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“We don’t have a choice. We have to.”
“I don’t want to has to!”
“Stop,” Devon said firmly. “Stop right now.” Then she hugged her close.
Rawley took the groceries straight to the kitchen and began putting things away. Devon just waited by the door, holding Mercy’s hand, afraid to invade the house. Momentarily he was back, handing her a slip of paper. “There’s two bedrooms upstairs and you’ll know which one is mine—it’s lookin’ mighty lived in. There’s food in the kitchen and I ain’t savin’ nothing for later—it’s all open season for you and Mercy. I eat at the bar and clean up dishes before coming home so you won’t see me till eight or so. This here’s a number for my phone.” Then he grinned. “You’re the first person to get it. I mean, Cooper has it, but only because he bought me the phone in the first place—he got tired of me never checkin’ in. You just call if you need something, or if something changes with you, or if... I don’t expect anyone will bother you here.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
He gave a shrug. “I could stay, Cooper wouldn’t mind. But if I was you, I’d still be nervous and me gone will give you a chance to think. Check over the place. Rest. Eat. Get comfortable. Pull the tags off your clothes. Nap. Whatever you need to do.” He opened the door. “There’s another room up there. It’s where I keep the TV. Extra blankets in the hall closet. Towels and that stuff, too.”
“I guess we should wash off the road,” she said.
He looked at his watch. “You got hours to do whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Mr. Goode.”
“It’s just Rawley,” he said. And then he was gone.
Overwhelmed, Devon sat on his worn old couch, pulling Mercy beside her. Mercy. She had wanted to name her Mary in the first place, after her aunt. Mary had been failing fast the last time she’d seen her alive. Five years ago.
Tears started to just run out of her blue eyes.
“We’re free,” she whispered to Mercy.
“Mama, where’s the kids?”
* * *
It was Sister Laine who had helped Devon find a way out of The Fellowship. Laine hadn’t been with the family long, not even six months. And, unlike some of the women, she was very independent and didn’t seem to get sucked into group thinking, nor did she vie for Jacob’s favors. She was careful, though. Disciplined and obedient. Around Jacob she seemed skittish, maybe frightened, but there were other times when she threw Devon a secret grin and wink, or maybe a startled look. She didn’t talk about her past, other than to say she’d come from a bad place and that Jacob had promised her peace and safety. It was implied she had been abused by a man. Laine’s story reminded Devon that they weren’t all the same no matter how much Jacob wished it so.
Laine learned that Devon wanted to leave the compound and that Jacob wouldn’t let her take Mercy. It was hardly secret—Devon had been making noises about leaving once she first learned she was pregnant. But Jacob said no, absolutely no, because Mercy was his child. So, for several years Devon and Mercy made the compound their home.
They were gathering eggs one morning when Laine whispered, “I know you want to leave.”
“No,” Devon said, hiding surprise, cautious in case of betrayal. “I’m very happy.”
“I know you want to go and if you do, I can help. If you turn on me, it will be bad, very bad. If you don’t want to go, just ignore me.”
But Devon said, “Help how?”
“Listen carefully. On June 9 there will be a hole in the fence behind the henhouse, right over there. There will be a backpack with some clothes, bottled water, a couple of apples and granola bars—look for it outside the fence behind a tree. At midnight there will be a truck down the road—the lights will be off. The driver will take you over the mountain. He won’t wait long. Go to the coast. You shouldn’t travel Highway 5, it’s too close to the compound and you’ll be found right away if anyone decides to look for you. If they look, they’ll only look as far as you can walk. Hitching a ride on Highway 101 is safer. If anything goes wrong, try to find a women’s shelter and tell your story. As a last resort, if you have no other way to get help, tell the police.”
“Why a last resort?”
“Because, Devon, once you tell, they might make a move on this place and everyone could be in danger. Jacob will fight back. So, only tell the police if that’s the only way you can be safe.”
“Why would you do this?”
She shrugged and said, “I fixed it up at the Farmers’ Market. I was planning to do it myself, but I think you should go first. I’ll figure out something.”
“Maybe we could both go,” Devon said, wondering if she’d lost her mind.
But Laine shook her head. “Two of us and Mercy traveling together would be too easy to track. If you get in a fix, tell someone what’s going on here. The moods, the threats, the little rages and the gardens. If you have to tell, tell to keep yourself safe. It is not safe here.”
“It was once. Or it seemed to be,” Devon said.
“It’s not safe now, I can tell. It’s time to get the children out. I think you know that. Now let’s find some eggs. And laugh at my jokes, for God’s sake!” Then she smiled. “You have this one chance. Do it.”
