“I-I don’t . . .”
My shoulders straightened. “I’m a member of the chosen. Answer me.”
“Three. If more are needed, the family’s credits are reduced and the parents must put in extra hours at the plant to make up the difference. If they don’t, other credits are cut.” Her explanation came quickly and quietly. “Sister, Tobias has two other siblings. His mother asked that I not exceed his limit. It’s my fault; I shouldn’t have changed him so many times this morning.”
My lips formed a straight line and an internal battle raged. Had I never heard this before? Why did it suddenly upset me? It must be my desire for a baby. My maternal instinct was rearing its ugly head.
The stacks of cloth diapers filling the bins below the only changing table in the room caught my attention. “There are plenty of diapers.” As soon as I spoke I realized my error. Priscilla might be a female, but questioning Father Gabriel’s decree was unacceptable. “Perhaps”—I looked down to the calmer child in my arms. Simply the act of holding him and swaying my body back and forth had settled his cries. I lifted my cheeks in a weary smile—“perhaps Tobias will be fine until his mother arrives.”
Priscilla took a deep breath and pushed strands of hair away from her face. “Thank you, Sister. Sometimes I wonder . . .”
This time tears fell from her eyes.
I reached for another baby and tucked one in the crook of each arm. Sitting on one of the two rocking chairs, I smiled as the babies’ eyes closed. “You can talk to me, Priscilla. It isn’t questioning to ask another woman. What do you wonder?”
For the next thirty minutes I rocked the small humans in my arms as Priscilla fluttered around the room taking care of the other babies. She spoke about her studies and answered my questions. She also confessed her uneasiness with some of the ways in which her life had changed since she and her husband joined The Light as fully committed followers.
Though I couldn’t admit it, I envied her perspective. She could compare life in the dark to life in The Light. My accident nearly nine months ago had taken that from me.
Priscilla never voiced disappointment in their choice, only a sense of disillusionment. I asked all the right questions: Did she love The Light? Did she want to follow Father Gabriel? Did she believe in his word? Did she love her husband and trust him with their life decisions?
These conversations had been going on long enough in Priscilla’s transition that I knew I should tell not only Jacob but also Elizabeth. As new-follower coordinators, Elizabeth and her husband, Brother Luke, knew what to do. When lingering signs of doubt occurred, there was a prescribed course of action.
The last question I voiced—Did she love her husband and trust him with their life decisions?—caused a faint flicker of shame. I hadn’t trusted Jacob with the decision to stop my birth control. I’d done it on my own.
Maybe that was the cause of my new uneasiness. I felt guilty. After all, with each hour it seemed as though I continued to amass new transgressions that I would eventually need to confess to my husband.
By the time I left the day care and made my way to our apartment, my head and heart were heavy. Though I didn’t want to experience correction at Jacob’s hands, I longed for the peace that came with giving my concerns and infractions over to him. If only he’d come home tonight, but he wouldn’t. He was with Father Gabriel at another campus. I think he’d said the Eastern Light.
Priscilla’s talk of the dark had me wondering about the image of the clock. I didn’t know whether the image was real or whether it was something that had been planted by a benign conversation with one of my sisters. If there were more childhood memories, I couldn’t retrieve them. Only the classroom with the clock above a green chalkboard, a vision that had now expanded to include an elegantly swirled cursive alphabet separating the board from the clock. The teacher in this image was a mystery, but on the small desk before me was my name carefully scrolled. It wasn’t on the desk, but on a piece of colorful paper. The S was tilted to the right and connected to the a and the r and the a.
Even though I wasn’t trying to remember . . . the images continued to appear behind my eyes, creating a fog that distorted my reality. Our apartment building appeared different—the same as it had been, yet more run-down. No. More basic. Unpainted siding showed the effects of the Alaskan weather. My shoes scuffed the worn boards of the stairs as I made my way up two flights to our apartment.
I shook my head, trying to clear away the uncertainty.
