It was the worst possible moment for this to happen.
There was nothing he could do about it other than to be extra cautious. He resolved not to blame Flower. At her age he had been a full-time professional thief, with an arrest record that stretched back three years. If any parent could understand, he should.
He switched on the car radio. At the top of the hour there was a news bulletin. The last item referred to the earthquake threat. “Governor Mike Robson meets with FBI agents this morning to discuss the terrorist group the Hammer of Eden, who have threatened to cause an earthquake,” said the newsreader. “A spokesman for the Bureau said that all threats are taken seriously but would not comment further ahead of the meeting.”
The governor would make his announcement after he met with the FBI, Priest guessed. He wished the radio station had given the time of the meeting.
It was midmorning when they got home. Melanie’s car was gone from the parking circle: she had taken Dusty to San Francisco to leave him with his father for the weekend.
There was a subdued air at the winery. Most of the group were weeding in the vineyard, working without the usual songs and laughter. Outside the cookhouse Holly, the mother of his sons Ringo and Smiler, grimly fried onions while Slow, who was always sensitive to atmosphere, looked frightened as he scrubbed early potatoes from the vegetable garden. Even Oaktree, the carpenter, seemed quiet as he bent over his workbench, sawing a plank.
When they saw Priest and Star returning with Flower, they all began to finish up the tasks they were doing and head for the temple. When there was a crisis they always met to discuss it. If it was a minor matter, it could wait until the end of the day, but this was too important to be postponed.
On their way to the temple, Priest and his family were intercepted by Dale and Poem with their daughter, Pearl.
Dale, a small man with neat, short hair, was the most conventional one in the group. He was a key person because he was an expert winemaker and he controlled the blend of each year’s vintage. But Priest sometimes felt he treated the commune as if it were any other village. Dale and Poem had been the first couple to build a family cabin. Poem was a dark-skinned woman with a French accent. She had a wild streak — Priest knew, he had slept with her many times — but with Dale she had become kind of domesticated. Dale was one of the few who might conceivably make the readjustment to normal life if he had to leave. Most of them would not, Priest felt: they would end up in jail or institutionalized or dead.
“There’s something you should see,” Dale said.
Priest noticed a quick interchange between the girls. Flower shot an accusing glare at Pearl, who looked frightened and guilty.
“What now?” said Star.
Dale led them all to the one empty cabin. At present it was used as a study room by the older children. There was a rough table, some chairs, and a cupboard containing books and pencils. The ceiling had a trapdoor leading to a crawl space under the sloping roof. Now the trapdoor was open and a stepladder stood beneath it.
Priest had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming.
Dale lit a candle and went up the ladder. Priest and Star followed. In the roof space, illuminated by the flickering candle, they saw the girls’ secret cache: a box full of cheap jewelry, makeup, fashionable clothes, and teen magazines.
Priest said quietly: “All the things we brought them up to consider worthless.”
Dale said: “They’ve been hitchhiking to Silver City. They’ve done it three times in the past four weeks. They take these clothes and change out of their jeans and workshirts when they get there.”
Star said: “What do they do there?”
“Hang out on the street, talk to boys, and steal from stores.”
Priest put his hand into the box and pulled out a narrow-bodied T-shirt, blue with a single orange stripe. It was made of nylon and felt thin and trashy. It was the kind of clothing he despised: it gave no warmth or protection, and it did nothing but cover the beauty of the human body with a layer of ugliness.
With the shirt in his hand, he retreated down the stepladder. Star and Dale followed.
The two girls looked mortified.
Priest said: “Let’s go to the temple and discuss this with the group.”
By the time they got there, everyone else had assembled, children included. They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting.
Priest sat in the middle, as always. The discussions were democratic in theory, and the commune had no leaders, but in practice he and Star dominated all meetings. Priest would steer the dialogue toward the outcome he wanted, usually by asking questions rather than stating a point of view. If he liked an idea, he would encourage a discussion of its benefits; if he wanted to squash a proposal, he would ask how they could be sure it would work. And if the mood of the meeting was against him, he would pretend to be persuaded, then subvert the decision later.
“Who wants to begin?” he said.
Aneth spoke up. She was a motherly type in her forties, and she believed in understanding rather than condemning. She said: “Maybe Flower and Pearl should begin, by telling us why they wanted to go to Silver City.”
“To meet people,” Flower said defiantly.
Aneth smiled. “Boys, you mean?”
Flower shrugged.
Aneth said: “Well, I guess that’s understandable … but why did you have to steal?”
“To look nice!”
Star gave an exasperated sigh. “What’s wrong with your regular clothes?”
“Mom, be serious,” Flower said scornfully.
Star leaned forward and slapped her face.
Flower gasped. A red mark appeared on her cheek.
“Don’t you dare speak to me that way,” Star said. “You’ve just been caught stealing, and I’ve had to get you out of jail, so don’t talk as if I’m the stupid one.”
Pearl started to cry.
Priest sighed. He should have seen this coming. There was nothing wrong with the clothes in the free shop. They had jeans in blue, black, or tan; denim workshirts; T-shirts in white, gray, red, and yellow; sandals and boots; heavy wool sweaters for the winter; waterproof coats for working in the rain. But the same clothes were worn by everyone, and had been for years. Of course the children wanted something different. Thirty-five years ago Priest had stolen a Beatle jacket from a boutique called Rave on San Pedro Street.
Poem said to her daughter: “Pearl,
Between sobs she said: “We wanted to look like Melanie.”
“Ah,” Priest said, and he saw it all.
Melanie was still wearing the clothes she had brought here: skimpy tops that showed her midriff, miniskirts and short shorts, funky shoes and cute caps. She looked chic and sexy. It was not surprising the girls had adopted her as a role model.
Dale said: “We need to talk about Melanie.” He sounded apprehensive. Most of them were nervous about saying anything that might be seen as a criticism of Priest.
Priest felt defensive. He had brought Melanie here, and he was her lover. And she was crucial to the plan. She was the only one who could interpret the data from Michael’s disk, which had now been copied onto her laptop. Priest could not let them turn on her. “We never make people change their clothes when they join us,” he said. “They wear out their old stuff first, it’s always been the rule.”
Alaska spoke up. A former schoolteacher, she had come here with her lover, Juice, ten years ago, after they had been ostracized in the small town where they lived for coming out as lesbians. “It’s not just her clothes,” Alaska said. “She doesn’t do much work.” Juice nodded agreement.
Priest argued: “I’ve seen her in the kitchen, washing dishes and baking cookies.”
Alaska looked scared, but she persisted. “Some light domestic chores. She doesn’t work in the vineyard. She’s a passenger, Priest.”
Star saw Priest coming under attack and weighed in on his side. “We’ve had a lot of people like that.
