She nodded. “Of course I will. Anything you ask.”

“I’ve taken steps to make sure Eden’s claim draws as little attention as possible. What you don’t know is that the way I first found Eden was through her birth father’s attorney, John McDermott. It was then that I also learned of the trust fund the congressman had established in her name. I saw fit then to dig up some—let’s call it leverage—that would ensure the attorney's cooperation. Some details of his life that would ruin him if ever exposed, if you catch my meaning.”

He offered her a whimsical grin, the boyish kind that always made her heart flutter just a little. The ways of God were mysterious and sometimes beyond the law. Isn’t that how they’d rescued Eden in the first place?

She nodded.

“It’s a private matter and he’ll do what we need him to do—there’s virtually no chance the authorities will ever learn of her claim. But we also need Eden to do what’s right.”

“She will. Of course she will.”

“Still, we can’t take any chances. This will be the first time she’s ever left the property. It’ll be a controlled environment, but there’s always the chance she’ll talk to someone we don’t have control over.”

“I’ll be with her.”

“You can never be too careful. It’s important that she really knows what happened to her the night Wyatt rescued her in case she happens to talk to anyone.”

“She’ll say anything to stay with me.”

“I know she will. She’s a wonderful girl, Kathryn. You’re raising her right. Now you’re being rewarded for your faithfulness.”

“Thank you, Zeke.”

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

He picked up his glass and took another drink. The darkness that sometimes crossed his face filled his eyes.

“Don’t fail me in this, Kathryn. We’ve come too far.”

“I won’t. I’ll do exactly as you say. I owe you my life.”

“Never forget that.” He set the glass down. “There is one more thing.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I know I’ve prohibited you from celebrating Eden’s birthday, but I’d like to make an exception tomorrow for Paul. She seems to enjoy my boy’s company and it would be fitting to let them spend some time together. Consider it a special gift on this day of redemption to soften Eden’s heart. I need her to be in good spirits tomorrow.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

“Your redemption is at hand, but you must remain steadfast.”

“I will.”

“Good. Make sure Eden does as well. I know I would hate to see judgment fall on her unexpectedly.”

13

I CAN’T say that I really kept track of how many years had passed since I’d been saved. But I was eighteen today, and that meant I’d been with my mother and father for about five years.

I had grown taller, but not by much, and I was still rail thin, maybe because of my special diet. I looked more like my mother each day, that’s what my father kept saying, and that made me happy.

But the passage of time wasn’t marked by years or birthdays. Mother thought celebrating the flesh in any way only drew attention to what was fallen. Bobby’s birthday was always special because he was fallen and couldn’t help it. I, on the other hand, was special, so we didn’t celebrate my birthdays, although I think Wyatt secretly wanted to.

For me, time’s passing was marked by how well I followed the rules every day and by the weekly baptisms. I wasn’t as fond as I should be about being drowned every Sunday, but the baptismal ritual was a blessing because it meant I could start over each week and set things right for all of us since I never failed to defile myself during the week.

Mother was patient with me most of the time, and with so much making and changing of rules, I felt sorry for her. There were many times I felt sorry for myself too, because following her rules wasn’t easy, I can’t lie. But the real burden was on Mother, because she was the one who had to make sure I stayed pure—she reminded me of that often in the early days when I used to cry.

At times I thought that my life was just one long purification ritual, but that was my privilege—I was set apart. Sometimes I even took some pride in my purity, even knowing that pride always came before a fall—maybe that’s why I kept falling each week. I couldn’t properly remember how it was to live without rules, or how my life had been before my father had rescued me from a situation that would have ended terribly for me. Even the memory that I’d decided to stay with Mother for Bobby’s sake had faded. My old life, in my old wineskin, now seemed like a distant dream of another world.

The number of rules had increased over the years as I became better about following them. The only way to follow the rules properly was to love them, my mother taught me. Every time I hardened my heart and thought of the rules as restrictions, I felt a sickness in my heart because that’s what sin does to you. It makes you feel upside down inside. That was the Holy Spirit’s voice whispering to my conscience.

If Mother told me that, for the next month, I wasn’t to go outside because it was the seventh month of the year and I had to stay extra pure, feeling sorry for myself only made me angry which was sin and then I only felt guilty and would have to endure more purification.

If Mother told me that I couldn’t have any chicken for dinner because she’d decided to leave the tasty skin on for the rest of them, feeling sorry for myself as I watched them bite into their drumsticks wouldn’t put the chicken in my mouth. I already knew that I couldn’t eat any meat with skin on it because I had new wineskin—I should be thankful.

There were too many rules for me to keep track of so I kept an eye on Mother, who warned me if I was about to forget one.

The rules I’d been practicing for a long time were easy enough to remember. Like not allowing my bare feet to touch the ground outside, ever. Or my legs. Or my arms. Or any part of my skin except the palms of my hands, and then I was to cleanse them with moonshine or soap and water before coming inside.

Like never going outside without material covering my legs to my ankles and my arms to my wrists. The sun damaged my skin.

Like bathing every morning to rid my body of all the invisible bed mites and at night to wash off all the oils and dust that collected in my pores during the day. Complete with a hair wash, nail scrub, and ear cleaning each time.

Like reciting my long and very specific prayers as I knelt beside my bed at six o’clock each morning, at precisely noon, and at six o’clock each night after which I went straight to bed even when it was light outside and Bobby was still up, playing. Rest and my special diet made sure my organs stayed healthy.

Those kinds of rules were easy to remember. The rules that Mother announced out of nowhere—only for that day, or that week, or that month—were harder, because just when I was getting used to them, the rule would change, to keep me on my toes, she said.

Like not speaking any words that began with the letter s on certain days, a rule Mother had made a couple years ago to help me watch my tongue. There were many impure words that defiled me—like dirt, and garbage, and bug, and pee—and, so that my mind would stay constantly vigilant, she added all words starting with s on some days because s started the word snake, and a snake led to the deception of the first woman in the garden of Eden. To further help me remember on those days, every time I said a word that started with s I would be made to keep moonshine in my mouth for ten minutes without spitting it out or swallowing it. The moonshine made my mouth raw.

The rules went on and on. For example: “For the next two days you will not sit on any of the furniture, angel.”