Sighing, I made my way inside and collapsed upon the sofa. Rubbing my temples, I closed my eyes and wished for Jacob.
“Stop it!” I said aloud to no one.
Our empty apartment mocked me.
“I don’t want these thoughts.” My head ached with an uncommon pain behind my eyes. If only I could go to bed and forgo service, but that wasn’t an option. I had to move forward.
My mind swirled with a whirlwind of thoughts; pieces and fragments unable to create a complete image floated about as service concluded and Father Gabriel’s image faded from the screen at the front of the sanctuary.
“Sara, are you not feeling well?” Raquel asked in a whisper.
I forced a smile as I stared at my closest friend. “I think I’m tired, and I miss . . .”
Raquel’s forehead came close to my own. “You miss Brother Jacob. Of course you do. I could ask Benjamin if you could come over for a little while. We could have coffee.”
The mention of her husband’s name reminded me of what I’d done a few days before at the lab, and that I hadn’t had the chance to confess my exploration to my husband. “Thank you. I think I’d like to go home. Maybe I just need a good night’s sleep. I don’t sleep as well when he’s gone.”
“I can’t imagine. From the day Benjamin and I were married, I’ve never had to sleep alone.”
“Were you married in the dark?”
Raquel’s eyes grew wide as she peered from side to side. “Sara!” Her voice was a hushed whisper. “We’re in the temple, surrounded by the chosen.” She lowered her tone even more. “Not the place to discuss such things.”
My lips formed a straight line. “I’m sorry,” I said with an edge to my voice. “I didn’t realize I was speaking to Elizabeth.”
The recognition in her dark eyes told me she understood my remark. Elizabeth was our friend; however, she never strayed from the straight and narrow. Besides her job with new followers, she was the poster child for obedience. She would never mention the dark, anywhere, and definitely not in the temple.
“What?” Elizabeth said as she turned toward us, her green eyes shining and her lovely red hair pulled back to the nape of her neck. “Did I hear my name?”
Raquel shot me a just stay quiet look and scoffed. “Sara and I were discussing going back to our apartment building. Will you and Luke be walking with us?”
“That’s up to Luke,” she answered without reservation. Then her eyes narrowed. “But Sara, you can’t go alone.”
I sighed. “I walk alone during the day. It’s July. It’s daytime all the time.”
She shook her head dismissively as the other Assembly and Commission wives were claimed by their husbands one by one. Beyond our chosen seating I noticed the other followers, mostly couples leaving the benches and heading toward the doors. There were so many people I didn’t know. Being chosen was a blessing and a curse. The followers I saw had the pleasure of sitting with their spouses, yet they all looked exhausted.
When I thought about the hours Priscilla and the others worked, I understood.
Elizabeth was still talking. “. . . if it’s light or dark in the sky. Brother Jacob left instructions for either Luke or Brother Benjamin to accompany you. You can’t argue.”
The pain behind my eyes had intensified, making my response less censored. “I’m not arguing. I’m tired. That’s all.”
“She misses Brother Jacob,” Raquel volunteered.
The judgment present only a millisecond earlier on
Elizabeth’s face dissolved. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. Of course you do.”
“Ladies.” Brother Benjamin’s deep voice interrupted our conversation. “It’s time to head home.”
Beyond Brother Benjamin was Brother Luke. We all nodded in agreement and followed the men from the sanctuary out to the evening sunshine. Though the two men continued to talk, I allowed myself to fall into silence. It was the obedience I’d been taught, but more than that, it was my private way to make sense of the rush of uncertainty I was now feeling. I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and wake revived.
In the morning I’d feel like my old self.
That was my last thought as I closed my eyes with my head on Jacob’s pillow. His signature leather scent surrounded me as I fell asleep.
CHAPTER 3
Sara
Shrill screams echoed throughout our dimly lit bedroom, accelerating my heartbeat and pulling me from the terrible nightmare. I waited for more, until the realization struck. The screams were my own.
