Running to the Farmer (The Runaway Brides of Darling Creek #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Louisa

I’m only going to let myself cry for 30 seconds.

My skinny eight-year-old brother, Jaxyn, hands me a sucker.

“Don’t cry, Louisa. It’s alright,” he says.

He thinks I’m sad because I broke a crayon, but that’s not why.

The rest of the class of 12 little ones carries on with coloring their alphabet pages during library time while I count to thirty.

“It’s just a crayon,” Jaxyn says. Their teacher, Ava, is watching me like a hawk.

“I know,” I say.

She won’t make a fuss over me, the lonely school librarian, having a moment with her biological brother.

“You’re a pretty special kid, Jax,” I choke out, then hand him a piece of hard candy from my desk drawer. "You'd better not let Ms. Ava know you're carrying around candy in your pocket."

“I won't,” he whispers. “Ms. Ava takes it away because she says I'm too hyper."

I can always count on Jaxyn to cheer me up. There, now. I’m done crying.

I open up the wrapped sucker, and I notice some writing on the inside of the wrapper. It’s a phone number. That’s very weird.

Jaxyn always gets candy on my watch. All the kids in my library at any given time will get candy when candy is available. Sometimes, treats and bags of clothes just appear anonymously at some of the sister wives’ houses.

Some people around Darling Creek, Montana, look at our community like we’re desperately poor. Maybe because, for many of us women and children, that’s the truth.

Ava hoards the candy on impulse and only gives out treats as rewards. The scarcity has made her pessimistic about the future.

Me? I have to keep hoping.

“You’ll be good for the substitute librarian while I’m on my honeymoon, won’t you?”

Jaxyn pulls away and gives me a sour look. “We won’t get library time when you’re gone.”

Heck, it’s not like I have a degree in library science. And let’s be honest. Nobody at the primary school of the Celestial Order of Covenant Kinship is a licensed teacher.

Other “indoors” teenage girls are quiet and compliant, so they get sent to teach school. I’m a weirdo loner who reads a lot and writes in her journal, so I get the best possible job on the compound, next to being the prophet, anyway. I run the library.

Most days, I’m left alone to dust shelves and read books. Occasionally, my fellow church members stop by to ask for access to the genealogy section or for a rare translation of scripture. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the primary school visits, and I get to read to them and do crafts. Or, like today, if I’m feeling depressed, I just make them color.

The school bell peals, beckoning everyone to the temple annex for the mid-morning chapel service.

Ugh. Chapel. The worst part of my day.

The students line up, single file, at the door with their teacher. Together, we lead them outside and down the muddy pathway to the temple annex, a fancy term to describe the rustic outdoor amphitheater, with rough log benches arranged around a flat rock that serves as a stage and an altar.

The children shiver in the springtime Montana air. The snow and ice have finally melted, but it’s still slushy in the shade of the annex.

Principal Blatch clambers onto the flat rock in her pretty camel coat and leather, fur-lined gloves. As a favored, submissive wife, Floydene Blatch and her children get the best of everything, while the rest of us make do with ill-fitting thrift store finds, hand-me-downs, and random anonymous donations at wives’ homes and dormitories, if we’re lucky.

“Good morning, boys and girls!” Principal Blatch simpers.

The weak response makes her lipless mouth turn down. I silently hope her frown lines freeze that way.

“I said, good morning!”

The children, so many of them my siblings by blood, know what’s good for them. And so they reply with a slightly louder, “Good morning, Principal Blatch!”

Every damn day. I hate this so much.

“That’s better,” she says, her black, shark-like eyes twinkling. “I have a special surprise for you today. Prophet Orlyn has recorded a message just for us. Are you ready?”

Some children clap and cheer. Some look scared. Others are more interested in playing with the squishy mud beneath their feet.

The mud-loving children would include Jaxyn and most of my biological younger brothers and sisters. They aren’t the best treated in the church, so they are perpetually disinterested in what adults have to say. It’s like a chicken-or-the-egg scenario.

Our biological mom, Irma, is the sixth wife of Elder Trace, my dad. Until recently, she’s been repeatedly punished for asking for help with her kids and more attention from her husband. She’s been deemed a “jealous wife” and relegated to the bottom of the food chain, as it were. Elder Trace abandoned us and the church months ago, unable to cope with the pressure.

Now that the elders are “redistributing” my dad’s wives at the same time as the prophet is in exile, a sane woman would take the opportunity of the current upheaval as a good time to disappear from the cult along with her children.

Instead, my mother hopes that finally marrying me off at my “big” age of 20 will win her some favors with the elders.

She hopes this will get her remarried to a more generous husband.

Fat chance, if you ask me.

Principal Blatch holds up her iPad, and the prophet’s crinkled, sun-kissed face appears on the screen, smiling at the crowd.

