At last, the trees opened to broad fields on which green plants grew from dark soil. Men and women worked the rows with baskets, harvesting vegetables. Beyond, David glimpsed a cluster of white buildings. The one with the tall steeple, he guessed, was their church.
“Oh, my Lord,” she said. “It’s like Eden. I can’t believe we’re here.”
He squinted, trying to view it as she did and with the same excitement. It was pretty cool, he guessed, but nothing special. All he saw was a bunch of people farming. No children. Who were they? What was this place?
“Oh, no,” Angela said. “I don’t like this. Mom, let’s go. Please.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere! Back home!”
“Angela, do you believe in God?”
“You know I do, but—”
“Try to remember before you were born.”
“I can’t.”
“Do you think that’s what it’s like when you die?”
“No, but I was—”
Mom parked the truck on a patch of gravel in front of the church and turned to her daughter, her face fierce and rigid. “God loves you and wants you to go to Heaven. All he asks in return is that you live by certain rules to prove you’re worthy of it. The choice is yours. You can either go to Heaven or Hell. Forever and ever. Right now, your life is writing a check that your soul will have to cash. Do you think you should learn the rules and abide by them, or take your chances?”
Arms crossed, Angela glared out the window.
“These people have the best life insurance policy in the universe, and they’re paying attention to the fine print.” Mom turned to smile at the church, where a woman waited. “Stay here until I come back.”
She got out of the truck and closed the door with a loud thud.
“Maybe she’s right,” David said.
“Shut up, stupid,” Angela snarled. “She’s just repeating stuff she read online.”
“Well, God makes her happy. Maybe we’ll be happy too.”
He wanted to believe it. He had no choice.
The woman hugged his mother, who laughed and burst into tears at the same time. Then the woman held out her hand. Mom hesitated before digging into the pocket of her jeans. She produced her cigarette pack and handed it over.
Angela watched her mother surrender her habit in an instant. “I guess it depends,” she said carefully, “on what the rules are, and what happens when you break them.”
Through the dusty windshield, David watched men and women stream out of the fields to gather around. Mom’s entrance to the community had been timed with the end of the workday, so they could give her a warm Christian greeting. The men all had short hair and simple farming clothes, while the women wore long dresses. All had broad-brimmed hats or scarves on their heads.
“I’m starting to think we joined the Amish,” Angela said.
David let out a nervous chuckle, though he had no idea who the Amish were.
With warm smiles, the people crowded around Mom and bowed their heads as if praying. Those closest to her laid their hands on the top of her head.
“Thank you, Jesus!” Mom started to cry, her racking sobs punctuated by bursts of laughter. “I’m home!”
“Oh, Mom.” Angela sighed with something like pity and nudged David. “Hey. I’m pretty sick of this truck. You want to have a look around?”
Staring at Mom with wide-eyed dread, David shook his head, too afraid to move. Then Angela grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the cab.
On the ground, he couldn’t see anything except the backs of adults crowding around his mother. She bawled at the top of her lungs over the rumble of prayer.
He broke away from Angela and ran.
His legs took him toward the trees, but the woods struck him as dark and ominous and all too easy to get lost in. He veered into the church and stood panting among the simple oak pews. His eyes roamed across the windows, altar, organ, pulpit, choir seating, and a massive carved wood dove mounted on the wall behind them. Nowhere to hide. A door beckoned to him. He raced to it.
In the hallway beyond, David found an office and bathroom. The last door revealed a supply closet. He stepped inside and slammed the door and sat on the floor in the dark. The scent of dust and cleaners hung in the air.
Safe at last. But lonely. All he had to do was wait.
Any minute now, Mom would come and pick him up the way she used to when he was smaller. She’d tell him everything was going to be okay, and he’d believe it. In her warm arms, he’d have unconditional love and real safety. Then they could leave and go back home.
His heart sank with each passing moment as she didn’t show.
Noise outside, the voices of children.
“We shouldn’t be back here,” a kid said. “We could get in trouble.”
“I saw him go into the church.” That was Angela talking. “He didn’t come back out, so he must be here somewhere.”
“Check the bathroom. Maybe nature called.”
“I know where I’d hide if I was scared,” another voice said.
David flinched as the closet door opened. Framed in light, a girl stood in the doorway, hands planted on her hips. His eyes adjusted to focus on her warm smile.
“Hi, Davey,” she said. “I’m Emily.”
3
MOURN
Stained-glass windows washed the funeral home’s chapel in soft morning light. Sitting on a cushioned pew, David listened to the pastor assure Emily’s family that her soul was bound for the afterlife. Wearing a wide-brimmed black hat, Beth sat between him and Deacon, holding their hands. Her fingers felt cold in his; the air-conditioning was freezing.
The pastor was a spindly, gray-haired woman in bright white vestments. She stood earnest and consoling behind the pulpit. “Every faith in the world attests to life after death,” she said. “We don’t know what the afterlife is like, but we have our hope and belief it is one of peace and reuniting with loved ones.”
After spending part of his childhood in the Family of the Living Spirit, David found the sermon soothingly boring, the religious staging comfortably antiseptic. At the Temple, the Reverend’s sole concession to clerical costume had been a black suit jacket worn over a gray or black T-shirt. He’d bound across the stage powered by electric faith, preaching straight to the heart about glory and fire. The congregants would wave their hands and little black Bibles and yell Amen! Seized by the Spirit, they’d rave and speak in tongues.
Right now, boring was okay. Boring suited David just fine.
“For Emily, her journey is beginning,” the pastor said. “For us, there is only the loss of her passing. This loss hurts because her life touched the life of every one of us here, either in some small way or by completely transforming it.”
He tried to focus on the woman’s words, but the platitudes turned to mush in his brain. Instead, his mind flashed to last night’s dream as he’d tossed and turned in his hotel bed.
The nightmares had stopped at some point in his early twenties, and he hadn’t dreamed of the Family in years. Last night, he did—a new dream this time, however, not one of the recurring horrors that once plagued him in the dark.
In this dream, he roamed through the windy night around the base of Red Peak. A black cross burned energetically on its summit. David wanted to climb to the top but couldn’t find the path.