Page 21 of The Boy from Half Moon

He walked down the aisle further, and picked his next victim, four rows in front of my family. “And you, Brother James,” he began, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. I could hear him because he stood only ten feet away. “I chose you to lead one of my most prized businesses, and what do you do?” He turned around slowly, staring at the assembled group, and waited to make sure everyone could hear his coming words. “You failed me, Brother James! You failed all of us!” he hollered, turning back to glare at James and his family.

Brother James registered no emotion. He did not look away. He did not show a single bit of anger at being admonished in front of the entire group. He knew better than to do that. His mate, Sister Abigail, clutched a handkerchief to her mouth and silently wept.

“You’ll go back to the fields now, James,” Franklin decreed, ensuring everyone in attendance heard the punishment. “As a laborer! Is that understood?” he asked. A hushed rumble of shock ran through the assembled mass like aftershocks from an earthquake. Brother James nodded; his eyes now glued to the floor.

“And Sister Abigail,” he said, making sure to wait until she acknowledged him. She looked up at Franklin, her lower lip trembling after she moved the hanky away from her face. “You no longer belong to any of the women’s committees,” he declared. “In fact, your husband has let you down. You married poorly, dear sister, and for that, I am sorry. Brother James has ruined your family’s chances for an afterlife.”

Abigail sobbed out loud, a huge no-no in front of Franklin. She couldn’t contain her emotion as she wailed with agony. It was then that Franklin reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. He maneuvered her to the aisle, then walked her down and onto the stage.

The assembled members stared stone-eyed at the spectacle. We’d seen some difficult things done by Franklin, but this was a terrifying moment for all of us. Once on stage, Franklin wrapped an arm around Sister Abigail before pointing to the group with his free hand.

“I made a mistake,” he stated. The room gasped. Franklin didn’t make mistakes according to our teachings. He was divine, led by God. “I chose a poor mate for you, Sister Abigail, and for that, I apologize.”

I looked at Ma. She was stunned, but something about her vacant stare told me she’d seen horror like this before. I watched as she steeled herself for what was coming. I felt sick to my stomach, pressing David’s face closer to my chest.

Franklin moved his eyes from one side of the room to the other as we all stared back, silently and completely in shock. Once he was assured he had everyone’s full attention, he made a request that no one saw coming.

“What man here today will open his home to Sister Abigail and her two children?”

Sister Abigail fell to her knees, sobbing hysterically. “Nooo!” she wailed. “Nooo!”

Every mated man, suitably aged for child rearing, raised his hand. Not a one thought to himself that he should pass. They knew what this could mean for them. Several women wept openly, clutching at their children. Brother James’s head was still tilted down, numb and staring at the floor, as his two young children clung to each side of him.

Franklin scanned the room for a suitable man. Doing this favor for Franklin would mean advancement, a possible role in the council, and a better life for their family. Could the man who accepted the responsibility be blamed for volunteering?

“Brother Eldon,” Franklin stated, choosing the man he wanted and waiting for Eldon to rise from his pew. “Will you accept Sister Abigail into your family? Will you raise her children as your own? Will you do what God commanded me to ask of you?”

Brother Eldon cleared his throat. “Yes, Father. I will do as you ask and pray for God’s grace.”

The folks in the aisle where Brother Eldon sat with his wife and three children immediately slid to their sides until there was a small gap for three additional bodies, a signal that one family had just grown, while another was destroyed.

I fought tears that even my eyes knew shouldn’t be shed. Not in public, anyway. I was a man now, so tears were considered a sign of weakness. If God had chosen Franklin as his hand on earth, what chance did my family have? What chance did I have?

I was doomed on so many levels. For one, I couldn’t imagine marrying a sister wife, and for the life of me, when I considered having a mate, I didn’t understand why I thought of Tate.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Tate

My office was quiet while I stared at the parking lot from my office window. The only sound came from a large ventilation duct in the ceiling. I normally left the door open, but for the past few days, I felt like I wanted to be alone in my head.

Alec’s new Tesla truck was parked in his personal space and seeing it made me feel sad, depressed even. But then again, depressed wasn’t quite accurate either. Try pissed off. Actually, try day number four of being pissed off.

The short holiday week found me commiserating daily about Monday’s visit to the furniture store with Alec. The work week had been all about dodging him after his rude behavior at Luke’s workplace. Avoiding one’s boss wasn’t usually a good sign concerning your employment prospects, but I knew he was into me and most likely wouldn’t fire me. Besides, I was good at my job. That’s why he hired me in the first place.

On one hand, his behavior was alarming, yet on the other, it was his normal conduct. There was an unappealing elitism about Alec, and, at times, he just seemed unkind. To bear witness to his privileged life made you wonder why he acted the way he did. What purpose was there in minimizing a person’s worth by treating them poorly the way he had Luke?

“Why the hell are you mad at me?” Alec had asked after I stormed out of the furniture store on Monday and waited inside his Tesla truck. “You have to admit, those people are weird as shit, Tate.”

“And you’re rude as shit!” I’d exclaimed, pulling the passenger door shut as hard as I could. “And this truck is fucking ugly.”

“Whoa! Now we’re getting personal, huh?”

“Just take me home,” I’d demanded. “You’ve ruined this outing.”

Tuesday at the office had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Alec avoided me all of Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. By Friday afternoon, my assistant, Tyler, couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“Mr. Browning hasn’t been by all week,” he said, sliding a stack of papers onto my desk and waiting for a reply. “Not like him to stay away so long.”

My face said it all when I looked up at him. I glared at Tyler as if looks could kill. “Do you have something to say, Tyler?” I snipped. “Because I prefer direct communication.”

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