It’s time to get the children out. Those words struck fear in Devon’s heart and she knew she had to act. She had to take the chance that was being given to her. She had to trust Laine. But, once she had made her decision, Devon nearly counted her heartbeats until she and Mercy could escape.
Just as Laine had promised, everything was ready. And, before she knew it, she’d done it.
* * *
Rawley got back to the beach bar around two in the afternoon. He walked in on one of the most unlikely friendships he’d ever known about, and he’d known of some odd ones since Vietnam. Cooper was behind his bar and Spencer Lawson was sitting on a stool facing him. This was a fairly new friendship. As Rawley heard the story, Spencer had been married to an old fiancée of Cooper’s and the poor lady died. She had cancer or something, Rawley recalled. And several months before her death, blood work had been done and revealed that their ten-year-old son, Austin, was actually not Spencer’s biological son, but Cooper’s.
Well, now, Rawley thought. That’ll make or break a man.
But the men had worked it out. In fact, Spencer had just agreed to take a job in Thunder Point so both dads could live in the same town and be parents to one little boy. And ten-year-old Austin had the potential to be spoiled rotten.
“Hey, Rawley,” Cooper said. “How’s your cousin?”
“Huh? Oh, she’s okay. I left her to get a nap, relax or whatever.”
“How long you think she’ll stay?”
Rawley just shrugged. “Can’t say. Might be she doesn’t find an old Vet much fun to live with and just moves on.”
“Well, what brought her here?” Cooper asked.
“You are sure the nosiest som-bitch I know. I don’t have the details, don’t really need the details, but I gather it was a bad situation or something and she needs a place to roost a bit. Don’t matter. I’m happy to give her a bed. She’s got a kid—you don’t just ignore a kid. I don’t want them staying in some damn run-down hotel all alone just because I’m an old coot set in my ways.” He craned his neck and looked out the windows to the beach. “Speaking of kids...”
“Austin’s fishing off the dock with Landon,” Spencer said. “I have to go look at a house in town, even though Austin wants to live in that RV next door for the rest of his life.”
“Ain’t a bad place, as places go,” Rawley said. Cooper’s toy hauler had been operating as a guest house ever since he had finished off the upstairs of the bar into his apartment.
“I’m looking for something a little bigger in the bathroom and kitchen department.” Spencer laughed. “Not to mention less sandy.”
“If you could train someone to wipe his great big ten-year-old feet, you could beat that problem. Have you noticed how big his feet are? Is that normal?” Cooper asked.
“Well, it’s normal on St. Bernard puppies,” Spencer said.
Leaving the men to talk, Rawley went to the kitchen. There was always work to be done—cleaning, stocking, organizing. Now that Cooper had an apartment and a fiancée, he stayed out of there. Cooper could clean his own house, do his own laundry. Cooper liked taking care of the beach, raking up, hauling trash, making sure there was no detritus that could harm people or wildlife. He said it gave him an idea of who used the beach and what they used it for. He maintained his stock of paddleboards and kayaks. And he spent a lot of time visiting with folks in town, on the beach, on the dock, in the bar. Cooper was a natural people person. Rawley had never been much for visiting.
Rawley kept himself busy working around the bar and in the kitchen till about seven-thirty. With the longer days there was plenty of sunlight left; Cooper and Landon could handle the place without him until sunset when folks tended to quit for the day, except those who liked the beach at night and enjoyed their fires.
His phone hadn’t rung all day. He wondered what he’d find when he got home. He had absolutely no idea. She was skittish; she might be gone. The place could be upended, valuables stolen...not that he had much in the way of valuables. But nothing prepared him for what he found when he got there. He could hear the TV upstairs and didn’t want to startle her, so he called from the bottom of the stairs.
She came to the top of the stairs and looked down at him. Her hair was cut right up to the nape, kind of messy-cute, falling over her forehead haphazardly. Gone was that thick mane that hit her butt. “Up here, Mr. Goode,” she said. “Oh, my God, I haven’t seen TV in so long. We had popcorn—I hope that’s okay. You said anything. We didn’t eat much. There’s plenty left. But the TV—my daughter is in a trance. She’s never seen TV.” Then she laughed and her whole face lit up. “Well, she was in a trance and now she’s asleep right on the floor and I’m watching baseball. I love baseball. I haven’t seen a game in years!”
He chuckled and remained at the bottom of the stairs. “No TV at the camp, I take it,” he said.
“No TV, no newspapers, no internet access, no phones. No distractions, no commercialism, no propaganda. At least for us.” There was that grin again. “Oh, how I missed it!”
“Did you find something for Mercy to watch?” he asked.
“Evil cartoons. She was in heaven.”
“Have you eaten anything besides popcorn?” Rawley asked.
