Down from the Mountain (17 page)

“Get up,” he demands. But the world is spinning too fast for me to get up. I vaguely realize that the cause of my pain and dizziness is that Ezekiel has hit me. Little flickers of light break through the darkness, and when my eyes can focus again, I see Ezekiel’s hand poised to hit me again. Blood from my forehead trickles into my eye. I try to push myself up but my elbow slips in the puddle of blood on the floor.

I must pass out because when my awareness returns, gentle hands are lifting me into a chair. When my eyes can focus, I see that it is Brother Paul.

A piercing scream coming from another room startles everyone. Through my pain, I realize what it means: Mother Martha is indeed in labor.

Twenty-Six

Prophet Ezekiel keeps us on a prayer vigil in the chapel. Because of my bleeding head, I’m allowed to sit in the pew and hold a towel to it. Everyone else is kneeling. It is a mercy so unusual for Ezekiel that I can’t help wondering if it’s from regret or guilt. Is he sorry that he hit me so hard, or does he feel I deserved the punishment? Whatever the reason I’m grateful.

Mother Rose brings me two towels. One is filled with ice to keep the swelling down. The other is to sop up the blood that has slowed down to a trickle in the last hour. My entire body aches from the impact of hitting the altar, but my head throbs with pain. I don’t look at Ezekiel for fear that my anger will show.

I’ve got to get into the room with my mother. I have to see how she’s doing and what she needs. But the women are taking turns, two at a time, nursing Mother Martha in two-hour shifts. I’m sure they won’t want my help because I’m not yet married. If I go to her, it will be seen as defiant.

Her screams continue, but they’re farther away now that the women have taken her to her bed. Each scream tears me apart as if I’m the one going through the contractions. When the screaming stops for a few minutes, I’m exhausted.

Lord, help me find a way to help her.

Ezekiel interrupts our silent prayer every so often by praying out loud or giving short sermons to direct our prayer. During the first hours, he prays as much about Rachel running away as he does about Mother Martha and the baby.

“Lord, make Rachel see the errors of her ways and return to the fold,” he prays.

But over time his prayers become hardened toward her. “Let she who has chosen to abandon your ways burn in hell along with the heathens. Do not punish us for her sins, Lord, but know that we have cut her out like a cancer. We shall never speak her name again.”

He raises his head to us. “Hear this commandment, my people. She who has run from us is no longer a part of us. Her name is poison and will not be spoken again by anyone here.”

I pray that no one will forget this order because Ezekiel will punish us severely if we say Rachel’s name. I crane my neck to see if David and Daniel are paying attention. Turning, I discover, makes the room spin and it takes a minute to discover that both are sound asleep, one on each side of Mother MaryAnne. I hope she remembers to tell them about not using Rachel’s name.

They’re not the only ones sleeping. Next to me, Esther jerks her head again. She’s fallen asleep several times already. It doesn’t surprise me, though. She’s begun to show her age more and more in the last months and often sleeps when she gets a sit-down task.

An idea begins to take shape in my mind. When the women come in to change shifts, I’ll get up to take a turn as if it’s simply part of the plan for me to do so. If anyone objects, I’ll remind them that I’m promised to Ezekiel, and of course I should take a turn. Esther will be the perfect partner for me. I’ll let her fall asleep and finally get a chance to have time alone with Mother.

But I worry how well I’ll be able to pull it off because the pain in my head is getting worse and so is the dizziness. I have to, though. I have to.

It takes forever before Cecelia finally enters the room to summon the next team of caretakers. I immediately stand up tall and nod to Cecelia. Then I gently tap Esther’s shoulder. She startles and comes to attention.

“It’s our turn,” I whisper, bracing myself against the dizziness when I stand. Esther looks a bit confused at first, but she stands and follows me to the door.

Cecelia looks puzzled. She looks to Ezekiel for direction, but her concern gives way to a smile when we both catch Ezekiel’s nod of approval. I hurry, not wanting to give him the chance to change his mind.

I’m not prepared for what I encounter in Mother’s room. The first thing that hits me is the rancid smell of sweat and blood combined. Mother’s eyes remain closed. Her face is whiter than bleached linen hanging in the sun. She looks fragile. I’m about to take her hand when her face contorts and a strange guttural sound comes from her mouth. Mother Rose holds a blood-soaked washcloth in her hands.

“She’s too weak to scream now,” she explains. She dips the cloth into a bucket, wrings it out, and wipes Mother Martha’s leg under the blanket. When she pulls the cloth out again, it’s saturated with blood.

“Oh, Eva, you shouldn’t be here,” Mother Rose says in her mousy voice.

