Chapter Text
Part One: Reunions
The radio crackled with the drawling warnings of an evangelical preacher droning on about the evils of the world that threatened to drag us all down to the fiery pits of an eternal and tortuous hell. The driver slapped at the back of his neck, wiping away a mosquito with a smear of blood and smushed brown guts and limbs. The old Camry swayed up and over the deep potholes that covered the dirt trail they tried to call a road. The Camry itself had seen better days and the drive from the airport had been treacherous. The entire while, Grace Basset had dug her freshly painted nails into the faded, stained nylon of the car door, grimacing at the whining of the engine and groaning of the rusty screws holding the rust bucket together. Some relief came to her as they got off the highway, but as they continued on into the Louisiana forest, her anxiety began to mount.
She pulled the faded letter from her pocket, written on old parchment style paper with smudged ink, she looked over the words her sister had written her for the millionth time. Almost ten years had passed since she had seen her. In that time there had been the occasional phone call, a surprise postcard from Nepal or Zambia, or a picture of her with a quick note on the back. Grace preferred the silence. She was able to forget she even had a sister, until she’d pick up the phone and hear her voice, or she’d go to the mailbox, flip over the envelope, and see the familiar scrawl of her carefree writing. Then she was right back there on the front porch, tears streaming down her fourteen year old cheeks, calling after the car her sister was running out to, a suitcase in her hand.
“I’ll be back soon!” she called as she slammed the passenger door shut. Their father was raging inside. Things were breaking. Her mother was sobbing. And Grace knew even at fourteen that her sister was lying.
“Take me with you!” she had cried, almost falling down the rotted out steps of their trailer.
“I love you, Grace! I’ll see you soon!”
And then her boyfriend had spun the wheels as he drove the car away. She sat down on the steps, hugging her knees to her chest, and cried until she slept, and then she slept there till morning, waking only at the sound of her mother, with the assistance of her father, crashing into the coffee table with a terrible cry.
Grace had followed her sister’s footsteps. On her 18th birthday, she packed her bags and moved to Boston. She didn’t know how, but her sister found her address every time she moved between crappy studio to rotting slum. Unlike her sister though, Grace did not see the world. She didn’t dine with a Tongan People of Polynesia or build a school for Kalmyk children in China. She worked crappy jobs as she worked herself through an English degree and got a job at a tiny local newspaper that wrote 500 word articles on new rotaries or pile ups on I-95.
She had been editing another such blurb when the letter came. She had almost thrown it out. Her feelings for her sister had been something she had subdued and suppressed for as long as she could remember. Since the day she stepped off the porch. She had never tried to sort through the complicated sea of emotion she felt when she saw her name or heard her voice. Did she feel anger, hatred, resentment, love, longing? All of them and none of them. But she ripped the letter open and read it anyway. In ten years, she had never received more than a paragraph from her sister, and there she was, sitting at her small kitchen table, with three pages of tightly written words scrawled across the odd paper, expressing her love, her regret, and imploring her to come visit her as soon as possible. Too long had passed since they were together and she had so much to make right. It spoke also of the little community she had found and planned to spend the rest of her life in. She’d seen so much of the world, that she knew this was where she wanted to be. She wanted Grace to see it, so that she might fall in love with it as she had, and that perhaps, if she was so lucky, Grace might decide it was worth making her home as well.
Grace responded to the letter with a short note that provided her phone number. A week or so after she mailed it, she received a call on her cell phone from an out of state number. She almost declined it, but a niggling feeling took hold of her, and instead, she jabbed the green button.
“Grace!” her sister’s voice had been breathless and full of excitement.