“Good morning, little ones,” he says. “God’s word for you today is ‘obedience.’ Can you say it with me?”

The children do their best to show enthusiasm. They’re smart. They know this is pre-recorded.

I study the picture, checking the surroundings for clues about where the prophet might be hiding. I see a knotty pine wood grain wall behind him and part of a curtain.

“As you know, children, we all struggle with obedience. We all must listen to what God is telling us. Everything he commands us to do is for the good of the kingdom. The people who have left you don’t understand that. They are no longer your brothers and sisters. We have to stay alert and trust only those who have stayed behind to serve the Kinship.”

He’s talking about Olivia, as well as some of the young men who have been cast out because they were seen as competition for the “good” men in the church.

It hurts my heart to think of them.

“Louisa? Come with me.”

Mother Grace stands to my left, looking impatiently at me, though I’ve done nothing wrong.

Maybe she's mad she's no longer my ice queen of a dormitory mother and doesn't get to boss me around as much.

Ever since Olivia ran away and all hell broke loose a few months back, the dormitory system has been reconfigured. Social service workers have been snooping around, spooking all of us. The young women have been shifted into smaller groups, now living in individual houses with our biological mothers, to make us all seem like normal families. Men are taking jobs in the community to blend in. I don't know if blending in is a good thing or a bad thing for us all. I guess we'll see. On the one hand, it keeps many of the men out of our hair during the daytime. The downside is the psychological effect of knowing all of us women are watching each other like hawks, not knowing who's safe to talk to and who might snitch to the elders on any perceived disobedience.

The dormitories are now used as classrooms and meeting rooms.

“But I have three hours left of work at the library.” This is pretty much bull crap. The rest of my shift will be spent alone reading smutty books that have been cleverly disguised with fake covers to make them look like young adult books on sacred courtship and abstinence. You know, the kind of thing a girl like me would be expected to read because all I should care about is finding a husband.

Mother Grace’s lips are a tight line as she says, “Elder Nevyn needs to see you immediately.”

This turns my stomach.

That man has only gotten creepier since the incident at the ranch up the road. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but rumor is the church paid court fines of $12,000 in cash. I heard he was making threats, so I don’t understand why he never served time in jail after he pleaded guilty.

Reluctantly, I follow Mother Grace across the muddy lawn to the women’s study room—where we go to pray separately from the men. It’s also where they hold the baby showers and where brides go to prepare for their Temple weddings.

Inside the study room, my friend Goldie, the resident seamstress and expert hair braider, waits for us.

Since Olivia left, I rely on Goldie to tell me what’s happening. Today, though, she has a look of blank resignation that sends chills down my spine.

“But my wedding isn’t until tonight,” I remind her.

Mother Grace sighs at my question. Goldie gives a nearly-undetectable shake of her head. My friend is telling me to keep my mouth shut.

I turn to Mother. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a change of plans,” says the man’s voice.

I wince at the sound of Elder Nevyn, his limp pronounced as he approaches.

“You’re not supposed to be in the women’s room,” I say.

This gets me a backhanded slap across the face.

Goldie blurts out a small cry of shock. I clutch my cheek for a moment until the sting lessens. Then I turn to look at him in the eye, letting him know that I know he didn’t use the full force of his hand. If he had, he’d have been responsible for the bride’s face being bruised on her wedding day.

“Careful,” I dare to say. “Brother Nelson is supposed to be getting a virgin. You wouldn’t want him thinking I let you rough me up. It would hurt his feelings.”

“Keep your whore mouth shut, woman,” he growls. “Or it’s your word against mine when I hand you off with a black eye to Elder Peter.”

“Peter? I’m supposed to be married to Brother Nelson.”

Truth be told, I have no desire to marry anyone, but at least if I have to be married, it may as well be Nelson, who doesn’t have any wives yet. A first wife, a legal wife, comes with privileges. I could find a certain contentment in being treated kindly, even if I don’t like the man. I can be left alone to read and do what I want. Maybe he’ll have a weak penis and won’t trouble me very often. I have enough friends in the compound that I’ll have plenty of help to raise my kids.

But Elder Peter? He has six wives already. More than he can handle. And he’s 67. And what’s worse, rumor is he’s horny as hell, and he smells. I’ve heard about the infections he passes around to the sister wives--and to his other children.

This is not the plan.

“Elder Peter is next in line to be the prophet. He gets first pick.”

I’m going to be sick to my stomach.

“Get ready. The ceremony is in an hour,” Nevyn says. “Take off those glasses. And make sure you don’t smell like old books.”

He shambles away in the direction of the Temple.

Goldie clears her throat and says, “Anyway,” as if brushing off a harmless distraction. “I have a new braid I want to try. I think it’ll look really nice.”

