Читать книгу Secrets In Texas - Carrie Weaver - Страница 14

MATTHEW TOOK A DEEP breath, steeling himself to see his uncle in the light of day. His hand at Angel’s elbow, he urged her forward.

Jonathon sat behind a large mahogany desk, a desk Matthew remembered from his childhood. It had been his father’s.

He suppressed a flash of anger as he followed Angel to the lone chair opposite the desk. When she glanced inquiringly at him, he nodded toward the chair. He stood behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

Forcing a smile, he said, “Good morning, Uncle.”

“Matthew.” His uncle inclined his head, appearing every inch the regal leader. “I didn’t anticipate you would bring your wife. I imagine Angel would be more comfortable chatting with Eleanor and Ruth this morning. You and I will be meeting with the elders later.”

Matthew chose to ignore the underlying command in Jonathon’s observation. He intended to keep Angel as close as possible until he was sure she was safe. “Angel will stay with me this morning.”

“Do you really think that wise?”

“I don’t see a problem.”

“You’ve indicated you wanted your wife to be tutored in the ways of our life. God made men and women with different strengths and weaknesses. Women are better suited to tending the home, not interfering in men’s business.”

Angel’s shoulders tensed beneath Matthew’s palm. He didn’t blame her for being angry. Unfortunately Jonathon’s thinly veiled condescension was the least of his crimes. And Matthew intended to prove it.

“Of course I want Angel to learn the proper ways. But we are newlyweds, Uncle, and I want her at my side today.”

“I was a young man once myself and remember the passion of youth. However, I’ve found self-control to be a valuable trait. You will be all the more glad to see your bride this evening. As the old saying goes, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’” Jonathon smiled, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

Angel shifted. Matthew knew she had to resent being discussed as if she weren’t in the room. He squeezed her shoulder. However appalling he might find his uncle’s values—or lack of them—he had a job to do. And to be effective, he had to appear to agree.

“I understand, Uncle.” He stepped forward, catching Angel’s eye. “It is my heart’s desire to spend every waking moment with you. But my uncle is right. You should join the women while the elders meet.”

Her eyes flashed a warning. Then she lowered her gaze, her voice barely audible when she said, “Yes, Matthew.”

He exhaled in relief. He’d worried she might tell him what he could do with all this crap. He reminded himself she was a professional and very good at her work.

Undercover gang assignments. A far cry from posing as a pliable Zion’s Gate wife.

He turned toward Jonathon. “It’s my fondest desire for Angel to meet my whole family. That is not possible if she secludes herself at Aunt Eleanor’s house.”

“We will hold a celebration of your homecoming after services on Sunday. There will be ample opportunity for Angel to meet everyone.”

“Good. I look forward to introducing her to my sister Rebecca. She will also be there Sunday, will she not? Or could we perhaps visit with her this evening?”

Jonathon frowned, leaning back in his chair and gazing out the small window set high in the wall.

Matthew’s heart pounded. He’d pushed too hard, too soon, possibly tipping his hand. Please, God, please let her still be alive.

“Rebecca hasn’t been feeling well, but possibly she can be persuaded to attend on Sunday.”

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?”