Down from the Mountain (6 page)

Ezekiel begins singing the parable. His voice is strong and deep and holds such authority that you can’t help but listen and follow. When I was little and new here, I obeyed him out of fear. But it was his singing—deep, clear, certain—and his radiant smile that finally won me over all those years ago. I wanted to please him. I craved hearing his voice directed at me when it was gentle and loving, and especially in song. I quickly learned that we all wanted that, wanted his approval and acceptance. In my mind Ezekiel’s voice was the voice of God, and his smile was God smiling. Of course I wanted him to smile at me.

When we’ve finished that parable, Annie requests the song we made up that we sing to the tune of “Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore.” But we sing it like this: “Mother Rose is heaven bound, alleluia. Mother Rose is heaven bound, alleluia. Mother Rose is the best around, allelu-u-ia.” We sing it using one name at a time until we’ve gone through everyone’s.

Annie leans in to me, and I lean in to Jacob. I peek at the twins’ faces. Their attention never wavers.

God,
thank you for bringing me to Ezekiel. Thank you that Esther has the heart not to report me for dropping the beads. Please help me to accept your word through him and to follow your will.

Seven

“That’s it!” Rachel says, beaming. “We’re sold out.”

The two of us are at the Boulder flea market where we’ve hardly been able to take a breath since we opened at eight.

“And it’s only eleven,” I add, shaking my head. “Now I really don’t have to worry about Mother Esther reporting me.”

“Of course not,” Rachel says. “We made more money than ever before, but we could have sold so much more.”

Rachel locks the cash box while I begin folding the chairs and table. It’s been just the two of us today because Esther managed to convince Ezekiel that a third person isn’t necessary on these trips to Boulder. Like most of the women in Righteous Path, she hates going out in public. When she gets back from town, she takes at least two showers to remove the heathen poison from her body.

My eyes pan as many booths as I can take in—food booths that sell hot dogs and Cokes, one that sells cotton candy. That one always has a line of excited kids and harried parents. In the line down from me are booths with pies and homemade canned goods, sausage and honey, aprons and pot holders, and all sorts of crafts. It all feels so rich. My mouth waters at the thought of tasting some of each. But I get nervous around so many people. Why they want to cram together, practically touching each other, seems strange to me. I have to take deep breaths and look up at the sky every few minutes so I don’t feel suffocated.

When it’s not so crowded, I love to watch all of them. I especially love listening to their conversations because their words reveal how they think.

“Excuse me.” The face of a vibrant, pretty woman interrupts my scanning and imagining. She looks to be in her early twenties and is wearing one of the necklaces I made.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m looking for the jewelry booth. From the directions, it should be right about here.”

“This is it,” Rachel chimes in. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh no,” she says. “My roommate got me this necklace, and I just love the design. I was hoping to see others, but it looks like you’re closing up.”

“Thank you. But, yes, we’re sold out,” Rachel says.

The girl nods. “I’m not surprised. This is beautiful.” She fondles the necklace she’s wearing. “I make jewelry too—just for myself. I was wondering where you get your supplies.”

“Beads Galore,” I say.

The girl looks surprised. “Really? They’re too expensive for me!”

Rachel and I exchange glances. If there are cheaper places to get supplies, we sure don’t know about them.

“Are there other bead stores around here?” Rachel asks.

“No. You’d have to go to Denver and they’re not a lot cheaper, but have you gone online to shop?” she asks. “You have to buy in quantity but you can get everything cheaper. Sometimes you pay less than half the price.”

Disappointment is written all over my face. “We don’t use computers,” I say. There I go again, blurting something out that no outsider needs to know.

The girl looks puzzled. She eyes us up and down. A new understanding dawns on her face. “Oh, you must be from a cult.” Her face turns red and she slaps her forehead. “Um, I mean religious group, right?”

We both nod silently.

“Well, thanks for the beautiful necklace,” she says. “I’ll have to check back another time. I’m told every piece you make is unique.”

I stay with our stuff while Rachel gets the van. The whole time I think about what it would mean to Ezekiel and Righteous Path if we could get cheaper supplies and make twice the money selling jewelry. Our work on the neighbor’s ranch last summer meant we didn’t get very much canning done the way we usually do. Not that the corn and beans we freeze and the canned fruits and vegetables go all that far, anyway.

Last winter I overheard Rachel comment to Mother Martha that she hadn’t had her monthly for three months but didn’t think she was pregnant.

“It could be because we fast so much,” Martha had said. “You’re not the only one with that problem.” She had sighed then and made the comment that if we had more money for food, we probably would fast less often.

