United States of America. It’s a free country.”
“Not in some households. Look into it, Jack.”
“I will.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a generous payment meant to keep her on his side.
Yvonne pocketed the money, thanked him, and hauled her tote to her car, where she faced him. “The kids never go anywhere, never do anything. Can you imagine their children?”
Hermits or rebels. Or worse.
“Say, did their mom happen to call?” he asked.
“No, nobody called. The phone didn’t ring. Not even once.”
The phone never rang, friends never stopped by, and Miranda would consider it a sin to escape into a soap opera or a romance novel. No wonder she popped St. John’s wort capsules, the earth-mother version of Prozac.
“Have you ever heard of homeschoolers who ban fiction?” he asked.
“No!” One hand on her car door, Yvonne stared at him. “One of my girls homeschooled her kids, and sometimes I thought she spent half her grocery money on paperback novels.” She nodded toward the house. “These aren’t your normal homeschoolers, hon.”
five
A dream of tumbling down a mountainside woke her and slid away. Still half-asleep, Miranda sought something solid. Something that wouldn’t fall out from under her. Time slipped and slued, fishtailing like a car on ice, spinning her through the recent past in no particular order.
A roommate, snoring. A nurse, checking vital signs. Opening and closing the divider.
The rattles and clinks of food trays. Food smells. Doctors, asking too many questions.
She took a deep breath and gasped at the agony that knifed her chest.
“Hurts to breathe, doesn’t it?” A gray-haired nurse popped into view. “Broken ribs are the devil himself. Remember, now, don’t be afraid to mash the button for more meds. It’s controlled so you can’t overdose.”
“I’m … fine.”
She couldn’t remember what had happened. Yesterday? Or the day before?
A fragrance of flowers came from the other side of the divider. Sweet and light, like the girls’ violets—
The children! She had to call home. That’s what she had to do. Dial 532 … no, 352. No, it was.… The digits jumbled themselves in her head until she wanted to scream.
“Excuse me, nurse?” Her voice was rusty, her throat dry. “I can’t remember my own phone number. Could you find it for me, please?”
“That’s a concussion for you. Sure, I’ll track it down. Give me a few minutes.” The nurse left the room.
Miranda lay still. Tears seeped onto her cheeks. She couldn’t use her right hand to dry the tears because her shoulder hurt so badly that she couldn’t lift her arm. Slowly, she raised her left arm. It trailed an IV line. An ID bracelet rasped against her wrist.
A sob caught her in the ribs like a giant’s fist. She felt as if she’d been in a fight, pounded by some merciless bully. But what had happened?
Think .
That was it. She’d been trying to think. Day after day, she’d gone to the cliffs, alone. Praying. Planning. The days blurred, and she couldn’t remember much about her last walk. Just that the sun had burned through the fog as she’d stood by the cliffs. Maybe, dazzled by the cloudy white sunshine and lightheaded from fasting, she’d fainted.
Who had the children? Nothing else mattered.
Jack had them. Because she’d written that letter and she’d changed her will. Because Mason planned to move the entire church to North Carolina. That was almost as crazy as some of Carl’s ideas, but Mason had warned her not to stir up trouble. So she’d dragged Jack into it. By now, he must have decided she was the crazy one.
She opened her eyes to convince herself that she was awake and in her right mind.
She hadn’t dreamed it. Mason had threatened her.
“Your visitor was a good-looking guy,” her roommate volunteered from the other side of the curtain. “Your husband?”
“No. My husband passed away a couple of years ago. That was his brother.”
“Oh,
“Not in some households. Look into it, Jack.”
“I will.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a generous payment meant to keep her on his side.
Yvonne pocketed the money, thanked him, and hauled her tote to her car, where she faced him. “The kids never go anywhere, never do anything. Can you imagine their children?”
Hermits or rebels. Or worse.
“Say, did their mom happen to call?” he asked.
“No, nobody called. The phone didn’t ring. Not even once.”
The phone never rang, friends never stopped by, and Miranda would consider it a sin to escape into a soap opera or a romance novel. No wonder she popped St. John’s wort capsules, the earth-mother version of Prozac.
“Have you ever heard of homeschoolers who ban fiction?” he asked.
“No!” One hand on her car door, Yvonne stared at him. “One of my girls homeschooled her kids, and sometimes I thought she spent half her grocery money on paperback novels.” She nodded toward the house. “These aren’t your normal homeschoolers, hon.”
five
A dream of tumbling down a mountainside woke her and slid away. Still half-asleep, Miranda sought something solid. Something that wouldn’t fall out from under her. Time slipped and slued, fishtailing like a car on ice, spinning her through the recent past in no particular order.
A roommate, snoring. A nurse, checking vital signs. Opening and closing the divider.
The rattles and clinks of food trays. Food smells. Doctors, asking too many questions.
She took a deep breath and gasped at the agony that knifed her chest.
“Hurts to breathe, doesn’t it?” A gray-haired nurse popped into view. “Broken ribs are the devil himself. Remember, now, don’t be afraid to mash the button for more meds. It’s controlled so you can’t overdose.”
“I’m … fine.”
She couldn’t remember what had happened. Yesterday? Or the day before?
A fragrance of flowers came from the other side of the divider. Sweet and light, like the girls’ violets—
The children! She had to call home. That’s what she had to do. Dial 532 … no, 352. No, it was.… The digits jumbled themselves in her head until she wanted to scream.
“Excuse me, nurse?” Her voice was rusty, her throat dry. “I can’t remember my own phone number. Could you find it for me, please?”
“That’s a concussion for you. Sure, I’ll track it down. Give me a few minutes.” The nurse left the room.
Miranda lay still. Tears seeped onto her cheeks. She couldn’t use her right hand to dry the tears because her shoulder hurt so badly that she couldn’t lift her arm. Slowly, she raised her left arm. It trailed an IV line. An ID bracelet rasped against her wrist.
A sob caught her in the ribs like a giant’s fist. She felt as if she’d been in a fight, pounded by some merciless bully. But what had happened?
Think .
That was it. She’d been trying to think. Day after day, she’d gone to the cliffs, alone. Praying. Planning. The days blurred, and she couldn’t remember much about her last walk. Just that the sun had burned through the fog as she’d stood by the cliffs. Maybe, dazzled by the cloudy white sunshine and lightheaded from fasting, she’d fainted.
Who had the children? Nothing else mattered.
Jack had them. Because she’d written that letter and she’d changed her will. Because Mason planned to move the entire church to North Carolina. That was almost as crazy as some of Carl’s ideas, but Mason had warned her not to stir up trouble. So she’d dragged Jack into it. By now, he must have decided she was the crazy one.
She opened her eyes to convince herself that she was awake and in her right mind.
She hadn’t dreamed it. Mason had threatened her.
“Your visitor was a good-looking guy,” her roommate volunteered from the other side of the curtain. “Your husband?”
“No. My husband passed away a couple of years ago. That was his brother.”
“Oh,
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