Bored, Mother Grace finally leaves, letting Goldie and I gossip about the latest.

I can’t get into it, though, because all I can think about is I’ve been sold off like chattel to a gross old man.

Goldie is halfway through styling my hair when my biological mother barges into the bathroom.

“Go. Now. Before Elder Nevyn comes back to give you away.”

Goldie and I look at my mom in disbelief.

“What are you waiting for? Get out of here!” Mother hisses.

It takes a moment for this to sink in. My mother is telling me to leave? Without her?

I bite my lip. “Mom, I’m not ready to leave you and the kids.”

“Your father didn’t want this for you!”

“My father? Dad left us! He abandoned us!”

The cold look in her eye tells me there’s so much more to the story than I know.

“What is it?”

“Your curiosity will be your demise, Louisa! Goldie, get her out of here now.”

My heart is pounding in my throat. I look at Goldie.

“And you,” Mom says to Goldie. “I’ve heard what they have planned for you, and it’s even worse news.”

Goldie smirks. “Is anything good news around here?”

“This isn’t a joke. Elder Lindsey is set to take a fourth wife, and that’s you, Goldie.”

“He’s 55 years old!”

My mother is getting impatient now. “Get out of here. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I sent you back to the house to get a comb.”

With me in my bridal gown, I pull on my bulky cardigan, and we make our way down the lane to my mother’s house. Once we hit the main road, Goldie stops at an empty house, grabs a pair of work boots off the porch, and shoves them at me. Elder Mark's house. A pretty convenient theft, as he's been spending most of his time in town, taking some kind of trade class at the community college, as rumor has it. Meanwhile, his spiritual wives and their children have been living off food stamps and the charity of others in the church.

“Goldie,” I start.

She pulls me in for a hug that feels like goodbye forever.

The original plan had been for the three of us to leave together. Olivia, me and Goldie. But Olivia jumped the gun, and who knows where she is now.

We were going to hike into the mountains and apply for jobs cleaning rooms and cabins at the newest ski resort.

Now, I don’t know what I’m going to do except what Goldie tells me to do.

“Stay close to water. You’ll have tree cover. Follow the creek into town. Go to the public library before they close. They have information about a safe house.”

“But what about camping in the mountains?”

“Let’s face it, pumpkin. You’re not cut out for roughing in.”

She’s right. But I know we could make it work together.

“Come with me?”

She shakes her head. “I got other plans.”

I know what she’s implying. “You’re going to look for your brother, aren’t you?”

Goldie says nothing, just hugs me as I let myself cry. Just a little. The cry bubbles up into a sob, and she squeezes me tighter.

“Promise me you’ll leave Montana,” she says. “Get as far away as possible because you cannot handle the shit that’s coming down. Especially once the snow melts.”

Whatever that means.

“I will. I’ll get us both out as soon as I find Olivia.”

Goldie shakes her head.

“Liv’s tough as nails. You gotta take care of yourself first. I’ll keep an eye on your sibs.”

“She wasn’t well when she left,” I reply, my voice wobbly and pathetic.

Goldie is determined to be a ray of sunshine. “I’m sure she’s okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I just know.”

I take it on faith because what other choice do I have? A terrible life with a diseased old lech? That’s not even a choice.

I run to the first line of trees as I was told. It’s a bright, clear day, and I’m lucky that most men are at their jobs; the rest are sleeping. The only ones around the compound that might be looking out are Elders Nevyn and Peter, who are busy preparing for the wedding. There's a chance some of the mothers are watching. I'll have to take my chances that they're all too busy with their hoards of children to care.

I just hope Goldie and my mom don’t suffer a beating because of me. I’ll never forgive myself.

As I pick my way through the trees, I avoid the mud by walking through the denser, dead brush, as unpleasant as that is.

Movement about twenty yards ahead startles me so bad I nearly pee myself.

Holding my breath, I hide behind a tree.

I hate the outdoors. I really do. Finally, I peek around the trunk of the tree, and I can make out the spotted black and white hide and the lumbering steps of a cow. A Holstein, to be exact.

Oh, thank god.

I approach slowly, and the cow briefly looks up at me. It then stupidly goes back to munching on some clover.

Just past the animal is an overturned fence post adjacent to a small field. Beyond that is a charming white farmhouse and a pretty red barn. The grass is overgrown, and the fields look a little sad. But otherwise, it’s the sweetest little farm with more cows just like this one, plus goats, a few sheep, and even a pretty little donkey. I think I know where that cow came from.

Carefully, I untie the long satin ribbon that binds my waist, grateful for something useful to come out of my wedding clothes.

I may not like nature or stubborn, dumb cows, but a little effort might prove to be invaluable. You never know if a stranger can be good luck.