She nodded. “I scrambled some eggs and made some toast for Mercy. I had a sandwich, chips, soda...” She rolled her eyes. “Soda! It was so good! And then the popcorn. Should I turn off the TV now? So you can have peace and quiet?”
Rawley smiled. She looked lit up from the inside. He couldn’t remember being quite this pleased with himself. He shook his head. “I’m gonna get my newspaper and a cola. I like sports. I used to watch with my dad before he died—that’s why there’s two recliners up there. And you can watch the TV all night if you want to. It don’t bother me. Half the time I fall asleep in front of the TV.”
“Newspaper!” she said in a breath.
“I’ll share it with you.”
* * *
Mercy rarely asked about the other kids or the other sisters from the family once she was introduced to television and the undivided attention of one mother rather than six. They hardly ever left the house except to walk to the end of the street where there was a tiny park with swings and a slide, and that was just for a little exercise and fresh air. Every day Rawley brought them something new. First, a couple of toys for Mercy—a baby doll with a diaper bag filled with miniature supplies—this small child from a family compound didn’t know about diaper bags. Then he brought some crayons and coloring books and bubbles. Next, some library books—a few picture books for a three-year-old, a few novels he had asked a librarian to recommend for a thirty-year-old woman.
“Close enough,” she said with a smile. “I’m twenty-eight.”
Then he brought home a laptop computer. He said, “I thought maybe you might want to use this. It’s an old one Cooper let me have. Do you know how to use it?”
“I know how to use a computer, certainly. We just didn’t use the evil internet, which has probably grown to amazing heights in the last several years. And I can’t tell you how much I want to have a look!”
“I ain’t got no hookup. Cooper said to tell you to jump on some neighbor’s or store’s wireless—and I ain’t got the first idea how you do that.”
But Devon smiled. She’d have no trouble figuring it out.
For Devon, this time away from the compound was like sensory overload—there were so many new ideas to talk about, and programs to watch and articles to read. She was in ecstasy.
Then came several days of rain in a row, which conspired with Devon’s need to be immersed in the books, TV and computer. Rawley didn’t spend quite as many hours at work but Devon and Mercy were so happily occupied it seemed he’d barely left before he returned. She made a couple of dinners for the three of them and while Rawley wasn’t exactly talkative, he was companionable.
“How’s ’at computer working out?”
“It’s a revelation—you can find out anything.” Out of curiosity she checked out “communes in Oregon” online and found several references, but nothing really interesting. Compounds could mean a host of families, religious sects, cults and organizations ranging from non-certified health retreats and rehab facilities to known sovereign communities and anti-government separatists. She was fascinated and kept reading.
Then she found something that explained so much: a familiar name and story—Jacob Glover. Glover? They didn’t use last names—they claimed there was no need. But there was a picture, and it was definitely the Jacob she had known. He was well-known—he’d been convicted of fraud in the past. He was known as the leader of a cult who had recently been investigated for fraud, tax fraud, conspiracy and kidnapping. Huh? she thought. Well, taxes...yes, that was an issue. She remembered that very well indeed. It was one of his favorite rants, taken right from his manifesto. What am I but a poor farmer? We eat what we grow; we own our land; we don’t use any government resources—we educate our own and we pay our good money for supplies we can’t grow or breed or make. The only argument government has for our paltry income is our rare use of their roads! Property tax? For living? For paying our own way? I’ll die first!
She remembered thinking that was a compelling argument, but it was one that would never work. As for paltry income for little supplies—she was well aware that The Fellowship not only owned expensive farming equipment, but they also owned three black Lincoln SUVs with darkened windows that only the men drove. This could hardly be considered paltry by any stretch of the imagination. It was also hard to believe that the meager sale of apples, peaches, pears and vegetables brought in enough income for The Fellowship to purchase the equipment and the mammoth SUVs.
But kidnapping? There was not a chance The Fellowship could be accused of that! No one had ever come into the family unwillingly and if they ran away, Jacob looked the other way. At least he used to. When Greg had slipped away after just a few months, there was only sad disappointment. But when Caleb, who had been with the group for three years, left suddenly, Jacob’s anger roared. All three SUVs tore out of the compound and went in search, a search lasting days. But when he wasn’t found, the search was abandoned.
Then she realized that these investigations might be the reason Jacob and some of the others seemed to have changed in the past couple of years, becoming impatient and paranoid. When she’d first become a part of the group, gentleness and ease had seemed to dominate their way of life. But over the past couple of years anger and even desperation seemed to creep in. I’ll die first! The amount of time he spent writing—some of the women called his writings a diary, some a manifesto, others claimed it was his new bible—had increased. There had always been weapons that were kept locked up and managed by a few men, but they were for security and hunting, not because there was fear.