The phone call had been brief. She was borrowing a phone from a stranger. They didn’t have phones where she lived. But they made arrangements and that day, Grace was scraping together what she had in her bank account and took the entirety of her sick time to leave for Louisiana. She reread the words again, ignoring the tardy platitudes and apologies, and focused on the words she had shared about this new community she had made her new family. Grace could not help but think the word cult. It seemed so unlikely to her. Her sister was tough, smart, independent. She wasn’t the weak minded, simple, vulnerable fool that fell prey to cults. She was reminded with a painful jolt that she had not seen her sister for ten years. She knew her only through the lens of a frightened and lonely fourteen year old girl. She was going to meet a stranger.
She looked up from the letter as the brakes squealed. The road had come to an end. A small red shack rested at the edge of a brackish looking swamp, and a small rickety dock. Goosebumps erupted over her skin despite the heart. The AC on the camry didn’t work. The windows were down, welcoming in the thick, damp heat of the summer day. The car finally came to a stop and the driver opened the door with a groan that matched the screeching of the rusty joints.
“Ay there, Harry,” the driver called with a wave of his hand. He had told her his name, but she couldn’t remember it. It had been Daniel, maybe Dvaid? Daryl? A man down by the dock raised his red hat in a small wave of greeting. He spit something black and tar-like out onto the water. He had white hair and a big belly. David or Daniel or Daryl opened the trunk of the car and took out her bag. He slung it over his shoulder and walked down to the rickety dock. There was a canoe with a small motor at the back. The thought of getting into the water with only that canoe as protection.
“Are there um… are there crocodiles in here?”
David or Daniel or Daryl and the red capped man shared a private laugh. They spoke to each other in what sounded like it was probably French a hundred years ago or so, and then David or Daniel or Daryl turned to her.
“No crocodile, Miss Grace, but we do got gators. Shouldn’t bother us none if we don’t bother them,” he said. “Cross my heart.”
He stepped off the dock and onto the boat. The canoe rocked as he dropped her bag, but when he reached out to offer her his hand, the boat had steadied. She hesitated on the dock. A thick bead of sweat dribbled down the back of her neck and she felt a terrible sense of foreboding. She could turn back now, ask David or Daniel or Daryl to get back into the deathtrap and bring her back to the airport. She’d leave a note apologizing to her sister and tell her if she ever found herself in Boston, she would have a place to stay with her in her tiny studio. The letter felt heavy in the back pocket of her jean shorts and that little nagging feeling that she needed to make sure her sister was safe. She needed to see this place for herself and know it wasn’t a cult. Her sister was far too smart for it. She braced herself and then took David or Daniel or Dayrl’s hand and stepped into the canoe. She gave a small wave to the red capped man, who responded with a nod and spit another black gob between his dry, chapped lips.
The engine sputtered a moment and then reared to life and soon they were speeding through the slow moving brackish water, gazing up at the towering cypress trees, Spanish moss floss floating down toward them. It was a miraculously beautiful, yet eerie sight. As they pressed on, the water turned clearer, greenish in hue, though not clear, reflecting the looming trees jutting out of the water above. She kept an eye out for alligators but found none. Eventually, they turned up a tiny little tributary, along a little island, and then she saw a large expanse of beautiful, lush green grass. I saw a small group of men standing by a long, well made dock, dressed in plain white shirts made of light linen and tan pants of a similar fabric. Some wore sandals, others were barefoot. One had a full beard, the other was clean shaven, another still had a bit of stubble on his face. They waved their hands as they approached.
“Darius!” one of them greeted as the motor came to a sputtering end. Grace reached for her bag and let out a little sigh.
“Darius,” she repeated to herself with a soft shake of her head. Darius helped her out of the canoe. The dock swayed under their feet but felt secure. The group of men came closer. They all appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties. One, the one with the full beard, had a smattering of tattoos across his face. As he extended his hand toward her, she was able to see that the tattoos were also stretching up his arms and all but covered his hands.
“Antonio,” he greeted her.
“Grace,” she said with what she hoped was a polite smile. She didn’t want to offend him by staring, but she couldn’t help but look over the tattoos that covered him.
