Secrets In Texas

Matthew released a breath. She was alive and he would see her Sunday. That was all that mattered.

“AMEN,” JONATHON intoned. The closing prayer officially completed the meeting of the elders nearly four hours later. Their only break had been for lunch, cold chicken served by two of Jonathon’s wives. Matthew didn’t know the women, who appeared to be in their early twenties.

Matthew fought the urge to make a run for the door and the fresh, cool air outside. He’d almost forgotten the claustrophobic feeling of never, ever being alone.

He managed a leisurely pace as he headed for the door.

Raphael fell in beside him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good to have you back, Matthew.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Brother.” Half brother, to be precise. Raphael’s mother had been Matthew’s father’s third wife.

“I’ll walk you back to Eleanor’s house.”

“Not necessary. I can find my way.”

“I’m sure you can. But Uncle Jonathon has indicated you are not to be wandering around unescorted.”

“He doesn’t trust me?”

“He doesn’t trust anyone. Except maybe Eleanor.”

Matthew sighed, longing for his Phoenix condo. Solitude was a luxury with the brethren, a luxury he’d grown to appreciate in his time away.

“Did you marry Theresa? You two were sweethearts as long as I can remember.”

Raphael glanced away. “No. Uncle Jonathon received a vision. Theresa is Brother Benjamin’s eighth wife.”

“Benjamin must be nearly seventy.” He couldn’t quite keep the outrage from his voice.

“Yes. But it was ordained.”

Matthew wanted to grab his brother by the shirt and shake him. God didn’t ordain that kind of marriage, man did. One very selfish, evil man.

“It’s been over twenty years since Theresa became Benjamin’s bride. I have three faithful wives of my own. It was for the best.” Raphael’s voice held a note of resignation.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Matthew muttered, the lie sticking in his throat. He didn’t suppose anything of the sort. Truth be told, he ached for his brother’s loss.

And wondered, not for the first time, if he himself was any better off for having left the brethren. Yes, he had freedom, wealth and the ability to execute decisions based on what he valued and held true, not simply what Jonathon decreed as truth. But he didn’t have a wife or family to show for it. At least not a real wife, he reflected wryly.

Maybe there was a trade-off involved. He’d won his freedom but paid a price.

The thought saddened him. Sure, he’d had relationships, but he seemed to seek out women who weren’t interested in the long term. It worked well on many levels. At least most of the time.

“Your wife is beautiful, according to Uncle Jonathon,” Raphael commented.

Matthew was disoriented for a second. “Angel. Yes, she’s very beautiful. She has a fine spirit, too.”

“I look forward to meeting her Sunday.”

“She’s at Eleanor’s. Why don’t you come in for a few minutes. We’re almost there.”

“I’ll meet her Sunday. It’s what Uncle Jonathon wants.”

Matthew shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you later.”

“Yes.”

Matthew watched Raphael walk quickly to one of the smaller houses and let himself in. He caught a glimpse of a sallow, plain woman before the door closed.

Suddenly he was very eager to see Angel. To revel in the way her dark eyes sparkled at their verbal sparring.

But the Angel who greeted him as he walked through the door bore no resemblance to the Angel he’d left that morning. Her hair was braided tightly and wound around her head. Her expression was pinched.

“Ah, Angelina, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Welcome home, husband.” She clasped her hands together and stared at her feet. “May I get you a cold drink before supper?”

He almost told her he’d love a beer but remembered alcohol was strictly forbidden. Anything with caffeine was out of the question, too. “Uh, ginger ale would be good. Or a lemon-lime soda?”

She nodded and headed for the kitchen. She returned quickly and handed him a glass of ginger ale.

He sipped the drink, the sickly sweet flavor taking him back to his boyhood when he’d loved the stuff. Now it only reminded him of restricted choices and arbitrary rules.

“How was your day with the women?”