Hold Fast (3 page)

* * *

A
t first glance
, this community appears vibrant, full of life. Bustling and noisy. Men and women, children and animals, each one with a place to be, a task to complete. Everything is in motion as complex as the gears and wheels and levers of a clock.

The analogy is apt, perhaps heartbreakingly so. The parts of that clock do the same thing, the same way, over and over and over. Day after day, week after week, month after month. Year after year. There is no variation, there is no change. The minute hand cannot become something better, something more.

And so it is for us. Tightly regulated and restricted, we each perform our function in accordance with The Lord’s Plan. Each of us has our own part to play, Father Emmanuel tells us, and we must content ourselves with fulfilling our purpose in His work.

Most things we do together – meals, services in the chapel, work in the fields – but there are some things done in smaller groups as well. Everything is done in groups. I’ve never seen it spelled out anywhere, but it’s very clear that nobody is ever to be left completely alone and unattended for any length of time. No one, that is, except Father Emmanuel and his two sons, who do whatever they damned well please. Daniel, brother of our anointed prophet, gets a certain lenience as well.

It’s harder to spread dissension and disloyalty when you can’t do it in secret, I guess. Judas couldn’t have managed his thing if everyone was watching him all the time. The Lord’s Word says ‘be sure your sins will find you out,’ but you’ll be caught a lot quicker when there’s always eyes on you.

That’s why my Mondays and Thursdays are so special. They’re my favorite days, my bee days. On those days, I’m almost my own person. It’s the only shred of Daniel’s allowed lenience in which I’m allowed to share. I can’t think of any other reason I might have gotten so lucky, unless… okay, fine, so everyone else is afraid to go near the bees. That’s the real reason. I tend to twelve clusters of hives, spread out around the compound.

Of course, I still have to get up early for prayers, and I have to play my part as Daniel’s dutiful wife over a bowl of some gray mush at the communal breakfast, but after that? I’ll be blissfully alone. For hours. I hum tunelessly while making a sandwich to take with me for lunch.

What a lovely day. It’s sunny, warm but not miserably hot, and I’m going to be free all day.

“Sister Courtney. You’re full of cheer today.” Brother Jeremiah’s voice startles me.

“I am!” I answer. “And why shouldn’t I be, when I’m so blessed.”

My answer is too perfect. Jeremiah frowns at me suspiciously, and he looks
exactly
like an angrier, bigger version of his brother Nathan. Do they both stand in front of a mirror and practice their father’s disapproving scowl every morning? I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling at the idea, but this is going to be so
perfect
a day, and I couldn’t bear for anything to ruin it.

Father Emmanuel’s oldest son is twenty-five. Jeremiah is his father’s successor and he knows it. He’s arrogant, so puffed-up and full of himself that I almost expect to see him explode any day. He’s also viciously sadistic, as mean as a junkyard dog. I don’t think there’s anyone other than himself that Jeremiah truly loves, and he views the world through a lens of suspicion and petty spite that colors everyone and everything in shades ranging from absolute indifference to utter hatred.

He was the boy who started by pulling the wings off flies, and would probably have graduated on to torturing kittens if he’d lived in the outside world. The semi-feral barn cats got lucky—Jeremiah has other outlets, better things to torture. People.

The three people that Jeremiah hates most in this world are his little brother Nathan, his uncle Daniel, and me. He’s not particularly smart, and he’s hopeless even at little things like making correct change at the market, but Jeremiah has a sly cunning that lets him instinctively know the best way to hurt someone.

As soon as Nathan was born, Jeremiah lost his specialness, and he recognized a threat to his position as he watched his little brother grow and recognized that the boy was on the verge of being truly brilliant. Daniel is less of a threat to Jeremiah’s future status, but he is standing in the way, blocking Jeremiah from something he wants almost as badly.

He wants
me
.

“You don’t fool me for a second, Sister Courtney,” he says, smirking. Uh-oh. This is dangerous territory. My plan to have a good day is on very, very thin ice.

“Brother Jeremiah, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s true. I really have no clue what he means. Even if he doesn’t
really
have anything on me, Jeremiah will never waste an opportunity to hurt me, just to remind me he’s higher in the food chain than I will ever be.

