Robynn Carr Read online

  She chewed her lip a little bit, thinking this over. When she did speak she said, “I know about Vietnam.”

  “Be glad you don’t remember it.”

  Thinking again she said, “Maybe I’m not far enough away. From the compound.”

  “You think some of them might come lookin’ for you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, not really. They’re not bad people. But...”

  Rawley let that hang a minute. “But?” he prompted.

  “They didn’t want me to leave. And I did anyway. And we’re not going back,” she added vehemently.

  He cleared his throat. “Then we play it safe. If you see any of ’em snoopin’ around, you better sound the alarm. I’ve been in this town almost every day for over four years and no one from that place ever came here. My house is in Elmore, a thirty-minute drive from here and I ain’t never seen any of ’em there, either. I guess there’s a chance some folks from around here have been to that produce stand, or what you call the compound, so I reckon getting yourself a new look makes sense. There’s just one thing you’re gonna have to do to make it work.”

  “What’s that, Mr. Goode?”

  She remembered his name. Sharp for someone who’d been up all night and was probably worn to a nub.

  “Gonna have to trust a stranger, miss. That’s what.”

  Again she dropped her gaze. “Last time I did that...”

  “I can figure that much out without the whole story,” he said. “I thought that place was safe. A refuge. Bent on charity and good works. But if it was a good and decent place, you’d have left in daylight with money in your pocket. I’m old and I’m jaded but I ain’t stupid.”

  “For a while, it was a refuge and it saved me. For a while.”

  “Here’s what we do, miss. We get you some Walmart clothes and I’ll take you and the little miss here to my house. You’ll have a safe and warm place to lay your head. There’s food in the fridge. You might wanna pretend to be kin—like my second cousin’s daughter. I didn’t have no direct family.”

  Devon actually smiled at that. “Neither did I, Mr. Goode.”

  “Might wanna call me Rawley for good measure.”

  “Rawley,” she said. “I’m not sure...”

  “Devon, you’re stuck with trusting strangers right now. It ain’t safer thumbing rides on the highway, I guaran-damn-tee. This’ll at least give you time to think and be safe while you’re doing it.”

  * * *

  Spencer Lawson was new to Thunder Point. He’d taken the job of Athletic Director and coach at the local high school and he and his ten-year-old son were living in Cooper’s fifth wheel while looking around for a place to rent. He had to admit, while it was a little tight on space, especially in the bathroom, it was not only convenient but it was a pleasure to wake up every day and see the bay. He didn’t have much of a kitchen in the RV, but then he wasn’t much of a cook. Besides, right next door, Cooper had the equivalent of two kitchens and a nice big outdoor gas grill.

  Spencer had been up for a while. With coffee still in his cup he decided to wander next door to Cooper’s place. He left Austin, sprawled crossways, asleep in the big bed. They’d been sharing a bedroom since moving into Cooper’s RV but sleeping with Austin was like sleeping with the entire fourth grade. Most nights Spencer escaped to the sofa in the living room. As he walked across the deck toward the open doors of the bar, he heard voices...a woman’s voice as she said, “No! Please, no!”

  And he stopped. He heard Rawley shush her and say, “Devon, I know where you’re from. You don’t have to give me details and I don’t have to know why...”

  Spencer saw Cooper and Sarah out on their boards, skimming across the bay smoothly, the movement of their paddles synchronized. Quietly he took a chair outside the opened doors, shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation. In five minutes, he had the story—this was a young woman with a child who had run away from some kind of commune or religious order. And Rawley was not only going to help her, but he would help her keep it secret. While he was dying to walk into the bar and get a look at this young runaway, he didn’t want them to stop talking.

  A few minutes later, Sarah and Cooper were coming in off the water. They stowed their boards against the dock and untied the dog from it. Hamlet made a beeline for the deck. This was Spencer’s cue. He stood and waited for them. First he greeted Hamlet and gave him a vigorous head and ear massage. “Hey, old boy! How’s it going, Ham?” Sarah and Cooper strolled leisurely up the stairs to the deck.

  “What’s going on?” Cooper asked Spencer.

