8

Luc swallowed, his eyes glazing over.

“We shouldn’t have kissed,” he said, looking angry.

“No. We shouldn’t have.”

“You’ve never done it before?”

“Not really,” she whispered, knowing full well it was time to walk away. But I don’t want to. “I want another one, Luc.”

“Another what?” he asked, looking truly puzzled for a few seconds.

“Another kiss.”

He shook his head, only instead of the refusal she expected, he said, “I can’t stop thinking of your mouth.”

She pressed her lips together subconsciously. Her body was glued in place, but her mind raced ahead. How would it feel, in here, with no eyes to see them? No weather to disrupt them? Would the wrath of God reach in through that enormous window and strike her down?

What if it didn’t? What if…

It didn’t matter. Let Him punish her. It was too late anyway. What was a little kiss after the thoughts she’d denied since the first time she’d seen this man?

Slowly, she stepped forward, eyes on Luc.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, full of the knowledge that this could well be the end. What if he doesn’t want this?

She watched as he reached out to graze her dress with his fingers. Just the fabric, not the body beneath, but even that was heady, different. New.

“You want this.” It wasn’t a question. If anything, the words came out disbelieving.

“I want you.”

That did it. Whatever it was. Like they’d busted through their shell, only it was more like a dam had blown, and the man she’d known until this moment—quiet, contained, restrained—transformed into something wild. Unleashed.

A couple feet away one moment, the next, they collided. It was like falling, inside and out, a fatalistic succumbing. She could barely contain a sob when his skin finally touched hers, his lips moved to her neck, his hands on her shoulders. One hand went to her nape, cupping, cradling, but firm as well. And his face, as it made its way from the hollow beneath her ear, up and over her jaw, her cheek, to her mouth… Gracious, the man was drinking her in, learning her, smelling her.

And she wanted to do the same to him.

By the time his lips made it to hers, she thought she’d be ready for it. She was wet between her legs like she’d never been in her life, and heavy, too heavy to move. Only somehow, her hips were doing a dance all on their own, tilting toward him.

He stopped right before her mouth. “You want this, Abby?” His whispered words felt wrenched from his massive frame, each one a small, hot brand against her face.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered in his ear.

He stilled. “Of me?”

“Goodness, no.” She almost laughed. “I’m afraid of what God’ll think.”

“Of this?” He pulled back and frowned. “A kiss?”

It might sound absurd when he said it like that, but they couldn’t all be wrong, could they? Mama and Isaiah, Hamish and the other folks?

And was this really just a kiss? That hardly seemed possible.

She couldn’t think straight with the smell of him so close. Like nothing she’d experienced, it was heady and intriguing, and all she could think was This is what a real man smells like.

“What happens, over there, if you do something sinful?”

“You’re punished.”

“By who? God or the man who leads the Church?”

Weren’t they one and the same? “Guess I’m not sure anymore.”

“We shouldn’t do this, then,” he said, running the back of his hand over her cheek and behind her ear, where his fingers sifted through her hair. She couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “I don’t want to hurt you, Abby.” He sounded tortured. Was this the punishment—this strange, frenzied fluttering, this agony of need? “I’ve never…I’ve never been with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Innocente.” The word, his accent, the strain of his voice—all of it built and built until she could barely breathe. Her lungs were so full, she’d die if something didn’t ease the pressure.

Tell me it’s wrong, she prayed. Show me a sign.

“Just ’cause I haven’t done things doesn’t mean I haven’t thought of them,” she admitted.

With a growl, he dipped his head and kissed her, and Abby didn’t stand a chance against that kiss. No, it was so much more than a kiss, drawing at parts of her body that shouldn’t be connected to her lips. And not just her lips, but her tongue and teeth, her nose, her face, all of it prey to that mouth and those callused hands. It came together in a mixed-up cloud of confusing sensation she’d never even fathomed. She’d never been so aware of herself before, of her own skin and the sensations, explicit, right, and lush.

I’m going to die, Abby thought. This is going to kill me.

