Metcalf leaned forward over the table. “And what is your rank among his wives?”
“We are all of equal rank since we’ve all borne an equal number of children. Each of us has had one.”
Metcalf was nonplussed by her answer. A wife’s rank was determined by the number of offspring she produced. It was also a good indication of which wife a man favored most. He had started his inquiry with Daniel’s most recent wife since the newest tended to receive the most attention from their husbands. But he could tell nothing from this line of questioning. He still didn’t know which wife was the weak link in Daniel’s chain.
Abraham forced a smile. He wanted to put the woman at ease. “Perhaps you can help me understand this. You say each of you has had one child. One?” He let the word hang in the air between them.
Annabeth clasped and unclasped her hands. Apparently, she was fighting an urge to bite her nails. They were already bitten to the quick. “Yes, Father. We have prayed for more issue. All of us. Daniel has instructed us to do that, and we have. Every day. We have.”
“Is your child the youngest of my son’s offspring?”
Annabeth cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s right. She is three years old.”
“She.” Metcalf allowed a note of disappointment to creep into his voice.
The woman looked down at the table, flustered. “All Daniel’s children are girls, Father. All three of them. They are good girls, too. They never misbehave. They are pure in the eyes of the Lord.”
Abraham folded his arms and sat back in his chair, considering the facts he’d just been given. Something was quite amiss here. “Annabeth, when was the last time you and my son had relations?”
Obviously, the woman had been dreading that he might ask this question. She looked at the floor, at the walls, at every spot in the room other than into Metcalf’s eyes.
“It has been some t… time, Father,” she faltered.
“How long, precisely?”
“Since before my daughter was born, sir.”
Abraham was appalled. “But that would be years, woman!”
“Yes, sir” she nodded vigorously. “About f… four years.”
Metcalf made an effort to control his temper. He wanted more information. Again, he forced himself to smile. “You are one of the Lord’s chosen, Annabeth. A consecrated bride. Do you understand that?”
She seemed to relax a bit. “That is what our holy books say. We are not like the Fallen. We have been selected from among all the women of the earth to be God’s chosen vessels. It is through my children and the children of my Consecrated sisters that the Blessed Nephilim will increase the angelic kingdom.”
“Very true. Yet you are failing in your duty to increase the kingdom.”
“But—”
“Let me continue.” Metcalf held up his hand to silence her. “It is often the case with a young husband that one of his wives can be overbearing.”
A look of panic crossed Annabeth’s face. “I… oh no, Father. Never! I would never do that!”
“As I was saying, if a wife is of a headstrong nature, she may intimidate her husband, and he will not seek her company.”
“But I—”
Metcalf cut her off. “Annabeth, do you know what a consecrated bride’s principal duty is?”
“Of course, Father, of course. It is her principal duty in life to marry and bear her husband’s angelic offspring.” She recited the words as if by rote.
“And do you think you have fulfilled the duty of a consecrated bride?” he asked quietly.
“I have always—”
He broke in once more. “Perhaps you should search your conscience a little more. Perhaps you don’t deserve to be counted among the consecrated.” Abraham stood up and towered over her. “You must pray, Annabeth.”
She looked up at him confusedly. “Father?”
“I want you to get on your knees now and ask the Lord to give you a more pliable disposition.”
“Just as you wish, Father.” She scrambled out of the chair and knelt beside the table.
“You must ask God to change your unruly temperament so that you may win back your husband’s affections.”
The woman bit her lip to keep it from quivering. Tears began to run down her cheeks.
Abraham turned his back and walked toward the door. “You must pray unceasingly, Annabeth. God is watching you. He is watching us all.”
Chapter 17 – Old School
Cassie was venturing into unknown territory. She had been driving for over an hour in a northwest direction. There was a map spread open on the passenger seat along with a page of hastily scrawled driving directions that Faye had given her over the phone. She was outside the metro area and off into farm country, only this didn’t look like any part of Illinois that she’d seen before. Instead of flat cornfields, everything was hilly and wooded. “The place where the last glacier melted” was the way Faye had described it. The place where mountains of ice had carved hills and valleys and lakes and rivers into Illinois’ otherwise dull topography.
She passed through villages that might have been thriving a hundred years earlier, then crossed railroad tracks and bridges over rivers. The scenery became more wooded the farther she traveled—the roads became narrower and the traffic sparser. Eventually, she was driving on roads with no center line, and then roads with no shoulder, and finally on a road that was unpaved. Trees arched overhead, blocking out the sun. The underbrush on either side scraped against the doors of her car. In a small clearing, the dirt road ended abruptly. Noon sun flooded the glade with light, and at its center stood a two-story white frame building. There was a bell tower over the front entrance.
Cassie didn’t see a No Trespassing sign to keep intruders away, so she pulled her car over to one side of the clearing, got out, and walked toward the building. It looked like something out
