Page 42 of Running to the Mountain Man

I just have to have faith.

I don’t know what I believe anymore. I don’t know if faith moves mountains the way I used to believe as a child. But I know that putting my trust in a mountain man paid off, and he would move heaven and earth to help us.

My husband cares about me, my friends, and my weird little community.

He’s not going to stick his head in the sand and pretend we all don’t need each other.

I need him, and so do the rest of us.

Epilogue

Five yearslater

Barrett

The landscape looks different now.

The summer sunset reflects off the mountains in the distance. The compound is gone. There’s no barbed wire on the other side of the creek. It’s just us and this valley.

By us, I mean Goldie, me, our children, and too many friends to name.

Tonight, the little kids and teenagers splash in the creek, ride horses, climb fences, and roast marshmallows.

We told the children it was a big family reunion that included friends, too.

I wince as our daughters stand too close to the campfire.

Goldie slips her hand in mine and squeezes. “Don’t worry, Barrett. Jaxyn is good with them. Look.”

Louisa’s teen brother, Jaxyn, carefully shows Leda and Pandora how to roast marshmallows with a campfire skewer.

I look down at my wife and lift her hand to my lips, kissing her ring finger. The simple gold bands that Curly gave us have not yet been replaced.

The old man said to keep them until we picked out something better. But then, our lives became about raising kids and helping the women and children escape the compound.

Year after year, the number of safe houses grew. Getting people out was just the beginning. There was permanent housing to find and jobs to secure. All the while, we were constantly pushing back against the church’s attempts to normalize themselves in the eyes of society. Against the local government corruption. All of it became a full-time job.

It’s now over, and I’m not sure what we’re going to do next.

Tonight, the adults have big decisions to make.

On the picnic table, Wylie unrolls a huge property map.

He points to the section that used to belong to the church. All that land now is owned by Sterling Ranch.

“What are you gonna do with it?” Ellis asks. Louisa, his wife, nods. She wants to know, too, as whatever happens to Sterling Ranch will affect their neighboring farm. Over the last five years, the two of them have turned Ellis’s grandmother’s farm into a thriving eco-tourism spot, with a farm store that sells honey, cheese, and artisan goods made by some of the cult’s escapees.

Wylie rubs his hands together. By his side, Olivia bounces on the balls of her feet. Their eight-month-old son, Nolan, naps in the arms of his uncle Jake nearby. Wylie’s other brother, Ennis, tries to take the sleeping baby away while Jake fights him off. I laugh when I notice this, and Goldie rolls her eyes.

“I wanna wait for Curly and Audrey. Oh, here they are,” Wylie says.

The longtime ranch cook and the tireless public defender join us at the table, looking at Wylie expectantly. Georgie adjusts the toddler on her hip.

“Audrey, do you want to tell them?” Wylie asks.

She nods. “Wylie wants to donate the land back to the Crow Tribe.”

A hush goes over the crowd.

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