Down from the Mountain (7 page)

“I am not going to use a computer. It’s too risky, even for a worthy cause,” Rachel says. “And you can’t do it. You don’t even know how to turn a computer on.”

“Here you go,” the waiter says. “Two baby green salads.” He places one in front of each of us. “And I’ll be right back with the sandwiches.”

I don’t say a word more to Rachel. I don’t even look at her. I just dig into my salad, savoring every bite. I haven’t had a green salad since the last of our lettuce died with the first frost. The lettuce is crisp, the cucumbers and tomatoes as fresh as if they came out of the garden this morning. And the dressing—with its lemony scent, it has a sweet and sour taste. I’m in heaven.

“Delicious,” Rachel says to the waiter when he returns with our sandwiches.

“Good,” he says. “Did I hear you say you don’t know how to use a computer?”

I nod.

“Okay, things have gotten slow here in the restaurant. If it continues like this, I’ll have time to show you when you’ve finished your sandwiches.”

Neither of us says a word. He smiles and is off again.

I’m afraid that Rachel will devour her sandwich and bolt out the door, but I’m wrong. She eats slowly, relishing every bite.

Before we’re finished, Trevor asks if he can join us, and when I say yes, he plunks himself down, straddling a chair backward. “Okay, I’ve got some time now. So let me show you how to use this thing.”

Eight

The whole time Trevor shows me the basics of operating a computer and helps me pull up bead websites, Rachel sits across the table pretending to be uninterested. But when Trevor prints out price sheets, she’s the first to study them.

“What a difference!” she says. “But it’s no good. See here, to order these, you have to have a credit card, which we don’t have, and they have to have a mailing address. We sure can’t have beads sent to the compound. Imagine the reaction we’d get!”

She catches herself, probably because of the horrified look on my face. “We live way out in the country and can’t get mail,” she explains to Trevor, desperately trying to cover her mistake.

Trevor looks puzzled. “You can always arrange to pick up mail at the post office.”

I can’t think of a thing to say to help Rachel out. She even used the word “compound” to describe where we live. Instead I pick up the papers Trevor printed for me. Rachel gathers her stuff too, and after a hasty thank-you and good-bye, I give Trevor one of my more radiant smiles and we head to the door. I want Trevor to know how very grateful I am for what he taught me.

We leave around three, the time we’d usually finish selling jewelry. As we’re driving out of Boulder, I clutch the pricing information that Trevor gave me and wonder where I can hide it at the compound. On the way home, Rachel is quiet and distant. I have no idea what she’s thinking and I’m not about to ask.

I have a strange sense that no matter what happens on the outside—if Rachel is mad, if Ezekiel finds out about the computer—what is happening on the inside of me is more important. I don’t have words for what that is, for what exactly is changing inside me. But for some reason I can’t put my finger on, I am certain that the events of today are important.

“Remember,” Ezekiel said to me many years ago. “You’re named Eva after the very first woman God created for Adam. What do you know about her?”

What I knew was not good. But I had to answer. “She was kicked out of the Garden of Eden because she ate the forbidden fruit.”

“Yes. She ate from the tree of knowledge. And she enticed Adam to do the same.”

I’d felt it then. All the shame Eve brought upon mankind and womankind weighed on my shoulders.

Now the papers I hold bring that shame back. Have I eaten from the tree of knowledge?

We’re headed up the mountain when I hear the click, click of the turn signal. Rachel turns into the lookout space and parks alongside another vehicle. Six people stand behind a fence peering down the canyon. But we remain in the van.

Rachel turns off the engine. And I wait for an explanation. After what seems like forever, she speaks.

“What we just did was really stupid,” she says, “and the consequences could be dire. It’s my fault. I’m the elder. I’m the one who’s been entrusted with keeping you from bad influences when we’re in the corrupt world. I should have told Trevor no when he offered to look up what we wanted. But I was curious like you.”

I nod my head tentatively.

“To get back on track, we have to accept that we were tempted by Satan and we gave in to that temptation.”

“Satan? Really?” I know I shouldn’t challenge Rachel—she’s just drawing me back to the everyday beliefs of Righteous Path. But I have to tell her what I think …

“I was thinking just the opposite, Rachel—that maybe God brought that lady to our booth so she could help us save money and help Righteous Path. Maybe God brought us to Trevor for the same reason. Maybe God doesn’t want us to suffer so much this winter. I can’t imagine that he wants us to go hungry.”

My voice is getting louder now, more excited. “Rachel, I think God is giving us a chance to learn how to use computers for the good of our community. You know, use computers for our benefit the way we use the heathens when we sell them jewelry they shouldn’t wear. You saw how much we’d save.”