I was shocked. It had never occurred to me that we fasted for any reason other than that God told Ezekiel we must sacrifice by fasting. But this had made me wonder. Did God tell Ezekiel we needed to sacrifice by fasting, or was Ezekiel himself deciding we should fast for the practical reason that there wasn’t enough food?

When we get into the van, Rachel hits the lock button and begins counting the money. “Four hundred thirty-five, thirty-six, and thirty-seven. My word! When we subtract the twenty-five we started with, we still brought in four hundred twelve dollars. That’s the best we’ve ever done!”

“And that doesn’t count all the tips,” I say. I reach into my apron pocket and pull out a handful of bills.

Rachel looks shocked. “You kept your tips?”

“I didn’t keep them for myself. I just kept them separate so we’d know how much we made from jewelry and how much from tips.”

“Good idea,” Rachel says, looking jealously at the bills I’m pulling out of my pocket. “I threw mine into the main pot, but I don’t think I got anywhere near the number you did.”

My stomach grumbles—loudly. I excuse myself but Rachel laughs.

“Me too,” she says.

My search for the peanut butter sandwiches in the backseat comes up empty. “I was sure I packed them.” I sound whiny, even to myself.

“Oh, Eva, I’m so darned hungry,” Rachel says. She looks straight ahead and drums her fingers on the steering wheel in silence. After a minute she gives me one of her shiny-eyed I’ve-got-a-great-idea looks. “You know what? I’m sick to death of peanut butter, and we’ve got forty-eight dollars in tips. Plus we’re done so early. Let’s celebrate and eat in a real restaurant!”

Now it’s my turn to look straight ahead. I understand why Rachel is tempted by the material world of restaurants and such. She lived as a heathen until she ran away at thirteen. It’s my responsibility to tell her that this desire comes from the devil himself. I should tell her we need to go home hungry, even though that means we won’t have anything to eat until dinner.

But I don’t want to tell her this. She shouldn’t have to suffer because I forgot our lunch. Besides, I haven’t gotten to eat in a real restaurant since our move here from Arizona. We ate at McDonald’s twice and a wonderful place I’ll never forget—the International House of Pancakes. Just remembering makes my mouth water.

“We do have the tip money,” I say. But I know Ezekiel would never approve. All money, no matter how it’s obtained, belongs to Righteous Path. And the rule of thumb has always been that if you wouldn’t do it in front of Ezekiel, you shouldn’t do it at all. I open my mouth to protest but she holds her hand out to stop me.

“I’m the elder here, and I’m responsible. If I say we go out to eat, we do.” She smiles, showing those deep dimples she has on each cheek.

I stifle a laugh. Rachel may be the elder between the two of us but she’s only eighteen. As Ezekiel’s youngest wife, she doesn’t always get the same level of respect the other women do. It must make her feel important to be my boss.

We hop out of the van and practically skip to Pearl Street Mall. Rachel and I have two precious commodities we almost never have—time and money. I toss aside my concern and forget that I’m wearing “prairie-girl clothes,” as one rude customer called them. I pretend that I fit into this strange world and that going out to lunch is something I do all the time. Besides, as Rachel pointed out, Boulder is filled with so many kinds of “different” people that we do almost fit in.

On the Pearl Street Mall, every third building seems to be a restaurant. We pause at each one so that Rachel can read the menu posted on the door or window. As hungry as I am, I’m far more interested in watching people than reading about food. I love watching families sitting at tables together, laughing, talking, sharing food. At one table, a boy and girl about four and six blow paper at each other from their drinking straws. Instead of getting angry, the parents laugh right along with the kids. A real family. I imagine the family consisting of me as the little kid with Mom and Ezekiel.

No! I push Ezekiel out of the scene and try to picture Mother, Daddy, and me. A terrible longing fills me too full. But it’s guilt that makes me push the thought away. Daddy was not chosen; he’s not saved. Thoughts of him put my own soul in jeopardy. I will him away just as I have so many times before.

“Perfect,” Rachel says. We’re standing outside a small café. “Not too expensive, yummy-sounding food, and it looks quiet too.”

Inside the café are fifteen or so small tables. Every table is busy except one near the back. At first I notice that most of the tables have orange-and-white-checked tablecloths with a small pot of daisies in the center. Even though the flowers are plastic, they look springlike and cheerful on such a gloomy day.

Then it seems to register with both Rachel and me at the same time: These tables have computers too.

“Welcome to Wi-Fi Café,” the menu lady says, smiling. She assures us that our waiter will be with us shortly and hands us a single-page menu written in such fancy cursive that I can hardly read it.

