The Hero

“Sure,” Cooper said. “If you need more time, just let me know so I can make arrangements. How long are you staying?”

Again, the young woman didn’t respond but Rawley said, “That’s up in the air. I told her she can stay for a few days or weeks—it ain’t like she’ll be in my way. If you’re sure you don’t mind, we’ll hit the road, then. You ready?” Rawley asked her.

“Thanks. Nice meeting you all.”

And the three of them moved slowly out the back door, climbed into Rawley’s truck and the engine roared to life. It was two minutes before the truck was traveling up the road to the highway.

Then Cooper looked at Sarah and Spencer. “Rawley doesn’t have any family.”

“Well, second cousin, removed...” Sarah said.

“With no warning they’re coming?” Spencer asked. “Nah, they’re not family. I’d bet my last dollar on that.” For some reason he couldn’t quite explain, Spencer didn’t tell them about the conversation he had overheard between Rawley and Devon.

“It does seem strange,” Cooper agreed. “Rawley’s a little odd, but he’s not, you know...?”

“A kidnapper? A serial killer?” Sarah offered.

“More likely he found ’em hitching or panhandling. People don’t know this about Rawley, but he’s generous. Softhearted. He doesn’t like to let on that he has a helpful nature. He’s on the gruff and silent side, but he’d give anyone the shirt off his back. When we went through all Ben’s things after he died, Rawley took the old clothes to the VA, but he washed ’em first. Bags full of ’em. He has a generous nature—he gives a lot. I’m not so much worried about that woman and her little girl as I am about Rawley. I hope they don’t fleece him.”

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Spencer suggested. “What if that’s what happened? What if she’s desperate and takes advantage of him?”

“Well, I could try,” Cooper said. “But it might be hard getting anything out of him. That Rawley...he takes pride in saying as little as possible.”

“That girl looks about fifteen,” Spencer said, frowning. “He must’ve found them in trouble somewhere.” He glanced toward the dishes on the bar. “He fed them.”

Two

Rawley drove Devon to the Walmart nearest his home. He parked in the big lot and looked at her. “Your people ever go to the Walmart?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” she said. “And I never did while I was there. But I have some clothes.” The clothes were in the backpack left outside the fence for her. She hadn’t looked at them closely and didn’t know if they’d fit, but the backpack was stuffed with things for her escape.

He reached up to the sun visor overhead and pulled out a ball cap. “Tuck that braid up in this,” he said. “Get yourself a few things, grab some stuff for Mercy. Get yourself any other lady things you might need. Things no sixty-three-year-old bachelor would ever have laying around. I’ll get us some groceries. We’ll try to be quick and not make a stir—don’t want you to give yourself away. Can we do that?”

She nodded, tucking up her braid. “I have forty dollars,” she said.

“Look,” Rawley said. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re suspicious of me and of everybody, and rightly so. But you’re not a prisoner, and even if you decide you can’t stick around you’ll want to stay clear of that camp. You shouldn’t look like you came from there. And you don’t have to run off in the night, all you have to do is say you need a ride somewhere and I’ll take you. Hang on to your forty dollars. You’ll need it, I figure.”

“I was there by choice,” she revealed. Until she wasn’t.

“Well, it’s your choice not to be there now. Let’s just get ’er done. Then you can relax and get a little rest.”

As for not making a stir, the second they walked in the door, little Mercy used her loudest voice to look around and say, “Mama! What is this place?”

It took Devon a second to recover, but recover she did. She pulled Mercy’s little hand and said, “Just a very big store, honey. Now please use your very quiet voice and come with me.” At least Mercy hadn’t called her Sister Devon. That was the way Jacob liked it; no one was a mother or a father, a husband or a wife—they were all brothers and sisters. Which made his behavior seem pretty damned incestuous.

Of course Devon remembered visiting a Walmart—it’s not as though she’d forgotten her life before the family. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and a cart and sped through the women’s and children’s clothes. Two pairs of jeans, a pair of shorts, two shirts, socks, underwear, tennis shoes. She bought the exact same items for Mercy. She added two hoodies, in case they had to flee in the night, and then a few incidentals including brushes, combs and toothbrushes. And—because he was right—she bought a pair of scissors. She had to stop looking like one of them.

