Obstetrix(30)

The only person I’d really been able to chat with alone was Bethany. Bethany had started contriving to come hang out next to me during outdoor breaks on Sundays, to ask me for stories. I’d narrated the plot of The Onyx Dagger, and had moved on to the plot of Star Wars. I was debating whether to ask Bethany if she’d ever seen a phone here, and if so who had it, but I was constantly aware that Bethany might have an attack of conscience and confess who-knows-what, and get both of us into trouble.

She was such a sweet kid. Clingy, but sweet. Well, except to her brother. That day’s lunch had been PB&J sandwiches, only we were running short of jam. Bethany had been in line ahead of JJ and had snatched the jar with the last of the grape jelly before JJ could get to it. JJ had cried, and Emma had resolved this by taking the jelly from both of them and handing it to the mom in line behind them, to give to her kids. Plain peanut butter sandwiches aren’t very good. I both sympathized with Bethany about this and kind of agreed with Emma that she probably could have shared out that last little bit with JJ.

Bethany was staring at the table as I drank my coffee; I could see her feelings of guilt and shame like a little storm cloud over her head. Worried where that spiral might lead, I tried to think of a way to divert her. “Do you think there might be dessert tonight?” I asked.

She looked up and tried to school her own expression into something more cheerful. “Well, it’s Brother Ethan’s birthday,” she said. “So probably yes.”

I knew it was Ethan’s birthday; there’d been a special morning prayer for him. “I’ve noticed that some birthdays get cake and some don’t,” I said.

“Elders always get cake,” Bethany said. “Brother Ethan isn’t an elder right now because he doesn’t have a wife right now. But he had a wife, and she died. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a faithful husband. He was as faithful as he could be, don’t you think?”

I made a noncommittal noise.

“What do you think of Brother Ethan?”

What I thought of Brother Ethan was definitely not something I could share uncensored with Bethany, even if we weren’t within earshot of several other women. “I, hmm. I don’t really know any of the men here very well. He’s never come to me for medical care.”

“He was a very faithful husband,” Bethany said, again. Then she sat up straight and said, “Oh, I think my mom and dad are back with the groceries!”

I wanted to see where the keys went—this was going to be harder with Bethany glued to my side. Fortunately, as we went out to help bring them in, Bethany got called away to mind someone’s toddler. I did a quick check; no one was particularly looking at me, though a half dozen other women were right nearby.

Plastic Walmart bags were tucked into big blue plastic crates; frozen goods were packed inside a big blue cooler. I started lifting bags out and stringing the handles over my wrists and spotted, in the bottom of the crate, a little slip of paper that looked like a receipt.

My hand darted in and I had it in my fist, and then I grabbed two more bags (Walmart packs light bags) and started walking back up to the kitchen where they stored all the food. I didn’t think anyone had seen me grab it, and I tried not to get my hopes up. What I was hoping I’d grabbed was a receipt that would give me a clue as to where I was. But it might have been an unused coupon, a grocery list, even just one of those receipts that had nothing useful on it. Putting the groceries down in the kitchen, I slipped it into my pocket as I pivoted.

Another trip and all the groceries were unloaded, so I sat down to pick up my abandoned, now-tepid coffee, and contrived to accidentally spill it down my shirt, giving me an ironclad excuse to return to my own room. With some apologies for making Sister Kate’s life harder—Kate was in charge of the laundry—I went back to my room and shed my dress, grabbing the paper out of my pocket as I tugged it off.

I believed they had a camera in my room and probably also in my bathroom, modesty be damned, but I did not think they had put a camera in the wardrobe where my clothes hung, so I tucked myself inside so my body would block the camera’s view and unfolded the paper to see what it was.

It was a receipt for gas bought at Terreton One Stop, on E 1500 N, Terreton, Idaho.

My surge of excitement at finally knowing where I was, approximately—even if it didn’t tell me how to get away—was so strong that I almost missed another detail about that receipt. The person had paid ten dollars over the cost of the gas with a debit card, and received cash back.

I recognized this tactic; I knew exactly which places in Minot would give you cash back on a debit card purchase, because when I was talking to a woman whose spouse controlled all the money, it was something I regularly suggested. Start buying your gas at one of the places that does this and just get ten dollars in cash back each time. Keep the cash somewhere he won’t find it. Or do it at the grocery store, although spouses like this were more likely to check grocery receipts. Gas receipts are easy to lose.

Emma and Jason shopped together. But their children, Bethany and JJ, did not come on grocery runs; they stayed back at the compound.

Was Emma trying to leave? Were they both trying to leave? In my excitement over spotting a receipt, I’d missed seeing where the keys went, although I’d seen Jason walking toward Pastor John’s office. Could Emma be an ally? How many people here were not really here voluntarily?