Page 4 of Liar Byrd
I never thought of them as guards before, but now I look at them and I remember the security guards at the mall before we came to a place without any shops that aren’t hours away.
More acolytes check the perimeter. Jeremiah says they patrol to keep us safe, and that not everyone is happy to leave us to live our lives in peace. The guns those acolytes carry are for our protection. It’s why leaving isn’t as easy as walking away.
Jeremiah promised so many things.
Life would be so simple.
We would have everything we needed, andonlywhat we needed.
There would be no one to tell us we weren’t enough. No bullies to poke fun at the new girl with the stupid first name and the threadbare shirts. I’d longed to be somewhere I wasn’t the new kid, bullied as Mom pulled me from one school to the next, always searching for a man who wouldn’t leave her.
I hadn’t known we would be climbing into a cage when we came here, and the bars would slam shut behind us, leaving no way to escape.
Mom is too much in love with Jeremiah to realize we’re trapped, never mind that she has to share him with everyone else. Maybe she never will. Maybe she wants to be. Because if she can’t leave him, he can’t leave her.
She learned about the compound from a video she saw online. Jeremiah must have gone into town to upload his sermon about simple living, honest love, and eternal hope because there’s no internet or Wi-Fi here.
He reached across thousands of miles through the laptop screen, touching my mom’s soul with his promises. I think she fell in love with him at that moment, although she laughed off my concerns, telling me to stop being so paranoid.
But she was busy tossing our clothes into bags that she shoved into the trunk of her car as she spoke. She dodged myquestions when I asked her why it was so urgent that she pull me out of school in the middle of the year, break the lease on our Missouri condo, and hightail it to New Mexico.
All we have is each other, so I swallowed my concerns and helped her finish packing, knowing I would follow her wherever she went.
Later, I’m stepping into the kitchen, my mind still clouded with fear, when an acolyte calls out, “Byrdie, Jeremiah would like a word.”
I consider ignoring him.
No men will enter the kitchen, but that doesn’t mean the women won’t throw me out the second they hear Jeremiah wants me.
I follow Ezra, weaving around the cabins to the central one he shared with his now-dead wife. Children shriek, laugh, and chase each other over the vegetable patch, ignoring their mother’s warnings not to trample the tomatoes.
Everyone smiles good-naturedly, shaking their heads as the sun sets in the distance. Soon, the children will go to their beds, this day will be over, and I have no idea what tomorrow will bring for me.
It’s only when Ezra pushes Jeremiah’s cabin door open and steps aside to let me in that I realize no one has spoken to me about husbands for the last couple of days.
Jeremiah sits on a hard wooden chair, a Bible open in front of him.
He looks so perfectly like a grieving husband. If he truly were grieving, he would not be inviting a seventeen-year-old girl to his room hours after he buried his wife.
Lifting his head as I hover, he smiles as he closes the Bible and motions me closer. “Come, sit. I wish to thank you for all the work you did today.”
“It was nothing, Jeremiah.”
A woman is always modest, and if the work is hard, it is not for her to complain to a man who has worked twice as hard.
My molars ground so damn hard during that sermon, Mom nudged me, and I nearly fell out of my seat. It’s a miracle I didn’t chip a tooth or grind my teeth into dust.
He motions to the hard-backed wooden chair close beside him. “Sit.”
“It’s late; I want to check on Liam.” My voice is soft as I remind him of the child his dead wife birthed days before.
His smile is softer. “Such a kind soul you are to care. We will pray for him together.”
Every word is a manipulation, and I can’t believe I never saw it before.
Swallowing my dread, I walk over to the chair and sit down. I fold my hands in my lap so he won’t take them, and I bow my head, eager for this prayer to end so I can get away.
My heart is pounding as I wait.