“It’s ok,” he said, drawing her eyes back to his. “You can look. I was a Latin King for most of my life. Since I was twelve. We don’t have secrets here. This place is about acceptance and rebirth. Moving past our sins and embracing life and living it to our fullest extent possible.”
Oh my god, Grace thought. It’s a fucking cult.
“That sounds great,” she said.
“Grace?”
Grace turned her head to the right. Coming down a little curve of the lush green lawn, was a familiar looking stranger. She was thin, wearing a pair of pale orange linen shorts, and a plain white tank. She was barefoot. Her thick brown hair fell in waves over her pale shoulders. She had braided yard anklets around her ankles and the same bracelets around her wrists. The yarn was of different colors and thickness.
“Oh, God. Oh my God, Gracie!”
Her sister ran past the group of greeters and threw her arms around Grace’s neck. Grace put her arms around her slowly. Her sister’s body was warm and soft, and it trembled violently. The trembling struck such a nerve of vulnerability that Grace could not help but tighten her arms around her sister. She pressed her nose into the lush, dark locks and breathed in deeply. Her sister smelled wonderful. Like lavender and roses. Fresh and clean. Grace felt a rush of self-consciousness as she considered what she must smell like after almost a full twenty four hours of travel.
“More time for hugging once we’ve got her up to her hut, Faith,” Darius said. Faith pulled back with a pretty pink blush to her cheeks. Grace felt tears prickle at her eyes. Faith was as beautiful as she remembered her. Dark hair, stunning blue eyes, perfect round face, delicate eyebrows, slightly upturned nose, slender lips. The only thing that they had in common were their eyes. Big, round, and blue, like a perfect summer sky.
“Sorry,” Faith blushed. She rubbed her hands on her linen shorts. “Let me show you. Father had a new hut built just for you. It’s beautiful. We spent a full week building it. He said if you decide to stay, it will be yours.”
“Father?” Grace asked as Faith took her back and slung it over her shoulder.
“Oh,” Faith blushed again, a bright smile touching her lips. “That’s what we call him. He’s amazing, Grace. Really amazing. I’ve never met anyone so… wise. But, you don’t have to call him that.”
Oh. my. God. It’s a cult.
Grace looked around. They walked up along the hill, over the fresh green slope, and in the distance loomed a large white house with a wrap-around covered porch. Beside it, was a massive, sprawling oak tree, covered in Spanish Moss. Hanging form one of the massive branches, was a tire swing, and it jarred her to see a group of children taking turns pushing each other on it.
“Are there families here?” Grace asked.
“There’s about a hundred of us here, most are families. You’ll stay on the single side though. But we can mingle at meal time and worship and of course at our daily chores -”
“Single side?” Grace asked. They stopped about a hundred feet from the large white house. Faith pointed to their right.
“Families live that way. Once you’ve married, you get a new plot of land and a new home. Everyone chips in to build it. It’s great fun and then the entire community has a celebration that lasts three days. I’ll ask Father if I can show you my home. Yours is very very nice, just a bit smaller. We -”
“You’re over on the…” Grace started. She looked down at her sister’s hands to find them naked. “Are you… married?”
Faith bit her bottom lip and shifted from foot to foot.
“It happened so quickly, Gracie. And it was before I truly started my counseling with Father. Obviously, I would have loved for you to be here. He’s working right now, but you’ll meet him tonight.”
Grace nodded, taking a moment to process the information in silence.
“And when do I get to meet this famous Father?” Grace asked, unable to keep her voice from sounding flippant. Faith cast a hesitant look her way and began leading her down a windy path into a nestle of trees. There were a smattering of huts. Some looked like yurts, other little luxury shacks made of food, elevated from the ground, with thick wooden shutters and sturdy roofs.
“Oh, you likely won’t,” Faith said. “Not for a while anyway. Father is very busy and he gives his attention to those who have proven themselves worthy. I was here four months before I was invited to the house. When it does happen, it’s a great honor.”
