The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) (10 page)

This was as good a time as any to ask questions,
but I wasn’t sure where to start. I was intrigued by the male-dominated aspects
of the interactions I witnessed and wanted to know what Martha had meant when
she had said that Moses had “sought out” Cozbi. I also wanted to learn more
about who Enoch was and why he left, but decided that could wait. It would look
strange if the first thing a newcomer did was try to find out how to leave.
Instead, I chose another direction.

“Everyone has such interesting names. Is that a
coincidence?”

“You’ll learn more about that,” Rachel said.

Thankfully, Talitha showed less restraint than
Rachel. “We receive names from Abraham when we’re baptized into the Elect. It’s
a sign of dedication and new beginning. Mine means ‘heavenly vision.” She
giggled.

“Mine is a derivative of Jael,” Jala added. “It
means “God’s servant.”

“I haven’t had my Naming Ceremony yet,” Myrtle
said. “You have to be ready to take the Vow. And you can’t do that until you’ve
lived at Megiddo for a while. Father decides when we’re ready, and it can take
months depending on how quickly you learn to submit. It’s different for
everybody.”

“Megiddo? That’s the name of the lodge, isn’t
it?”  

“No, it’s the name of the whole property. The
Elect owns a hundred and sixty acres here as well as several properties in
town.”

“I’m surprised,” I said.

“There’s a lot that will surprise you at Megiddo,”
Beth commented. She had a Mona Lisa smile tugging at her mouth. I kept my face
blank, ignoring what I thought was her oblique reference to my unexpected
arrival.

“You mentioned someone would go over things with
me.” I turned back to Rachel. “Would that be Moses?”

As expected, the women were shocked at the
thought. Martha snorted softly, but smoothed her expression at a repressive
glance from Rachel.

“Moses is a busy man,” Rachel said. “It will
probably be Maliah or perhaps Cozbi.”

“Maliah?” I said. “That’s a pretty name too. What
does it mean?”

Talitha snorted. “Bitterness. And believe me, it
works for her.”

“Talitha, that’s not fair,” Rachel interjected.
“It’s not like we name ourselves.”

“Not fair, but not wrong, either,” Talitha said.
“You, of all people, should know that.”

“But how come Maliah is still giving orientations?”
Baara asked.

“Why not?” Rachel was irritated and trying,
unsuccessfully, to hide it.

“I don’t know,” Baara continued, oblivious to the
tension her questions were causing. “With Enoch gone, I don’t really know what
her standing is anymore. Is she still higher than Cozbi?”

Heads turned inquisitively to Rachel. She hadn’t
meant for the conversation to go in this direction as the clipped, tight
quality of her next words proved.

“That’s for Father to determine. He will announce
the standings when he pleases. Either way, I am sure Maliah will be treated
with the respect she has earned.”

The women fell into abashed silence, then roused
en masse in a flurry of activity, clearing dishes, gathering jackets,
chattering in high, artificial voices. I fell in behind Martha and Baara as
they left the hall. It was fully dark now and difficult to see. Ahead, the
lights from the lodge shone out with a cold clarity, guiding us to it. Behind
the lodge, I spied smaller buildings, cabins perhaps, that I had missed before.
I sped up, hoping to ask Martha about them. When I heard Baara’s voice, soft
but angry, I listened instead.

“I’m tired of her acting so big. My standing’s
higher than hers anyway.”

“Well, I don’t have any standing. How about you
boss me?” Martha’s voice had a gentle, playful tone.

I could hear the smile return to Baara’s voice.
“Oh, Martha, I don’t want to be bossy. I just wish she wouldn’t get so snappy
at me.”

Slowing up, I let them continue forward without
me. “Standing” seemed to refer to some type of hierarchy within the community,
but that it even included women surprised me. I’d try to ask Martha when Rachel
wasn’t around.

The lodge was too big to be called cozy, but the
warmth and chatter from people moving around the Gathering Room was inviting. I
had entered from a side door facing the dining hall path. A row of hooks with
several coats hanging from it lined the back wall of the big room. Across the
way, a group of women, Beth, Talitha, and Cozbi among them, sat in a casual
circle of armchairs near the stone fireplace. Various needlework crafts were underway,
and the conversation that drifted over the hall was laced with soft laughter
and smiles.