I fight the feeling that I might faint. “Yes, I should,” I say.

“It’s our turn,” Esther adds as she takes the bucket from Rose.

I struggle with every ounce of energy to keep my composure. I’m vaguely aware that Rose has left the room.

“Mother, it’s Eva. Can you open your eyes for me?” I can’t disguise the sob in my voice.

Her lips form a weak smile, and after a moment her lashes begin to flutter. Slowly she opens her eyes. They flash with anger when she looks at the gash on my forehead. For the first time I think about what I must look like.

“What did he do to you?”

Her words are furious and uncensored. I notice the startled expression on Esther’s face, but there is nothing I can do. I squeeze Mother’s hand gently.

“I’m okay, Mother,” I say.

I direct my attention to Mother Esther. “It looks like she has some strength left,” I say.

Mother Esther nods. Her hands are under the sheets. “Spread your legs a little further, dear. I need to see how far dilated you are.” It isn’t until I hear Mother Martha moan and see Mother Esther remove her bloody hand that I realize what’s happening. That hand was actually inside of her.

“She’s hardly dilated at all,” Mother Esther says, shaking her head.

I think I might really throw up. Instead I rest my hand on Mother’s shoulder. “You’re going to be all right,” I say. Our eyes lock. She knows my determination. I cannot let her suffer like this any longer.

I pretend I’m kissing her cheek, but instead I whisper, “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Twenty-Seven

I hand Esther a towel so she can dry her hands after “cleansing” them in the bloody water. “I’ll get us some fresh water,” I say. I pick up the bucket and move toward the door.

“Thank you,” Esther says. “We’re running low on towels too. Could you stop in the laundry for those?”

“Sure.”

Mother groans. I squeeze her hand and reassure her that she’ll be okay.

It’s hard to walk without swerving, hard to stay focused. I lean against the van that remains in the courtyard until the dizziness quiets down. I have to get Mother to the hospital. Can I really rescue her when I’m hurt myself? The answer is a shout inside me.
She’ll die if I don’t.

The keys are still in the ignition. Good, but first I need to get inside Ezekiel’s house. I remove the garage door opener from the visor and trudge along as quickly as my uncertain legs will carry me. The whole way I pray.
Please God, let the door between the garage and house be open. Please.

It is.

I scurry to Ezekiel’s bedroom and pray that his cell phone will be on his bedside table like I remember from the first time I was in his room.

It is.

God
is
answering my prayers! My knees go weak as I dial Trevor’s number and the dizziness gets worse. I want to rest on a comfortable bed, but not Ezekiel’s bed. The thought is repulsive. Instead I lean against the wall for support.

Even though I know Trevor’s number by heart, I misdial twice. “Answer! Answer! Answer!” I whisper into the phone.

“Hello?”

Finally! His voice is sleepy.

“Mother’s in labor. Tell me how to get to the hospital in Boulder.”

“What? Eva?”

“Yes. It’s me. Trevor, please. I need those directions.”

“Wait! Let me call 911. They’re better equip—”

“No! If anybody comes here, they’ll get shot. I’m not joking, Trevor. Ezekiel’s got everybody trained. We’re supposed to shoot to kill anyone who tries to enter.”

“I know,” he says. “Then you’re in danger trying to get out of there.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have a plan. I’m okay.”

I wish I had a
better
plan, but all I can think of is to get Mother into the van and drive as fast as I can safely drive.

The only sound is breathing. His are deep, considered breaths; mine are rapid, too rapid. I have to calm down. Finally he breaks the silence. “The directions are easy. Turn left at the second stoplight in town. It’s about a half mile on your right. Use the side door that says ‘Emergency Room.’”

“Thank you.” I start to hang up.

“Wait!” he says. “Do you even know how to drive?”

“I’m fine.” I repeat. If he only knew. “I’ve got to go.” But as I close the phone, he gets in two more words, “Be safe.”

Back in the garage, I stare at the guns stacked on the shelves. Somehow, until this minute I hadn’t fully realized that they were purchased for killing people. They’re not just for shooting bottles or targets that look like a person. These guns are here for violence, for blood and guts and the death of anyone who’s not a Righteous Path member. Maybe even me, now that I’ve become a traitor.

I have an idea, one that may save Mother’s life and my own. I scurry back into Ezekiel’s bedroom, ignoring the increasing pain in my head and the dizziness sudden actions seem to cause. On the bedside table, right next to his phone, are his keys to the BMW. I take both with me.

When I return to the garage, I open the trunk and shove armloads of guns inside. I know that Ezekiel and Jacob have guns on them, but getting rid of the rest means fewer bullets fired. This could save lives if it comes to that.