She’d had no idea before. None. She’d seen people kiss when she’d worked in the market—had watched surreptitiously, entranced, as a couple in the alley went way beyond just mouths into certain sin—and she’d wondered what pushed them to act like that. Lord, now she knew.

He muttered something against her cheek before biting her jaw gently—not enough to mark, although suddenly, she wanted him to with something close to compulsion.

Never had she pictured this…this overwhelming wave of need. Goodness, the things she needed right now.

To be touched. Her skin ached with it. This body that had never had eyes upon it. She wanted him to eat her up with his gaze.

He stepped away instead, backing into the bar, looking agonized.

“I can’t,” he gasped.

“Why not?”

“I’ll hurt you. I’m no good at…” His eyes closed as he searched for the word, the color high on his cheeks, making those freckles disappear. Her hand suddenly tentative, she reached out and brushed back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead.

“Restraint?” she whispered.

He met her gaze. “Exactly. I want to—” Biting his lip, he turned away, but she cupped his jaw and turned him back to look at her.

“What?” she asked, desire like lightning in her veins.

“Abby…” His voice was a dire warning.

“Please tell me.”

“I want to do things to you, Abby.”

“Like what?” she asked urgently. “Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too vulgar.”

Those words lit her fuse. Because hadn’t her whole life been about keeping herself at bay? Protecting herself from the vulgarity of her own body and the pull of natural instinct? And where had that left her? Not innocent, but ignorant. Stupid rather than pure. It had robbed her of the very essence of her humanity—her freedom to choose.

“Tell me,” she demanded in a voice forged of steel.

After a pause, where he looked lost and young and a bit guilty, his eyes shifted back to hers, and he said the words. Every one of them pierced her like a dart. But instead of poison, they injected her with lust, filling her until she couldn’t help but squirm.

“I want to lift up your dress and look at you, smell you. I want to run my tongue over every centimeter of your body before…” He paused and cleared his throat. He couldn’t stop now. Not with the way her breath had gone wild with the shock of those images, her body overripe and ready to explode. “I’m not a poet.” How could he be so sure when everything he said lit her on fire?

“I don’t care. Tell me more.”

She leaned back, and his eyes tracked her, his breath ragged and desperate.

Slowly, as if waiting for her to stop him, he lifted his hand to stroke her lip, an echo of that moment in the vineyard, so gently she couldn’t be sure he’d even touched her.

“I can’t stop thinking of your lips, Abby, and your—” He opened his mouth as if to say something and seemed to reconsider. The slide of his eyes down her body was palpable, solid and so real she knew he was imagining his hands on her. “Down there,” he whispered. And at that, his gaze raced up to clash with hers. She ate up his words, the images, their unholy union. Wallowing in the sins he blanketed her with. The wrongs he fed her. The many, many transgressions they shared. “I want to slide into you. To fill you and fuck you. I want to make you feel good.”

He stroked her cheek now, and letting her body lead, she turned her head and took his finger in her mouth. With a groan, he leaned in to kiss her again, only it was different this time. Deeper and more explicit, but playful, too. His tongue teased hers, his caresses asking for as much as he gave.

This was what she wanted. A man who sought her pleasure along with his own. No more fumbling in the dark, but rather a give-and-take between their bodies. He tasted good, smelled right, and felt like desire. Abby couldn’t stop replaying the image his words had conjured—of her lifting her dress, baring herself to him, inviting him in. Her breath came out in shuddery gasps.

From somewhere close by, the dog barked, startling her and sending her out of his arms, where she teetered, blinking blindly in the light of the setting sun, one hand pressed to her mouth. Finally, once she’d caught her breath and stopped her head spinning, she turned to Luc. With his cheeks bright red and his eyes hungry and vague, he looked as flustered as she felt.

“I want that,” she said, taking a step back, head shaking. “But I can’t.”

Because nobody had told her that a kiss could kill you. That words, as surely as a melding of the flesh, could turn you into a sinner. Oh, they’d warned her that she’d lose herself in just this type of carnal embrace, but she hadn’t believed them. And now look at her. Forgetting everything that had brought her here.

“This isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing,” she said, racked with a new kind of remorse. “I should go.”

