“Like I said, we take care of our own, and she is currentlybeing taken care of. I’d hate for anything to happen to her. Wouldn’t you?” Something pounded hard behind Luc’s eyes as the man took a slow step into his space. “Anything you need, sir. You let us know.” Isaiah focused on Sammy, who lingered just beyond Luc. “Ready now, son?”
No!Luc wanted to yell, to throw himself in front of the boy. He had the sense that if he didn’t stop them now, he’d never see Sammy again.
He’d started to move when the boy said, “Sure.” He sounded perfectly happy as he slid by Luc’s tense body and headed outside. Why was he pleased? None of this made sense. “Night, Luc.”
“Where are you taking him?”
Isaiah wrapped an arm around Sammy’s neck in a gross parody of a hug—the threat so clearly implicit that Luc didn’t dare move. “Home, Mr. Stanek.”
Luc’s eyes met and held the other man’s through three long breaths.
He finally gave in. “Good night, Sammy.” His voice broke on the words.
The boy was swallowed up by the group of somberly clad men before disappearing into the night. Luc took another breath full of courage and spoke, tilting his head at the departing group. “I understand he needs medical care.”
“Oh, sure enough” came the easy answer, with a smile that didn’t look as carefree as it was probably intended. “Must have had a goodly amount of time to get acquainted if he told you all that. But like I said: we take care of our own. And I’d hate for anyone to get hurt.” He tilted his hat down at the brim and lost the smile entirely. “Thank you again, neighbor. And God bless.”
What was the right answer to that?You, too?Luc opted for a quiet nod.
Finally, the men disappeared down the drive with Sammy in their midst and Luc closed the door, heart beating fast. What just happened? And where the hell was Abby? Had they done something to her?
Turning, it took a few moments for him to spot Le Dog crouched under the coffee table, hackles raised high and ears flattened. As he turned the lock—something he never did—Luc wished he could get rid of the feeling that he’d just handed the boy over to the devil.
10
Abby limped into the Main Chapel and nearly collapsed, her knees turned to jelly by the sight of all these people, waiting.
For me. They’re waiting for me.
The only thing that kept her standing was the knowledge that Sammy had made it out.
Isaiah started off the day with “Morning has broken,” as if this were a regular service. As if she wasn’t sitting in the front row like a witch on trial.
To add to the charade, she sang with everyone else, accompanied by the amplified strum of Isaiah’s guitar.
When Hamish had been alive, they’d played together, Isaiah and him up there. They’d divided the sermon in half—Hamish’s older, doom-filled words the perfect contrast to Isaiah’s uplifting words of hope.
By the time the song wrapped up and everyone sat down, Abby’s pounding heart had calmed. Maybe it was just a normal Sunday. Maybe she would be forgiven.
Isaiah’s voice oozed through the speakers they’d spent hard-earned money to purchase a few years ago. Funny how Isaiah’s God was fine with this modern convenience but not the ones that saved lives. The sound came through strong and melodic, though a tiny bit of static came out with every brush of his beard.
“There is an enemy on the mountain today. A serpent among us.” Isaiah’s gaze ranged across the gathered crowd before landing, firmly, on Abby. “And that enemy isdoubt.” With a gentle smile, he paused before continuing. “Sliding into our hearts, it need take root in but one of our number.One.”
She’d admired the sound of his voice, once upon a time. As a child, she’d looked forward to the sermons, their Sunday morning lessons, their daily Bible stories. Today, every syllable vibrated up her spine like the chords of a harp being tweaked. Exhausted, her mind wandered, taking in Isaiah’s words like a rhythm without meaning.
She forced herself to focus back in.
“‘For I am the Lord, who heals you.’” Isaiah stopped, eyes bright, breath puffing audibly against the mic. “‘I will take away sickness from among you,’ the Almighty did say. ‘Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed; save me, and I will be saved, for you are the one I praise.’”
There was a long pause while the room sat quiet and the listeners rapt. With a startled jolt, Abby recognized what he was saying.
“Someamong us—and you know yourselves—have deigned to question our Savior’s capacity to heal. You have dared to doubt His verychoices. And through that doubt, you show your lack of faith.” He raised his brows at the agitation running through the crowd. It wasn’t a sound, but a low rumble of excitement that showed he’d gotten through to them. They knew something was coming, just like the sheep at shearing time, although some of them still hadn’t figured out who would succumb. It was excitement, Abby recognized, at the prospect of someone’s condemnation.
Someone’s punishment.
When Isaiah focused again on her, the sheep knew, with absolute certainty, that she was the object of this lesson. Eyes turned to her, wide and hungry.
“It is not our duty to question our Lord and Savior, nor His very word. It is our duty toobey.” After a pause, during which his long, pale fingers reached out to the congregation, Isaiah smiled. “Let us pray, my children. For the prophecy is nigh.”
