The Book of David Read online

  “Willow Sands, on this, the fifteenth anniversary of your birth, we have gathered together to celebrate your life. As a Daughter of David, you have been given an honor few fifteen-year-old girls in this world will receive.” Father David’s voice boomed through the hall, covering the silence with an authority that was so absolute no one but me would have dared question him. “Because of your faith, and because you have chosen to shelter yourself from the depravity of the world, you have been given the gift of betrothal. It is the chance to marry a man chosen for you by God, and an opportunity to procreate and bring forth more Children of David.” He paused then, and something about the silence felt heavy. It made me suck in a breath as if preparing myself for an impact that was sure to knock me off my feet. “God has chosen you, Willow, out of all of the Daughters of David, for the greatest of honors. Your betrothal is especially dear to me, because I give you the son of my own blood, David Miller. With you at his side, David will lead when I am gone. You will be his pillar of strength as he shepherds our flock into the future. Join us, David, and take the hand of your bride as a symbol of your future union.”

  It took a moment for his words to register, but when they finally sank in, the heaviness settling over me was unlike anything I’d ever felt.

  David sat in the front row, and he was smiling when he walked toward me, but I could barely focus on him.

  It was his mother who had my attention. She sat in the front row as well, only on the women’s side of the worship hall, and her slumped shoulders made it look like a heavy weight had settled on them, forcing them down. The silent resignation on her face was a familiar sight, but until that moment I’d never thought much about it or about who she was. Humble and submissive, timid and compliant, Mother Ruth epitomized everything the Wife of David was required to represent, and it suddenly occurred to me that if Father David had his way, I would become exactly like her. Just thinking about it shook me to the very core.

  I was still staring at her when David took his place at my side. He slipped his hand into mine, which was moist and warm, and the feel of his calloused palm against my own smooth skin felt strangely threatening. I had always lived surrounded by a fence, but until that moment I’d never felt like a prisoner. That was exactly how David’s grip made me feel, though. It was as if someone had wrapped a rope around my wrists and bound them together permanently.

  I tore my gaze from Mother Ruth and searched the faces of the women around her for signs of life. Emotionless gazes met mine. Blank, empty eyes seemed to scream at me to run. Not every woman in the room looked broken the way Mother Ruth did, but standing in front of the crowd at that moment, all I could focus on was the fear and desolation hanging over the women.

  David’s fingers were intertwined with mine, trapping me as Father David moved to stand behind us. He read from The Book of David before resting his own hand on ours, his voice ringing through the room as he announced to the community how our joined hands were a symbol of our impending union.

  When he paused, I glanced over my shoulder at him, catching the enthusiastic expression on my fiancé’s face in the process. Even though I didn’t know what the look meant, a shiver moved down my spine.

  The intense stare Father David gave me seemed to go all the way to my soul. Made my pulse quicken. Made dread form in the pit of my stomach. He was still looking at me when he said, “Now take your future bride.”

  I was aware that the newly betrothed couple was supposed to have one night together after the ceremony, but as David led me from the worship hall, past the hundreds of eyes silently watching our march, it occurred to me that I had no idea what would happen once we reached his room. My mother had told me nothing, only that it was my duty. That I was to do as I was told.

  We didn’t talk as David led me through the empty streets of our community and back to his home. His grip on my hand never loosened, not even when we’d stepped into his house and he pulled me toward his bedroom. Not until we were sitting side by side on his bed did he finally release my hand. I flexed my fingers, which had started to go numb, and stared at the digits as the blood returned to them, transforming my skin from white to a soft pink once again.

  At my side, David didn’t speak, but I could feel his gaze on me. Being so close to him made my stomach flutter. Made my heart pound. My mouth felt like the sandy ground I’d trudged across every day of my life.

  Despite my fear, a small part of me was actually excited to be sitting next to him. I was young and naïve, and David was good-looking. I’d never been shown love, but I’d also never experienced real cruelty at that point, and it never occurred to me that the uneasiness swirling through me might be justified.

  “Willow,” David murmured, and his voice seemed as soft as a feather. “You can look at me.”

  When I finally lifted my head and met his gaze, the look in his eyes was new to me, and I didn’t know how to interpret it, but the desire was vivid enough that it seemed to make the air around us crackle. Having someone look at me like that, especially the nineteen-year-old son of Father David, made me feel as if I were flying.

  It didn’t take long for those special feelings to disappear, though.

  The memories from that night haunt me. I was a child, only fifteen years old, and clueless. The first kiss was gentle, almost pleasant, and I let it happen. Even enjoyed it a little. It wasn’t long before David grew more insistent, though. His kisses deepened, his hands roamed. When he started to unbutton my blouse, I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t stop. The flash of desire in his eyes changed. It no longer gave me tingles, but instead made me feel like an animal that had been trapped by a predator.

  “It’s your duty, Willow,” he said as he pushed my hands aside. “God wants me to do this.”