  Spencer lifted his cup. “I’m out of coffee.”

  “You’re always out of something,” Cooper said. “Come on in, Rawley can hook you up. I’m just guessing, but I bet you want breakfast, too.”

  “I might, yeah.”

  “Where’s the kid?”

  “Sprawled across the bed. Snoring.”

  Cooper chuckled.

  Ham was waiting anxiously, tail wagging like mad, hoping he’d get a treat. The three of them—and Ham—all walked into the bar together. Right away they noticed the young woman with a long braid and a small child sitting at the counter. Rawley looked up from behind the bar and the little girl broke into a huge grin, pointed and said, “Mama! Pony in the house!”

  The woman laughed, putting a hand up to her mouth. Her blue eyes twinkled.

  Ham went to the child immediately. He was excellent with kids.

  “Just a dog, kiddo,” Cooper said. “Want to give him his cookie? Look out, though. He’s got a real slobbery mouth but he never nips.” He fished a huge dog biscuit out of the jar on the bar and let the little girl hold it out toward Ham. She held it in a flat hand, as if feeding a horse. Then Cooper looked at the young woman and said, “Hi. I’m Cooper. This is my fiancée, Sarah. And this is my friend, Spencer.”

  “This here’s my cousin’s daughter, Coop,” Rawley said. “Well, second cousin, maybe even removed. Devon. Visiting.”

  Cooper tilted his head and queried with his eyes. “Devon...?”

  But Rawley didn’t answer. He didn’t answer because he didn’t know Devon’s last name. Finally Devon said, “McAllister. And this is my daughter, Mercy.”

  “Pleasure. Rawley, you should’ve mentioned you had company coming. You could have taken the day off.”

  “It was a last-minute thing but, if you can spare me, I’d like to show her around a little bit. They might be tired from traveling, too, and I can leave ’em at home and come back...”

  “Take the day off if you want it, Rawley. I can handle the shop. Landon will show up to help out when he gets his lazy butt out of bed. And I’ve always got Spencer...”

  “You okay with that?” Rawley asked.

  Spencer looked at this duo—mother and child. She was plain as a pancake, and yet she was beautiful. She looked very young—early twenties? She was vulnerable, that was instantly obvious. He immediately wondered how she’d gotten trapped in a commune that wouldn’t let her leave. He had this sudden urge to step in, to offer advice or shelter or something.

  “Sure,” Cooper said. “If you need more time, just let me know so I can make arrangements. How long are you staying?”

  Again, the young woman didn’t respond but Rawley said, “That’s up in the air. I told her she can stay for a few days or weeks—it ain’t like she’ll be in my way. If you’re sure you don’t mind, we’ll hit the road, then. You ready?” Rawley asked her.

  “Thanks. Nice meeting you all.”

  And the three of them moved slowly out the back door, climbed into Rawley’s truck and the engine roared to life. It was two minutes before the truck was traveling up the road to the highway.

  Then Cooper looked at Sarah and Spencer. “Rawley doesn’t have any family.”

  “Well, second cousin, removed...” Sarah said.

  “With no warning they’re coming?” Spencer asked. “Nah, they’re not family. I’d bet my last dollar on
that.” For some reason he couldn’t quite explain, Spencer didn’t tell them about the conversation he had overheard between Rawley and Devon.

  “It does seem strange,” Cooper agreed. “Rawley’s a little odd, but he’s not, you know...?”

  “A kidnapper? A serial killer?” Sarah offered.

  “More likely he found ’em hitching or panhandling. People don’t know this about Rawley, but he’s generous. Softhearted. He doesn’t like to let on that he has a helpful nature. He’s on the gruff and silent side, but he’d give anyone the shirt off his back. When we went through all Ben’s things after he died, Rawley took the old clothes to the VA, but he washed ’em first. Bags full of ’em. He has a generous nature—he gives a lot. I’m not so much worried about that woman and her little girl as I am about Rawley. I hope they don’t fleece him.”

  “Maybe you should talk to him,” Spencer suggested. “What if that’s what happened? What if she’s desperate and takes advantage of him?”