Martha disappeared down the hall beyond the
stairs, but Baara stayed and hung her coat on a row of hooks before joining the
women. I hung back, tempted to retire to my room and collapse. Talitha derailed
that plan by waving me over to join them. Beth grinned enigmatically as I
crossed the cavernous room.

Baara laid a fire and the crackling snaps from its
flames made a pleasing background. After fending off several probes from
Talitha about my personal history, I was able to ask what was meant by
“standing.” Surprisingly, it was Cozbi who answered.

“Standing has to do with a woman’s place within
the church, although some people say it’s not scriptural for women to have any
such thing.” Her eyes cut to the church office. “Men are ranked according to
the service they perform for Abraham or how much he trusts them. Those with the
highest rank are called the Seven; they work most closely with Father. Wives
receive their standing based solely on the husband’s rank.”

“What if a woman isn’t married?”

Cozbi merely raised her eyebrows and shrugged her
shoulders.

“That’s why there’s always such fuss about an
unattached man,” Talitha chimed in.  

“Or even some married ones,” Cozbi said, her eyes
tracking a woman as she crossed the room to the stairs. Baara frowned at the
insinuation, but the other women passed knowing looks among each other. The
woman they were watching reached the stairs and began climbing. If not for her
cheeks flushing scarlet, she might have gotten away with pretending that she
wasn’t aware of their stares.

Mental note to self: check her out. If she was on
the outs with the group, she might prove to be a weak link. Beth’s next words
confirmed the possibility.

“Have they decided to shun?” Beth asked quietly.

“They can’t prove anything,” Cozbi answered
cryptically.

“You know, I’d heard…” Talitha began. She came to
an abrupt halt as Moses stepped into the doorway leading down the hall to the
office and front door.

Cozbi froze under his scrutiny, instantly morphing
her body smaller, less noticeable.  Watching the eerie transformation from
woman to wary woodland creature was disturbing. By the time her husband reached
the group of women Cozbi had erased her personality, leaving a woman-shell
behind. 

From a distance, Moses was attractive, exuding an
aura of power that was highly compelling. Closer inspection, however, revealed
a peculiarity that stripped him of physical appeal. From his patrician nose up,
Moses was handsome—blond hair thick enough to get your fingers stuck in, frosty
sea-blue eyes that were gorgeous by any standards.

Unfortunately, the lower half of his face bypassed
almost any form of chin, sliding directly into his neck. In fact, he resembled
an attractive Pez dispenser.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Cozbi rose silently and followed him to the door
with the group chorusing feminine “good-byes” in her wake. As Moses cleared the
door frame, she whipped her head around, winking at us. Nice to know she was
still alive under there.

“Are they always like that?” I asked.

“Well, they are, but don’t worry. None of the
other men are that strict. Moses is just…” Talitha trailed off, not wanting to
continue.

“Why did she marry him?”

“Because he sought her out,” Baara said. “And he
was ranked third then too.”

“I don’t think she cares about that,” one women
added.

“She’ll care if she gets dropped back to third
again,” Beth said. “If Maliah gets her way—”

Talitha interrupted. “I don’t see that happening.
I know it’s not Maliah’s fault that Enoch took off, but standing is based on
the husband’s status. With no husband…” She shrugged.

“Even if she loses her standing, they might let
her keep her privileges. Maybe not a cabin, but a big room to herself, for sure.”

“Okay, I’m lost,” I admitted. “Who’s Maliah, and
why would she lose her standing? And what are privileges?”

The woman who had commented earlier answered.

“I know it’s confusing. I’m Naomi, by the way.” In
her late fifties, with graying hair escaping in wisps from her bun, Naomi sat
next to Beth. I recognized her from the first Peace meeting; she’d been
Cheryl’s handler. “Some of this will be explained to you in your orientation
meeting, but it’s hard the first couple of days. Especially when you sit in the
middle of us chatter-boxes.”

“If Maliah does the Orientation, she won’t explain
this part anyway,” Beth said.

