Enemy of Gideon (22 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
he early November air chaps my cheeks while Og and I ride Fire through the forest toward Corinth two days later. The horse’s hooves toss dead leaves in every direction as I cling to the reins.

Ogden squeezes me with a death grip. “Can you slow it down?”

I ignore his question, allowing the mare to press forward at her usual pace. When Ogden dismounts in Corinth, he drops down on weak legs and falls flat on his bottom.

“That animal moves too fast,” he says through gasps of air.

“Ogden! Ogden!” Saphie yells, running up to him and throwing herself into his arms.

Og falls back on the ground with the child on top of him and laughs. “Hey, Saphie!”

“I knew you would come back! I knew it!” she says through giggles.

Arkin walks up. “Saphie, get off the poor kid!”

Saphie rolls off of Ogden as I dismount Fire.

“I hope this means you brought the part,” Arkin says.

Ogden slips off his backpack. “Right here.”

“You’re the best, Ogden!” Saphie squeals, pulling on his free arm.

“I know,” he says with a shrug.

“Ok, Mister Humility,” I say, “let’s deliver the package to Josiah.”

We walk through the village and are greeted by a few smiles. One or two people frown at us, clearly voters who didn’t support Ogden’s return to the outskirts. Behind Josiah’s workshop, we find him and three other men working on different parts of the helicopter.

“Woh, what is this?” Og asks, stopping short when his eyes meet the helicopter.

“The thing we need the part for,” I say. “It flies.”

“In the air?” he asks.

“It flies like a bird,” Saphie says, fluttering her arms and twirling in place.

“It’s called a helicopter,” Arkin says.

Josiah sees us through the cockpit window, climbs out, and greets us. Og pulls the two identical parts from his backpack and hands them to Josiah.

“Excellent work, Mr. Penski,” Josiah says, examining the parts. “I knew you would come through for us.”

“All in a day’s work,” Ogden says.

“Josiah’s the one who convinced the people to allow your return,” I tell Og.

“Thanks,” Og says to Josiah.

“No problem. I knew the raid wasn’t your fault,” he said. “CE has all kinds of dirty tricks up their sleeves. I’m always trying to stay one step ahead of them.

“So they really used to have flying vehicles?” Og asks, looking at the helicopter.

Josiah nods. “A lot of them and many different designs.”

Og steps closer to the helicopter. “This is amazing.”

“Why don’t we go to my cabin?” Arkin asks. “There’s a lot of catching up with need to do with Og.”

I nod. “Or we could go to my dad’s cabin.”

Og gives me a bug-eyed stare. “Did you say ‘your dad’s cabin’?”

“Follow me,” I say.

Arkin, Og and I sit with Dad in front of the fire for nearly an hour. Arkin and I share every detail of the past few months with Og. I even go as far back as the day of the raid to let him know all I experienced with the believers and the horrors of the rehabilitation center. With Dad’s permission, we tell Og about the plans for the helicopter on New Year’s Eve.

“I knew there was a good reason why I wanted to get back to the outskirts,” Og says. “It was like something was calling me here.”

Dad nods. “Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit.”

Ogden shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

“If you ever have any questions about it,” I say, “my dad knows all the answers.”

“I wouldn’t say I know
all
the answers,” Dad says, “but we can look in the Bible and see what it has to say.”

Ogden shifts his legs. “It’s about time we head back, Rais.”

I nod. “We don’t need your dad getting suspicious.”

“We’ll be praying for your safe return to us, Ogden,” Dad says, offering Og a handshake.

Og shakes his hand. “Thank you, sir. If you need anything else from me, let me know.”

I make Fire take the route back to the Garveys’ farm at a trot, so I can talk to Ogden about his thoughts on Corinth. The raid on Philippi wasn’t his fault, but questions creep into my mind.
Is there a limit to Og’s loyalty? What does he really think of the message drop on Gideon? Will he warn his father or ask some suspicious questions about flying vehicles?

“Og, I trust you with all of the information you heard today,” I say when we cross back into Gideon, “but please be careful.”

“Stop the horse,” he says.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stopping the mare.

He jumps down from the horse. “You go on ahead. I can walk.”

“Og, I didn’t mean any—”

“Do you know what it’s like to have the lives of fifty-two people on your conscience?” he asks, turning to me.

His pained look reminds me of the day the execution letter arrived. The hurt in his eyes makes my gut twist.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say.

“I had to learn the hard way what it means to be careful.”

“I’m sorry. We all should’ve been more careful.”

He furrows his brow. “If these people loved God and God loved them, why did God let them die?”

“I wish I could tell you,” I say, “but they aren’t gone forever like we were taught in Gideon.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’ve changed.”

“I have? In a bad way?”

“No. It’s a good change.”

“I see things differently now,” I say.

He looks ahead at the Garveys’ farm through the trees, his eyes examining the menagerie of sunset colors on the horizon. “Someday I hope I can see things differently too.”

►▼◄

The month of November disappears in a blur. I visit Corinth at least four times per week without any suspicion from Mom. She assumes I spend my afternoons in tutoring at the school, and my grades reflect that possibility. With the help of Dad and Arki
n, I maintain my highest grades ever, keeping Mom and Hunter satisfied and oblivious of my separate life in Corinth.

As New Year’s Eve draws closer, the believers of Corinth work in a frenzy on repairing the helicopter. At least a dozen people pray at all times of day for the helicopter repairs and slower progress on the wall.