Unease prickled its way up her spine.
“You will see him at meals though and at worship.”
“I’m still Catholic,” Gracie said. Faith turned to look at her in surprise. Grace gave a tight smile. Faith nodded. It wasn’t exactly the truth. She was a Catholic in the way most Catholics were Catholic. She was baptized Catholic so she would die Catholic. She didn’t really listen to the Pope, she didn’t believe in probably more than half of the teachings, and she couldn’t remember the last time she went to church. She was Catholic and she didn’t need anyone to save her.
“Yeah, of course. You don’t have to convert or anything. Trust me, when you hear him speak -”
“Is he some sort of prophet?” Grace asked. Faith laughed breathlessly.
“Oh, God no,” Faith answered. “No, it’s a lot, I know that. Let’s get you settled and then I have to run back to work, but I’ll come get you for dinner and we can talk. Father agreed I can have tomorrow off and we go have a picnic. We have so much to catch up.”
Faith touched Grace’s cheek.
“God, you look so grown up,” she whispered. “So beautiful.”
Faith gently brushed a loose strand of greasy blond hair behind her ear. Faith’s eyes swelled and then she stepped back. She cleared her throat and forced a smile.
“Here, this is you,” she said and led her up a little dirt walkway. The door did not have a lock. It was the first thing Grace noticed as her sister opened the door and led her inside. It was a well made, two-room hut with smooth floors made of a pale wood and dark wooden walls. A thick, handwoven rug covered the pale floors and there was a queen sized bed on the far wall, with two dark nightstands on either side. The bed was covered with white linen and had four, sizable pillows.
“We make most of our own stuff, but some things we get from town. We grow most of our food, but we trade too. We take turns going into town every couple weeks during the summer.”
Grace stepped in closer and placed her bag on the floor. She sat down and tested the bed. It felt great. Surprisingly soft.
“Do you like it?” Faith asked, eyebrows raising hopefully.
“It’s beautiful,” Grace said. It wasn’t a lie either. It really was. She could see rich people dropping a fortune to come stay at a place like this, off the grid and in peace for a few weeks. Faith’s face erupted into a grin and she looked around proudly.
“Great. Good,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Well, I have to get back to work and I’m sure you want to get settled in. I’ll come by to get you before dinner. There’s running water, but no electricity. Hot water is very limited. You share the pump with four other homes, so usually, we try and alternate use of the hot water. Today is your day though, so feel free to take a nice hot bath. The bathroom is through there.”
Faith waited, smiling at Grace, and clapped her hands together.
“OK, I’ll see you soon,” she said. Grace nodded and pulled her phone from her pocket. She checked her service and found she had none. She wasn’t surprised. She had been expecting it, but she was disappointed all the same. She turned the phone off and slid it back into her bag. Faith shut the door softly behind her and Grace was left alone. Cicadas were buzzing loudly and she could hear children laughing in the distance. That prickling sensation returned.
They’re just a bunch of harmless hippies, Grace thought. Nothing she had seen so far really screamed danger. It was weird, but Faith had always been a bit off the wall. A free spirit. Impulsive. The fact of the matter is, ending up in a hippie commune run by a man egotistical enough to refer to himself as Father didn’t surprise her. She would be leaving in seven days and that would be the end of it. She’d tell her friends about the crazy hippies she met along the way and talk about how she thought she was going to be kidnapped and married off to some cult member and they’d all have a good laugh at how ridiculous it was. She’d write to her sister, visit her every couple of years, and go on with her life.
She got off the bed and went into the bathroom. The bathtub was made of finished wood and there was a small toilet beside a matching sink. She very much doubted the ability to get hot water, but as she turned on the water, steam began erupting from the water. She tested it and gave a little sigh. Despite the heat, she needed a good hot scrub to get the grime of her trip off of her. She stripped down, mindful of the bathroom window and the linen curtains blowing inward. The breeze was nice, but she didn’t much feel like having anyone looking in on her while she was bathing. Wrapping a towel around herself, she reached out to close the shutters. These did have a latch.
The waters felt nice and she was surprised to find a couple little jars of rich smelling oils and dried flower petals beside the tub. She drifted off to sleep, her head resting on the back of the tub, and started with a jump. There was a loud bang and then the sound of children bursting into laughter as they ran passed the hut.
“You kids aren’t supposed to be over here!” a young woman shouted from the hut next door. The kids wailed and ran away in fits of laughter. Blinking sleep from her eyes, Grace remembered where she was. She dipped her head underneath the now cool water and scrubbed her hair clean. She felt glorious by the time she got out of the tub and took the time to shave her legs and under arms in the leftover water.
In her room, the towel wrapped around her body, she threw her bag open and grabbed her makeup bag. She worked some anti-frizz into her hair and then applied some face cream. She placed her medication on the night side table and turned back to her back to retrieve some clothing for dinner. The clock on the wall said it was only two thirty. She hadn’t thought to ask Faith when meals were held or when she would be back.
A shriek ripped from her throat when she turned to find a smiling young woman standing in her doorway, dressed in a navy blue dress and sandals, a yellow ribbon in her hair. The dress was made out of the same, light linen fabric she had seen almost everyone else wearing since she arrived.
“Jesus. Christ,” Grace got out, hand to her chest. The young woman’s smile did not leave her face, but her brow rose and she blinked quickly.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said. “I’ve come right from the House.”
Grace blinked at her, mouth wide open, staring at her in disbelief.
“Do people just walk into other peoples homes around here?” Grace asked, unable to keep her annoyance from her voice.
“Well… yes,” she said. “In the single section. What would you be doing that requires privacy?”
Grace blinked, then motioned to herself in the towel. The girl looked her over.
“Oh,” she breathed and offered a condescending smile. “Do not worry. No men are permitted on this side of the gate in the singles quarter.”
“I don’t really want anyone walking in on me naked to be honest,” Grace said. She would have to talk to Faith about getting a lock on her door.
“You’re not naked,” the girl said, clearly not understanding why Grace was upset. She looked young. Hardly older than eighteen if she even was.
“Um… ok, so… what can I help you with?” she asked. The girl smiled and came forward.
“A gift from Father for you,” she said and laid the dress out on the bed. “He wants to see you in it tonight at our meal.”
He wants to see me in it? Grace thought, her stomach doing a little turn. She placed the dress down on the bed and took a couple steps back.
“We are all very excited to have you here,” the girl continued. “Well… I will leave you.”
The girl gave a little bow and then all but skipped from the hut. Grace followed her across the floor, looking for anything that might work as a lock. She would definitely be talking to Faith about this. Eager to get dressed in the event she had another visitor, she walked over to examine the ‘gift’. It was another dress, similar to the one the girl was wearing. A dark navy blue, cinched in the middle, and would fall to just below her knees.
He wants to see you in it tonight.
Grace snorted and grabbed a pair of jean shorts from her back.
“Sorry, Father, but you’re going to be disappointed.”
She then walked over the bathroom, shut the door tight, and changed as quickly as she could.
-
Faith walked in just past four o’clock. Grace looked up from her book, sprawled across the soft linen blankets on the bed. Faith had changed into a dress, very similar to the gift from Father, but hers was a pale orange color. Her hair was up and she had flowers in her hair. Grace sat up in bed and snapped her book shut.
“Does no one knock?” she asked, taking her glasses off her nose and tossed them down on the side table.
“Oh, sorry,” she laughed. “In the single units there’s no locked doors. Father has a prohibition against premarital sex and so the men and women are kept separate until they marry. Since no one should be doing anything that requires privacy, the single units are considered almost… common spaces. It also encourages marriage.”
