Water Walker: Episodes 1-4 Part 14

"I've taken steps to make sure Eden's claim draws as little attention as possible. What you don't know is that the way I first found Eden was through her birth father's attorney, John McDermott. It was then that I also learned of the trust fund the congressman had established in her name. I saw fit then to dig up some-let's call it leverage-that would ensure the attorney's cooperation. Some details of his life that would ruin him if ever exposed, if you catch my meaning."

He offered her a whimsical grin, the boyish kind that always made her heart flutter just a little. The ways of G.o.d were mysterious and sometimes beyond the law. Isn't that how they'd rescued Eden in the first place?

She nodded.

"It's a private matter and he'll do what we need him to do-there's virtually no chance the authorities will ever learn of her claim. But we also need Eden to do what's right."

"She will. Of course she will."

"Still, we can't take any chances. This will be the first time she's ever left the property. It'll be a controlled environment, but there's always the chance she'll talk to someone we don't have control over."

"I'll be with her."

"You can never be too careful. It's important that she really knows what happened to her the night Wyatt rescued her in case she happens to talk to anyone."

"She'll say anything to stay with me."

"I know she will. She's a wonderful girl, Kathryn. You're raising her right. Now you're being rewarded for your faithfulness."

"Thank you, Zeke."

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine."

He picked up his gla.s.s and took another drink. The darkness that sometimes crossed his face filled his eyes.

"Don't fail me in this, Kathryn. We've come too far."

"I won't. I'll do exactly as you say. I owe you my life."

"Never forget that." He set the gla.s.s down. "There is one more thing."

"Of course. Anything."

"I know I've prohibited you from celebrating Eden's birthday, but I'd like to make an exception tomorrow for Paul. She seems to enjoy my boy's company and it would be fitting to let them spend some time together. Consider it a special gift on this day of redemption to soften Eden's heart. I need her to be in good spirits tomorrow."

"Whatever you think is best."

"Your redemption is at hand, but you must remain steadfast."

"I will."

"Good. Make sure Eden does as well. I know I would hate to see judgment fall on her unexpectedly."

13.

I CAN'T say that I really kept track of how many years had pa.s.sed since I'd been saved. But I was eighteen today, and that meant I'd been with my mother and father for about five years.

I had grown taller, but not by much, and I was still rail thin, maybe because of my special diet. I looked more like my mother each day, that's what my father kept saying, and that made me happy.

But the pa.s.sage of time wasn't marked by years or birthdays. Mother thought celebrating the flesh in any way only drew attention to what was fallen. Bobby's birthday was always special because he was fallen and couldn't help it. I, on the other hand, was special, so we didn't celebrate my birthdays, although I think Wyatt secretly wanted to.

For me, time's pa.s.sing was marked by how well I followed the rules every day and by the weekly baptisms. I wasn't as fond as I should be about being drowned every Sunday, but the baptismal ritual was a blessing because it meant I could start over each week and set things right for all of us since I never failed to defile myself during the week.

Mother was patient with me most of the time, and with so much making and changing of rules, I felt sorry for her. There were many times I felt sorry for myself too, because following her rules wasn't easy, I can't lie. But the real burden was on Mother, because she was the one who had to make sure I stayed pure-she reminded me of that often in the early days when I used to cry.

At times I thought that my life was just one long purification ritual, but that was my privilege-I was set apart. Sometimes I even took some pride in my purity, even knowing that pride always came before a fall-maybe that's why I kept falling each week. I couldn't properly remember how it was to live without rules, or how my life had been before my father had rescued me from a situation that would have ended terribly for me. Even the memory that I'd decided to stay with Mother for Bobby's sake had faded. My old life, in my old wineskin, now seemed like a distant dream of another world.

The number of rules had increased over the years as I became better about following them. The only way to follow the rules properly was to love them, my mother taught me. Every time I hardened my heart and thought of the rules as restrictions, I felt a sickness in my heart because that's what sin does to you. It makes you feel upside down inside. That was the Holy Spirit's voice whispering to my conscience.

If Mother told me that, for the next month, I wasn't to go outside because it was the seventh month of the year and I had to stay extra pure, feeling sorry for myself only made me angry which was sin and then I only felt guilty and would have to endure more purification.

If Mother told me that I couldn't have any chicken for dinner because she'd decided to leave the tasty skin on for the rest of them, feeling sorry for myself as I watched them bite into their drumsticks wouldn't put the chicken in my mouth. I already knew that I couldn't eat any meat with skin on it because I had new wineskin-I should be thankful.

There were too many rules for me to keep track of so I kept an eye on Mother, who warned me if I was about to forget one.