Then I see Rachel’s face. She looks at me as if I am evil incarnate. She presses her back against the van window, in what looks like an effort to get as far away from me as she can. When she speaks, her voice is controlled and careful. “No, Eva. No. You are not seeing clearly.” She takes a deep breath. “We have both been polluted—corrupted—by the material world. The lady who told us to look online and that waiter, Trevor, are from the devil, tempting us to disobey. They are not from God.” She shakes her head. “Oh, Eva, we’ve got to repent.”

But it wasn’t like that. When Trevor offered to help, I could tell that he was sincere. His smile seemed real, and his laugh—it just bubbled out of him like he couldn’t help being a happy guy who wanted to help. He had no idea how badly we needed to make money from the bead sales. Still, he gave us so much time and instruction.

When I hear Rachel’s words, I keep my eyes lowered and will my arguments away. But the effort makes me want to cry.

My stomach hurts. I wish Rachel would at least consider what I’m saying. It’s not that I question Ezekiel’s holiness or his direct communication with God. But lately I’ve begun to wonder about how he
interprets
what God tells him.

Finally she speaks again. “What would Ezekiel say if he heard this?”

I can see his face, his anger and disappointment in me, and all my new thoughts slip away. The feeling is one of sinking, of shrinking into that unquestioning place of obedience where I am safe from punishment but itching for more. Safety is most important.

“Dear God,” I say out loud. “Forgive me for questioning and for my disobedience. Forgive me for the arrogance of thinking I know what’s best for me and for Righteous Path.”

Rachel joins in. “Lord, I too ask your forgiveness. I led Eva into temptation by taking her to a restaurant. Please forgive me.”

She reaches out to hug me. Peace feels better than jeopardy. But I’m confused about what I believe. I pick up the price sheets and rip them in several pieces.

“Good,” Rachel says. She points to a trash can on the far side of the lookout.

I deposit the papers in the garbage can. I’m not sure if the relief I feel stems from knowing I won’t get punished or if I’m actually penitent.

It takes forty-five minutes to get to Grand Hill even though it’s less than twenty miles from Boulder. When we slow to twenty-five miles per hour going through the tiny town, the owner of the general store suddenly appears outside and waves to us to stop.

“What could he want?” I whisper.

“Be calm. He’s friendly,” Rachel says. She rolls down the window.

He has long, gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. He saunters across the street to the driver’s side.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Rachel says.

He smiles at her and acknowledges me with a nod. “The only ‘sirs’ around here are the fancy folk who visit from the big cities. But they don’t bother us too often. I’m Ed, Ed Burns, but just call me Ed.”

Rachel offers a dimpled smile. “Good afternoon, Ed. Is anything wrong?”

“I hope not,” he says. “I wanted to let you know that some city guy was nosing around last week asking about you guys. He wanted to know if there was a religious group around here. I told him there wasn’t anybody here who didn’t belong here.”

“Thank you,” Rachel says. She keeps her face expressionless, and I try to hide my alarm the best I can.

“I’m pretty sure he was a reporter,” Ed continues. “I’ve seen ’im before. This guy hung around the store, chatting me up about nothing for a while, and made it sound like an afterthought when he asked about you all. I made it clear that we like to keep things real peaceful around here. I thought you might want to tell your leader.”

“We will,” Rachel says. “Thank you for letting us know.”

Ed nods. “I mean that. We like to keep things quiet and peaceful around here.”

Nine

I hold my breath as Rachel tells Ezekiel about Ed Burns and the intruder. He grills us for more than an hour. He wants to know about Ed’s facial expressions. Did Ed give a description of the man? Did the man carry a camera, a notebook, a tape recorder? When Ezekiel asks if Ed Burns was angry with us for being the cause of this intruder, I find myself reassuring him even though I have my own doubts.

Ezekiel instantly imagines the worst. He’s sure it’s Jacob’s father come to claim him, or Brother Ralph, who will kill Ezekiel for marrying Mother MaryAnne. Or maybe it’s my father who’s finally tracked us down after all these years. That idea sends tingles up my spine. But I know better; my father abandoned me.

Desperate to reassure him, I take a risk. “He’s probably just a reporter like Ed said.” But my efforts ignite a fire.

He rails and paces up and down the narrow hallway of his trailer. “If he’s a reporter, he’ll write lies about us.” He returns to his study, where Rachel and I are seated, to make his next proclamation. “They could burn us alive like they did at Waco.” Then he paces the hall to think some more.

I hate when he talks about Waco. We’ve heard the story so many times—how the government massacred more than one hundred religious followers several years ago. Ezekiel says that they were burned alive, just because they had stocked illegal weapons and wouldn’t turn them over to the government. He’s reminded us over and over that this is why we have to be careful to stay away from governmental agencies. They could storm Righteous Path without warning and kill all of us.

His reaction is way too big considering someone simply asked a few questions. That could be harmless. Still, I’m a little nervous. If only we could have kept it from him, but we didn’t dare. This whole thing could be harmless—just a person who finds us interesting. Finally I say something, hoping to help.