She looked up “cult,” though she knew well enough what one was. And she also knew that religious affiliation aside, The Fellowship was a cult. Synonyms were “gang,” “craze,” “sect” and “denomination dominated by extreme beliefs.” Not always a bad thing, the L.A. Police Department was referred to as the biggest gang in L.A. They were but a group of like-minded people, bent on a single purpose. In fact, it was that alone that had caused the rift for Devon. She was no longer of a like mind.
In one of her last conversations with Jacob, right before Laine had offered her a way out, she’d said, “I miss my individuality, that’s all. I don’t want to be isolated and I don’t want my daughter raised by six mothers. I want to pick my own books and music, read all the papers. I want to be a part of society again.”
“Even if society is bad? Wrong? Dangerous? Greedy?” he’d asked.
“If I’m here, then I’m not doing anything to make it better,” she’d offered.
He’d sighed deeply. Painfully. “This breaks my heart, but maybe it’s for the best, Devon. You’ve never really wanted to be a part of this, one of us.”
“I always did my share! I taught the children, helped with farming and ranching, tended animals—I did everything everyone else did, too.”
“Not everything,” he reminded her.
She bit her lip and looked down, astonished that he could make her feel guilty over a purely righteous act. Once she’d realized she had conceived Mercy and that Jacob had children with other women in The Fellowship, that other women in their group visited his bed frequently, she didn’t want to be a part of that group. She wanted a partner, not a never-ending family. When she’d made love to him, she had foolishly believed he loved only her, that he held the other women as sisters, family members, not lovers. He led her to believe that. “There were too many women. It wasn’t for me.”
“There were a few, and we were all of one family, one mind,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I was of a different mind. I will only have one intimate partner.”
“It’s not our way,” he said.
“It’s probably best that I separate now,” she said. “I gave my promised two years. In fact I gave more than two. I was committed and loyal even if I didn’t agree with everything.”
“Fine, then. You really don’t fit anymore. You hold yourself slightly above the rest of us, as if you’re better.”
Shocked and hurt, she’d blurted, “You’re the only one here who holds yourself above the rest of us!”
And he’d slapped her. He glared at her and was so angry. When she’d first come to this family, he was so gentle, so tolerant. But lately he’d become so short-tempered and his controlling nature was skyrocketing. “I think as the man who founded this Fellowship and works every day to hold it together and protect it, I can be afforded some respect!”
It was a black day that burned in her memory. That had been a year before she’d finally left.
She read on about Jacob. Investigated and interviewed for allegations of kidnapping and human trafficking.
She thought she knew what human trafficking was, but looked it up just the same. The recruitment of human beings by means of kidnapping, coercion or purchase for the purpose of exploitation, usually for labor or commercial sex trade....
And she knew. She just had never thought of women over twenty-one who went willingly being the victims of human trafficking—she’d always assumed underage prostitutes or child laborers in dingy, dangerous factories were the kinds of people who would be the victims of human trafficking.
Jacob had picked her up outside a shelter in Seattle, Washington. He’d invested an hour in conversation with her learning that she was alone, that she longed for a family and was needy, afraid and desperate. She also fit his profile of wanting fair-skinned and blue-eyed members for his group. He treated them all so sweetly and provided a shelter that was clean and had plentiful food. She was introduced to a few other women who’d joined the group for the same reason she had. They all worked hard to sustain it and to make it a success. Then they were all stripped of their identities—driver’s licenses, social security cards and other personal effects stored away...or perhaps destroyed.
And they all loved him. At one time, even Devon had had a deep love for him, or perhaps it was gratitude. Sometimes some of them joked behind his back in whispers: He’s penning a new bible, you know.
Devon remembered Laine’s words to her. Tell if you have to, Laine had said. Tell about the gardens.
While it was never discussed openly, they all knew that Jacob and the family financed their plentiful compound by their special gardens. No matter how well their organic gardens produced, the bounty of fresh fruit and vegetables was not enough to generate the kind of income needed to keep The Fellowship going. There were a couple of gardens that were kept concealed in a couple of warehouses. They used grow lights run on generators, going twenty-four hours a day and tended by only a few men. Devon had been a member of The Fellowship for a couple of years before she knew about their special cash crop—it was marijuana.
Jacob explained it to her by saying, “We are only growing medicinal herbs that the government wants to regulate. If they find out what we are doing they’ll take it all away. Strip us of everything. But it’s harmless and helpful and some states have even passed laws making it legal, which this state will eventually do, as well. Then, they’ll try to tax it to the moon. We have to grow our herbs in secret. The government would love to steal from us, which is not their right.”
Brother Jacob was a drug dealer. His cult, his Fellowship, was a cover. That’s why he kept the members close by, and why he had children with them knowing that would keep them tied to him.