The rules I'd been practicing for a long time were easy enough to remember. Like not allowing my bare feet to touch the ground outside, ever. Or my legs. Or my arms. Or any part of my skin except the palms of my hands, and then I was to cleanse them with moonshine or soap and water before coming inside.

Like never going outside without material covering my legs to my ankles and my arms to my wrists. The sun damaged my skin.

Like bathing every morning to rid my body of all the invisible bed mites and at night to wash off all the oils and dust that collected in my pores during the day. Complete with a hair wash, nail scrub, and ear cleaning each time.

Like reciting my long and very specific prayers as I knelt beside my bed at six o'clock each morning, at precisely noon, and at six o'clock each night after which I went straight to bed even when it was light outside and Bobby was still up, playing. Rest and my special diet made sure my organs stayed healthy.

Those kinds of rules were easy to remember. The rules that Mother announced out of nowhere-only for that day, or that week, or that month-were harder, because just when I was getting used to them, the rule would change, to keep me on my toes, she said.

Like not speaking any words that began with the letter s on certain days, a rule Mother had made a couple years ago to help me watch my tongue. There were many impure words that defiled me-like dirt, and garbage, and bug, and pee-and, so that my mind would stay constantly vigilant, she added all words starting with s on some days because s started the word snake, and a snake led to the deception of the first woman in the garden of Eden. To further help me remember on those days, every time I said a word that started with s I would be made to keep moonshine in my mouth for ten minutes without spitting it out or swallowing it. The moonshine made my mouth raw.

The rules went on and on. For example: "For the next two days you will not sit on any of the furniture, angel."

"Why, Mother?" I knew better than to ask, but she would allow me this curiosity with only a harsh glare before explaining.

"They aren't clean enough and I don't have time to clean them until Friday. So you won't sit on any furniture and you'll stand at the table when you eat."

"Yes, Mother."

"You will not so much as touch any of the furniture. That will help you remember."

"Yes, Mother."

All of the rules were there for my own good, and as soon as I began to understand that, I was able to practice loving them. Which I did. To the best of my ability. At least I think I did.

But there was one rule in particular that I struggled with more than any of the others. Mother had always made it perfectly clear that I was to have no impure relationships with any other person. By this, she meant no impure contact with any girl or boy or man or woman. And even more, no impure thoughts.

"What are impure thoughts?" I asked her.

"You must not think about their flesh, especially the flesh that's covered. Adam and Eve were covered by G.o.d for a reason. Only animals engage in fleshly activity, and even they don't think about it. A human only reverts to the animal in them when impurity sets in, only worse than an animal because humans think about it too, which is doubly worse. You're not an animal so you don't act like one."

"What about everyone else?" I wanted to know.

"The rest of us can't help acting like animals at times. But you're pure, sweetheart."

I didn't really understand her comparison, but I accepted the explanation at face value.

"If you ever have an impure thought, or if you ever let anyone touch you where your skin is covered, you will tell me," she said.

"Like who?" I asked.

"Like Paul, Zeke's boy. Or like any other boy you ever see."

I hadn't seen any other boy besides Paul, and I thought of Paul, who was my age, like a brother.

"And you'll tell me immediately if so much as a single impure thought crosses your mind," she said.

"I will, Mother."

"So we can cleanse your mind of it."

"Yes, Mother."

At first, the rule was easy to keep, but as Paul and I grew older, he began to look at me with tenderness in his eyes. It made me feel special and one day about a year ago, as he helped me clean a brown smudge off my dress before my Mother could see it, it occurred to me that he liked me. I mean really liked me. I wasn't sure what to think of that.

As time went on, I began to think about Paul more and more, and words from my prior life, like boyfriend, would pop into my mind without warning. Sometimes even crazier thoughts like being married and maybe even having a baby one day. With Paul, because I didn't know any other boys.

I only told my mother about the thoughts once when the thoughts first came to me, and then only in general terms without mentioning Paul. Her reaction was immediate: she gripped her head and paced back and forth, nearly frantic, informing me in no uncertain terms that I was on a very slippery slope to defilement that would forever bring ruin to not only myself, but to her, and to my father, and to Bobby. And to Zeke.

I spent the next twenty-four hours in my bedroom closet, where the darkness was meant to wipe away all of my imaginations. She baptized me twice that next Sunday, just to be sure.

But neither the darkness nor the extra baptism worked. I didn't tell my mother about the defiling thoughts that kept jumping into my head, because I didn't want to upset her. But the harder I tried to guard against them, the more frequently the thoughts seemed to come.

What would it be like to hold hands with Paul? Or to kiss him? Or to tell him that sometimes I got b.u.t.terflies in my stomach when I thought of him.