“Jacob?” I called, my voice shaking with dread as I reached for my husband. Instead of reassurance, my fingers met cold empty sheets. He was gone—still away at another campus.
What just happened? Was it a dream?
I clung to the covers as I puffed my cheeks and slowly exhaled. While each breath helped to still the chaos, the exercise wasn’t enough.
Who am I? Who is he?
Jacob’s questions from months ago came back. They were my security. They’d worked before.
I am Sara Adams and my husband is Jacob Adams.
Pushing the images from my dream, or nightmare, away, I imagined Jacob’s comforting embrace. Slowly I threw back the down comforter and willed the cool air to soothe my perspiration-drenched skin. From the way my heart galloped in my chest, I might have been running a marathon, not sleeping.
In my sleep I’d been battling to escape a vehicle, and then an explosion of heat.
It had been a dream, I reassured myself—a nightmare. The accident I’d had, nearly nine months before, had been different. I couldn’t remember it, but I’d been told that I’d been injured and gone unconscious. In the nightmare I had been out and away from the wreckage.
I shook my head.
It seemed so real.
In my dream I hadn’t been able to see past the darkness, yet I’d known I wasn’t injured.
My arms surrounded my midsection as the memories replayed like pictures in my mind. Someone was hurting me—purposely harming me, and there was a voice—a deep voice.
Jacob’s voice?
No. He wouldn’t hurt me.
My entire body shuddered as goose bumps peppered my skin. Sitting upright, I reached for the bedside lamp. With trembling fingers I turned the knob and my eyes adjusted as the soft light combined with the sun’s perpetual summer glow.
I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on Jacob’s questions.
Who am I? Who is he?
This time I said the words aloud, praying that if I spoke the truth, the images would disappear. “I am Sara Adams. He is my husband, Jacob Adams.” I pulled myself from the bed and walked to the bathroom. Turning on the light and the faucet, I cupped the cool water and splashed my face. As I reached for the cup and began to fill it, a metaphoric dam that had been constructed to hold back my past burst.
My mind was flooded—no longer with simple images, but with scene after scene.
For the first time since I could recall, I knew the woman in the mirror. I knew me.
The colorful paper taped to my childhood desk hadn’t read Sara.
The S was still there, but the rest of the name was different.
I knew my own soft blue eyes and blonde hair.
I recalled its length and the way it used to flow over my shoulders.
Though I met my own gaze for only a millisecond, I also saw my own panic—not only that, I felt it. In the pit of my stomach I knew that what I’d just experienced hadn’t been a nightmare. It was my reality—my past, the one I’d thought was forever gone.
At the realization, my muscles lost their ability to grip. Water splashed about the vanity and onto the mirror as the cup I’d held fell to the base of the sink. No longer capable of supporting my weight, my knees buckled and I slid to the floor.
“Oh my God! Is this real? It can’t be.” I spoke to the empty bathroom. “Jacob? The accident. It didn’t happen. Did it?” I longed for him to make it right, to take it all away.
Acid bubbled from the depths of my stomach. The dinner I’d eaten long ago refused to stay down. My nightgown clung to my moistened skin and I lunged for the toilet. Like an old film reel, the scenes continued to play behind my tear-dampened eyes: the accident, my awakening, my crash course as an Assemblyman’s wife, our temporary banishment, my reminders . . . nearly a year of my life—of Sara’s life. Everything within me ached as my body convulsed. Over and over I heaved, purging all I’d known, been told to believe, told to remember—all the lies.
When the running water finally registered, I stood, rinsed my mouth, and splashed my face again. This time, as I stared at the woman in the mirror—at myself—the terror I’d seen was gone, replaced by betrayal. Hurt and anguish washed over me, crashing down, drenching my body, soul, and mind.
I tried to fight it, to argue with myself. If only Jacob were here to help me understand.
Turning off the water, I slid back down the wall and settled on the cool tile. Hugging my knees to my chest, with tears coating my cheeks, I re-created the timeline that was supposed to remain forever lost.