She met Rawley by the checkout. Her heart was racing. So, here she was with a scruffy old guy who had given her a ride and now wanted to help her even more and just by the look of him alone she should be worried. But the tall, handsome, soft-spoken Jacob with the ready, welcoming smile, who had so much to offer when she was in need, had never worried her for a moment. And he was the one she should have been worried about!

In his cart Rawley had groceries and... She looked closely. He had a safety seat for Mercy for the truck. It was an old truck and the cab was small, but it had seat belts. She was touched beyond words. That safety seat meant so much more to her than all Jacob’s promises.

The new seat had to be strapped in by the door and there were no seat belts for the middle seat. She had to sit next to Rawley without belts while Mercy rode in the passenger seat. Still, it was better than walking or hitching.

Had it been possible, she would have held her breath all the way to Rawley Goode’s house. She kept telling herself she was safer in this old man’s truck, or in his home, than she would’ve been had she stayed with the family at the compound. She kept telling herself this was safer than hitching rides. Despite her racing imagination there was something she had not been prepared for. When they pulled into the driveway of a small brick home in a neat little neighborhood, she felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. It was like the house she’d grown up in. When they went inside, she stopped right inside the door, right in the little living room, and almost collapsed in relief and emotion. This could be Aunt Mary’s place! The furniture was different but probably just as old, complete with those familiar doilies on the tabletops and arms of the Queen Anne chairs and sofa. It was small, the rug over the hardwood floor threadbare, the wood furniture distressed but polished. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, my God.”

She put Mercy on her feet. “Mama, where’s the kids?”

Devon got down on one knee. She put the bags she carried along with her backpack against the wall. “We’re having a vacation. And I think you need a nap.”

“I don’t want a bacation,” Mercy whined.

“We don’t have a choice. We have to.”

“I don’t want to has to!”

“Stop,” Devon said firmly. “Stop right now.” Then she hugged her close.

Rawley took the groceries straight to the kitchen and began putting things away. Devon just waited by the door, holding Mercy’s hand, afraid to invade the house. Momentarily he was back, handing her a slip of paper. “There’s two bedrooms upstairs and you’ll know which one is mine—it’s lookin’ mighty lived in. There’s food in the kitchen and I ain’t savin’ nothing for later—it’s all open season for you and Mercy. I eat at the bar and clean up dishes before coming home so you won’t see me till eight or so. This here’s a number for my phone.” Then he grinned. “You’re the first person to get it. I mean, Cooper has it, but only because he bought me the phone in the first place—he got tired of me never checkin’ in. You just call if you need something, or if something changes with you, or if... I don’t expect anyone will bother you here.”

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

He gave a shrug. “I could stay, Cooper wouldn’t mind. But if I was you, I’d still be nervous and me gone will give you a chance to think. Check over the place. Rest. Eat. Get comfortable. Pull the tags off your clothes. Nap. Whatever you need to do.” He opened the door. “There’s another room up there. It’s where I keep the TV. Extra blankets in the hall closet. Towels and that stuff, too.”

“I guess we should wash off the road,” she said.

He looked at his watch. “You got hours to do whatever you want.”

“Thank you, Mr. Goode.”

“It’s just Rawley,” he said. And then he was gone.

Overwhelmed, Devon sat on his worn old couch, pulling Mercy beside her. Mercy. She had wanted to name her Mary in the first place, after her aunt. Mary had been failing fast the last time she’d seen her alive. Five years ago.

Tears started to just run out of her blue eyes.

“We’re free,” she whispered to Mercy.

“Mama, where’s the kids?”

* * *

It was Sister Laine who had helped Devon find a way out of The Fellowship. Laine hadn’t been with the family long, not even six months. And, unlike some of the women, she was very independent and didn’t seem to get sucked into group thinking, nor did she vie for Jacob’s favors. She was careful, though. Disciplined and obedient. Around Jacob she seemed skittish, maybe frightened, but there were other times when she threw Devon a secret grin and wink, or maybe a startled look. She didn’t talk about her past, other than to say she’d come from a bad place and that Jacob had promised her peace and safety. It was implied she had been abused by a man. Laine’s story reminded Devon that they weren’t all the same no matter how much Jacob wished it so.