A guy about Rachel’s age and carrying a pad of paper and pen approaches the table. “My name is Trevor,” he says. “I’ll be your waiter today.” He looks like a lot of the guys I’ve seen today. A swath of his hair is painted pink, and he has piercings in his ear and nose. His face is friendly, though, with a light-up-the-room smile.

He motions toward a blackboard on the wall. “The specials of the day are listed there. Our soup is minestrone, and we have a bunch more lunch items on the menu. The ahi salad is awesome, and the prime-rib sandwich rocks. Did you want to use the Internet?”

Rachel’s eyes get big and I want to yell, “Yes!”

“No,” Rachel says firmly.

Trevor looks from her to me and then back to Rachel. I guess he can tell that we have differing opinions. “Well, in case you change your mind, the prices for using the Internet are on this card. Have you used our computers before?”

He doesn’t seem to notice our shocked faces because he’s too busy lifting a latch I hadn’t noticed before in the center of the table. Up pops a computer screen that now rests in the middle of the table. “The keyboard slides out from underneath, like this.”

I smile at him wordlessly, but I’m itching to try it out. Rachel says a polite thank-you, while he pushes the screen back inside the table, like magic.

Rachel and I both keep our faces blank, as we’ve been taught. This seems to embarrass the waiter because his face turns red. “Sorry, I made an assumption. Can I get you two something to drink while you’re deciding?”

“Tea, please,” Rachel says. But I’m more daring. “I’d like a Coca-Cola, please.”

When he leaves, Rachel shakes her head and I giggle. “Of all things—a computer!” I whisper, still laughing. “We’re breaking rules we didn’t even know we were breaking.”

“Mercy,” she whispers, holding her hand dramatically over her heart. “If Ezekiel came in right now, he’d …” She shakes her head. “I don’t even want to think of what he’d do.”

The thought of Ezekiel seeing this sends another ripple of anxiety through me and threatens to ruin my new adventure. So I push the thought away.

“Are you tempted?” I ask Rachel when I notice her fingering the latch that would release the computer. She shrugs her shoulders.

She’s tempted. Otherwise she wouldn’t have studied the price card or let the waiter show us how it lifts from inside the table and the keyboard.

I’m tempted too, really tempted. Beads at half the cost? Ordering beads online could make the difference between barely having enough to eat this winter and having the means to get all the food we need. And with Mother pregnant—well, I wonder if God is placing this opportunity before us so we can help the community.

My face feels hot because of the boldness of my own thoughts. This is prideful thinking. God would not show
me
how to keep Righteous Path from going hungry. He would show Ezekiel, holy Ezekiel. And Ezekiel would say that if God wanted us to have enough food, he’d provide it. If God wants us to go hungry, Ezekiel would say that God wanted to teach us something or that God wanted us to suffer for our sins.

The waiter brings a pot of tea, a cup and saucer, and my Coke. I don’t recall ever hearing that having a Coke is a sin, but we don’t buy stuff like that. Rachel orders a salad of baby greens and a chicken and avocado sandwich. Since I still haven’t looked at the menu, I order the same.

When Trevor leaves the table, I take my first sip of my drink and laugh in surprise as it bubbles its way down my throat. It’s sweet, and I’m not sure if I like it or not.

“I should have warned you about the fizziness,” Rachel says. “I used to love that stuff.”

I’m quiet, savoring the strange bubbly taste and taking in all the color in the room. When I think about how we suddenly have access to a computer, it seems more like a gift than a coincidence. I want to figure out how to look up bead prices something awful. I lean in to the table, ready to make my argument.

“Rachel, why is it that Reverend Ezekiel has a computer?”

“You know the answer to that. He has to keep up with what’s happening in the outside world so that he can guide and protect us. He keeps us pure from all the heathen stuff out there by forbidding us to get on the computer.”

“Right,” I say. “But I think we could use the computer in a pure way to get jewelry supplies a lot cheaper and that would benefit Righteous Path too.”

“Hold on!” she says. “So you think we should disobey Ezekiel and look up beads on this computer?” She leans back in her chair and covers her head with her hands. “Imagine the punishment, Eva.”

I study my hands. I don’t want to imagine the punishment. Instead I imagine a winter in which we have plenty of food, a winter free from an aching stomach and the sounds of the twins crying for more when watery soup is all we have. I’m suddenly ashamed to be eating out. Not that anyone at Righteous Path is hungry now, but we should be saving this money and figuring out how to make more.