* * *

Luc blinked, coming to with difficulty. He was worked up, his body more taut and excited than it had been in ages.

Beyond the window, the sun’s last, sharp rays lingered behind a scattering of clouds. Enough to illuminate the room, but not for long. Winter nights came fast and hard around here.

“Wait. Why did you come here?” Luc asked. He took a step away from her, putting more air between them. He couldn’t remember disappearing into a haze of craving like that. Ever.

“I came to see you.” She glanced at the door, then back at him. “Things aren’t easy back home.”

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, convincing him she wouldn’t answer, and then appeared to change her mind. “I have a friend. He’s sick. Don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“What kind of sick?”

“He shakes. Shakes and disappears. His eyes roll back, and he falls down, hits his head, and—”

“Epilepsy?”

“That what it’s called?” She watched him, hungry for answers.

“In English, I think you call them seizures.”

“Seizures.” She sounded it out, as if filing the information away. “What should I do?”

“You have taken him to a doctor?” he asked. She shook her head, eyes intent on his face. “To hospital? When this happens, you take him to hospital, right?”

“We don’t,” she said with what sounded like shame. “No medical interventions. It’s part of what we—what the Church believes. God takes care of his own.” That last bit came out echoing and grand. Like she was imitating a preacher. “But Sammy can’t take care of himself, Luc. He can’t. He’s young. Like a little boy. I have to do something. Tell me what I can do.”

“He needs medication. Against seizures. A doctor would prescribe it, I’m sure.”

Her eyes lit up. “There’s medication? It would save him?” She looked so hopeful that he wanted to give her medicine for Sammy right there.

“I don’t know, Abby. I’m not—”

“But there’s a chance?”

“It might save him, but it could be other things. I don’t know why people have seizures, but I do know they live and they survive, if they’re helped.”

Nodding, she spun toward to the door, a whirlwind of excitement, took a few steps, and then spun back more slowly. “Do you think it’s part of His design, Luc?”

He blinked. “Design?”

“Yes. Is it God’s will? Do you think He intends for us to suffer?”

He had no idea how to respond to that when God didn’t even exist in his world. “I don’t know.”

“Could this really be what He wants for us? For someone like Sammy to be in pain when there’s a cure just beyond the fence? Could it be God’s will?”

“No, Abby. I don’t think this at all. We have science and medicine, and I think you use the tools you have. It’s—”

“Okay,” she interrupted with a decisive nod. “Thank you, Luc. I’m sorry. I have to go.” She started toward the door again, leaving him to follow, dumbfounded, in her wake.

“You’re leaving?” He could hear the disappointment in his voice.

“Yes!” she said with laugh. “There’s a way to save Sammy! I have to do something! At least tell someone. They’ve got to know there’s a way to save him. We need to help him. They’ll understand. They have to.”

“If there’s truly no medical treatment at your…” Merde, he didn’t know what to call it. Could he say cult? Was that offensive to her?

“At the Church? There will be,” she said, determined. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

He trailed after her to the fence, where he and Le Dog waited while she prepared to crawl through.

“Uh…don’t watch me do this. Okay?”

After a short hesitation, he nodded and turned, giving her privacy. Which was odd, after what they’d just done. Odd like this entire day. No—the whole week had been strange. Since the morning she’d stepped onto his land and into his life, nothing had been normal.

He had the feeling nothing would ever be normal again.

* * *

Abby ran back, elated.

There was a cure! No more pain for Sammy.

And oh, by the way, I had my first real kiss! And it was better than anything she’d ever imagined.

Oh Lord, she wanted to skip her way home, get into bed, and…and…and think about it, with her hand pressed to that place between her legs. But there wasn’t time for that. She had to go to Mama or Isaiah. She’d tell them and make them understand that Sammy hadn’t chosen to suffer, like Hamish had until the end. God would understand. Surely he would.

And if she could convince them to let Sammy take the medicine, then she wouldn’t need to take him away.

She went straight to Isaiah and Mama’s cabin. Mama’d be sure to see reason.