  My mother had told me the same thing, but it all felt so wrong, and I couldn’t make myself believe it. I struggled and sobbed, begged him to stop. He didn’t, and before I knew it, I was naked, and so was he. He held me down. He kissed me. Groped me. His stubble rubbed my body raw. Tears burned my cheeks, and my throat ached from crying. Then he was on top of me, and there was so much pain, and I wanted to die.

  It was humiliating and terrifying, and something I will never be able to forgive him for. At that moment, I understood completely why his mother walked like she had been beaten into submission.

  “You are amazing, Willow,” David said when he was done.

  I couldn’t move or speak. We were lying in his bed, and he was still touching me, but I just stared at the ceiling. My skin crawled, but I couldn’t even muster the strength to push his hand away. He brushed the matted and sweaty hair from my face and tried to turn my head so I was looking at him, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t face him, not after what he’d done to me.

  “You don’t have to cry. This is what God wanted for us,” he said for the hundredth time, and I found myself wondering if he really believed it. I didn’t. “We only have tonight. Do you want to do it again?”

  I started to sob, and I tried to roll away from him, but he wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t stop touching me, wouldn’t stop trying to comfort me with his awkward caresses and empty words about God’s will. My skin burned wherever he stroked me, and I prayed to die, but I was trapped, and I knew it. David was my future.

  After a few more minutes of crying, he forced himself on me again. Kissing me, touching me, telling me how beautiful I was. How lucky I should feel to be chosen by God. I kept my eyes shut the entire time.

  When he was finally done with my body, he rolled over and went to sleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The sheets beneath me were damp as I stared up into the darkness, trying to pull myself together. Trying to stop the tears from coming. I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t do anything but wonder why my mother had allowed this to happen. I hated David for what he’d done, but I blamed my mother. Sometimes, when the images and feelings come screaming back, I worry that the hate I feel toward her will crush me.

  At
first I was numb, but as the night went on, my body and mind seemed to come alive with feelings and emotions. My body trembled while my skin felt like it was on fire. It was like I was floating in a sea of feelings so deep I could never escape them.

  About halfway through the night, panic hit, and I found it difficult to breathe. I couldn’t lie there any longer, so I dressed as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb David, and slipped out of the house.

  The second my feet hit dirt, I started running. I ran as fast as I could through the streets of our community, using the moon’s glow to help light my way. It was a cool night, and my arms and legs were covered in goose bumps within minutes. My teeth chattered and my body shook, but I ignored all of it and kept running.

  We were in Texas at the time, and our community was about three miles of flat, sandy desert. The houses were somewhere in the middle, so it was over a mile to the fence. I was out of breath by the time I reached it, but it didn’t slow me down, and as soon as I got to the fence, I started to climb, not even feeling it when I reached the top and the metal sliced across my skin. My long skirt helped protect my legs a little, but not much, and by the time I made it over, I was covered in cuts. But once I landed safely on the other side, hope rose inside me, and I began to run again.

  I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care. I just needed to get away from the Children of David and the monster whose bed I had just fled. Even the thought of leaving my mother couldn’t stop me. Every time I thought about the humiliation I’d just endured, anger burned inside me. I couldn’t believe she’d allowed David to do that to me. For the first time in my life, I realized exactly how weak my mother really was, and the hatred and bitterness that seeped into my heart helped spur me forward.

  I’m not sure how long I ran, but I do know by the time I saw a farmhouse in the distance, the soft glow of dawn was looming on the horizon. When I got closer to the house, I was able to make out large barns in the distance, and beyond that, cattle. There were a few trucks parked right in front of the house, but no people in sight. Each step seemed to take more effort than the last, but I focused on the house and forced my legs to keep working. I stumbled and almost fell, but somehow managed to stay on my feet. Two steps later, though, I tripped again, and just as I was falling to the ground, the front door opened and a man walked out.

  An older couple lived at the ranch. The woman was tender when she cleaned me up, but I was too terrified to talk. She did her best to soothe me, and her eyes were kind and gentle, but after what I’d been through, I couldn’t allow myself to trust her. At least not right away.

  She put me in what they called a guestroom, on a soft bed covered by a beautiful white blanket with an identical lace canopy over my head. Everything was soft and warm and inviting, and nothing like the homes in the commune I had just fled.

  The woman’s name was Annabel. She had long, gray hair she wore tied back in a braid, and brown eyes swimming with genuine worry when she looked at me. She asked me a lot of questions, but I couldn’t answer her. I was terrified of being found. Of being sent back to the only home I had ever known. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what had happened to me. Instead, I cried silently while she sat next to me with a pinched expression on her face, gently patting my shaking hand. It was comforting enough to help me relax and eventually fall asleep.

  When I woke, there was a different face hovering over me. A man a little older than Annabel, with small round glasses and a gray mustache. He smiled when our eyes met, and I instinctively knew I could trust him, just like I could trust Annabel and her husband, Abe.

  The man was a doctor, and he treated the more severe cuts I’d received from the fence, all the while whispering reassuring words to me. My body was shaky and tense, but he was gentle, and Annabel stayed by my side the entire time, holding my hand. The only time the doctor frowned was when he examined my wrists and inner thighs.

