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“You realize what you’re asking of us,” Ethan said.
“I—I do.” She conjured up tears again, then wiped them as they fell. “I’m sorry. But…I have nowhere else to go. And this place…it just seems so safe and protected. Peaceful.”
“Which is what you want.”
“Yes. I want peace more than anything.”
“We can’t take you in,” Bart said from his sentry position. “We’ve had too much trouble with the locals already. They’ve accused us of everything from kidnapping to stoning.” He acted as if those were false accusations and that it was his duty to stop them.
Rachel sniffed and focused her entreaties on Ethan, who seemed inclined to let her stay. She had to get in: It was now or never—at least for Martha. “I agree you haven’t been fairly treated. I’d go back to Nate while I continue to learn what you teach here, but I’m scared. Next time…who knows what he’ll do?”
Ethan studied her carefully, particularly her swollen lip. “Continue to learn what we teach here,” he repeated.
Bartholomew interrupted. “We’re not a shelter for abused women.”
“I understand that,” she said.
“So what are you asking?” Ethan leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest. “If you’re merely searching for a place to hide for a few days, you need to look elsewhere, as Brother Bartholomew says. We can’t be drawn into the fight between you and your husband. And we can’t risk the anger and suspicion of the community, should they side with him. If you don’t plan to stay permanently, you have to leave.”
She crumpled the tissue in her hands. “I do plan to stay. I mean, I don’t know everything about your religion, but I’ve felt God’s spirit here. I want to be part of what you’re building. I’ve wanted something more in my life for a long time. Something important’s been missing. It’s time to reconcile with God.”
Ethan glanced at Bartholomew and Rachel thought he was asking his security chief to stand down. “So you’d be willing to join us? Officially?”
Would they believe her? She prayed they would. “Yes.”
Bartholomew left his post to approach the desk. “Holy One, a woman in this situation might be tempted to say anything. Look at her. She’s just been through a horrible ordeal and I’m sure she’d like to avoid a repeat performance. No other place probably seems as safe as Paradise, where we can shelter her behind a fence with a guard. But that doesn’t make her a prime candidate for conversion.”
“Maybe the Lord has prepared her heart. Who are we to say what humbles a person enough to make her receptive to the gospel? Maybe this is it, Bart. Maybe she is a prime candidate.”
Rachel sensed a standoff between them. Bart was voting she be kicked out; Ethan was voting she be allowed to stay.
“And what of her husband?” Bart challenged.
“He has to worry about the welfare of his own soul,” Ethan replied and ended the standoff by turning back to Rachel. “You are welcome here. We will make you one of our own. The ceremony will take place tonight.”
“Holy One—” Bart began, but Ethan broke in.
“It’s over. I’ve decided. Now take her to a room where she can have a nap before dinner.”
There was a marked delay, but Bart eventually acquiesced with a bow. “If you’ll come with me…”
Bestowing a grateful smile on Ethan, Rachel got to her feet. “Thank you,” she said. “I want to be a better person.”
“And you shall be. I have great plans for you, lovely Rachel.” He remained in the office while Bartholomew guided her to a room on the second floor. Decorated in brown and green, it looked very much like a hotel room and had a bathroom off to one side.
“Thank you,” she murmured when Bart turned to go.
He hesitated at the door. “Ethan is more trusting than I am,” he said. “Don’t disappoint him.”
Rachel didn’t know how to respond. Was her acting up to par? She hoped so; it’d been a long time since she’d been this frightened. She’d promised to go through some type of initiation and had no idea what that entailed. But Martha had to be in the compound somewhere. Sarah had been at that grocery store, passing out flyers; Bartholomew was most likely the man in the Jeep. And yet, as far as she could tell, nothing had changed in Paradise. If Martha was back, nobody knew it….
What had Bart done with her?
Whatever his plans, he wasn’t making them public.
That meant anything could happen. To her. To Martha. Even to Sarah.
This was the first time Bart had ever revealed any disappointment or frustration with him, and Ethan was alarmed by how much it upset him. “Stop acting like my father,” he snapped.
“Someone has to be the adult, Ethan.” He glanced at the door to their suite, which was closed, but lowered his voice, anyway. “You’ve got Martha and Sarah caged in the pit. You can’t afford to attract any attention.”
“No one even knows Martha’s in Paradise!”
“The Guides do!”
“The Guides have shown themselves to be trustworthy in the past.”
“It’s still a risk we don’t need to take. But you’ve been so coddled and protected your whole life, you think you can have anything you want the instant you want it.”
Ethan stalked to the window. “It’s true. I can have whatever I want.” The grave outside that window served as proof. Or did it? Maybe it was proof that he couldn’t have everything. He’d wanted Courtney, hadn’t he?
Bart spoke before he could decide. “Not if I stop providing it.”
“You believe you’re the one who made me a prophet? That you gave me my power, my wealth, all these worshippers?” He waved his arm to indicate the tents beyond the glass.
“No, but I’m the one making sure you keep what you’ve got, aren’t I?”
They glared at each other. Bart wasn’t referring only to recapturing Martha and burying Courtney. He was talking about the way he had to cover for Ethan when he was on dope. Ethan couldn’t live without it. Not anymore.
“You’re overstepping your bounds,” he said.
“My bounds as what?” Bart asked. “Your security adviser? Your pupil and follower? Or—” he lowered his voice “—your lover?”
“As all three!”