“I know the truth,” he says, caressing each word. “I know why you’re still barren after all these years. Why you’ve never whelped a little mongrel for my dear uncle.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” I respond lamely, my pulse racing as a runaway freight train of sudden fear slams through me. “He’ll send us a child when it pleases him to do so.” What does he know? Does he have any proof?

“Oh, Sister Courtney.” Jeremiah sighs, shaking his head in mock sadness. “The Lord may be almighty, but my uncle’s name isn’t Joseph, and you’re no Virgin Mary,” he sneers. “Or at least, you’re no
Mary
, anyway.” My heart drops as I meet his gaze. Jeremiah is studying me intently, and the permanently annoyed expression he usually wears is gone, replaced by something new. Anticipation. Jeremiah leans forward, reaching out to push my hair away from my ear.

“If he’s going to get a brat in you, he’s going to have to
touch
you first,” he whispers. I will myself to stillness, but I can’t suppress a shuddering ripple of terror and disgust at the feel of his hand caressing my cheek, my neck. His breath, warm and wet on my ear.

“I swear to you, Brother Jeremiah, that I lie by your uncle’s side every night,” I say, and I’m not lying. I
do
sleep by his side, and during the brutal Maine winter, we snuggle for warmth. There may be no lust between us, but the affection and caring are very real.

“Does this mean you don’t mind sharing him?” Jeremiah lingers over each word, savoring the taste of my fear. I shake my head, raising my eyebrows in surprise and opening my mouth to protest but he speaks over me.

“I know where his preferences lie, Sister Courtney, and when the time is right, my father will know as well. And on that day…” Jeremiah pauses for effect, hoping to terrify me.

It works, but I’d rather die than let the vampire feed off my fear. I turn away from Jeremiah to wrap a cloth around my sandwich and stuff it in my bag. I don’t need Jeremiah to tell me what will happen to my husband if one day Satan should find out about Daniel and Joshua. Or what will happen to me. I know very well how our lives will change on that day.

“You’re not even a little curious?” he taunts me. I shrug, keeping my mouth shut. Nothing I could possibly say would help the situation, and there’s no way I’d be able to keep a steady voice anyway.

“Well, it might happen soon anyway, even if my beloved father doesn’t have a… let’s just call it a
revelation
, shall we? A
revelation
about my dear uncle and his
good friend
Joshua.” Jeremiah’s lust rolls over me in waves even stronger and more disgusting than his fetid breath. I close my eyes, unable to look at his predatory grin any longer. He snakes a strong hand behind my head, locking his fingers tightly, painfully in my hair.

“The Lord has commanded us to be fruitful and multiply,” he says, in a flinty, hard-edged voice. “The Lord is patient, but he will
not
tolerate your disobedience much longer, and he will reveal his disappointment in you to my father. And on that day, you
will
be
mine
.”

My back is against the wall, and Jeremiah presses close against me, crushing my breasts between us, grinding his crotch against my belly and hip. I push him away, slipping to the side and cross shaking arms over my breasts as much to steady the trembling as to cover myself. Having him so close leaves me feeling dirty, and I feel a wave of nausea rising. Jeremiah cocks his hips, and the motion draws my eyes. I can’t
not
see the obscene bulge there, and his pleasure as my face twists in revulsion is the final straw.

Jeremiah jumps back as I retch, grabbing at a bucket by the sink and pushing it in front of me just in time. I drop to my knees in front of it, vomiting again and again until there’s nothing left but sour bile.

When I’m through, Jeremiah gently helps me to my feet and gives me a glass of water.

“Thank you,” I say. My voice is raw. It hurts to talk but I still have to ask. “Why are you being nice to me now?”

“Because you’re going to be my beloved wife, soon, and I… I don’t want you to be unhappy.” There’s something new on his face now, overlaying the lust and anticipation. It’s something softer, something I’ve never seen on his face before. Something that on any other person I’d say was—sincerity? No. No way.

“So, what, this is your way of wooing me?” Disbelief shocks me into unwise boldness. “By threatening my husband? By threatening
me?
You think you can terrify me into falling in love with you?” Jeremiah’s face stiffens. “I will
never
marry you, Jeremiah.
Never
.”

“You,” he says, his voice coldly furious, “will submit to The Lord’s Will, which will be revealed to His prophet.”