For the first time in nearly a year, I could answer Jacob’s question—I knew.
“I am Stella Montgomery!” My verbal declaration reverberated against the walls as my heart ached.
It had to be real.
Lies! I’d been fed lie after lie. And like the ice chips after my awakening, I’d accepted each and every one.
Sobs replaced my voice as I fought to make sense of what had happened. Nothing made sense. All the people I held dear—my husband, friends, sisters, and brothers—were all a sham.
Lifting my left hand, through blurry vision, I stared at the simple gold band. I wasn’t Sara Adams, nor was I married. My chest ached as my heart begged me to be wrong, to believe the life I’d lived was mine, but I couldn’t.
I am Stella Montgomery, an investigative journalist for WCJB in Detroit.
I knew that was true.
I had a career and a life, with a real family and friends. I recalled blue eyes—piercing blue eyes. I had a boyfriend named Dylan, Dylan Richards, who was a detective.
My breathing hitched at my internal monologue warning me not to question. It wasn’t my place. As a woman, I needed to accept. I should pray to Father Gabriel and confess to Jacob.
The hell with that!
Questioning was what I did—what I had done. It was part of my job. No wonder this had been so difficult.
Holding the walls for support, I walked back to our bedroom.
Our bedroom.
Again I hugged myself as my now-empty stomach twisted. Jacob and I weren’t really married. I wasn’t against premarital sex; memories of me with Dylan confirmed that. But as I stared at the bed where I’d made love with my husband, a new question surfaced.
Have I been raped?
I shook my head. No. Despite the lies at every turn, my heart confirmed that I hadn’t. Never had Jacob forced himself on me, but then again, were the lies he’d fed me any better?
Had he? Did he know the truth?
I couldn’t think about that . . .
Shit! The nausea. What if I’m pregnant with his child?
I didn’t even know his name. Mine wasn’t Sara; maybe his wasn’t Jacob. I couldn’t have the baby of a man whose name I didn’t know. Pulling my robe tightly around me, I looked at the clock—nearly four in the morning.
With the whirlwind in my head, I knew I’d never be able to fall back to sleep. Instead I slowly walked through our quiet apartm
ent, taking in everything anew as I passed down the short hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen. With the drapes opened, even at this early hour, the summer’s perpetual sunlight allowed me to see our world. Everything around me was my past, the only one I’d thought I’d ever have, the one Jacob and I had created together, the one that only a few hours ago had held the potential for a promising future.
No longer.
Deceit tarnished everything, everywhere I looked.
My hands trembled as I stood and turned slowly, mindlessly, around and around. Everything was wrong. I was surrounded by lies.
How had it happened? Why had it happened? Who had done this to me?
I grasped at a shred of hope.
Perhaps Jacob was disillusioned too. Maybe he believed we were truly married. Could we both be victims?
I wandered to the table and sat, not sure which of my thoughts to believe.
“Dear Father Gabriel,” I said between sobs, “please take away these impure thoughts. I confess I remember my life before . . . no, I confess I have allowed evil . . .”
I took a deep breath.
The thoughts weren’t evil; The Light was.
I stared at the stove where I’d cooked dinners for my husband. I was a good cook, even though I remembered that as Stella I didn’t cook. As Stella I hadn’t been ready to co-own a fish, yet in this life that I’d been forced to live, I’d been ready to have a baby.
Why had I been forced to become someone I wasn’t?
Yet I was . . . I’d been Sara. None of it made sense.
Standing, I walked toward the cupboards and reached for a bag of decaffeinated tea. As I began to fill the teakettle with water, I decided I wanted coffee. I needed coffee. I’d gotten the decaffeinated tea in preparation for pregnancy. With the confusion and hurt filling my heart and soul, I refused to consider that pregnancy was possible. After all, I’d been without my birth control for only . . . I did the math . . . almost two weeks. People didn’t usually get pregnant the first month.