Something had happened, and he was trying to shield me. I just didn’t know what.
Throughout the entire service I waited for something, for anything from Jacob or Father Gabriel. I didn’t know whether he would make a big deal about our visitor status or whether he’d make some kind of announcement. Instead the service progressed as it would have at the Northern Light. I stood and sat at all the right times, recited the responses and verses as well as anyone.
I’d learned my lessons well.
As I began to relax, I noticed Sister Teresa’s hands upon her lap. With her dark skin, the burned tips of her fingers were even more pronounced. Rolling my wrist and seeing my own fingertips fueled my need to help end this travesty. And then everything changed.
CHAPTER 20
Jacob
Minutes earlier
“What the hell?” I said, as my arms were pinned behind me. I couldn’t see the person holding me back, but I sure as hell could see the asshole in front of me.
“I saw her face,” Richards said, his jaw clenched.
Heat boiled in my chest as I worked to relax my arms. Apparently he was done with his little right-hook demonstration.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Stella! That’s her fucking name.”
“Stella?” I did my best to sound confused. Moving my shoulders, I said, “Let go of my damn arms. I’m not going to hit this asshole.”
“No, of course not,” Dylan replied. “You only hit women.”
Whoever was behind me released my arms, and I took a step toward Richards. “You’re talking about my wife. And what happens between me and my wife is none of your damn business.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “It is my damn business, more than you fucking know.”
I took a deep breath and spoke louder than I should. “Father Gabriel gave Sara to me.” I emphasized her name. “If I choose to correct her, it’s my decision. Not yours.”
When I turned I saw a large man I didn’t recognize. Though he’d taken a step back, I had no doubt that if I went for Richards, he’d go for me.
“She’s . . .” Richards turned away before spinning to face me again. “She’s walking around like the zombie women around here. What did you do to her?”
“What did I do?” Fuck you. “Go to hell! I remember you. You were with her in Dearborn. You had her and you turned her over. She’s mine now, and I’m keeping her.”
“You’re keeping her? Like she’s a fucking possession? This is insane.”
“No, not a possession, my wife.”
“Gentlemen.”
A chill went through me, silencing us all, as Father Gabriel emerged from a doorway farther down the hall. The man behind me and I immediately shifted our stances, standing taller and bowing our heads, to reflect the reverence we felt for Father Gabriel. Conversely Richards casually leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Patting Richards’s shoulder, Father Gabriel said, “This is The Light, we don’t argue, we don’t fight, and”—he leaned toward Richards, his voice low and methodical—“We. Don’t. Drop. Fucking. F. Bombs. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Uncle,” Richards said, though it appeared it pained him to do so.
“Brother Jacob,” he said, looking in my direction.
“Yes, Father.”
“We have much to discuss.” He pulled up the sleeve of his silk suit, revealing a watch, as well as cuff links that I would guess could have been sold to pay off the debt of a few small nations. “However, now is not the time. Service is about to begin.” His brow rose. “I assume Sister Sara is seated with the other Assembly wives?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Very well.” He turned back to Richards. “Won’t you join us? It’d be good for you.”
Pulling himself away from the wall, Richards again ran his hand through his hair. Although he was answering Father Gabriel, his stare never left me. “No, I need to get the hell out of here.”
I’d never in three years heard anyone tell Father Gabriel no, but from the way Richards walked away without waiting for Father Gabriel’s response, I got the distinct impression that neither of them found it unusual.
“Children can be so disrespectful,” Father Gabriel said, looking at me.
Child? Richards had said uncle. They were related?
I wanted to ask what all of this meant, for me, for Sara, but of course I couldn’t.
“Brother,” he said, laying his hand on my shoulder. “I see you have questions and admire your restraint. I always have admired that about you. The thing is that I have questions too.” He patted my shoulder. “The difference is that I can ask mine. Before I return to the Northern Light, we will talk.”
What the fuck does that mean?
“Yes, Father.”
As he walked past me and the other man, he casually asked, “How is Fairbanks this time of year?”
Thoughts bombarded my mind. “Fairbanks? It’s fine. Whitefish was out of some of our supplies. I called Brother Daniel—”