As I pick up the last armload, I hear a pop. A gun has gone off, one with a silencer. I look down to see the air whoosh out of the tire on the back driver’s side.

The whole situation is so bizarre that I laugh. I laugh until tears stream down my cheeks. Ridiculous, hysterical laughter. Somehow it calms me, and the calm sparks another idea.

I pick up the gun that went off. It hadn’t occurred to me that any of these guns would be loaded. I face it toward the front tire and shoot. Pop, whoosh. Two more times—pop, whoosh, pop, whoosh—and the tires are flat. Even if Ezekiel has another set of keys, he won’t be able to follow me now. I make sure that the trunk and car doors are locked before pocketing the keys.

I’m dizzy. I’m nauseated. And something more: I’m filled with a sense of power I’ve never felt before.

But when I look at Ezekiel’s disabled BMW, I realize the implications of what I’ve just done. There is no going back now. No changing my mind and deciding to stay in Righteous Path. I need to get out of here as much for my own survival as Mother does for hers.

If God is the God Ezekiel portrays, I am surely damned. But if he’s the God who feels so right in my heart, a loving and forgiving God like Aslan, then I’m doing the right thing.

The thought gives me courage to continue. I close the garage door behind me and scramble to the courtyard where I’ve left the empty bucket.

In the kitchen I stagger to the sink and vomit.

Oh God, if you want me to get Mother out of here safely, please help. I can’t do this alone.

I take deep breaths to calm myself and fill the bucket with warm, soapy water before I return to Mother’s trailer. Fortunately Esther’s eyes are closed. Mother looks paler than before, and the sheets are blood soaked. I glance at the wall clock and realize that forty-five minutes of our precious time have gone by. When I set down the bucket, Esther startles awake.

I force a smile. “Rest, Mother Esther, it’s fine. I can take care of Mother Martha for a while.

“I’m not resting,” she snaps. “I only close my eyes because it helps me pray.”

She signals me to come closer.
Please don’t smell the vomit
, I think. When I approach, she whispers in my ear. “This is going badly. She’s not dilating. It will take hours, maybe even days, and she could …” She stops herself from saying the word I so fear.

I return to Mother’s side and place the back of my hand on her face and forehead. “She’s burning up! Is it normal to have a fever during labor, Mother Esther?”

Her face looks grim. “It’s not good.”

When Esther nods off again, I squeeze Mother’s hand. “Will you be able to walk to the car?”

She shakes her head. “Don’t do this. Too dangerous. He’ll kill you.”

“I’m. Getting. You. Out. Of. Here.”

Her lips stretch to form a thin smile. “Thank you,” she mouths.

Esther springs forward again in her chair. “Did you say something, dear?”

I want to scream. She’s such a light sleeper. I’ll never get Mother out of here unless I get Esther out first.

“Oh dear, we’ve got to get her cleaned up.” Esther looks around the room. Her eyes focus on the one towel remaining.

“Where are the towels?” she asks.

“I’m so sorry, Mother Esther, I forgot them.” I hesitate a minute, hoping she’ll offer to go, but she doesn’t. “Would you like to stretch your legs a bit and go get them?” It’s bold of me to ask an elder to do something. She scowls slightly when she stands up but proceeds stiffly toward the door.

“Tea,” Mother Martha says. “Please, some tea.”

“Of course,” Esther replies. She stands up a little straighter and walks with purpose.

I kiss Mother’s forehead. “You just bought us ten extra minutes. But we’ve got to go now.”

When I try to get Mother to stand, I discover she’s dead weight. I lose my balance, and we both end up in a heap on the bed.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’ll try harder.”

Seeing her this way breaks my heart. This time I brace myself and we manage to get her on her feet. Her weight is almost entirely on my shoulders, but she manages enough strength to step forward. Twice she almost ends up on the floor, but step by painful step, we somehow make it to the van and into the backseat. Once down, she’s too spent to move.

“They’ll hear you,” she whispers.

Out of the corner of my eye I see figures leaving the chapel. I duck down. Does this mean that Ezekiel is letting everyone go to bed? But I hear nothing more, and when I peek through the window, I see MaryAnne headed toward the trailer with little David on one side and Daniel on the other. Apparently Ezekiel is just letting the kids go.

When I peek out the window again, I’m greeted with the shocked face of Mother Esther. She lets the tea slip from her hands. The cup breaks when it hits the ground. “What are you doing in that van?”

“Shh, they’ll hear you.” I will myself to keep a calm voice. “Just returning the van to the garage.”

“You left your poor mother alone to do something no one asked you to do!”