“Privileges come with added responsibility,” Naomi
continued. “As our founder, Father lives in the big house. The higher ranked
men and their wives get to live in the cabins around the property. After Enoch
deserted, there was talk of Maliah moving back to the lodge, but nothing has
happened yet. There’s a lot of confusion about what will happen to her. She
can’t re-marry, but of course her husband no longer holds rank. There’s been a
lot of dissension about what should happen.”

“We don’t know that she can’t remarry,” Baara
objected. “With Enoch leaving, maybe it means the marriage is dissolved.
Remember First Corinthians 7:15 says if a spouse departs, the believer isn’t
bound.”

“That explains why she’s sniffing around the new
guy,” Talitha said. “If he sought her out, she’d regain her standing.”

“She’s got her work cut out for her,” Beth said.
“A single man here is like a twelve-point buck on Opening Day. And I can’t
believe how quickly you all call open season on the poor guy. He’s only been
here a few weeks, hasn’t he?”

The group giggled.

“Father wants to avoid any distractions,” Talitha
said, “so he encourages us to marry as soon as the Spirit leads the man to the
right woman. As far as Maliah goes, she’s attractive, I grant you. But I’ve
seen him eying Tirza.”

“That’s because Tirza wears makeup,” Baara said.
Her face set in a scowl.

“And Maliah doesn’t?” Talitha’s sarcastic comment
cut in milliseconds before my own question.

“Is that allowed?” Hope made my voice lilt.

“Not exactly,” Naomi said. “False adornment is a
sign of vanity. Anyway, Maliah doesn’t wear makeup. I was a witness to her
scrubbing with soap and water in front of Father. She’s… obedient.”

“It’s not fair,” complained Baara, ignoring
Naomi’s assertion. “Tirza gets to wear it too.”

 “Tirza can only wear it at work,” said Talitha.
Turning to me, she explained, “She’s a real estate agent. Father only gave her
permission, because they thought it might affect her sales. Besides, she works
with infidels, so it doesn’t matter if they’re tempted.”

“I’d be pretty with makeup.” Baara remained
wistful and unconvinced.

“Everybody would be prettier with makeup,” said
Beth.

A chorus of agreement rose like a cloud and seemed
to signal the end of the knitting circle. Women stood, gathering jackets and
totes full of fabrics and needlework. Talitha dropped a ball of yarn, sending
it skipping under several armchairs, twining around the legs. I dove after it,
untwisting tangles as I went. There was a shocking amount of dust and wood ash
along the floor so that when I finally captured it, I was covered in dust
woofies, the bun in my hair knocked askew. Crawling out from the forest of
chair legs and women’s feet, I nearly bumped into a pair of leather work boots
topped by faded jeans. A hand reached down to pull me to my feet.

There in front of me, the smell of cold air and
wood smoke rising from his wool jacket, stood Eli.

Chapter Ten

I
made it to my
room by luck rather than design. Eli couldn’t have surprised me more than if he
had jumped out of a birthday cake wearing pink tassels and a twirling hula
hoop. Like most drunks, I had plenty of experience with “when-worlds-collide”
syndrome, but it had been a while. The last time had been when I had gotten
tipsy at a company Christmas party a lifetime ago. Tipsy as defined by blowing
daiquiri-induced chunks all over the clinic director and her festive holiday
Pradas. Twice. She threw up shortly after as well.

That same Christmas I’d gotten a copy of
Watership
Down
by Richard Adams. The one about the community of wild rabbits who,
when completely freaked out, fall into a near-catatonic state. Tharn, they
called it. I could relate.

In a state of full-on tharn, I stumbled over the
threshold into my room, scaring the crap out of my new roommate. I guess she
wasn’t used to strange women bursting through the door and falling at her feet.

What the hell is Eli doing here?

As if fate wanted to get one more giggle out of
this night, I recognized her as the woman who had caused such a stir when she
walked across the Gathering Room. The perfect opportunity to ingratiate myself
and all I could manage was a wide-eyed, blank stare and a nose twitch.
Definitely tharn.

But even as I struggled with early onset dementia,
I was struck by her beauty. Mossy green eyes. A finely carved, yet strong bone
structure. Hair that whispered several shades beyond blond, sleek and silvery.
An ancient, archetypal beauty.