I felt terribly guilty for both having these thoughts, and for not confessing them to Mother as I'd promised. I was living a lie, you see, and I knew that if I continued living it, I would put us all in h.e.l.l.

In fact, I'd already put myself in a h.e.l.l, here on earth, at least that's what it felt like, and the only way out was to tell Mother, at which point she would only put me in another h.e.l.l of sorts, and that h.e.l.l wouldn't stop the thoughts from coming so I would only go back into the first h.e.l.l. And G.o.d wasn't helping me with my l.u.s.tful thoughts, likely because he hated liars. No amount of pleading on my knees seemed to get his attention.

And why would he listen to me? I was in h.e.l.l.

So you see, I had worked my way into a terrible spot by the time I turned eighteen, with no way out that I could see.

And still, the moment I heard that Paul was coming for a few hours on my birthday, my heart began to beat faster. Mother had seen fit to invite him over to play with Bobby and me.

I had dressed properly, in rain boots and a long, light-blue dress that covered my legs and arms. We spent an hour or so wandering around the property and in the still house where Paul talked about making moonshine. I had never helped with "the business," as Paul put it, but I'd often heard Wyatt talk about it. Zeke made the finest shine and had customers from Arizona to Virginia who were willing to pay handsomely for his limited batches. Two nearby farmers supplied high quality, organic corn exclusively for Zeke's mash and a natural spring on the property provided a steady flow of pure water that gave the shine its uniquely sweet flavor. The whole operation, from source to distribution, was sophisticated and Zeke ran it like a skilled businessman who was as shrewd as he was ambitious. From the custom-made copper kettles used to cook the mash to the selection of each season's bottling, he oversaw every decision and was training his son to take over his empire someday.

Paul wasn't like Zeke, though. He was kind and short-Mother sometimes called him a runt under her breath-and he had curly blond hair and a smooth face and plump lips. I didn't really remember other boys too much, so in my mind, Paul was all there was, and to me he looked about as magnificent as any boy might look.

But it was the way he treated me that made my heart flutter. The way he would quickly open the door to the still house for me, as if I were a queen. The way he slowed to match my pace so he could stay close. The way he smiled at me, bright blue eyes flashing. How could I not return that smile?

I asked Bobby if he could get a blanket from the house, which he was only too willing to do. Fifteen minutes later we had it spread it out under a tree behind the house, and I was seated with my legs folded back to my right, facing Paul, who sat cross-legged watching me make one of my straw dolls.

"Eden likes making dolls," Bobby said, picking at his nose.

"That's right, Bobby," I said, mindful of where he might put his dirty fingers. "And this one's going to be very special."

"Why's that?" Paul asked.

When I glanced up I saw that he was watching me with that look of great interest and for a moment longer than I had planned, I returned his gaze.

He wasn't required to follow my rules of cleanliness, naturally-none of the other kids were, he told me. And he thought that made me very special. I think he was actually in awe of me.

And maybe I was in awe of him because he didn't have so many rules, and could wear whatever he wanted, and get his hands dirty, and go into the swamps-not that I wanted to, mind you. I was terrified of both the water and whatever lived under its surface. But his freedom was as wondrous to me, as my cleanliness was to him.

I looked back down to my hands, busy at work on the doll I was weaving from long stalks of half-dried swamp gra.s.s. But I wasn't thinking about the doll. I was thinking about the fact that I was sliding, this very moment, down that very slippery slope my mother had warned me about.

And I didn't seem to be able to stop myself.

"It's just special," I said. "Actually, they're all special." I had a collection in my room, eight of them, each one named and specifically appointed to match the personalities I'd given them. Mother wouldn't let me have any real dolls but Wyatt had convinced her to let me keep the ones I made. Apart from Bobby and Paul, they were my best friends.

"How do you make it so smooth?" Paul asked.

"By tucking in every strand." My attention returned to my thin fingers working nimbly with the gra.s.s. "It just takes a little practice and some patience. See?"

"You do it so well," he said.

"Eden likes to make straw dolls," Bobby repeated. At fifteen he was nearly the same he'd been at ten-maybe a couple of inches taller.

"What's her name going to be?" Paul asked.

"How do you know it's a girl?"

He hesitated. "I don't know. I guess I just think of dolls as girls."

My dolls looked like miniature scarecrows, complete with arms and legs and different colored seeds for eyes, some dressed in pants for boys, some in dresses for girls.

"Then I'll name her Alice."

"Alice?"

"Eden dreams about Alice," Bobby said.

"Hush, Bobby. Paul doesn't want to hear about my dreams."