“Not if it’s His Will that I submit to
you
,” I hiss at him, turning my back on him and striding toward the kitchen’s back door. I know that antagonizing him is a dangerous mistake, potentially even deadly, and I need to get away before I make my situation worse. I’ve seen how vicious Jeremiah turns when he doesn’t get what he wants, and right now he wants
me
.

I tense up as I hear his quick footsteps behind me, flinching away to avoid the hand I just
know
will reach out to grab me, but not quickly enough. Jeremiah’s hand lands on my arm, his grip on my sleeve spins me around while he pushes me backwards. My back is against the wall again, and Jeremiah crushes me against it, pressing his vile mouth against mine as if he wants to eat me alive. Without thinking, I push him away with all my strength and he falls back on the floor.

If looks could kill, I would be a bleeding corpse, but Jeremiah’s eyes slide past me and the rage on his face stills in an instant as if it had never existed. My back is to the door, but I don’t need to turn around. There’s only one person who can leash the mad dog.

My only question is how long has he been standing here.

“What’s happening?” Father Emmanuel asks in the warm, sweetly seductive tone he uses to make new converts. It drips with honey and molasses, so sweet I always hope they will realize he’s a phony.

Jeremiah eyes dart from his father to me and back as he slowly gets up. Like me, he must be wondering how much his father saw.

“It’s my fault, Father Emmanuel,” I say, turning to look at him. If Satan came in while Jeremiah was on the floor in front of me, he couldn’t have seen enough to be dangerous, not from where he’s standing. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. Tell the wrong lie, the rock will crush me. Tell the wrong truth, the hard place will grind me to dust.

“I was feeling ill, and Brother Jeremiah – bless his heart – went to fetch me a bucket so I wouldn’t make a mess. When I was done, he brought me water.” I gesture in the direction of the
evidence at hand. The best lies are the ones that stick closest to the truth.

“Just now I felt sick again, so I pushed him away. I didn’t want to—
oh no!
” I reach for the bucket and pretend to retch again, but stress and fear turn my acting into reality.

“After so long, could you have finally received the blessing?” he asks.

“I have fervently prayed for it, Father,” I reply, bowing my head and slowly standing. “I’ll empty this outside, and then I must tend to my chores.”

The self-appointed prophet frowns, studying my face as I walk past him toward the door.

“Do you want Jeremiah to accompany you?” he asks.

I pause as if giving the question some thought and then decline as politely as I can. “Oh, Father Emmanuel, I don’t want to waste any more of your son’s precious time. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” he says after a long moment. “You may go on your own.” Turning to his son he continues, “And now, young man, you and I need to have a talk.”

I pause at the door hoping to catch the beginning of the conversation but Satan notices, “You are now excused, Sister Courtney. Please close the door behind you.”

I obey, lingering longer than necessary outside the heavy wooden door. I don’t know if they are speaking in low tones or waiting for me to walk past the window before they begin, but I can’t hear a thing. Frustrated, fearing for Daniel as much as for myself, I walk away.

So much for Monday being one of my favorite days.

While rinsing the bucket with a hose, I realize I need to confront my mother about what I’ve just learned. Does she know about this plan to throw me in that monster’s bed? I know she’s bent around Father Emmanuel’s little finger by faith and belief, but I just can’t wrap my mind about this. She fawns over his sons, caring for them in a way she never showed me, but I know she loves me. Yet, she brought me here, and here I still am. Because it’s The Lord’s Will that I’m here.

Trudging painfully off to the first set of hives, I ponder on The Lord and His Will. Each step is a reminder that it’s His Will that I not run away again. My mind shies away from the memory of the terrible pain of that lesson, blurring and glossing over Father Emmanuel’s look of satisfaction, blocking out my mother’s role in that horrific day that left me like this. I want to be sick again.

But as harsh as my mother has been in seeing to it that I submit to His Will, she’s been so much worse on herself. Father Emmanuel is obsessed with male heirs, almost to the point of madness. My mother became infected, twisted by it too. Every time the ultrasounds showed her carrying another daughter, she turned suddenly clumsy, throwing herself down stairs and out of haylofts. Her zeal to please him, to please The Lord, made sure she didn’t waste any time with girls. She needed them out of her as quickly as possible so she could try again to please The Lord by giving his prophet a son.