When she got there, it was dark and cold. Nobody home. Rather than head to her own place, she tromped down the path to the Center, where the smell of cooking made her mouth water. Perfect. She’d talk to Mama and get a full meal. Even better, so would Sammy.

She headed through the big double doors and into the lobby area, where Sarah led the children in song. The sound made her smile, bringing back memories. If she had one wish, it would be to get that feeling back—the beauty and joy of singing, of knowing she was here for a reason and that everything they did here meant something. She’d been special. Important.

She walked across the thin, tan carpet—whose rough nap she remembered perfectly beneath her knees—to the rear of the room, where two doors led to the dining hall and kitchen.

In one of the doorways stood Brigid, focused on the kids, the half smile on her face probably a replica of Abby’s.

She didn’t notice Abby right away, but when she did, it took a while for her expression to change. For those few seconds of limbo, they shared something. A memory of a childhood spent as friends? A moment of regret for the past they’d had here? Singing and believing and just being, away from the reality of life outside this fence.

Just being.

Brigid’s eyes cleared and her features dropped. The smile disappeared, and she squinted before disappearing into the kitchen. Well, Abby supposed, crossing the room to follow her, even bonds forged in childhood could be broken.

Gracious, wasn’t it sad? She and Brigid had been close once. Almost the same age. But as Abby pushed through the swinging door, she remembered things changing. They’d been about twelve, maybe, when they’d started to grow apart. No, not grown—more like broken, with Brigid splintering off from her life one summer. If not physically, at least in spirit.

There was a racket in here. The productive clatter and sizzle of cooking. Potatoes and beans, chicken and stuffing. A feast, it looked like. Abby’s mouth watered as she sought out her mother, but she wasn’t here. Abby made her way through the busy space, to the greetings of several women—not including Brigid, she noticed, who’d slid away to peel carrots, shoulders hunched, stiff back to the room.

What happened to you? Abby wondered before walking through the door. What happened that summer?

Ah, here was Mama. In the dining hall, preparing for dinner. Abby raced to her.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Here you are. Wondered where you’d got to after the market.”

“Checked my fences.”

Her mother chuckled. “Looks like we finally got you the right job.”

“I liked the market.”

“Yes, well. You liked that a little too much, Abigail. Customers were asking after you. Fraternizing with outsiders is—”

“Frowned upon. I know, Mama. I know, but—”

“It’s not just fraternizing, dear. It’s sinking to their level. There’s a reason we live here, you know. On this mountain.” Above the fray. Yes, she knew that, too. She knew it all, and yet she couldn’t seem to get it right—couldn’t seem to want to.

“I need to talk to you, Mama.”

“What about, child?”

“Sammy.”

“Oh, honey, not that again. The boy was born with his cross to—”

“No, Mama. We can change it.”

Hands busy polishing and separating flatware, her mother didn’t say a word.

“Sammy’s sick, Mama,” Abby said.

“It’s the Lord’s will” was the response, although it sounded more like a single word: Sthlorswill. It came out smooth and easy, dismissive of the reality of it. That was what happened when you repeated something often enough. It turned into a meaningless sound.

“He’s in pain, Mama. He’s hurting. And we can fix that.”

“If the Almighty’s decided to—”

“We can save him.”

“Who is we?”

“I’ve…” Abby glanced around and lowered her voice. “You could come with us, Mama. You and Sammy and me. I don’t want to leave you here.”

“Excuse me?” Her mother stilled, hands suspended above the flatware. “Lower your voice,” Mama whispered, the sound harsh enough to burst the ridiculous bubble of hope Abby’d managed to ride in on.

“We could—”

“You shut your mouth right this instant.”

“You don’t understand. Sammy’s going to—”

“Oh, I do understand. I do.” Mama set a fork onto the pile with a clatter and grasped Abby’s arm tightly, leading her to the back door, face stiff and red. A few women watched their progress with curious gazes. Outside, Mama turned on her. “You think you know better than Isaiah? You think you know God’s will?”