  “Well, I could try,” Cooper said. “But it might be hard getting anything out of him. That Rawley...he takes pride in saying as little as possible.”

  “That girl looks about fifteen,” Spencer said, frowning. “He must’ve found them in trouble somewhere.” He glanced toward the dishes on the bar. “He fed them.”

  Two

  Rawley drove Devon to the Walmart nearest his home. He parked in the big lot and looked at her. “Your people ever go to the Walmart?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “And I never did while I was there. But I have some clothes.” The clothes were in the backpack left outside the fence for her. She hadn’t looked at them closely and didn’t know if they’d fit, but the backpack was stuffed with things for her escape.

  He reached up to the sun visor overhead and pulled out a ball cap. “Tuck that braid up in this,” he said. “Get yourself a few things, grab some stuff for Mercy. Get yourself any other lady things you might need. Things no sixty-three-year-old bachelor would ever have laying around. I’ll get us some groceries. We’ll try to be quick and not make a stir—don’t want you to give yourself away. Can we do that?”

  She nodded, tucking up her braid. “I have forty dollars,” she said.

  “Look,” Rawley said. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re suspicious of me and of everybody, and rightly so. But you’re not a prisoner, and even if you decide you can’t stick around you’ll want to stay clear of that camp. You shouldn’t look like you came from there. And you don’t have to run off in the night, all you have to do is say you need a ride somewhere and I’ll take you. Hang on to your forty dollars. You’ll need it, I figure.”

  “I was there by choice,” she revealed. Until she wasn’t.

  “Well, it’s your choice not to be there now. Let’s just get ’er done. Then you can relax and get a little rest.”

  As for not making a stir, the second they walked in the door, little Mercy used her loudest voice to look around and say, “Mama! What is this place?”

  It took Devon a second to recover, but recover she did. She pulled Mercy’s little hand and said, “Just a very big store, honey. Now please use your very quiet voice and come with me.” At least Mercy hadn’t called her Sister Devon. That was the way Jacob liked it; no one was a mother or a father, a husband or a wife—they were all brothers and sisters. Which made his behavior seem pretty damned incestuous.

  Of course Devon remembered visiting a Walmart—it’s not as though she’d forgotten her life before the family. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and a cart and sped through the women’s and children’s clothes. Two pairs of jeans, a pair of shorts, two shirts, socks, underwear, tennis shoes. She bought the exact same items for Mercy. She added two hoodies, in case they had to flee in the night, and then a few incidentals including brushes, combs and toothbrushes. And—because he was right—she bought a pair of scissors. She had to stop looking like one of them.

  She met Rawley by the checkout. Her heart was racing. So, here she was with a scruffy old guy who had given her a ride and now wanted to help her even more and just by the look of him alone she should be worried. But the tall, handsome, soft-spoken Jacob with the ready, welcoming smile, who had so much to offer when she was in need, had never worried her for a moment. And he was the one she should have been worried about!

  In his cart Rawley had groceries and... She looked closely. He had a safety seat for Mercy for the truck. It was an old truck and the cab was small, but it had seat belts. She was touched beyond words. That safety seat meant so much more to her than all Jacob’s promises.

  The new seat had to be strapped in by the door and there were no seat belts for the middle seat. She had to sit next to Rawley without belts while Mercy rode in the passenger seat. Still, it was better than walking or hitching.

  Had it been possible, she would have held her breath all the way to Rawley Goode’s house. She kept telling herself she was safer in this old man’s truck, or in his home, than she would’ve been had she stayed with the family at the compound. She kept telling herself this was safer than hitching rides. Despite her racing imagination there was something she had not been prepared for. When they pulled into the driveway of a small brick home in a neat little neighborhood, she felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. It was like the house she’d grown up in. When they went inside, she stopped right inside the door, right in the little living room, and almost collapsed in relief and emotion. This could be Aunt Mary’s place! The furniture was different but probably just as old, complete with those familiar doilies on the tabletops and arms of the Queen Anne chairs and sofa. It was small, the rug over the hardwood floor threadbare, the wood furniture distressed but polished. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, my God.”

