What thoughts were going through Beth’s head, and where on earth had she been all day?
Agnes had just slipped into her nightgown when Father called from the kitchen.
“Agnes. A moment.”
Her mind sped straight into nightmares. Did Father suspect all wasn’t right? Had Ezekiel let something slip—about his medicine?
In the kitchen, Father poured himself a glass of milk. Her relief, when he gestured for her to sit, was intense. He’d want her standing for bad news.
“You’re a good girl, Agnes. An obedient daughter.”
In the bedroom, her mother’s record scratched, stuttered, then stopped.
Father cleared his throat, looking strangely unsure. “Last night, the Prophet had a revelation. About you and Matthew Jameson.”
Blood rushed into her ears, drowning out the sound of the clock ticking and the hum of the refrigerator. Surely Father couldn’t be talking about marriage, because God knew she wasn’t ready. According to Mrs. King, He wouldn’t match her with a husband until her heart was pure and clean—which it wasn’t anymore.
So what was Father talking about?
“It will be a hardship running the household without you. I hope, sometime before the wedding, that you’ll find a chance to speak with Beth. You must explain how her responsibilities will grow.”
The word echoed senselessly in her ears. Wedding… wedding… wedding…
Father took her hand in his rough one. “The Jamesons are a fine family, Agnes. I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Matthew Jameson?” she sputtered. “You mean, Cory’s father?”
“You’ll be his sixth wife. You know, that’s a very special number—six.” He spoke wistfully. “A man might be at ease in heaven, with six wives to tend him.”
The word escaped like a bubble of air. “No.”
Father’s frown split his brow like a lightning bolt. “What?”
She corrected herself. “I just mean, what if I’m not ready? Not faithful enough?”
Father relaxed. Inside, she knew, he was laughing at her.
“Anyone can see you’re the most hardworking girl in Red Creek. Matthew himself admires how you’ve taken charge since your mother’s illness. It’s no wonder God showed the Prophet your face in his dream.”
Agnes cast about for a memory of her intended but couldn’t pick him out from among the shadowy profiles of Red Creek’s patriarchs.
Unlike her family, the Jamesons were rich from their ranching, and they lived in the town’s finest house: a mansion with views of the canyon. Surely Matthew was a fine man, if God had given him all that—and the idea of marriage itself didn’t bother her. She could even imagine a blessedness in being a sixth wife, a bright shining reward for living as God willed.
And yet—
Father’s face hardened. “Agnes, are you in rebellion?”
The echo of her sister’s words set her hair on end. She looked towards the living room, where the children slept in the night-light’s amber glow.
She blurted out, “But who will take care of Ezekiel?”
Father set his glass down. “Beth.” He spoke her name darkly, like a curse. “She always was a flighty thing. But she’ll just have to learn to do as you do.”
She’ll just have to learn.
But Father didn’t know the half of it.
Could Beth handle giving Ezekiel his shots, and meeting the Outsider at midnight?
Even if Beth could, she was already fifteen. The Prophet might have a marriage revelation for her, too. And Sam, the next eldest, would be a child for a long time yet.
“Listen to me,” Father said sternly. “Your union with a good man could change everything for this family. As you know, God never saw fit to give me another wife, because of our family’s bad history—and I don’t just mean your mother.”
Agnes felt nauseated. But she was also curious. Father had never confided in her before. “Is it—something to do with you? Your family?”
Father lowered his voice. “Yes. My grandmother was Sarah Shiner, the founding Prophet’s second wife. His favorite wife, for a time. But she slid hard into rebellion. Eventually, she ran from him. Ran Outside.”
Agnes had never heard of anyone running from Red Creek before.
“She ran of her own free will?”
Father nodded. “And doomed her children unto the third and fourth generations. Sarah Shiner’s been the curse on our family for a long time, but I’ve kept myself righteous, and God sees that. If you marry an esteemed patriarch like Matthew Jameson, God and the Prophet will know we’ve been redeemed.”
Agnes’s mind spun, absorbing this story—which seemed to raise as many questions as it answered. For some reason, her mind wandered to the forest at the meadow’s edge, the boundary she was forbidden to cross.
When the Prophet’s grandfather first came to Red Creek, before farms were built and fields cleared, the faithful were trappers, catching small animals and skinning them for pelts. Rumor had it that traps still littered the forest floor—rusted iron ready to snap at a touch. If you stumbled on one hidden beneath a pile of leaves, it would break your leg in a single, vicious bite.
Family curses. Ancient history.
Agnes felt like she was slowly bleeding to death in the cool, familiar kitchen.
“When’s the wedding?”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to say my wedding.
“Matthew’s willing to marry you next Sunday.”
She gripped the table until her bad knuckle throbbed.
Sunday. So soon, when what she needed was time.
“Father.” She swallowed. “I have a favor to ask.”
His eyes narrowed. Her Outsider mother must’ve begged favors in the past—a newspaper to read, a forbidden pill for a headache—before she’d given up trying.
“What is it?”
“Beth isn’t responsible. I need time to prepare her.”
God forgive me.
His voice deepened. “Is there something I should know about your sister?”
A trap.
Hastily, so Father wouldn’t drag her from bed that very minute, Agnes shook her head. Then for the first time in her memory, she lied to a man of God.
“Beth can’t run the household alone. She doesn’t know where the kids are in their lessons, or how to starch collars. Just today she burned the crackers, and that’s four dollars up in smoke.”
In fact, Agnes had burned the crackers. Left alone with her chores, she’d been rushed.
“She can’t learn those things in a week?”
Agnes shook her head again, fighting a strange pain—the lies, ripping at her insides. A week was plenty of time to learn to starch collars and bake crackers. But Father himself didn’t know the first thing about how the household worked, let alone that Beth had been pulling her weight—more or less, depending on her mood—for years.
With Ezekiel’s life on the line, Agnes would snatch any wedge.
“There’s more to it. We have schedules to follow, timetables for gardening. I don’t think Beth even knows how much of our food is grown.”
Agnes sensed Father getting bored. His duty done, he wanted nothing more than to pour himself another glass of milk, unbutton his own starched collar, and go to bed.