Eden
Ms. Kate showed Eden to her room. It was on the second floor of the home and contained four beds but not much else. A closet had four built-in shelves, one for each person. Eden had the lowest shelf and a bed in the middle of the four.
“I’m sure you’re exhausted. Why don’t you lie down? We’ll go over chores and rules after dinner.”
Grateful, Eden lay down on her bed and promptly fell asleep.
The noise of women and children greeting each other woke her up—Moms returning from work calling out their kids’ names; the children’s squeals as if their mothers had been gone for weeks, not hours. Fully awake now, Eden swallowed, trying to suppress the ache for her own children.
Of the three other beds in her room, two were occupied by African-American women and the bed next to her was taken by a Hispanic woman. All three women were polite but didn’t ask questions. