Down from the Mountain (18 page)

Thank you, God.

The earth does not feel sturdy under my feet when I get out. I stagger.

He flashes that light in my eyes again. “Whew! That looks nasty.”

I nod, which is the worst thing I can do, because suddenly I vomit again. This time it hits his shoe.

I hear Mother moan. She’s on the rolling bed and is at the ambulance. They lift the whole bed, and amazingly the legs collapse underneath so now it’s like a regular bed.

“Please, can I be with my mother?”

A commotion behind us demands our attention. Three policemen point their guns toward something I can’t see. They shine floodlights up the road and in and around the bushes.

“I bet they followed us,” I say.

“How did you get hurt?” Officer Snead asks.

“Ezekiel hit me and I flew into the altar. He wants to kill me.”

“Why would he want to kill you?”

“Because I took Mother Martha and she’s carrying—well, Ezekiel says she’s carrying—the next prophet.”

“He’s the leader, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. He’s not going to have an opportunity to hurt you again,” Officer Snead says. “I’ll see about getting you inside the ambulance. You’ve probably got a concussion.”

He helps me sit down on the passenger side of the car and places his little talking machine close to his mouth. I miss what he says next because there’s more yelling behind me.

“Put your hands up!” one of the policeman yells. I turn to see two officers up the road with guns pointed toward the bushes. Then an unmistakable voice.

I crouch down in the seat as far as I can and shake uncontrollably. The voice I hear is Ezekiel’s.

Twenty-Eight

“I’ve been shot. Help me,” Ezekiel yells.

It’s his voice but he sounds so different—not the thundering, righteous man who rules Righteous Path. He sounds puny, whiney even.

“Drop those guns and raise your arms!” an officer yells.

“I can’t. I’ve been shot in the shoulder.”

My curiosity is greater than my fear, and I sit up to see what’s going on. Even from this distance, I can see them both clearly under the glare of the officer’s light. They walk almost together, Jacob with both arms in the air, Ezekiel lumbering slightly behind with only his left arm in the air. The only guns are those carried by the officers behind them and the one carried by the officer in front.

Officer Snead takes over. “Are you Leo Farmer?”

Leo Farmer? I think I heard that name once but I don’t know where.

“I am Prophet Ezekiel.” He juts his chin out proudly. “But my name doesn’t matter. I’m bleeding here. I need an ambulance.”

Jacob’s mouth drops open like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Neither can I. Now that Ezekiel’s hurt, medicine is not only okay, it’s his right!

“Who shot you?” Snead continues.

I suddenly realize that I have no reason to cower in the car. There’s nothing he can do to me now. I ignore the dizziness and get out of the car.

Ezekiel sees me immediately. He points a finger in my direction. “That girl shot me.”

Now it’s my mouth that’s wide open.

“What?” Jacob says. “ C’mon, Prophet Ezekiel, you know that’s not true. Why are you saying that?”

Something heavy weighs on my chest. It hurts to see Jacob waking up to the truth about Ezekiel.

“What did happen?” Snead asks Jacob.

“He shot himself. His gun went off when he was mounting Aspen, his horse.”

“It doesn’t matter
how
it happened. I need
help
,” Ezekiel says. “I’ll bleed to death without it.”

“We’ll get you help,” Officer Snead says. “But you’re not bleeding that badly and we have a bigger emergency to deal with right now.” He points to the ambulance. “We’re trying to save the life of a woman who may have already bled to death—because of you!”

I hear a scream and slowly realize that the sound is coming from me. “She can’t be dead. No, God, please.”

Somebody, an ambulance person, I think, puts an arm around me and says something. I’m not hearing her words, but her voice is caring and reassuring. She ushers me to the ambulance.

“She’ll be okay, she’ll be okay, she’ll be okay,” I reassure myself.

“And that young girl may have a serious concussion because of your physical abuse,” Snead continues. “Now give us your real name.”

“You have to help me, regardless of race, gender, or creed.”

As the medic is about to lift me into the ambulance, Officer Snead asks me another question. “Can you identify this man?”

It takes me a minute to compose myself. Any respect I had for Ezekiel is gone. The terror I felt so many times is gone too, extinguished by his actions tonight. Not only was he willing to hurt or kill me to get Mother Martha back, but he demanded medical attention after denying it to all of us for so long. And he lied about me shooting him. I straighten myself up and walk right up to Ezekiel.

“I don’t know if his real name is Leo Farmer. He’s called himself Ezekiel since I first met him as a little kid. We are supposed to call him ‘Prophet,’ but I can tell you that he’s not a prophet.”

Ezekiel glowers at me, but he doesn’t scare me anymore. “You’re still promised to me.”

“No, I’m actually free of you.”

“Damn you,” he says. And he spits in my direction.

Jacob has moved farther and farther away from Ezekiel. His face is stricken. “I’m sorry,” he mouths to me, tears glistening in his eyes.

“I know,” I mouth back. It’s sad to see him so defeated, but I manage a smile so he’ll know that I don’t hate him.

A voice from inside the ambulance calls to Officer Snead.

“The patient here confirms that this man is Leo Farmer.”

“He told me once,” I hear her say weakly as I approach the ambulance.

Mother’s talking. That has to be good.

“You have said it,” Ezekiel says.

The attendant helps me into the ambulance where Mother, pale but alert, smiles at me.

Snead continues, “Mr. Farmer, I have a warrant for your arrest for the unlawful imprisonment and rape of one Marie Thompson …”

Marie Thompson—that’s Rachel!

“You are also charged with two counts of embezzlement and four counts of fraud in the states of Arizona and Colorado. These don’t include the charges you’ll face for abusing this young girl, and God help you if the mother and baby don’t make it. You have the right to remain silent …”

With that, the ambulance door is closed and I can’t hear any more.

Mother has some kind of mask over her face. “For oxygen,” the attendant says. She also has a needle in her arm with two bags on a pole above her. “We’re giving her blood plasma and intravenous fluid,” the attendant says. “That should give her some strength until we get to the hospital. But she’ll need several blood transfusions.”

“We’re ready to take off,” an attendant says.

Now that I’m back with my mother, everything else falls away. She smiles at me, actually smiles!

“The stuff they’re giving me is helping,” she says.

“I can tell.” I laugh in relief, but the movement brings on another wave of dizziness and nausea. “You’re going to be all right, Mother, and the baby will too. You’ll both be just fine.”

I’m jostled slightly as the ambulance begins to move, but the straps on Mother’s cot keep her steady.

We’re quiet as I try to breathe through another bout of nausea and Mother groans with another labor pain. After a few minutes she places her hand on my arm. “Are
you
okay? Does that gash hurt much?”

“Not the gash so much, the nausea and dizziness.” Sadness washes over her sallow face.

“Honey, there’s something I have to tell you.” Her chin shakes and tears roll down her face. “The baby didn’t make it.”

I shake my head, not willing to take this in. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“No, Eva. He stopped moving several days go.”

My throat hurts too much to respond.

“I wanted to—I tried to tell you—in the barn.”

“Is that why you have a fever?”

“Probably. I’m sure I have an infection.”

The nurse-attendant places a cloth cuff around my arm. She explains to me that she’s taking my blood pressure. I nod, although I have no idea what a blood pressure is. I’m too lost in my own thoughts to be curious.

It’s a relief to not be driving and to be with Mother. It doesn’t matter that the attendant is with us. No one’s going to turn me in for anything I say to Mother. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Mother says.

We ride in silence for a little while, Mother with her eyes closed and me biting the inside of my mouth against the pain in my head and all the worry.

I go back to thinking about Ezekiel’s arrest. The policeman used Rachel’s real name: Marie Thompson. Slowly the puzzle pieces fit together. When Rachel left, she must have gone to the police and reported Ezekiel. Maybe Trevor didn’t call the police at all!

When Mother opens her eyes again, she quietly says, “I’m sorry.”

I don’t ask what she’s sorry about because it doesn’t matter now.

“No, please …” I say. I don’t want her using all her energy.

“I thought Ezekiel would save our souls.” She swallows hard. “And I didn’t want your dad to have the chance to take you from me.”

I don’t want her to use up her strength but I can’t help asking, “Why?”

“I wanted you just for me.” She closes her eyes, and I can see by her face that she can’t continue talking.

This is the talk I’ve wanted to have for so long, but not like this. She’s far too sick to talk about this now. And it doesn’t matter anymore.

“No,” I say firmly when she opens her mouth to speak again. “You need to save your strength.”

We go over the last big bump before we reach the paved part of the road, and Mother’s eyes go wild with pain. I squeeze her hand again. Pretty soon she looks as bad as she did before she got the fluids. The nurse turns a button on a little machine. “I’m giving her more oxygen to help her breathe.”

She stops responding, and I’m terrified.

“Mother, Mom … Mommy,” I cry. “Stay. Here.” I clasp her hand as tightly as I can. “Mommy, please.”

The nurse checks her heart and her pulse. “She’s hanging in there, and we’re almost to the hospital.”

That cavern inside me, that empty space where Daddy was supposed to be, is so deep now that I’m afraid I’ll fall to the bottom and break apart.

Six Hours Later

Twenty-Nine

When we first got to the hospital, one of the ambulance people said that Mother had a pulse and was “hanging on.” But they wouldn’t let me go wherever they took her.

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in a private room, alone. And there’s nothing I can do about it because I’m stuck in a bed that has side rails like a baby crib, and I have intravenous fluid going into my arm.

I have a button I can push if I need anything. Then a nurse comes in.

“I promise we’ll let you know the minute we hear anything about your mother,” they keep saying. But I can’t help asking how she’s doing. Somebody has to know.

If Righteous Path is an alternative religion, the hospital is a whole alternative world. It’s weird. So many people in and out of my room—and they all ask me the same questions. There are IVs, tests where I get poked, and strange machines that take pictures of the inside of your head. I push the button in the bed to bring my feet up, then use another button to bring them down again.

I like the buttons for turning the television on and off and changing the channel, but as much as I’ve wanted to watch television forever, it hurts my eyes too much.

Each time I hear a knock on the door I freeze, thinking it’s Ezekiel. I can’t quite comprehend what the police said—that he’d get his shoulder looked at, but then he was going to jail.

This time when I hear the knock, I remember that Ezekiel is not here. “Come in.”

It’s Trevor. He takes in a noisy breath and groans when he sees me. Then his face turns to rage.

“Ezekiel did that to you? That bastard. I hope he’s in jail for a long time.”

The corners of my lips turn up into a smile. “Thanks. Everyone at Righteous Path thinks I’m a traitor.”

I was mad at him about something, but now I can’t remember what. By the time he gets to me, his face is washed clean of the anger I just saw. He hugs me and takes my hand.

“How are you doing, Eva?” The softness in his voice makes my eyes tear.

“I have a concussion, and I still don’t know if Mother is okay.”

I tell him everything that happened and how brave Mother was. “She was in such terrible pain, but she still had the courage to try the escape.”

“But how did you do it?” Trevor asks.

“I blew the tires out of his BMW, hid the guns in the back of the van, and took his keys.”

Trevor’s eyes grow huge. “You did?”

“Yeah, so they couldn’t get into a big shoot-out and kill people.”

We’re interrupted by a nurse. She uses a little light to check my eyes for a concussion. She also holds a needle with more medicine in it. “How’s your head?”

“It hurts.”

“And your nausea?”

“Better.”

“Good. Do you think you could eat something?”

I haven’t thought about food in all this time—not since breakfast yesterday morning. I shrug my shoulders.

“You can have whatever you want. Maybe your friend could help you pick something from the menu.” She hands the menu to Trevor and sticks a needle in my IV. “Something for pain,” she says.

“Somebody has to know something about Mother. Please! It’s been hours.”

She sighs. “Look, I understand that this is hard for you. But your doctor will give you a report as soon as she gets up here. Try to relax, and maybe get some sleep after you eat .” She doesn’t sound like she understands at all. She peeks under the bandage that’s wrapped around the top of my head. “Looks okay, but I’ll bet it’s really sore.”

With Trevor’s help, I order a grilled cheese sandwich.

The nurse takes her time typing notes on the computer. When she finally leaves, I blurt out the questions I have been waiting to ask. “Did you call the police and an ambulance?”

“Yup,” he says without pausing, “I sure did.” He sits up taller in his chair.

“You could have gotten us killed, Trevor.”

“I did what I had to do. The police have training in handling these situations. You don’t.”

It’s a challenge going from a sitting position to lying down. I make the transition very slowly, managing to keep my head from spinning again.

“You did so well. How smart to disable Ezekiel’s car and hide the guns. That was inspired.”

“I think so too. God was helping me. But it means nothing if Mother doesn’t make it.”

“Even if your mother doesn’t make it, you’re going to make it.”

“Well, the police and ambulance attendants were wonderful. Not the horrible people we were taught they were. But I see why Ezekiel hates them so. He was already in trouble for fraud.

“Did you know that Rachel went to the police too? She told them she was an underage bride. She probably told them that he planned to marry me too.”

Trevor buries his head in his hands and makes a moaning sound. “Of course he wanted to marry you. You’re young and beautiful, and he’s got to be sixty-something.”

“How do you know?”

He quickly points to the television. “His face is all over the news. Should we turn the television on?”

The idea of seeing him on television makes my stomach turn. “No. I already know what he looks like.”

A young girl walks in with a tray of food. But my head pounds when I try to chew the sandwich, and I give up after two small bites.

“I can’t stay awake, Trevor, but I don’t want you to leave. Will you stay with me?”

“Of course,” he says. And I let myself drift off to sleep.