RUNAWAY TWINS (Runaway Twins series #1) (3 page)

Twelve-year-old Justin Patrick
missed his father, his uncle, and Alaska. He missed the treks the three of them made into the back country; and he missed the rescues his father organized to save the lives of stranded climbers, skiers, and downed pilots. He missed the survival lessons, the rugged Alaskan wilderness, and the camaraderie he shared with the two men in his family. His aunt was now the only family he had left. The landslide had taken his father and his uncle, and his mother had died when he was an infant.

Aunt Ruby was not blood family. She was Uncle Garth’s wife and related to Justin only by marriage. While Uncle Garth lived, she seemed as solid and stable as her husband; but after his death she began a long decline culminating in her leaving Alaska for Montana and the Sheba Hill congregation.

Justin was devastated by her decision. After he and his aunt had moved into a small home in the Sheba Hill compound, he went to her and said, “How can we be part of this?”

“These are good people,” she said.

He shook his head.

“The Prophet loves us,” she said.

Justin scowled. “He loves himself and young girls.”

“Try to believe in the Prophet,” she said. “He has your best interests in mind.”

Justin closed his eyes in disgust. “I don’t believe in him, Aunt Ruby, and I never will.” His expression was intense, and his pale blue eyes were defiant. “As soon as I’m able, I’m going to get out of this place.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Justin. Where would you go? Who would you go to? I’m all you have—me and our new family here at Sheba Hill.”

“And your new husband and his other wives?”

“Elder Tate is a wonderful man, and I’m fortunate he wants me for his wife.”

Justin shook his head. “One of his wives, you mean. If Uncle Garth knew what you’re doing, he’d crawl out of his grave and come drag you away from here.”

“That’s not funny, Justin.”

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

After his aunt married Elder
Tate, Justin tried to stay away from the Tate household as much as possible. He asked if he could continue to live in the small cottage he and Ruby had previously occupied, but the Prophet said Justin was too young to live alone; and besides, he needed the warmth of a family unit.

Family unit? The Tate ménage was more like a zoo, with children running everywhere and wives in cages of their own construction. Justin’s only relief was to find ways to spend as much time by himself as he could. He often got up at first light and didn’t return to the house until after dark. Today was no exception. He’d snuck out before dawn, intending to skip chapel if he could get away with it. He went for a long walk along the outer edges of the compound, observing the temple guards for future reference. And then he took the wilderness survival book, written by his father, to the gazebo by the old covered well. He sat down on the grass with his back against the latticework and began to read. It was a cold late fall morning, and he shivered a bit; but cold or not, it was better than the Tate house and its monstrous hypocrisies.

He heard the Lemon twins run into the gazebo above him, heard their sighs and exclamations of dismay, and then heard Janie say, “…We are not going to end up like Mary” and heard Rachel’s response, “We’ve got to get away, get to Sheba for some help.” He wasn’t quite sure what they meant, but he had his suspicions. He knew the twins were approaching their thirteenth birthday and when the date arrived they would be given in marriage to one of the arrogant old men—and he was virtually certain the girls recoiled at such a union. He was tempted to stand up, show himself and tell them he understood and was on their side. But he chose not to do so. He could have misinterpreted their conversation, and even if he was assessing the situation correctly, his sudden appearance might frighten them and cause them distress. He rose to his feet and strode quickly to the woods, hoping they had not noticed him.

At dinner Sunday evening (always
an unappealing event, with Elder Tate presiding at a table of browbeaten wives and children), Justin made it a point to find out all he could about the Lemon twins. The answers were positive, and the elder made it clear the girls were anxiously awaiting their marriage to one of the elders or deacons of the Sheba Hill Temple. Tate wasn’t certain who the bridegroom would be since the Prophet had cancelled the girls’ marriage to Hank Biggars; but he knew the Prophet would make a wise and appropriate choice.

Justin stared at his new uncle and concluded that the odious old man could not conceive of a situation where young girls would not be delighted with marriage to a prominent leader in the Sheba Hill congregation.

“Why all the questions?” asked Aunt Ruby.

“I’m just trying to make friends,” Justin said.

She nodded. “Good, good. It’s time you came out of your shell.”

Elder Tate tightened his lips and said, “Keep in mind that those two young women will soon be dutiful wives. Don’t establish any improper relationships.”

Justin nearly gagged on his food. Improper? Tate was warning
him
about being improper? Amazing. “Young women?” he said. “I thought they were still little girls.”

“What?” Tate said, straining to hear.

“Nothing,” said Justin.

At school the next morning
he came face to face with the Lemon twins on the landing of the main staircase. They all paused and stared at one another, but no one spoke. Justin considered blurting out that he sympathized with them, but he held his tongue. There were other children passing on both sides, and he didn’t want to be overheard. And he still didn’t fully comprehend what the twins’ attitudes were. He wanted allies, but he didn’t want to open a can of worms because of an incorrect assessment of the situation.