On December sixteenth, builders complete half the wall. By the grace of God, the wall construction moves in one direction, away from Corinth. It appears the final phase of construction will be between Corinth and the Garveys’ farm.

“Today is the day!” Arkin announces.

I dismount the horse. “What day?”

“Believers from Ephesus are bringing the flyers for the mission,” he says, grabbing my hands and spinning both of us around.

I laugh at his child-like giddiness. “Wow. Is it Holiday?”

He stops spinning. “What’s Holiday?”

“December twenty-fifth,” I say. “It’s this silly gift-giving day we have in Gideon.”

He shakes his head. “December twenty-fifth is Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

“Wow, I forgot you still
are
a Gideonite,” he says with a smirk.

He explains how the believers celebrate the birth of Jesus on Christmas, and he brings me to see the Christmas decorations, yellow and white knitted stars, on the walls of his cabin. A pine tree stands in the corner near the kitchen, decorated with holly branches and long, multi-colored braids of wool. Bethany places gifts wrapped in cloth underneath the tree while her baby coos in his cradle nearby.

“Ulysses Gideon did away with the name Christmas,” Bethany says, adding a knit ornament to the tree, “but no one knows why he didn’t do away with Holiday all together.”

“That’s why Petra celebrated it last year,” I say, remembering my sister’s excitement on that day. “We normally didn’t celebrate it, but last year, she brought food and gifts. She knew what it meant, what it represented. I wish she could’ve told me then.”

Arkin put an arm around my shoulders. “She didn’t tell you, but she showed you. You just didn’t know it at the time.”

The cabin door swings open, and Saphie comes through like a lightning bolt. “They’re here! They’re here! The message flyers are here!”

Arkin, Saphie and I hurry to Josiah’s workshop where Dad and Josiah stand before three wooden crates filled with white papers. Arkin and I pull out one of them and read it. It informs the citizens about the wall being built around Gideon to shield them from the truth, explains God, and gives Scripture verses pertaining to past, present, and future events.

“The citizens of Gideon will be stunned,” I say. “But what about CE officers? How do we keep them from gathering up the flyers and confiscating them?”

“The helicopter will create some chaos,” Dad says, “but we’re also asking our missionaries to appear at the celebration out of coveralls.”

“That’s a great idea,” I say. “CE will be processing Code violations and arresting those out of coveralls. They’ll be too distracted to do anything immediate about the flyers.”

“I plan to show up too,” Arkin says, “out of disguise.”

“Are you crazy?” I blurt out. “They’ll arrest you!”

“If I can distract one officer,” he says, “I’ve done my job.”

Dad places a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your commitment to our efforts, but you know Saphie needs you.”

Arkin avoids his intense gaze. “I want to help somehow.”

“You and Raissa can be in the crowd, catching flyers, and handing them to citizens,” Josiah says. “That would be the best thing you can do.”

I nod, now eager for the excitement of the New Year’s Eve mission.

“All right,” Arkin says.

“I want to go too,” Saphie says, pulling at her brother’s coat.

“Saphie, your time will come,” Dad says. “Miss Bethany needs you to stay and help her care for Baby Moses.”

Saphie pouts. “Okay.”

“So how’s the helicopter coming along?” I ask.

Josiah frowns. “Slow. We can’t seem to get the engine going.”

“We’ll keep praying,” Dad says. “God will make a way.”

►▼◄

I wait for Mom to rise on Christmas morning. Only a few CE officers work on Holiday, so Mom has the day off. She will more than likely sleep in until nine o’clock, so I read the words of Jesus in the corner of my room while I wait.

The red words of Jesus fascinate me more than any others in the Bible. The whole person of Jesus is unlike anyone I have ever encountered. Dad mirrors Christ in some ways and so does Arkin, but no one is Jesus Himself.

I enjoyed many conversations with Dad about Jesus’ words and actions. Dad answered my questions and explained many of the parables. He was a great mentor, but Mom neglected to respond to his invitations to the outskirts.
Why didn’t she want to be with her husband? Why would she deny her daughters that time with their father? What is her side of the story?
Maybe my Christmas gift to Mom would lead to some answers.

Mom’s light footsteps echo through the apartment, so I hide my Bible in the usual place. With her gift in hand, I head to the living room. Mom sits on the sofa sipping her coffee.

“Good morning,” Mom says.

“Happy Holiday,” I say, offering her a present wrapped in blue tissue paper.

“Raissa,” Mom says, setting the coffee cup on the table, “I didn’t think we were doing anything for Holiday.”

I sit beside her. “Why wouldn’t we? We did last year.”

Mom takes the gift into her hands and examines the thick, rectangular shape. “Things were very different last year.”

“Open it,” I say, my stomach twisting into knots.

She pulls the tissue paper away and stares down at the gift. Gently, she lifts the framed sketch from her lap.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, her lips quivering.

“It’s our family,” I say. “Even though Dad and Petra are gone, we’re still a family, right?”

She brushes away a tear and nods, staring down at the sketch of the four of us smiling. I drew Petra as I remember her before the arrest. Dad appears young and healthy. We smile together in the pencil lead.

“You remember what your father looked like?” Mom asks, placing her hand on the glass of the frame. “He was so handsome.”

“Do you think he would’ve liked Hunter?” I ask, knowing the question would open a wound.

She rewraps the gift and sets it on the table. “I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t like it?” I ask.

“I do. I love it,” she says. “We should hang it here in the living room.”

“I need to go out today,” I say.

“Out where? Nothing is open.”

“To see friends. It’s Holiday. I have other gifts to give out.”