I slid from the truck cab and drew my weapon. Moved around the house to check the back door, which was secure, and the small locked shed, also secure. Carefully I eased back around front and climbed the steps, halfway to the porch. The front door was still secure, no indication of breaking and entering. The windows were all intact. The boxes appeared to have packing slips on them and were securely taped shut. But I had felt no one walk onto my land.
I moved down and back to the truck, holstered my weapon, and grabbed my one-day gobag from the truck cab. Searched through it.
“What is it?” Mud asked. “Is it a body in a box? Is there blood all over it?” Curiosity and desire to take part in whatever was happening practically vibrated the air around her.
“No body. No blood, Mud. Stay put a bit longer, though.”
“But—”
“Stay put.” I climbed the steps. Removed the pocket-sized psy-meter 1.0 from my gobag. I hadn’t looked at it in forever, but it still had a charge. I crouched, so I could inspect the boxes.
Now that I was close enough, I saw that two of the large boxes were clearly marked as solar panels. A smaller one was marked as a battery, one designed to make the best use of captured but unused solar energy. The markings on the other boxes were less obvious, except for the one marked as an 18,000 BTU window-unit air conditioner and heater, suitable for a thousand square feet of space. Strangely, they were all brands I used and was familiar with, but I hadn’t ordered them.
I eased closer and saw my name and address on the boxes. The packaging slips looked real. This was neither a bomb nor a mistaken delivery. I holstered my weapon, feeling a little foolish, but I wasn’t used to getting packages. Then it hit me.
Someone who knew me well—Sam? Daddy? Occam?—had ordered all this stuff for me. That someone had taken over my decision-making power and done what Occam might call an end run around me.
I heard the truck door open and shut softly.
Mud said, “Oh. Ummm. It came early.”
I swiveled on the balls of my feet to see Mud on the steps. She was wearing her new jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, her hair down in a long tail and her tablet clutched in her hand. Her face wore an expression that was defiance with a little bit of guilt. “Came early?” I asked.
The defiance grew stronger. “Daddy told me he’d give me a dowry as good as yours when I got married or the cash now. He said I could use it for school or my wedding or however I wanted. I ain’t planning on a wedding and I can get financial aid at school, so I took the cash now.”
“I didn’t get—” I stopped. John had never told me there had been a dowry. But then, I had never asked. Seems that my daddy and my husband had handled things without the input of the daughter and wife, just like the churchmen always had, which should make me mad now that I knew it. But Daddy had let Mud make her own decision like a woman grown, so maybe Daddy had changed.
“I done all this behind your’n back, before we had that negotiation about working together.” She hunched her shoulders and hugged the tablet to her chest. “I seen where—I saw where you kept the papers on the brands and the models. Sam helped me order ’em online and I talked to your friend Brother Thad at Rankin Replacements and Repairs about the cost to put them in. It was supposed to be a surprise. But if’n I’m honest, it was also to get my way. Since we talked I been scared to tell you.”
I stood and studied the stack of boxes, remembering Thad’s hesitation when he talked about my solar array. “Well. Did Brother Thad give you a ballpark figure for installation?”
“He said he’d talk to you about it, but it’d be in range with the last upgrade. You ain’t mad?”
“If you had to do it over again would you talk to me about it first?”
“Yep.”
I shifted my eyes to my younger sister. “This must have cost several thousand dollars. Where did Daddy get that much money? He doesn’t even own his own land.”
“Six thousand, seven hundred dollars and forty-six cents after taxes and shipping and handling. And Daddy’s got money. The church sets up commercial greenhouses and windmill pumps for cattle and horses. Your’n windmill is a church product. They used to make a fortune growing and harvesting trees for the paper mill industry. That income stream started dying ’bout twenty years ago, but wood still brings in some cash. Daddy’s got investments. Mosta the churchmen got investments. And useta be, there was all the money the mamas brung in.”
“What did you say?” I asked, startled. “The money the mamas bring in?”
“The mamas,” she said, as if I was stupid. I just looked at her, confused. “The state put an end to their moneymaking after the raid. The one where them vampire hunters done come across your land.”
“What money?” I stood, feeling the sweat trickling down my spine.
“They’s poor and unmarried and they useta get medical care from the state and money each month for each young’un. It ain’t that much per young’un, but they gots lots of them. Daddy useta put some a that money aside each month in an account for college and for dowry.”
“Daddy and the mamas—” I stopped cold. That was why none of them had been legally married to Daddy until recently. They spent decades complaining about the government interfering in their lifestyle and they had been taking money from the state? I was pretty sure that was welfare fraud. “Used to take money?”
“The social services people put a stop to it after they raided the church,” Mud said, matter-of-factly.
That meant I had been indirectly responsible for thechurch’s loss of income when I let the raid start from across my land. Another reason for the church to hate me. Like a hammer of doom, all the personal implications hit me. I hadn’t been legally married to John until I was fifteen. Had John and Leah earned money off of me while I lived with them? I’d had Medicaid? Welfare? Medical attention I never used or never thought about? All behind my back. Or had Daddy kept getting the money when I went to John?
A tiny barb of anger lodged itself in my chest, prickly and painful. I had a bad feeling that poisonous spine was gonna grow until I had this out with Daddy. It was hypocrisy of the highest order and I wanted to throw things. Maybe break things. “Why do you say theyused tomake money?”
“They had to settle with the state. Pay ’em some back and not take money the way they useta. Social services people make sure it’s done right now.”