Rachel broke the ice and said, “Hi,”

“The gazebo is nice, isn’t it?” said Janie.

“Yes, I like to go there and read.”

The girls exchanged glances, and Rachel said, “We saw you there yesterday. Were you reading something by the Prophet?”

Justin took a breath. “I don’t read books by the Prophet.”

In the presence of the
assembled elders, the Prophet lavishly praised Seth Lemon for his loyalty to God. “You will be rewarded for your service, both here and in the world to come.”

Seth lowered his head and basked in his leader’s approbation. He still felt a degree of residual guilt for calling security on the night he discovered his twin daughters were not in the house and that many of their significant belongings were gone. But his guilt was fast disappearing in the glow of the Prophet’s words. Seth’s wife Esther had suggested they handle the situation themselves and there was no need to involve the Sheba Hill authorities. She and Seth could go out and find the girls, lecture them on their foolishness in trying to leave the compound, and bring them home safely and quietly with no one the wiser. But he had balked. What if the Prophet found out and interpreted their actions as disloyalty. That would spoil everything; and he would be shunned, degraded. And now he knew he’d done the right thing, for as the Prophet spoke, the intent of his words was becoming increasingly clear.

“As most of you know, we have an opening for a new elder, and I can’t think of a better candidate than Brother Seth Lemon.”

Seth reddened. It was what he had dreamed about for the past ten years. His power and authority would skyrocket, and he would no longer be limited in the number of young wives he could acquire. And because the Prophet himself had made the proposal, the vote would be a mere formality. None of the current elders would dare oppose a candidate put forth personally by the Prophet. Seth nodded humbly, acknowledging the honor; and after a brief moment of concern about what might now happen to his twin daughters, he continued to daydream about his bright future.

Elder Hank Biggars shifted his bulk on the chapel’s wooden bench and made a short, positive comment regarding Seth’s proposed elevation. Biggars then moved on to what was really on his mind. With his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, he said, “Maybe the girls will attempt another run one of these days because their marriage to me was so abruptly cancelled. Young women don’t appreciate having their wedding plans tampered with.” He was about to make an additional comment regarding the Prophet’s decision to step in as the girls’ new bridegroom, but a glance at his leader’s stern expression convinced him to remain silent about the matter. As far as he knew, only he and the Prophet were aware of the new arrangement.

The other men in the group reacted to Biggars’ remarks with astonished smiles and restrained snickers. To hear that the twins might attempt another escape from the compound because of their terrible disappointment in losing the rotund Hank Biggars was almost too ludicrous to consider. Elder Tate put his hand on Biggars’ shoulder. “An interesting thought, brother. But maybe the girls can survive the blow and find some way to live with their loss.”

The Prophet regained the group’s attention by tapping on the lectern with his fingers. “Our primary concern today is to prevent another escape attempt by the Lemon girls or by anyone else so inclined. But more than that, we must recapture the loyalty of these young people…so they become solid, productive members of our community. With this in mind I’ve spoken to God about this situation, and He has instructed me to send the girls along with Elder Riggs’ rebellious wife to Bitterroot Camp for the winter. By the time Spring arrives they should all be thoroughly submissive. When they return to the compound, I’m certain we’ll be delighted with their metamorphosis.”

“Won’t they try to leave the camp?” asked Hank Biggars.

The Prophet smiled. “Elder Mobly and his wives have established some effective security procedures. Besides, as those of you who helped me set up the retraining camp know, it stands deep in the Bitterroots, miles from the nearest neighbor. It would be an impossible trek to get out—especially in sub-zero weather. Enough to discourage even the hardiest rebels.”

Seth Lemon took a deep breath and asked, “What kind of retraining do we do there? What’s our success rate? Do we have examples…here at the compound?”

“Too new,” said the Prophet. “Right now we’re still learning. There have been some early failures, I’ll admit, but we’ve changed some things and soon we’ll be on the right track?”

“Failures?” said Seth, “What kind of failures?”

“Don’t worry Elder Lemon, we’re not running a concentration camp.”

Seth blushed at the use of his prospective title. “I didn’t mean to question—”

The Prophet held up his hand. “I know. Just keep in mind that we follow God’s lead in these matters, and what I carelessly referred to as failures are really part of God’s overall plan.”

Elder Tate said, “I believe my new stepson Justin Patrick should also be sent to Bitterroot. He tries to hide it, but he’s filled with antagonism and disrespect. I don’t believe he’s fully recovered from the death of his father. He could develop into a problem if we don’t act now. If anyone needs retraining, it’s Justin.”