“No, Mama. I don’t. But listen to me. Please. If God didn’t want us to practice medicine, He wouldn’t have let people create it, would He? Doesn’t make any sense, does it?” Mama opened her mouth to reply, but Abby kept right on talking. No way she’d stop when there was so much to say. Mama was sure to understand once she’d explained. Mama would just come with her, and then there’d be nothing holding Abby here. Mama, Sammy, and Abby could start a new life. A family, on the outside. “Listen,” she said, forcing an eager smile. “There’re doctors and…and…surgeons and whatever helping people, right? God let that happen. And what about Hamish? You think it was God who took him? No, it was our own stupid refusal to use the tools we’ve been offered—”

“Abigail Merkley. You shut your mouth,” her mother said, the words harsher than any Abby’d heard in years—since the time she’d been caught doing dirty things with Benji. Mama’s lips were compressed, her face rigid with anger, and Abby had her first real moment of doubt. Mama reinforced the feeling when she said, “Do not spew words of the Devil in my presence. Do not speak such untruths.”

“Mama,” Abby whispered, getting in close. “Come with us. Me, you, Sammy. We could be together. Out there. I don’t want to leave without you, but—”

“Not another word.” With a step forward, she tightened her hold on Abby’s arm, and for just a second, it seemed to be in kindness—the start of a hug or some other symbol of warmth or affection. Instead, the older woman’s hand grasped her forearm—nails sinking in—and twisted. The fragile skin beneath no longer hurt—the scars were too thick for Abby to feel pain—but even the numbness sent a message.

“Don’t think this”—she squeezed hard—“makes you immune to God’s will, child. Because it doesn’t.”

Abby stared at her mother, mouth open in shock. Before she could respond, Mama dropped her arm, threw open the door, and disappeared inside. Abby found herself alone behind the Center, blinking back tears of injustice.

Strange how she’d blocked out memories, like the one that suddenly came at her as fast as a freight train—her and Benji at the emergency Church meeting after they’d been caught in the orchard on that long-ago day.

Abby’d been the one on trial, though. Never Benji.

A defiler of men, they’d called her, Benji the innocent victim.

Stood up in front of everyone she’d thought of as family, summer light blazing in through the Church window, dust motes floating around her, Abby had watched the eyes change, turn accusing. Benji had cast his gaze to the floor when he’d admitted what they’d done, his voice almost too soft to hear. In his version, she was the one doing, taking, making him do things in return.

Mama’d been there, dry-eyed, her expression full of humiliation for what Abby’d done. Hamish and Isaiah had presided over it all, hard and judgmental. But in Isaiah’s eyes, there’d been something hungry that she hadn’t understood. She’d cowered under that look, and when he’d offered her up to the man strong enough to tame her, she’d seen something off there. Like he wouldn’t have minded doing it himself if he hadn’t already been her stepfather. He’d used sibilant words like siren and succubus, and by the end, even Abby was pretty sure she deserved to go straight to Hell, sinful serpent that she was.

When they’d given her the chance at absolution, she’d taken it. Never mind that it had felt more like punishment.

What a relief when Hamish had claimed her—not because he saved her from punishment, but because someone still wanted her. Someone was willing to step in and save her from herself. She’d be forgiven in the eyes of the Lord and, almost more importantly, in her Mama’s eyes, still filled with shame.

Here they were again, right back where they’d been all those years ago: Abby in the wrong for asking questions. For being different. For trying things and thinking for herself and wanting to experience things and live. Good gracious, if they knew about this knot of doubt inside her, they’d flay her alive, wouldn’t they? The scars covering her arms itched with certainty.

Well, she’d just have to make sure they never found out.

It wasn’t until she moved out of the light pouring from the back door that she saw the person lingering in the obscurity beside the building. Brigid again—her ever-present nemesis, always there in the shadows.

“Guess Isaiah’s gonna find out about this, too, huh?” Abby said in a low voice, unable to hold in her hurt for another second. “Got everything you need?”

Without another word, she turned and made her way back home, her heart as empty as her stomach as she dredged up another forgotten memory: it was Brigid who’d found her in the orchard with Benji that day and gone straight to Isaiah with the news. She could only imagine the damage the woman would do now.