Blood of the Earth by Faith Hunter Page B

give it to when Leah passed, and I had put it on the top shelf in the kitchen pantry, thinking it would be safe, but a pellet had found it. My eyes burned and tears threatened, my throat clogged with pain. I owed her better than to let the church destroy Leah’s things, her memory, or me. She had taught me better. I put the broken pitcher back on its shelf, even though I knew that there was no way I could mend it.
    Later, carrying my blanket, a book, and the list of questions that Rick had placed on the stack of books where he had left his cash earlier, I wandered to the back porch. It was a lot neater than when John was alive, piled as it had been with garden tools and buckets and boots and tillers and such. I never understood how a man could accumulate so much stuff. Now everything was neat, the tools hung on nails I had hammered in the back wall, John’s boots and hats and work gloves given away. The garden tools were now stored in the small enclosed space on the south side of the porch, one I’d had built with the insurance money from John’s death. The church didn’t believe in life insurance, but by the time Leah had died, John didn’t believe in the church and so had provided a small sum for me. The life insurance money was mostly gone now, except what I’d invested in a fund at the bank. The shed took part of the view, which I hated, but it also protected the back porch from the hottest summer sun, and the small window inside kept the shed warm in winter, from radiant heat alone. The dogs had slept in theresome nights, when they hadn’t wanted to come inside the house, kept warm by the last rays of the sun.
    Now, the floor of the much smaller porch was taken up only with the washing machine (an old model that drained into the garden), one chair, a tray on legs for use as my table, and my hammock. I’d bought the hammock from my sister Priscilla, when she was pregnant with her first child, and paid too much for it, just for the chance to make sure she was okay. Not unexpectedly, she was happy, married to Caleb Campbell, who was ten years her senior and already had one wife when they wed, Priscilla’s best friend, Fredi. Priss didn’t want to escape, didn’t want another life. She was happy, living in a big house full of children and wives and a husband who loved them all. The very life I’d been raised to aspire to, and had run away from, was the one she wanted. Up to the moment some churchman tried to take her to the punishment house. I stayed on Soulwood for that day, to be a safe haven to run to. And I stayed because when I did leave, even just to market, I felt the land’s call like a dark wound in my chest.
    Priss, like my mama and my baby sisters, loved God’s Cloud. They loved the life there, the people there. Mama had even forgiven Brother Ephraim for his sin against her. The churchwomen were blind to the wicked acts of the ones who did evil in the name of God. The call to forgive was a powerful weapon, used against them for too long.
    I had a feeling Jackson Jr. wouldn’t be forgiving me. But with Brother Ephraim missing and Joshua scared, he wouldn’t make a fast decision about me this time, no matter how mad he was, not with a special agent involved, no matter how tangentially. He’d want to let time pass and things settle, and when he came again, he’d make sure he had more than three men. He’d want to come in fast, grab me, and haul me out, leaving no trace. Then he’d burn my house and garden to the ground. And he’d take me to the punishment house personally. Or at least that would be his plan, once he convinced enough of the men to help him kidnap me. And I figured he’d forget to mention to the men the presence of police or black leopards leaping from my rooftop to protect me, and maybe Joshua would hold his tongue too. So . . . I was safe for a little while. Long enough to try to derailtheir plans. Long enough to figure out how to use the title of PsyLED consultant to my best