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“It is.”
Setting the long wooden peel against the brick wall, she dusted off her hands in her apron and slowly approached. “Have you eaten?”
Her friendliness assured her father, Elder Abraham, had gone to the meeting. The scent of freshly baked bread was too tempting to ignore. “I have not.”
Typically, the immortal females ignored him. They noticed him, covering their mouths as their eyes followed him like a sideshow and their lips whispered about his piss-poor lineage, but they rarely spoke directly to him. Abigail, however, was different. She always had time to say hello and ask how his day was going.
She was one of the oldest on the farm, but there remained a youthful innocence about her. Cain once told him her mother died on the journey over and her father had never been the same. Abraham ruled Abigail’s life with a tight fist, and she’d dutifully followed his rule the way a God-fearing, obedient daughter should, according to The Order.
She was sheltered but kind and good at heart. While others whispered about him when he’d first arrived, she befriended him and often brought him apples and stories about the farm. That all ended when her father found out, but whenever Abraham wasn’t around, she made a point to talk to him.
“Well, you have to eat, don’t you?” Abigail’s sweet smile often reminded him of the prettiest ornament on a Christmas tree. His eyes couldn’t help but watch her mouth and, whenever she smiled, he felt an overwhelming sense of comfort, much like he remembered feeling when he was a boy. To him, she represented a welcoming sense of home.
“This one’s still hot.” She reached into her apron and removed a tea towel. “I’ll wrap it for you so it doesn’t burn your hands.”
Burns were not a concern to immortals and her sensitivity further validated her awareness of his differences, but there was no malice in her offering, only kind consideration.
“Thanks.”
She winked and tore a loaf in half, wrapping the still-steaming bread, fresh from the brick oven. “I’ll simply tell Father I got hungry, which isn’t a lie. I do nibble from time to time.” She laughed.
He wondered at Abraham’s strictness. If the man was controlling enough to involve himself with the daily count of rolls, he definitely needed a hobby. Eventually, Abigail was bound to get married. Then what would her father do?
Dane accepted the warm, wrapped bread. “I appreciate it.” The soft inside smelled of grain and honey while the crusty outside still held the smoky scent of the brick oven. He plucked a piece off and popped it in his mouth, savoring the delicious way the flavors burst over his tongue.
“I love the bread here.”
She cocked her head. “Did they not have bread where you’re from?”
“They do,” he said, stuffing his mouth with a larger piece and covering his gaping hole with his hands when the hot dough burnt his tongue. “But nothing like this. It’s already sliced and wrapped in plastic.”
“Homemade is always best. If you come back this way later, I’ll leave another loaf for you with a jar of honey we just harvested.”
“Are you sure?” He didn’t want to get her in trouble.
She nodded. “Father will work late tonight, on account of the meeting today, so it shouldn’t be an issue. He’s there now.”
“That’s where I’m headed.”
“But you’re not…allowed”
He laughed at her surprise. “Don’t worry. They won’t let me in, but I like to sit outside.”
She smiled. “You and Sister Adriel. I don’t know how she manages that. The elders discourage loitering and forbid females from eavesdropping on male business.”
Because the more sheltered and repressed the females were, the more ignorant they remained of their human rights. It was a battle Dane didn’t have the strength to champion and one that would quickly get him exiled from the farm.
“Sister Adriel gets away with lingering around the hall because she’s the bishop’s closest friend.”
“How scandalous.” Abigail smirked. Looking over her shoulder to assure no one approached, she whispered, “She’s mated, you know.”
Gossip, no matter how prohibited, would never be extinct.
Abigail did not know that his bloodline connected directly to the Schrock line, which was why Sister Adriel had taken him under her wing. His mother’s journals mentioned Adriel Schrock’s mate, a Cerberus Maddox, and Dane’s blood tests had linked him to Adriel’s son, Christian Schrock. According to the bishop, he and Christian were half-brothers, but they shared no affection as such.
The elder was a miserable bastard who kept to himself. When Cybil’s life was on trial, Christian had been one of the first to suggest she be executed. He said it was the most merciful option, but Dane disagreed. The Order had limited knowledge about situations like Cybil’s. Her transition was not sanctioned by God and therefore left her deranged.
But there was something left of her in that cell. He sensed it most while she slept. She was his sister. His only true family no matter what the blood tests said. For all they knew, Cybil might also be Christian’s sibling, but due to her condition, the results of her bloodwork were muddled by some unidentified pathogen that clouded the labs.