“So be it,” said the Prophet.

After the long drive across
the prairie and through the Northern Rocky Mountain passes, the van left I-90 at Missoula and turned south on Route 93 through the Bitterroot Valley. To the west stood Trapper Peak, the highest point in the Bitterroots, and farther south was Lost Trail Pass where Lewis and Clark crossed the mountains in 1805 on their way back from the Snake River. After about an hour and a half, the van left the highway and headed west toward the Idaho border on a series of gravel and dirt roads upward into the range that formed Montana’s western spine.

The driver and the security guard occupied the front seats and were carrying on a running lamentation regarding the rough roads and the constant bumping. Rachel and Janie Lemon, Justin Patrick, and Mrs. Riggs, the disenchanted Sheba Hill wife, sat in the back. Mrs. Riggs did little but stare mournfully out the window, but Justin and the girls were engaged in an animated conversation.

Janie said, “You mean you think you could walk out of this place?”

Justin nodded. “Of course I could.” He tapped the cover of his father’s survival book. My dad taught me a hundred ways to live in the woods. And I could take you girls with me, too.”

“In the winter?” asked Rachel.

“Winter, spring, summer, or fall. He taught me everything.”

Mrs. Riggs turned from the window and said, “Why don’t you stop giving these girls false hope. You’re not going anywhere, and you’re not taking them anywhere.”

“I could take you, too,” Justin said carefully. He lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t you like to get away, Mrs. Riggs?”

“Get away? To where? Who would want us? Who would take us in?”

“The authorities,” said Justin, “to start with. Then who knows? We could all start new lives.”

“My life is over,” she said. “Leave me alone.”

Bitterroot Camp stood at the
end of a long, winding gravel road about fifteen miles from the Idaho border. The camp consisted of one sprawling two-story building and three smaller one-story buildings, two on the south side of the main structure and one in the rear.

Elder Mobly and two of his four wives met the van under the portico. He explained that his other two wives were busy in the kitchen and would introduce themselves when everyone went inside. He was a very tall, whippet thin man, and he seemed to be trying his best to appear grandfatherly and gracious.

Justin and the girls were still filled with excitement about the idea of escaping from the clutches of the Sheba Hill Temple, and Mobly apparently mistook their exuberance for submissiveness and willingness to change. He smiled warmly.

“Good, good,” he said. “We’re off to a good start. We’ll have a fine winter.”

Mrs. Riggs remained inside the van and sat motionless, without expression. Her eyes were red and her face tearstained, and she gave no indication she was aware the van had come to a stop. The driver and the guard began to pull the luggage through the van’s rear door, and the driver spoke to Mrs. Riggs. “Please get out.”

She shook her head.

“If you don’t get out, we’ll have to carry you. That wouldn’t be a very good beginning.”

“Beginning to what?” she said. “My so-called retraining, my brainwashing? I assure you it’s not going to work with me. Maybe with these children, but not with me.” But while she was speaking, she seemed to realize the futility of physical resistance and she stepped down from the van and went to stand by the front door.

Justin’s high spirits were crushed
on his second day in camp when Elder Mobly stuck out his long bony hand and said, “Please give me that book.”

“Why?” said Justin.

“Because it’s distracting you from our lessons.”

They were in a small brightly-lit training room on the second floor of the main building. Justin was sitting behind Rachel, and while Elder Mobly had been writing maxims from the Prophet on the blackboard, Justin had been sneaking peaks at his survival guide. He had just begun to review the section on building shelters when Mobly whirled about, took a long step past Rachel, and snatched the book away.

“I’m not distracted,” said Justin. “I was listening.”

“Listening perhaps, but not concentrating,” said Mobly.

Mrs. Riggs, who had been staring blankly at the wall during most of the session, looked up at the elder and said, “Why don’t you leave the boy alone? Give him his book back and stop harassing him.”

“Well, good morning, Mrs. Riggs,” said Mobly, “it’s nice to hear from you. I thought you were in another country.”

“No, I’m here,” she said. “Unfortunately. But I assure you I’m not listening to the garbage you’re spewing about J.J. Flack.”

Mobly’s eyes narrowed. “Be very careful what you say, Mrs. Riggs.”

She laughed somewhat hysterically and said, “For seven years I lived with Elder Riggs, the cruelest, most hateful man in Montana, and you think I’m afraid of a pitiful scarecrow like you.”

Justin said, “If you give me back my book, I promise to put it away and not take it out again during training classes.”

Mobly thought for a moment and then returned the book. “Okay, Justin, I’ll take you at your word.”

Justin was pleased that at no point had the elder looked at the book’s title. He resolved that in the future he would leave it in his room and not give his jailers the slightest hint regarding what he was planning.