  When he left the room with Annabel, I looked at the purple marks on my wrists, then pulled my skirt up and inspected my thighs. There was bruising along the insides of my legs, and I could tell by the way he’d frowned that the doctor knew what they were from, which made me burn with shame.

  The feeling of David’s body on top of mine came back, so vivid it felt like he was there. I began to shake, and I pulled the sheet up to my chin and closed my eyes, trying to block out the memories. Trying to comfort and protect myself with the knowledge that he couldn’t hurt me again. I knew if I focused on the feelings swirling around inside of me, I would start crying again, and I couldn’t do that. I had to stay strong. I had to get some rest so I could move on. I couldn’t let them find me.

  I tried to go back to sleep, but the voices of Annabel and Abe talking to the doctor grabbed my attention, and I strained to listen. They were in the hall, right outside the room, and they were talking about me. Strange words I didn’t quite understand were repeated over and over again, things like rape and child services. I desperately tried to figure out what it all meant, tried not to panic, but my body shook anyway. Did they know about the Children of David? Were they going to send me back?

  When Annabel finally came back into the room, she was carrying a tray with some food on it, and my stomach growled at the wonderful smells. I’d been too nervous about my betrothal the night before to eat, and too scared as I ran through the desert to think about anything other than getting away. Now, though, I felt almost lightheaded from the hunger.

  “I thought you might be hungry,” she said. The skin at the corner of her eyes crinkled a little when she smiled.

  I nodded and sat up, much too hungry to be timid. She placed the tray of delicious smelling food on my lap. There was bacon and eggs, and a few slices of bread that looked different from the homemade stuff we’d had back at the commune. There was also a small glass of orange colored liquid. I picked it up first, smelling it hesitantly, then took a small sip. It was sweet and tart at the same time, like nothing I had ever tasted before.

  “What is it?” I asked, looking up at Annabel with wide eyes.

  The corners of her mouth went down just a little, and she tilted her head to the side. “You’ve never had orange juice?”

  I shook my head and gazed at the glass in my hand. At the time, I didn’t realize the name came from the fruit, and to me it seemed much too simple for something so delicious. The liquid deserved a much more creative name, so I silently resolved to call it sweetness because it was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted.

  Annabel sat silently and watched me while I ate, her eyes following my every move. She probably had a million questions, but I could tell she was waiting until I was done eating to ask them.

  Just like I thought, as soon as I’d swallowed the last bite of food, she began. “What’s your name?”

  That was an easy one. I’d already decided telling this woman my name wouldn’t do any harm, because outside the Children of David, no one knew I existed.

  “Willow Sands,” I said quietly.

  Her lips were tight, but they turned up at the corners and she nodded. “How old are you, Willow?”

  I swallowed as I thought it through. Telling her my age made me hesitate, but ultimately I couldn’t see the harm, so I said, “Fifteen. Yesterday was my birthday.”

  Her brow wrinkled when she frowned, and a pit formed in my stomach. The expression on her face reminded me of when my mother was unhappy with something I’d done, but I wasn’t sure what about my age bothered Annabel.

  I held my breath and waited for her to tell me what I’d done wrong, but instead she asked, “Where did you come from? Who were you running from?”

  Those were harder questions, and I played with a loose strand on the quilt while I tried to decide what to say. I had no idea if she was aware the Children existed, but I instinctively knew I couldn’t lead her to them. Even though I didn’t want to go back, I still had an undeniable sense of loyalty when I thought about the people there. Despite what had happened to me, I couldn’t allow o
utsiders to find the commune.

  “I don’t know,” I finally said, staring down at the little string, twirling it between my thumb and finger and twisting tighter and tighter. There was no way she would believe I didn’t know where I’d come from, but I hoped she’d let it go for the moment.

  I kept my eyes down, focused on the string. Annabel didn’t say anything, and after a few seconds I forced myself to look up. She was watching me with a deep frown on her face.

  “Did someone hurt you?” she asked in a much softer voice. “The doctor said there were some bruises…”

  Her voice trailed off, and a lump formed in my throat, making it difficult to swallow. I couldn’t speak. David was back on me again, his stubble rubbing against my neck as his hands groped me. My throat felt raw, but I forced myself to nod.

  Annabel swallowed and took a deep breath. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Maybe if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t send me back. My stomach was still in knots, and I didn’t want to talk about it, but I was willing to do almost anything to make sure I didn’t get sent back.

  “I had my betrothal,” I said. “Last night was the night of my union. My one night with my chosen before our wedding.” Annabel tilted her head to the side and gave me a questioning look, but I wasn’t sure what confused her, so I tried to explain a little better. “I didn’t know what to expect.”

  She flinched and shook her head. “But you’re only fifteen. Who would expect you to do such a thing?”

  “Every girl has her betrothal when she turns fifteen,” I said, “to solidify their bond. It’s the will of God.”

  The look on Annabel’s face told me what I’d already suspected. What happened to me was wrong. She didn’t ask any more questions, but her expression was pained and her eyes full of something I didn’t understand.

  I twirled the string harder. “Are you going to send me back?”