Chapter 14
Silas
I know what the numbers mean. I stare at them in the leather bound bookkeeping ledger until they slide up and down the page like slot machine reels.
But they keep coming up close to zero.
It's a terrible fantasy. What would happen to us we couldn't continue here? No matter what kind of work we do, there's still common things we have to take care of. Utilities. Property taxes. Upkeep on the individual homes and the land. We are as self-sustaining as we can be, but the reality is that money is how the world works. We don't have a lot of ways to make income, so we don't have a lot of money. I like to think we have a lot of other things that make up for it.
And besides, the principle is that we should be self-sustaining. It’s part of God’s proof that He approves of my efforts here. Somehow it always works out, if only just barely. But his approval won’t matter if we can't afford the land.
Almost half the people here now have never known another life but Kingdom Come. When I first started it, many people brought their children who were just toddlers. They grew up here, playing in the fields. Working alongside their parents to build their homes. Tending the gardens, learning trades. Learning about community and faith.
If I let them go into a world of iPhones and politics and raw consumption and greed… How would they even cope?
How could I even prepare them?
That question... It's not even an option. No matter what happens, we have to be here, we have to succeed. I will figure something out.
Owen swings open the door and strides into the room, again interrupting my thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if he has some kind of preternatural ability to understand when I am feeling a little bit lost. Here he is again, just when I am most vulnerable.
He sits in the chair across from me and waits silently, like he often does.
Come to think of it, he usually does. He listens to me. He is my most trusted advisor. As brothers, we grew apart for a long time. Disagreements with our father — what to do about his raging alcoholism, his unmanageable violence — all those things drove us apart.
But little by little, Kingdom Come brought us back together. Now we’re really the brothers we should have always been.
I spread my hands on the desk, closing the book in front of me and diverting my attention to him. It's the least I can do for him. Literally, the very least.
His smile broadens. He knows what I'm doing. Once again, he understands me.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I don't have a lot left but my honesty. “It's getting very difficult,” I admit. Instantly I feel a small breath of air, a weight lifted. Confession is good for the soul, after all.
“We are we going to do?” he asks me carefully.
I shake my head, staring at the closed book in front of me. What can I tell him? What can I tell anyone? Our options are quickly diminishing.
“Whatever happened with that foster program?” he asks me.
My shake my head, exhaling through my nose. “Do we really want that? The county, the state officials sniffing around every home here? Asking questions? Judging this?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “They’re foster kids, Silas. They need a place. We have all the room we could ever ask for. It doesn’t hurt that they offer a stipend, and we could give them good homes. Why not consider it again?”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t think it's that simple. We can’t trust them to understand.”
He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.
“And our… other option?”
He means Angel.
I want to stop breathing.
“I feel that… I mean…” I stammer. I stop myself and swallow, hard. Why does every time I think of her turn into some kind of schoolboy embarrassment? How does she do this to me?
“I know what you mean,” he chuckles. “She is something, isn't she? I'm not sure we've ever had someone like her. Her spirit… her cleverness… and she's beautiful!”
I nod. She is. It's undoubtedly true. It's a fact. And yet, I hate hearing him say that. He's saying it because he wants other men to look at her.
He stares at me seriously. I feel his eyes like lasers, hot against the skin of my forehead.
“Silas… you're not thinking of keeping her, are you? I mean, for yourself? You know you can't —”
“— I know I can't,” I reply immediately.
I can't. My role here is too significant. I can't be responsible for one woman, above all the other women. I can't be choosing a favorite like that. It would cloud my judgment.
But she already has. She's clouding my judgment in every moment I can’t shake her from my thoughts. There is a cloud of her that falls over everything I'm trying to think about.
Which could endanger us all. I know that.
I look up, finally, and meet Owen's eyes. He understands. I know it right away. He understands exactly what I'm thinking, but he doesn't seem to judge me. He doesn't seem upset. He seems to be of the same mind.
And yet, he still wants to do it.
“How much time do we have?”
I look at the book again.
“If nothing changes?” I sigh. The answer weighs heavily upon me. “Weeks, Owen. The tax bill is already overdue. We only have weeks. Weeks before everything is lost.”
“Then if we have no other options…” he suggests softly. I hear the pain in his voice too. He may feel the same way about her that I do.
“We should continue to train her, then,” I suggest. “We should prepare her.”
It sounds like a logical statement, but I wonder how much of that is simply wanting to be near her. Would I really risk everything just to be near her?
He frowns sadly, then finally seems to surrender to the idea.
“Whatever you think is best,” he finally says, fingering the wooden cross around his neck. His eyes are sympathetic and tender. I watch him carefully, letting the connection fully join. I don't have to protect myself from Owen. He's proven himself in a million ways. I'm not sure why I am so protective, when he's really the only one who understands me.
“Thank you,” I say. Then I add, somewhat less sincerely: “I'm sure it will all be all right.”