Photo by John Silliman on Unsplash
It was the end of spring, and my brother was gone. It spread rumors around Eden. Our town was really called Wolf Creek on maps, but here we called it Eden. Some said he was swallowed alive by moonlight, others said he could have wandered into the mountains and had been held hostage by a black bear. Pastor Evans says it had to have been a rapture.
Two weeks ago, my brother got down on his knees and said, “Lily, I’ll be gone for -” he paused and sighed, “-A while. I’ll be back, but I need you to be strong and patient and while I’m gone, alright?”
I looked down at my shoes, which I was starting to grow out of. My toes pinched at the top, and dirt covered areas that used to be white.
“Do you promise?” I asked.
“Of course, Lil. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Nothing was more sacred than my brother’s word. Jacob never made a promise he couldn’t keep.
A loud clatter of metal interrupted my thoughts.
“Lily!” My mother called, “Come down here for breakfast!”
My mother had a high pitched voice like a tea kettle. She was thin as a twig and liked reading Women’s Health magazines, but only the sections about dieting and money saving tips. She would tear out the Sexuality section as soon as she got them and threw them in the trash.
She gave me a plate with fluffy scrambled eggs. I looked out the window to the tall fir trees, which seemed to lean inward. If it weren’t for the sweet smell, I would hate them. They always seem so domineering. Like a barrier.
The screeching of a fork across a plate got my attention.
“Lily, make sure you do the dishes after breakfast,” my father said. He was still acting like everything was normal. Like Jacob had never left. Like he never even existed.
“Sure.” I said. I wanted to ask them about Jacob, but I couldn’t bring myself to it. I would look into my father’s eyes and the absence of warmth would stop me. He had a strong gaze, the type that could burn holes through cement.
“Em, I’m going to go over and see Pastor Evans. About the service later,” Father said.
My mother looked up with a weak smile. “Of course, dear. I feel so bad about Marmalade. I hope she shows up soon.”
“Oh, I’m sure she will. They always find their way home,” Father said, and dumped his dishes into the sink. I winced as they slid to the bottom of the sink, hoping they weren’t harmed. He opened the screen door which hit the wall like a whip.
“Mom, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go for a walk. I’ll do the dishes when I get back.”
She frowned. “It’s your problem if he gets angry with you,” she said and turned to her radio. She liked to listen to it while she mumbled as she flipped through her magazines. Pastor Evans would drive into town once a month to get resources for us. Most of the time it was used clothes, food items, and a few magazines or books he deemed “appropriate.” He was the only one who could have a car.
I wanted to find out what happened to Jacob, but I couldn’t face them. Not after what happened when Jacob went outside Wolf Creek.
It was a few years ago when Jacob got the idea to see what lies outside the forest.
“Lil, there’s more out there than this. And I want to go see it. I found this map in an encyclopedia. It should take me to Salt Lake City.”
“Cities are big places. You might get lost,” I protested.
“I would without a map.” He grinned.
“But we’re not supposed to go outside the town borders, Jacob. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Then don’t tell anyone, please.”
And I didn’t. He stuffed his pack with a flashlight, some bread, and some fruit from the garden.
“All of the necessities for survival,” he said, and left.
I sat on my bed and worried. What if he got lost? What if he ran out of food? I couldn’t deal with it. So I told our Father.
I’d never seen him so angry in my life. He got as red as a tomato and got some neighbors to go on a search for him. I remember the yells of them calling his name and how they echoed through the night. My head ached and I tried to sleep on the bone stiff bed, but it was no use.
Hours later, they were back. Jacob hung his head and Father walked in with his hand clamping on his shoulder. They went into the living room and closed the door. I heard Jacob screaming and the thumps of Father’s fists. But I didn’t do anything. I went upstairs and tried to sleep through it.
On my walk I kicked up dirt and watched it swirl like moths. The dirt was almost sandy; it crunched beneath my feet. The mountain air was crisp in the morning. Pastor founded the town himself; it was an old development that lost the money and never got finished. The roads were left unpaved and still made of dirt and dust. I reached Pastor Evans’s house, which was more of a shack than a home. He built it himself. Evans argued that a holy man shouldn’t live better than his followers, so we got the nicer houses that were available.
I came upon the ugly shack, made of dark wood planks. There was a sort of window he set up for himself. I crouched below the window and tried to listen in.
