AK nodded, then looked out of his window, turning his head from me.
“Then did . . . did you ever get this moment too?” I asked.
I heard the birds in the trees and the wind rustling through the leaves, but nothing came from him. Eventually he faced me again, a wash of sadness in his eyes. He dropped his head.
“No.”
His voice was cut and raw, and my heart yearned to comfort him. I moved my hand toward him, but just as I laid my hand on his thigh, the thick muscle tensing underneath, he spoke. “But you get yours, now.”
“I am afraid,” I confessed as I saw the front door of the cabin open. The blond man with long hair who I remembered from that night on Perdition Hill stepped out and looked across at our truck. Ky.
“She’ll be coming soon,” AK said.
I slid my hand off his thigh. “AK?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you help me out of the truck, please? I feel . . . I am not sure I can get out and see her myself. My feet, I am sure, will not carry me.” A flush of embarrassment surged to my cheeks. “You do not have to if you do not—”
Before I could finish the sentence, AK was around the side of the truck and opening the door. He reached in and took hold of my waist, lifting me from the truck. My sandaled feet hit the soft grass and the warm breeze flowed through my hair.
When I had gathered my composure, I took a step forward. That same warm breeze seemed to penetrate my heart as AK’s hand remained on my arm to steady me. My walk was slow as we rounded the truck and approached Ky.
“I am afraid I might fall,” I said, drawing to a stop.
AK’s large body moved behind me, and I heard his silent reply: he would not let that happen.
Ky opened the door.
“Li! Come here, baby!” In an instant, my hands were shaking as raggedly as my breathing.
“Oh God,” I choked out, as my nerves became the only thing I could feel.
AK’s hands tightened on my arms as he held me in place. And then she came through the door, and the very air around me stilled.
“What, baby?” she said to her husband. Ky pulled her close to him and turned her around to face me.
I looked at my sister . . . or the person who was now my sister, and I felt as though everything had stopped around me. There was only her and me, in our own world. Only in this world Rebekah had changed. Her long hair was gone; in its place, a short cut that framed her face. And her face . . . her once beautiful face was slashed down one cheek with a red, angry scar. One side of her mouth was slightly upturned with the mark.
A mountain of tears built in my eyes when I saw her, when I studied my sister. The pain of seeing her this way left me paralyzed.
“Phebe.” She stumbled backward into her man’s arms. He steadied her so she did not fall. I closed my eyes at the sound of her gentle voice. Mature now, of course, but it was the same voice that had called me from sleep when she was young and standing at my door. The same voice that would call my name as she tiptoed to my bed and climbed in under the covers because she was scared of the men our father entertained in the living room . . . the men who touched her . . . the men who touched me too . . .
I opened my eyes to see Rebekah approaching me. She wore a long lilac dress, and brown boots on her feet. But I could not stop staring at her face and her hair.
What had happened to her?
“Phebe.” Tears fell from her own eyes as she cautiously stepped toward me. I saw those pretty blue eyes take in my appearance. I understood in that moment that neither of us looked the same to the other.
Both changed.
Irreparably.
“Rebekah.” We approached each other, slowly, cautiously, until there were only inches of air between us.
My hand shook as it covered my mouth, and she mirrored my action. If I were not so shocked by her marred face I would have taken pleasure in the obvious familial gesture. But I could not.
I reached out my shaking hand and touched Rebekah’s cheek. Her blue eyes closed as she sobbed under my touch. My fingertips ran down her scar, the pads caressing the raised skin. “Rebekah,” I cried softly.
Rebekah took hold of my hand and gently pulled me into her embrace. My weak arms wrapped around her waist. My little sister was back in my arms. I held on tightly, as if I would never let go.
“Where have you been?” Rebekah cried. I shook my head, not wanting to ruin this moment. But she held me tighter and said, “You are too thin . . . please, Phebe, are you hurt?”
“I . . .” I hesitated. “I am here now.” A vision of AK swept into my mind, and only one word left my lips. “Safe,” I murmured. “I am safe now.”
We held on to one another for what felt like hours before Rebekah stepped back and took hold of my arms. “Your face,” I said and heard my voice catch and break.
Rebekah shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “It was for the best,” she said gently. “I wanted no beauty. I needed no more beauty.”
“I do… I do not understand.”
“Later. It does not matter now.”
“Who saved you?” she asked. I saw her look over my shoulder. “AK?”
“Yes.” It was the only answer I could give. Her cryptic words still rang in my ears. I needed no more beauty.
“Thank you,” I heard her say to AK.
“Phebe?” A small, soft voice drifted from the house. Rebekah let out a gentle peal of laughter. Taking my hand, she turned around. My already bruised heart cracked right down the middle when a familiar blond head came bustling through the front door.
“Grace,” I whispered. She saw me, and her smiling face lit up. She pounded over the grass, so fast I was concerned she would fall. She attempted to launch herself into my arms, and I braced for her impact, not sure I was strong enough to hold her. But Rebekah stood in my path and scooped Grace up in her arms. “Mama, I wanted to hug Phebe!” Grace scolded. I closed my eyes on hearing such a blessing from her lips.
Mama.
“Aunt Phebe is unwell, Grace. You must be gentle.” Grace’s beautiful face dropped.
“You are sick?” she asked.
“But getting better, child,” I said soothingly. I took a step forward, ignoring the trembling of my legs. “I am all the better for seeing you. You always did brighten up my day.”
Grace smiled, then looked behind me. “Is Prophet Cain with you? Or Brother Meister?”
Her words hit me like a hammer. She meant Judah, not Cain. And of course, she knew Meister. He had made sure they had met. And I had made sure I kept her away from both of them as much as I could.
“No, sweet girl,” I forced out, and watched Rebekah’s concern for me build in her eyes. “They are gone now.”
Grace looked to Rebekah. “Will she live with us and papa?”