“Ezekiel, it may not be that bad, really. It could just be …”

But he towers over me and spits his response inches from my face.

“
You
don’t know anything, you stupid girl. What do you know? You make a few nice necklaces, and now you think you can advise
me
?” He looks up and down my body and dismisses me with a sweep of his arm. “That’s what you are, just a
girl
, just a stupid
girl
.” He says “girl” as if the word means “scum.” “Now keep your mouth shut unless I ask your opinion.” He begins to walk away from me, then darts in front of me again. “Go! Get out of here, and leave us alone.”

I leave. It’s amazing how my legs can move when he’s slain me with his words.

I feel so many kinds of bad that it takes me a while to sort them out—clumsy, awkward, stupid, ugly, and scared of what he might do. I skip the lukewarm stew left over from dinner and hurry to my sleeping trailer where I bury my head in my pillow and wish I could sleep. I can’t. Instead I force myself into the bathroom where I look at myself in the mirror—really look for the first time in ages. The sight makes me sick to my stomach.

Two little bumps protrude from my chest. Not breasts really, just sad little nubs. I force myself to look at the ugly mass of hair that protrudes under my arms, the same auburn color as the hair on my head. Ugly. I pray that no one ever sees it. I don’t force myself to look at the hair below. It’s bad enough that I can feel it every time I go to the bathroom. But I do notice the changes to the shape of my body—hips and a waist that make my clothes fit differently. No wonder Ezekiel has such contempt for me. I’m not a girl or a woman, just a sorry, strange mixture of both.

As I dress again, I wonder about what’s happened to Ezekiel over the years. When did he become so mean? He’s always been strict to lead us to purity, but he used to be joyful—so joyful and appreciative of us that he carried us with him into seeing God as good and great and loving. Where’s all that love he used to show?

The sound of the chapel bell tells me what I already assumed. We’re going to have an emergency meeting about the intruder, and nothing will be the same again.

Ezekiel continues to pace up and down, but this time at the pulpit. “We’ve had an intruder. Someone is lurking around Grand Hill, nosing into our business and threatening our sacred way of life.”

The congregation gasps. Once somebody reported to Social Services that we weren’t getting adequate schooling, and Ezekiel thought we kids would end up in foster homes. He warned that the government had stolen children from other religious groups and brainwashed them into believing the group was bad. Between that incident and all the reminders about Waco, everyone is pretty scared.

“Until we know who this heathen is and can be confident that we’re safe, we will be on twenty-four-hour guard. That means one person will be stationed in the silo at all times for eight-hour shifts. Brother Paul is on lookout right now. I’ll spend the night there.”

I hadn’t noticed that Brother Paul was missing.

“Anyone who tries to come onto this property will be given a verbal warning. If that is ignored, he will be shot.”

I can literally see the shock waves radiating in the room. They look like heat waves but sound like blasts. Guns? Shooting for self-protection? Killing? This has never been a part of Righteous Path. I think back to the horror I felt when he pointed that gun at me in his office. A chill crawls up my spine. He could actually kill someone with that gun.

“How will we know how to shoot?” Mother Alice asks.

“We don’t have guns,” Mother Rebecca says.

“Are the heathens going to shoot us?” little David asks.

Ezekiel holds his hand out to silence everyone. “My children,” he says. “God has spoken to me in prophecy. He tells me not to be afraid of the evils outside of here. He promises to give us the strength within the community to protect ourselves and to handle whatever Satan puts before us.”

Maybe it’s his fatherly voice or the fact that he walks among us and rests a hand on several shoulders, but everyone seems visibly calmer. His anger is gone and it’s as if he’s given us, his flock, a hug with his sudden warmth.

“When Brother Paul has finished his shift at three, I will take his place while Brother Paul begins lessons in handling, cleaning, and shooting a gun. You will all learn to shoot. Even the children must learn. In addition, we’ll take turns patrolling the property on horseback and using the silo as a lookout.

“We must all pray extra hard. Tomorrow we have a Community Concerns Meeting. Make it count. Examine your conscience. Honesty brings about grace and forgiveness. Grace and forgiveness brings about purity, and purity allows clarity from God.”

After a respectful moment of silence, a low rumble begins in the room and gets louder as the mothers whisper.

At the beginning of this meeting, Mother Martha looked okay but a little pale. I peek at her now and she looks awful, like she might throw up right here. I wonder how much of her misery is about morning sickness, and how much is a result of the gun shock Ezekiel just laid on us.

I could throw up myself.

What started as whispering among the mothers is getting louder by the minute. Daniel and David jump up and down. “We get to shoot a gun. We get to shoot a gun.”

Ezekiel grins at the boys. “Yes, you do get to shoot. And every person will get his very own gun.”