“I just can’t believe she went off like that,” Evans said, “It’s not like her. I left food in her bowl on the porch. I hope that coaxes her out.”
“Cats are temperamental. They like to follow their own rules and try to control their owners,” My father said, “But cats have nine lives, you know. I’m sure Marmalade will be back in no time.”
Evans sighed. “I wanted to talk to you about your son, with everyone in the town talking-”
“What is there to say? He picked up and left. Some people can’t appreciate the things that they have.”
“We can’t have people leaving. People just don’t believe anymore. They’d rather work to the bone than invest themselves in religion.” Evans said. I heard the shuffling of papers and the groan of an old chair being moved.
“Think of it like this, Evans. We’re weeding out the weak links. Do you think people who weren’t faithful their whole lives deserve a ticket to the pearly gates? I wouldn’t want some lazy half ass who never gave anything to his church to share a spot with me.”
Evans didn’t say anything for a while. My stomach swirled like a tornado. It was like my insides were fighting a battle, and no one was winning. Sweat stains pooled on my jeans.
Evans spoke up. “Before Jacob left … he was asking me some concerning questions. His faith was wavering. He -”
“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to remember him badly,” my father said. Their voices dropped and I couldn’t make out the rest of what they were saying, except for goodbyes. I kicked up the dirt to cover my footsteps, and hid at the back of the shack. I heard the snap of a door and the elephant stomp of my father’s footsteps.
I waited for the footsteps to fade, and I knocked on the door of the house.
“Oh, Lily, what a surprise to see you! Come on in!” He said.
I stepped into the house, which smelled like stale cat food and wax. There was dusty shiplap on the wall and some old paintings of chubby cherubs fighting devils and other biblical imagery. One was an image of Mary. The way the painting was hung up high felt like she was staring at you.
“So, how can I help you?”
“Pastor, I’m worried about my brother. I know you were one of the last people who would have seen him. I was wondering if he said anything or if you knew anything.”
He was quiet for a while. He looked down at the floor and rubbed his arm. “The things that are said between me and anyone who seeks my council are off limits,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“We don’t do confession like the Catholics,” I said, and clasped my hands together, “Please, help me. I’ll keep this between you and me.”
He looked at me and sighed. “The most I can say about Jacob is that he wasn’t a true believer like the rest of us. If you think about it, we may be better off now that he’s gone. He can be happy to pursue what he likes, and the rest of us can live in harmony here. In our own Eden.”
I wasn't sure if I should have pushed him more. I had never seen him angry and I was afraid to see what that looked like.
“Allright,” I said, “I hope he comes back home. For his sake.”
“As do I.” He said, and looked over at the empty cat bed.
I wanted to say that I wished he would stop saying that stuff about rapture when people bring Jacob, but I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll see you here on Sunday,” he said.
I nodded and made my way out.
Pastor held church in his home on Sundays. He didn’t like brick and mortar churches. He said they were corrupt.
We weren’t allowed to read many secular books. We had workbooks for reading and math approved by the Pastor. We didn’t get to watch TV other than the few movies on VHS the church showed on movie nights: The Wizard of Oz, It’s A Wonderful Life, and West Side Story. I heard Mr. Gibbins secretly kept a TV in his basement, and at night when everyone went to bed he took it out and watched it and you could hear the sound of it turning on if you were really quiet.
As I washed the dishes, I wondered whether he did have a TV. Pastor liked the Wizard of Oz. He said the story was just like us in a way. He made this community when he was traveling on his own yellow brick road, looking for a place where he could practice his religion in freedom. He told us the government was trying to take it away. And that’s why we couldn’t leave. He said they would take us and separate us. But then why did Jacob leave?
I went into his room to snoop around. His bed was made clean and everything was still like a painting. I flopped down on his bed and looked at the dust on the window panes next to the bed. I traced a smiley face in it, like Jacob would have done.
I looked under the bed and found a few volumes from a World Book Encyclopedia collection. He had the volumes ``''Q-R,``''S-Sh,” and “U.” I flipped open the dog eared pages. “Utah,” “Salt Lake City,” “Quiverfull.” Quiverfull was what we were: family values, homeschooling, and no form of birth control.