Laine learned that Devon wanted to leave the compound and that Jacob wouldn’t let her take Mercy. It was hardly secret—Devon had been making noises about leaving once she first learned she was pregnant. But Jacob said no, absolutely no, because Mercy was his child. So, for several years Devon and Mercy made the compound their home.

They were gathering eggs one morning when Laine whispered, “I know you want to leave.”

“No,” Devon said, hiding surprise, cautious in case of betrayal. “I’m very happy.”

“I know you want to go and if you do, I can help. If you turn on me, it will be bad, very bad. If you don’t want to go, just ignore me.”

But Devon said, “Help how?”

“Listen carefully. On June 9 there will be a hole in the fence behind the henhouse, right over there. There will be a backpack with some clothes, bottled water, a couple of apples and granola bars—look for it outside the fence behind a tree. At midnight there will be a truck down the road—the lights will be off. The driver will take you over the mountain. He won’t wait long. Go to the coast. You shouldn’t travel Highway 5, it’s too close to the compound and you’ll be found right away if anyone decides to look for you. If they look, they’ll only look as far as you can walk. Hitching a ride on Highway 101 is safer. If anything goes wrong, try to find a women’s shelter and tell your story. As a last resort, if you have no other way to get help, tell the police.”

“Why a last resort?”

“Because, Devon, once you tell, they might make a move on this place and everyone could be in danger. Jacob will fight back. So, only tell the police if that’s the only way you can be safe.”

“Why would you do this?”

She shrugged and said, “I fixed it up at the Farmers’ Market. I was planning to do it myself, but I think you should go first. I’ll figure out something.”

“Maybe we could both go,” Devon said, wondering if she’d lost her mind.

But Laine shook her head. “Two of us and Mercy traveling together would be too easy to track. If you get in a fix, tell someone what’s going on here. The moods, the threats, the little rages and the gardens. If you have to tell, tell to keep yourself safe. It is not safe here.”

“It was once. Or it seemed to be,” Devon said.

“It’s not safe now, I can tell. It’s time to get the children out. I think you know that. Now let’s find some eggs. And laugh at my jokes, for God’s sake!” Then she smiled. “You have this one chance. Do it.”

It’s time to get the children out. Those words struck fear in Devon’s heart and she knew she had to act. She had to take the chance that was being given to her. She had to trust Laine. But, once she had made her decision, Devon nearly counted her heartbeats until she and Mercy could escape.

Just as Laine had promised, everything was ready. And, before she knew it, she’d done it.

* * *

Rawley got back to the beach bar around two in the afternoon. He walked in on one of the most unlikely friendships he’d ever known about, and he’d known of some odd ones since Vietnam. Cooper was behind his bar and Spencer Lawson was sitting on a stool facing him. This was a fairly new friendship. As Rawley heard the story, Spencer had been married to an old fiancée of Cooper’s and the poor lady died. She had cancer or something, Rawley recalled. And several months before her death, blood work had been done and revealed that their ten-year-old son, Austin, was actually not Spencer’s biological son, but Cooper’s.

Well, now, Rawley thought. That’ll make or break a man.

But the men had worked it out. In fact, Spencer had just agreed to take a job in Thunder Point so both dads could live in the same town and be parents to one little boy. And ten-year-old Austin had the potential to be spoiled rotten.

“Hey, Rawley,” Cooper said. “How’s your cousin?”

“Huh? Oh, she’s okay. I left her to get a nap, relax or whatever.”

“How long you think she’ll stay?”

Rawley just shrugged. “Can’t say. Might be she doesn’t find an old Vet much fun to live with and just moves on.”

“Well, what brought her here?” Cooper asked.

“You are sure the nosiest som-bitch I know. I don’t have the details, don’t really need the details, but I gather it was a bad situation or something and she needs a place to roost a bit. Don’t matter. I’m happy to give her a bed. She’s got a kid—you don’t just ignore a kid. I don’t want them staying in some damn run-down hotel all alone just because I’m an old coot set in my ways.” He craned his neck and looked out the windows to the beach. “Speaking of kids...”