“I’m sorry, Mother Esther, but it was wrong for me to leave the van here, and it will only take a minute. Why don’t you make more tea while I clean this up?”

She gives me a hard, angry look, turns, and starts for the kitchen. But she stops suddenly and swings around toward me.

“No! You can make the tea this time, and you can clean this up. I’m getting back to your mother.”

When she discovers Mother is gone, she’ll be screaming in a matter of seconds. I’m out of time. I jump into the car, tell Mother to brace herself, and speed down the long drive as fast as possible.

The first shot rings when we’re almost at the gate. It’s either Jacob or Ezekiel since they’re the only ones with guns. I knew this would happen, of course I knew, but the fact that either one of them would shoot at
me
… It’s still a shock.

“Mother, pray that the gate is unlocked.” I consider plowing through it, but it’s heavy and if it damages the van too much, we won’t get out of here. Instead I screech the van to a stop inches from it. The gate pushes open easily, but the shots are close enough now that one hits the back window. When I scramble to get back into the van, another shot hits the window.

“Get back here, Eva. You won’t get away with this.” The voice is Jacob’s.

From the rearview mirror I can see a swarm of people by the garage and know that they’ve discovered the tires and the missing guns.

“How are you doing?” I call to Mother once we’re on the road.

“Eva, they’ll be right behind us.”

“No, Mother, they won’t.” I take in a breath knowing that what I’m about to say will shock her. “I shot out the tires of the BMW.”

Silence. Then an unmistakable chuckle erupts from the backseat. When I peek in the rearview mirror, she’s actually smiling.

“Only you,” she says.

Her affection calms me. It helps to round the first bend because I can no longer see Righteous Path. I have the advantage since I’m driving the only operating vehicle.

I can’t believe I’m on this treacherous road for the second time in one day. This time with a head injury. And with Mother and the baby.

I want to race down the mountain road, but it’s too treacherous. When we’re not on ice, we bounce along on stones. Mother moans with every bump and swerve. When I look back, I see that more and more of the white blanket is dark with blood. I force myself to go slowly so she’ll bleed less and not suffer as much. “Hold on, Mother! Please hold on.”

No one seems to be following us, much to my relief. But when the road eases into a straight line, I see flashing lights some distance ahead. Why lights? Police? They can’t be for me unless Trevor …

The road dips and swerves again. At the point where the van is higher than the approaching cars, I see flashing blue-and-red lights on several cars. They practically blind me. I pull over to the left as far away from the edge as possible and wonder how they’ll ever get by since the road is so narrow. But they don’t go by me. They pull over ahead of me. Now I see that there are two squad cars and an ambulance in the rear.

An officer gets out of his car. He approaches me.

I’m frozen.
Police.
Everything I’ve been told about police is bad. They’ll hurt me. Burn me like the Branch Davidians. Take me from my mother. Put Ezekiel in jail. Force me into a foster home. Take away my purity. Steal my salvation.

I lock the doors as if that will keep the police out. I tremble and the pain in my head soars. Mother is a silent lump in the backseat. Even as my head spins from turning and I must clutch the steering wheel so I don’t throw up, I remember what is real and true. She’ll die if we don’t get her to the hospital. I will my voice into calmness.

“Mother, we have help now. An ambulance is here to take you to the hospital and you’ll be fine.”

Mother groans. “Thank you.”

An intense light blinds me. The officer motions for me to lower the window. “May I see your driver’s license and registration?”

I shake my head. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”

God, I don’t care if he puts me in jail. Just please save my mother.

The policeman shines a light on Mother, and his face looks like he’s just seen something horrifying. I turn to see what he’s seeing. She is almost transparent from the loss of blood, and her lips are blue.

It’s too much—the motion, the bright light, Mother fading before my eyes, police. I vomit. All over the passenger seat.

“We’ve got the woman who’s in labor and a young girl. The girl needs medical attention too. We need to move fast,” he says into a little machine.

“Are you Eva?”

“Yes.”

Now I
know
Trevor called. How else would this man know my name?

“Is anyone following you?” He points up the path.

“I think so. But they’re on foot. Unless they decided to ride the horses.”

“And they have guns?” He points to the hole in the back window.

“Jacob and Ezekiel have guns. But I locked the rest in the truck.”

“What trunk?”

“The trunk of his BMW. And I have both sets of keys.”

The officer smiles. “Clever girl,” he says.

Three people with a strange-looking bed open the back door to help Mother.

“You’ll need to step out of the car,” the officer says. His badge reads
Officer Brad Snead
.

He’s going to arrest me or hurt me. But the ambulance people have Mother on the bed with wheels. They’re helping her.