“Families,” Pastor Evan once said, “are God’s greatest gift to the world. The secular world is full of unhappy people. Look at their divorce rates. It’s because women aren’t meant to work. They are meant to take care of the home. It’s not in their nature. Men were hunters, women were gatherers. It was that way for a reason.” I remember my head was throbbing and my mouth got all dried up.
I snapped out of my thoughts when I realized I turned the page too fast and tore it.
There was a scrap of paper he scribbled down notes on. “Gas station - 40 miles” “Truck stop?” “Tell Lily” and the rest was scribbled out.
A knock on the door made my heart beat. I snapped the books shut and put them under the table.
“Lily, are you in there?” It was Mom.
“Yeah, c’mon in.”
My mom sat on the edge of the bed. “I come in here sometimes and tidy things up,” she said, and smoothed out the sheets.
“Do you think he’s coming back?” I asked.
“I don’t … know. I think it's better at this point that we accept he may not return.”
Tears stung at the corners of my eyes. “Mom, how can you say that? We have to have hope.”
“My hope for him ran out a long time ago,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I said, furrowing my brows.
“It just means that I think he was struggling and he might be better off now.” she said. Her ideas made no sense sometimes. I was starting to get fed up at people dodging my questions.
“That doesn’t make any sense, Mom. He could get really hurt out there. You aren’t really answering my -”
“That’s enough,” my Mom said, “Don’t push it.”
“But-”
“No. This conversation needs to stop.” She got up and left me.
The sound of the door closing felt like a fresh slap across my face.
I went out to the backyard to get some fresh air. The sun was starting to set, filling the sky with grape purples and rose pinks with tints of orange. I watched the fireflies, fat and heavy, slowly fly and land on dandelions to rest. Weeds brushed around my ankles, and a light breeze kissed my skin.
I noticed the wheelbarrow leaning against our blue gray shed, which was choked by vines and shrubs. I thought I heard the soft mewl of a cat. Marmalade?
I opened the door to the shed, and saw my father’s shovel on the table in the middle of the small room. There was something on the head of the shovel.
I stepped closer to it, and saw a drop of dark colored liquid. Goosebumps pricked up everywhere.
It can’t be, I thought. There’s no way.
There was no light in the shed so I had to bring it out into the dying light to see it. The liquid was a deep red, with a rust colored border.
I couldn’t make a sound. I dropped the shovel in shock. My heart picked up again, and I hoped no one heard me. I ran around to the back of the shed, and there it was. Someone had dug up a pile of dirt which was not fully covered up yet. I moved the dirt around a bit, scooped some up with my hands.
A bit of a bone was sticking out the ground. It was long, maybe a femur. Too big to be a cat. I felt my gut lurch. I knew it was Jacob.
I jumped back and tried to be as quiet as possible when I covered it back up. I tried to wipe away the tears that were forming. I had to cover my mouth so I couldn’t scream.
I slid back into the house.
“Hey, Lily, get any weeding done back there?” My father called from the living room.
“Yeah, uh, you bet!” I said back, and went upstairs.
I grabbed an old bag and stuffed a pair of clothes and a flashlight into it. I made sure I had the scrap of paper with me and I tore out the map of Utah from the encyclopedia.
I didn’t have much time. My mother would be preparing dinner and my father would be listening to the radio so I knew this was my best chance.
I opened the door inch by inch until I could squeeze out without a sound.
I walked into the backyard and took a mental photo of my home. I thought it may have been the last time I would see it. I took in the pine tree scent, the sharp mountain ridges, and all of the colors.
As I walked to the path into the forest, I noticed tufts of cat hair. I heard a soft purring. I looked up, and there she was. I guess Marmalade didn’t want to stay either. I decided to pick up the creamy orange cat and take her with me.
The breeze slowed down as I looked behind me at Eden. No, Wolf Creek. I was going to call it Wolf Creek now.
I looked down at my old shoes, beaten and holey. Maybe I could get new ones when I made it to the city.
As Wolf Creek disappeared from my sight and the moon rose in the sky, I wondered what rumors they would spread about me.
It was another case of rapture, Pastor Evans would say. No, she wandered into the mountains and got eaten by a black bear, just like that damn brother. No, another would say, she was swallowed by moonlight.
Reagan Prior is a senior at St. Thomas Aquinas College. She is graduating with a B.A. in Creative Writing. She is the co-editor in Chief of the College's literary magazine, the Voyager. You can find her work in Soundings East. Instagram: @reagan.prior