  She put Mercy on her feet. “Mama, where’s the kids?”

  Devon got down on one knee. She put the bags she carried along with her backpack against the wall. “We’re having a vacation. And I think you need a nap.”

  “I don’t want a bacation,” Mercy whined.

  “We don’t have a choice. We have to.”

  “I don’t want to has to!”

  “Stop,” Devon said firmly. “Stop right now.” Then she hugged her close.

  Rawley took the groceries straight to the kitchen and began putting things away. Devon just waited by the door, holding Mercy’s hand, afraid to invade the house. Momentarily he was back, handing her a slip of paper. “There’s two bedrooms upstairs and you’ll know which one is mine—it’s lookin’ mighty lived in. There’s food in the kitchen and I ain’t savin’ nothing for later—it’s all open season for you and Mercy. I eat at the bar and clean up dishes before coming home so you won’t see me till eight or so. This here’s a number for my phone.” Then he grinned. “You’re the first person to get it. I mean, Cooper has it, but only because he bought me the phone in the first place—he got tired of me never checkin’ in. You just call if you need something, or if something changes with you, or if... I don’t expect anyone will bother you here.”

  “You’re leaving?” she asked.

  He gave a shrug. “I could stay, Cooper wouldn’t mind. But if I was you, I’d still be nervous and me gone will give you a chance to think. Check over the place. Rest. Eat. Get comfortable. Pull the tags off your clothes. Nap. Whatever you need to do.” He opened the door. “There’s another room up there. It’s where I keep the TV. Extra blankets in the hall closet. Towels and that stuff, too.”

  “I guess we should wash off the road,” she said.

  He looked at his watch. “You got hours to do whatever you want.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Goode.”

  “It’s just Rawley,” he said. And then he was gone.

  Overwhelmed, Devon sat on his worn old couch, pulling Mercy beside her. Mercy. She had wanted to name her Mary in the first place, after her aunt. Mary had been failing fast the last time she’d seen her alive. Five years ago.

  Tears started to just run out of her blue eyes.

 
; “We’re free,” she whispered to Mercy.

  “Mama, where’s the kids?”

  * * *

  It was Sister Laine who had helped Devon find a way out of The Fellowship. Laine hadn’t been with the family long, not even six months. And, unlike some of the women, she was very independent and didn’t seem to get sucked into group thinking, nor did she vie for Jacob’s favors. She was careful, though. Disciplined and obedient. Around Jacob she seemed skittish, maybe frightened, but there were other times when she threw Devon a secret grin and wink, or maybe a startled look. She didn’t talk about her past, other than to say she’d come from a bad place and that Jacob had promised her peace and safety. It was implied she had been abused by a man. Laine’s story reminded Devon that they weren’t all the same no matter how much Jacob wished it so.

  Laine learned that Devon wanted to leave the compound and that Jacob wouldn’t let her take Mercy. It was hardly secret—Devon had been making noises about leaving once she first learned she was pregnant. But Jacob said no, absolutely no, because Mercy was his child. So, for several years Devon and Mercy made the compound their home.

  They were gathering eggs one morning when Laine whispered, “I know you want to leave.”

  “No,” Devon said, hiding surprise, cautious in case of betrayal. “I’m very happy.”

  “I know you want to go and if you do, I can help. If you turn on me, it will be bad, very bad. If you don’t want to go, just ignore me.”

  But Devon said, “Help how?”

  “Listen carefully. On June 9 there will be a hole in the fence behind the henhouse, right over there. There will be a backpack with some clothes, bottled water, a couple of apples and granola bars—look for it outside the fence behind a tree. At midnight there will be a truck down the road—the lights will be off. The driver will take you over the mountain. He won’t wait long. Go to the coast. You shouldn’t travel Highway 5, it’s too close to the compound and you’ll be found right away if anyone decides to look for you. If they look, they’ll only look as far as you can walk. Hitching a ride on Highway 101 is safer. If anything goes wrong, try to find a women’s shelter and tell your story. As a last resort, if you have no other way to get help, tell the police.”