“So literally anyone is allowed to just walk in whenever they want?” Grace asked, brow furrowing. Not to mention the fact that Grace could think of a lot of things that require privacy other than sex.
“Oh no. Not after curfew. And obviously, no men are permitted on this side of the gate. Except for the Governors of course, when they’re doing checks.”
“When is curfew?” And who are the governors?
“Sundown,” Faith answered. “God, I was always so jealous of your hair. Look at those highlights. You’re just so beautiful.”
Faith cupped her cheeks and looked at her intently.
“I’m so glad you came, Gracie,” she whispered. Her tears threatened to spill over again. “Come with me, I’ll show you around before supper.”
Grace gave a little smile and grabbed her sunglasses. She was almost down the steps of her temporary home when Faith turned. “Oh, no, you can’t wear those,” Faith said. She bit her bottom lip. “You can’t cover your eyes.”
Grace hesitated and then removed her glasses. She mouthed the word ‘OK’ and tucked the glasses into a belt loop of her shorts. Faith introduced to her some of her neighbors. They were all young women, between nineteen and twenty five. Some were coming back from work dressed in their linen shorts and shirts. Others had changed into their dresses, similar to those like the one Faith and the girl wore.
They exited back out of the walkway and Faith pointed out ‘the gate’ she kept hearing mentioned. It was a wooden fence about twenty feet long that separated two trails. The other went down to the mens’ singles. Next, Faith brought her through the gardens. They grew a lot. They had cabbage, peas, carrots, asparagus, corn, tomatoes, and a couple different kinds of squash. They raised chickens, had four cows and eight pigs. They had work horses, which were cared for very well by the looks of things.
The people looked happy. She didn’t see any frightened glances or hesitant looks. No signs of distress or fear. They had over five thousand acres. Father owned the land. Faith wasn’t able to answer any of Grace’s questions about how he got the land, when he opened it up to people, how it was opened up to who and why. Faith slid out of those non-answers with ease, redirecting Grace’s attention to something else for a momentary distraction. That knot continued to gnaw at her though. Everything about the place was just weird.
The dining hall, which looked like a massive barn, was just out of sight of the House. The House itself had an unencumbered view. You could see the water but not the dock hidden beneath the slope of the hill. They had to pass the House as they made their way to the trail where the dining hall was located. Everyone ate together and everyone had one serving. Portions were managed strictly and there were severe punishments for anyone stealing food.
“What kind of punishments?” Grace asked. Faith hesitated, then put a smile on her face.
“Oh, restriction of free time and movement. Restitution. Extra shifts. Stuff like that,” she said. Grace nodded and looked toward the House. Three tall figures stood on the porch. Two were turning away, stepping in past the large mahogany door and slipping inside the house. One figure lingered. They were too far away for Grace to make out too many of the characteristics, but she knew it was a man. She knew he was tall and she knew he was broad shouldered with a muscular build. He linen pants and a matching shirt, both white. He appeared to be barefoot. He could have been thirty, he could have been fifty. It was hard to say from this distance. She did know though, that he was looking at her. Her feet slowed and she squinted in the direction of the setting sun, orange exploding across the sky. Children were laughing and she could hear women singing. She finally slowed to a stop. The intensity of his gaze, as far away as it was, radiated in her limbs. Her heart rate accelerated but she couldn’t stop herself from staring.
“... and then, in the winter, we sometimes take the… Gracie?”
Faith realized she was no longer with her and turned around in confusion.
“Gracie what - oh… oh that’s Father.”
Grace felt her sister’s hand on her elbow.
“Come on Grace, let’s go,” Faith said. “You shouldn’t stare. It’s impolite.”
Grace nodded and finally looked away. She tried to fall back in line beside her sister, but that invisible force pulled her face back toward the covered porch. When she did, she found it empty. She tugged at the bottom of her jean shorts as she continued on with her sister toward the dining hall, not so small part of her wishing she had put on that dress.