“Austin’s fishing off the dock with Landon,” Spencer said. “I have to go look at a house in town, even though Austin wants to live in that RV next door for the rest of his life.”

“Ain’t a bad place, as places go,” Rawley said. Cooper’s toy hauler had been operating as a guest house ever since he had finished off the upstairs of the bar into his apartment.

“I’m looking for something a little bigger in the bathroom and kitchen department.” Spencer laughed. “Not to mention less sandy.”

“If you could train someone to wipe his great big ten-year-old feet, you could beat that problem. Have you noticed how big his feet are? Is that normal?” Cooper asked.

“Well, it’s normal on St. Bernard puppies,” Spencer said.

Leaving the men to talk, Rawley went to the kitchen. There was always work to be done—cleaning, stocking, organizing. Now that Cooper had an apartment and a fiancée, he stayed out of there. Cooper could clean his own house, do his own laundry. Cooper liked taking care of the beach, raking up, hauling trash, making sure there was no detritus that could harm people or wildlife. He said it gave him an idea of who used the beach and what they used it for. He maintained his stock of paddleboards and kayaks. And he spent a lot of time visiting with folks in town, on the beach, on the dock, in the bar. Cooper was a natural people person. Rawley had never been much for visiting.

Rawley kept himself busy working around the bar and in the kitchen till about seven-thirty. With the longer days there was plenty of sunlight left; Cooper and Landon could handle the place without him until sunset when folks tended to quit for the day, except those who liked the beach at night and enjoyed their fires.

His phone hadn’t rung all day. He wondered what he’d find when he got home. He had absolutely no idea. She was skittish; she might be gone. The place could be upended, valuables stolen...not that he had much in the way of valuables. But nothing prepared him for what he found when he got there. He could hear the TV upstairs and didn’t want to startle her, so he called from the bottom of the stairs.

She came to the top of the stairs and looked down at him. Her hair was cut right up to the nape, kind of messy-cute, falling over her forehead haphazardly. Gone was that thick mane that hit her butt. “Up here, Mr. Goode,” she said. “Oh, my God, I haven’t seen TV in so long. We had popcorn—I hope that’s okay. You said anything. We didn’t eat much. There’s plenty left. But the TV—my daughter is in a trance. She’s never seen TV.” Then she laughed and her whole face lit up. “Well, she was in a trance and now she’s asleep right on the floor and I’m watching baseball. I love baseball. I haven’t seen a game in years!”

He chuckled and remained at the bottom of the stairs. “No TV at the camp, I take it,” he said.

“No TV, no newspapers, no internet access, no phones. No distractions, no commercialism, no propaganda. At least for us.” There was that grin again. “Oh, how I missed it!”

“Did you find something for Mercy to watch?” he asked.

“Evil cartoons. She was in heaven.”

“Have you eaten anything besides popcorn?” Rawley asked.

She nodded. “I scrambled some eggs and made some toast for Mercy. I had a sandwich, chips, soda...” She rolled her eyes. “Soda! It was so good! And then the popcorn. Should I turn off the TV now? So you can have peace and quiet?”

Rawley smiled. She looked lit up from the inside. He couldn’t remember being quite this pleased with himself. He shook his head. “I’m gonna get my newspaper and a cola. I like sports. I used to watch with my dad before he died—that’s why there’s two recliners up there. And you can watch the TV all night if you want to. It don’t bother me. Half the time I fall asleep in front of the TV.”

“Newspaper!” she said in a breath.

“I’ll share it with you.”

* * *

Mercy rarely asked about the other kids or the other sisters from the family once she was introduced to television and the undivided attention of one mother rather than six. They hardly ever left the house except to walk to the end of the street where there was a tiny park with swings and a slide, and that was just for a little exercise and fresh air. Every day Rawley brought them something new. First, a couple of toys for Mercy—a baby doll with a diaper bag filled with miniature supplies—this small child from a family compound didn’t know about diaper bags. Then he brought some crayons and coloring books and bubbles. Next, some library books—a few picture books for a three-year-old, a few novels he had asked a librarian to recommend for a thirty-year-old woman.

“Close enough,” she said with a smile. “I’m twenty-eight.”

