Greer looked to see if that suggestion caused Remi any concern. He took her hands and bent to kiss her cheek. “You okay with that?” he asked. When she nodded, he whispered a reminder about her alarm necklace.
Remi followed the women to Mrs. Dunbar’s cabin, one of the larger ones in the immediate area. In the community, when a family had a lot of kids of both genders, the council permitted them to build additions that gave their daughters a separate sleeping space from their sons. And though the Dunbars’ children were grown with families of their own, they remained in the large house because of their status in the community. The extra rooms were sometimes used for closed council meetings.
Mrs. Haskel directed Remi to a Windsor chair at the desk. A breeze filtered in from the open, screenless windows. The women put fresh aprons on, then washed their hands and turned out bowls of rising dough to be kneaded.
“Now you just go ahead with your questions,” Mrs. Dunbar directed.
Remi pulled her notebook out of her laptop bag and opened it to a blank page. “We’ve spoken before about other groups similar in some ways to the Friends. In particular, about the Amish.”
“Yes, I remember,” Mrs. Haskel said without looking up from her dough.
“They have an event or activity called Rumspringa. It’s a period of time where the youth in the Amish communities experience the outside world and then decide to stay in that world or return and commit their lives to their community. Do the Friends’ youth participate in something similar?”
Mrs. Dunbar was using a great deal of force with the dough she was working. Mrs. Haskel said nothing, letting the mayor’s wife answer for them.
“We don’t have Rumspringa as you mention. There’ve been cases in our history where some of our citizens have left our community, but not very often. We’ve been growing, in fact. This year alone, we’ve built ten additional cabins for young couples.”
“It was twelve, Mrs. Dunbar.”
“Indeed. So it was.” She looked at Remi. “There were many years, many in a row sometimes, where new families occupied cabins already emptied by citizens who had passed.”
“To what do you attribute the recent growth?” Remi asked.
Both women kept their eyes on their work. “I would assume it’s because our citizens feel invigorated by the nature of our community.”
“And if someone wanted to go, could they?”
“Goodness, Dr. Chase,” Mrs. Haskel said with genuine humor in her eyes. “Our community’s not surrounded by armed guards. Any of us can leave at any time.”
“And if they go, can they come back?”
“If they come back to stay, yes.” Mrs. Dunbar paused and looked over at her, her palms resting on the soft dough. “Our community has a mission, Dr. Chase, one that is the center of our ethos. Everyone here knows it. Everyone who leaves, leaves because of it. It’s what we’re made of. If a citizen decides that what we’re about is not a fit for him, there would be no reason for him to return for visits, would there?”
“I never heard it put that way,” Remi said. “What is your community’s mission?”
“We strive to live authentic lives focused on what matters. Family, community, peace.”
“That’s lovely.” Remi jotted that down. “Do your citizens tithe?” If she hadn’t been looking at the women, she wouldn’t have caught the flash of tension that crossed their features.
“Of course we tithe. All Christians tithe.”
“And how do your tithes work?”
“Same as anyone’s,” Mrs. Dunbar said, keeping her focus on her work. “We give back to the community. Because ours isn’t a currency-based community, tithing is about service, not charity. Young people especially do some service for the community.”
“What kind of service?” Remi asked.
“It varies. My husband, as the mayor, assigns them their task. It is a solemn event. The tasks are kept secret, out of humility. They are never discussed. But they are often challenging. And once they’re completed, the young person takes his or her place in the community as an adult.”
“Interesting. Are there any recent tithers I could speak to?”
“The Smiths’ and Bennetts’ kids just recently completed their tithes, as did the Johnsons’,” Mrs. Haskel said, looking at Mrs. Dunbar, who gave her a stern look.
“They did—however, they’re a bit under the weather.”
“Yes, of course. And, truly, the tithes our youths do are sacred, doctor,” Mrs. Haskel said in a soft voice, almost as if she was afraid they would get caught. “They aren’t ever bandied about casually. It would be most impolite to ask anyone about their tithe.”
“And beyond the youth tithes,” Mrs. Dunbar continued, “we all tithe food or labor, as needed by anyone in the community. We take care of our own.”
“That’s admirable. Do you have any problems with the White Kingdom Brotherhood? I understand they have a large property that borders yours.”
The two women exchanged charged looks. “I hate them,” Mrs. Haskel hissed.
“We have as little to do with them as possible. They don’t represent our community’s values in any way.” Mrs. Dunbar looked at Remi. “However, as you point out, they are our neighbors, and we do, sometimes, have interactions with them.”
*
Greer carried an armload of crates to the central storehouse where the community’s shared goods were kept. The herd of kids brought the rest. While they began carefully unpacking the things Remi had brought for the community, Mr. Haskel clapped a hand on Greer’s back and drew him outside. “I suppose you might like a tour of the town.”
Greer looked over in the direction Remi had gone with the women.
“Oh, never mind about them. They’re making bread today. They’ll be hours yet. C’mon. We’ll saddle some horses and go for a tour.”
“Sounds good. I’d like to see what you’re doing here.”
They went down to a community stable. Mr. Haskel saddled a couple of horses. “You ever ride before?”
“Yeah. Summer camp years ago.”