up and wrapped her fingers around his where they lay on her neck. “You have?”

  “Yes. Nothing matters except your safety. I could see the Holy Family’s faith waning after so many years, and I saw an opportunity to reaffirm their certainty of the terror beyond these protective borders. Even the most faithful need to be reminded of what’s at stake.”

  “Jamie said he went beyond the perimeter many times without encountering the Fury at all. How is that possible?”

  “He did encounter them. Just not when expected. The Fury are far more clever than you might guess.”

  She hesitated, daring to ask what had been bothering her all day, though he undoubtedly already knew. “Is it possible the Fury have already penetrated the perimeter?”

  He studied her as if trying to decide how much to tell her. She knew from previous discussions that he couldn’t control the Fury beyond the valley, but he surely knew the situation within their perimeter.

  “Obey the law and you will be safe,” he said.

  Why no direct answer? Was he withholding something?

  His brow arched. “If I told you all I know, you would melt with fear,” he said. “Trust me.”

  “Then it’s possible that the wolf in sheep’s clothing is already among us?” she pressed.