Page 33 of Mountain Captive

A few minutes later, the door opened again and the two men emerged. “What’s going on?” Chris asked.

“We’re going to fetch the healing woman,” the man she didn’t know said. Jedediah only scowled at her.

When they were gone, Chris went to the bedroom door and knocked. “Mom?” she called.

“You can’t come in,” her mother called. “Go to your room and wait for me.”

Chris didn’t really have a room, just a bunk bed with a curtain to separate it from the rest of the trailer. Not knowing what else to do, she went there and sat. She switched on the light her father had fixed up for her and took her sketchbook from the lidded box at the end of the bed that he had made for her art supplies. She turned to a fresh page and began to draw. When she started, she had no idea what she would sketch, but after a few moments, the figure of a man took shape. The Exalted, but not the beautiful, caring figure people often praised. This was the Exalted with his mouth twisted in a sneer, his eyes glaring, deep lines marring his forehead and running alongside his mouth. Instead of an angel, this man was a demon.

After a while, Chris began to get sleepy. She drifted off and woke up much later to an old woman shaking her—Elizabeth, one of the healers. “Come and say goodbye to your father,” she said.

“Where is he going?” Chris asked. She glanced over at the sketchbook and was relieved to see she had remembered to close it before she fell asleep.

“He is going to his reward,” Elizabeth said. “He ate poison, and there is nothing I can do for him.”

Chris began to cry, then to wail. Elizabeth shook her. “Quiet!” she ordered. “He’s going to a better place. There’s no reason for you to be sad.”

Even at twelve, Chris knew that was one of the most ridiculous things anyone had ever said. He was her father. He belonged here with her. There was no better place.

But she fell silent and allowed Elizabeth to lead her into her parents’ bedroom. Her mother held out her hand. Chris took it, and her mother pulled her close. She stared at her father, who lay with his eyes closed, his skin that awful gray, his face all hollows. He didn’t even look like himself. “Give him a kiss,” Elizabeth commanded.

Chris shook her head and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. “It’s all right,” her mother murmured. “You’re safe here with me.”

No one said anything else. Chris heard movement, and when she looked up again, she and her mother were alone with her father. “Where did they all go?” Chris whispered.

Her mother had to try a couple of times before she could speak. “They went to prepare for...for the funeral,” she said.

Chris looked at her father. He didn’t look any different to her. “Is he...dead?” she asked.

“Yes,” her mother said. “He’s gone.” Then she started to cry. Chris cried, too, grateful there was no one to tell them it was wrong to do so.

Everything about the next few days was a blur. They buried her father in the woods the next morning, his body wrapped in a bedsheet and lowered into a deep hole, far away from camp. Everyone came and gathered around the little grave, and when they were all assembled, the Exalted arrived. The crowd parted to allow him to draw close. He was dressed all in white, his hair and face shining. He smiled as if this was a happy occasion, and he talked about what a good man her father was and how he had moved on to a better place than this.

When he finished speaking, men with shovels moved forward and began to fill in the grave. The scent of fresh earth filled Chris’s nose, and she began to sob again.

A hand rested on her shoulder, heavy and warm. She looked up and stared into the Exalted’s eyes. “Your father is gone,” he said. “I will be your father now. I will be your brother and uncle. And your husband. Soon.” He smiled, but Chris could only shiver.

Chris knew then that she didn’t like the Exalted, no matter how wonderful people said he was. But she kept that knowledge to herself. She was pretty sure if she said something like that out loud, she would be struck by lightning or something worse. If she was the only one who thought someone was bad when everyone said he was good, there must be something wrong with her.

Her mother was much quieter after that. Sad.

Three days later, Helen came to their trailer. “It’s time to measure Elita for her wedding dress,” she said.

Her mother’s face paled. “So soon?”

“Now that your husband is gone, the Exalted believes it’s even more important that he take Elita under his wing.” Helen pulled out a tape measure. “Fetch a chair for her to stand on.”

Her mother brought a chair from the kitchen table. “Shouldn’t there be a period of mourning?” she asked as she helped Chris to stand on the chair.

“Mourning won’t bring back the dead.” Helen wrapped the tape measure around Chris’s chest, over the gentle swelling her mother had told her would one day be breasts. “Better to focus on the joy of this occasion.”

Neither Chris nor her mother said anything after Helen left. What was there to say? No one disobeyed the Exalted. It would be like disobeying God. The next day, her mother worked at the farmers market stand the Vine operated at the fairgrounds. She came home later than usual. “Something terrible has happened,” she said. “Someone stole the money from our booth. The cash box was there one moment, and then it was gone.”

“Was there a lot of money in it?” Chris asked.

“Several hundred dollars. Jedediah is very upset.” Jedediah was the treasurer for the Vine, in charge of all the money the group earned from selling crafts, produce, firewood and anything else. All the money went to Jedediah, who doled it out as needed.

Not long after Chris’s mother had set supper on the table, someone pounded on the door, hard enough to make the trailer shake. Mom opened it, and Jedediah and a trio of men filled the small front room. “We need to search this place,” Jedediah said.

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