Then he brought home a laptop computer. He said, “I thought maybe you might want to use this. It’s an old one Cooper let me have. Do you know how to use it?”

“I know how to use a computer, certainly. We just didn’t use the evil internet, which has probably grown to amazing heights in the last several years. And I can’t tell you how much I want to have a look!”

“I ain’t got no hookup. Cooper said to tell you to jump on some neighbor’s or store’s wireless—and I ain’t got the first idea how you do that.”

But Devon smiled. She’d have no trouble figuring it out.

For Devon, this time away from the compound was like sensory overload—there were so many new ideas to talk about, and programs to watch and articles to read. She was in ecstasy.

Then came several days of rain in a row, which conspired with Devon’s need to be immersed in the books, TV and computer. Rawley didn’t spend quite as many hours at work but Devon and Mercy were so happily occupied it seemed he’d barely left before he returned. She made a couple of dinners for the three of them and while Rawley wasn’t exactly talkative, he was companionable.

“How’s ’at computer working out?”

“It’s a revelation—you can find out anything.” Out of curiosity she checked out “communes in Oregon” online and found several references, but nothing really interesting. Compounds could mean a host of families, religious sects, cults and organizations ranging from non-certified health retreats and rehab facilities to known sovereign communities and anti-government separatists. She was fascinated and kept reading.

Then she found something that explained so much: a familiar name and story—Jacob Glover. Glover? They didn’t use last names—they claimed there was no need. But there was a picture, and it was definitely the Jacob she had known. He was well-known—he’d been convicted of fraud in the past. He was known as the leader of a cult who had recently been investigated for fraud, tax fraud, conspiracy and kidnapping. Huh? she thought. Well, taxes...yes, that was an issue. She remembered that very well indeed. It was one of his favorite rants, taken right from his manifesto. What am I but a poor farmer? We eat what we grow; we own our land; we don’t use any government resources—we educate our own and we pay our good money for supplies we can’t grow or breed or make. The only argument government has for our paltry income is our rare use of their roads! Property tax? For living? For paying our own way? I’ll die first!

She remembered thinking that was a compelling argument, but it was one that would never work. As for paltry income for little supplies—she was well aware that The Fellowship not only owned expensive farming equipment, but they also owned three black Lincoln SUVs with darkened windows that only the men drove. This could hardly be considered paltry by any stretch of the imagination. It was also hard to believe that the meager sale of apples, peaches, pears and vegetables brought in enough income for The Fellowship to purchase the equipment and the mammoth SUVs.

But kidnapping? There was not a chance The Fellowship could be accused of that! No one had ever come into the family unwillingly and if they ran away, Jacob looked the other way. At least he used to. When Greg had slipped away after just a few months, there was only sad disappointment. But when Caleb, who had been with the group for three years, left suddenly, Jacob’s anger roared. All three SUVs tore out of the compound and went in search, a search lasting days. But when he wasn’t found, the search was abandoned.

Then she realized that these investigations might be the reason Jacob and some of the others seemed to have changed in the past couple of years, becoming impatient and paranoid. When she’d first become a part of the group, gentleness and ease had seemed to dominate their way of life. But over the past couple of years anger and even desperation seemed to creep in. I’ll die first! The amount of time he spent writing—some of the women called his writings a diary, some a manifesto, others claimed it was his new bible—had increased. There had always been weapons that were kept locked up and managed by a few men, but they were for security and hunting, not because there was fear.

She looked up “cult,” though she knew well enough what one was. And she also knew that religious affiliation aside, The Fellowship was a cult. Synonyms were “gang,” “craze,” “sect” and “denomination dominated by extreme beliefs.” Not always a bad thing, the L.A. Police Department was referred to as the biggest gang in L.A. They were but a group of like-minded people, bent on a single purpose. In fact, it was that alone that had caused the rift for Devon. She was no longer of a like mind.

In one of her last conversations with Jacob, right before Laine had offered her a way out, she’d said, “I miss my individuality, that’s all. I don’t want to be isolated and I don’t want my daughter raised by six mothers. I want to pick my own books and music, read all the papers. I want to be a part of society again.”

“Even if society is bad? Wrong? Dangerous? Greedy?” he’d asked.