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Almost half the people here now have never known another life but Kingdom Come. When I first started it, many people brought their children who were just toddlers. They grew up here, playing in the fields. Working alongside their parents to build their homes. Tending the gardens, learning trades. Learning about community and faith.
If I let them go into a world of iPhones and politics and raw consumption and greed… How would they even cope?
How could I even prepare them?
That question... It's not even an option. No matter what happens, we have to be here, we have to succeed. I will figure something out.
Owen swings open the door and strides into the room, again interrupting my thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if he has some kind of preternatural ability to understand when I am feeling a little bit lost. Here he is again, just when I am most vulnerable.
He sits in
the chair across from me and waits silently, like he often does.
Come to think of it, he usually does. He listens to me. He is my most trusted advisor. As brothers, we grew apart for a long time. Disagreements with our father — what to do about his raging alcoholism, his unmanageable violence — all those things drove us apart.
But little by little, Kingdom Come brought us back together. Now we’re really the brothers we should have always been.
I spread my hands on the desk, closing the book in front of me and diverting my attention to him. It's the least I can do for him. Literally, the very least.
His smile broadens. He knows what I'm doing. Once again, he understands me.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I don't have a lot left but my honesty. “It's getting very difficult,” I admit. Instantly I feel a small breath of air, a weight lifted. Confession is good for the soul, after all.
“We are we going to do?” he asks me carefully.
I shake my head, staring at the closed book in front of me. What can I tell him? What can I tell anyone? Our options are quickly diminishing.
“Whatever happened with that foster program?” he asks me.
My shake my head, exhaling through my nose. “Do we really want that? The county, the state officials sniffing around every home here? Asking questions? Judging this?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “They’re foster kids, Silas. They need a place. We have all the room we could ever ask for. It doesn’t hurt that they offer a stipend, and we could give them good homes. Why not consider it again?”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t think it's that simple. We can’t trust them to understand.”
He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.
“And our… other option?”
He means Angel.
I want to stop breathing.
“I feel that… I mean…” I stammer. I stop myself and swallow, hard. Why does every time I think of her turn into some kind of schoolboy embarrassment? How does she do this to me?
“I know what you mean,” he chuckles. “She is something, isn't she? I'm not sure we've ever had someone like her. Her spirit… her cleverness… and she's beautiful!”
I nod. She is. It's undoubtedly true. It's a fact. And yet, I hate hearing him say that. He's saying it because he wants other men to look at her.
He stares at me seriously. I feel his eyes like lasers, hot against the skin of my forehead.
“Silas… you're not thinking of keeping her, are you? I mean, for yourself? You know you can't —”
“— I know I can't,” I reply immediately.
I can't. My role here is too significant. I can't be responsible for one woman, above all the other women. I can't be choosing a favorite like that. It would cloud my judgment.
