Page 293 of Redeemed

“What… what happened here? Why the wall? Why the barbed wire?”

“You’ll speak in complete sentences, or you won’t speak at all,” Isaiah snaps.

Oh. Right.It’s one of the things I struggled with the most when I was younger.

You need to enunciate your words, Heaven.

You should never speak in incomplete sentences, Heaven.

You represent your father, and one day, your husband. You need to present yourself well, Heaven.

“Why was the wall built?” I ask quietly. “And… why is there barbed wire on top of it?”

Silence fills the car as we near a wrought iron gate. It matches the aesthetics of the rest of the community. Pastor Beckham always stressed the importance of doing everything for the glory of God. He preached that God was creative, and that beauty in any form was a good thing.

Look at the flowers, the fields, the birds. Look at the beautiful women among us. Our Lord is a lover of beauty, so everything we build will be beautiful in his honor.

“Do you remember when Nehemiah left?” Dad asks.

“Of course I do.”

“He came back,” Isaiah says bitterly. “He managed to kill three people before we took care of him.”

Oh my god.

“That’s why we need to protect ourselves with all of this,” Dad continues as two men with guns open the gate. “We won’t let something like that happen ever again.”

My stomach cramps. I hate Cornerstone and many of the people in it, but I don’t think I could ever do something like that. No one deserves to go through the pain of losing someone you love.

Once we’re through the gate, I look around. It’s dark, but the building lights illuminate the compound enough that I can see most of the things I used to hold dear. The swing set near the pond, the magnolia trees lining the pathway leading to the apartments and townhomes, and even the church in all its Gothic glory.

It’s all the same, yet there’s a sinister feel to the place now. Every so often, there’s a tower along the perimeter, and I can just make out the silhouettes of someone standing in each of them. My guess is they’re armed, too.

Yes, they keep people out, but they also keep people in.

Isaiah pulls into the parking lot and takes his usual spot. I’m reaching for the door handle when Isaiah glances back and glares at me.

Right.I drop my hand into my lap while Isaiah gets out of the car and then opens my door for me. I climb out as gracefully as I can and pull the skirt of my dress down as far as it can go. Not out of shame, but because I don’t want Isaiah looking at me.

“Heaven,” my dad says softly.

Blinking back tears, I turn to him. He looks older than I remember. His hair is graying, and he has new wrinkles on his face. His features don’t look so harsh, like maybe he’s softened a bit over the years.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says hoarsely. “I’ve missed you. We all have.”

I stand completely still. Sometime during my junior year, I realized I didn’t miss my father, and that I never had. I missed theconceptof having one, sure, but never the man who helped create me. Even my happiest memories with him are tainted with fear.

“We should go,” Isaiah says. “We need to be well-rested for church tomorrow.”

Dread climbs its way up my throat. My brain is yelling at me to run or to fight, but I can’t anymore. I can’t get away, and I can’t win. I’m trapped again.

Dad gives me a hug that I don’t return, and then Isaiah puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me to the path. As we walk under the magnolia trees, memories flood my mind. I walked this path multiple times every day, often with Ruth by my side. We usually had a younger sibling or two trailing behind us.

“How are my siblings?”

“They’re fine. You have two baby brothers you haven’t met, and countless new nieces and nephews.”

My feet freeze.“Two?”

---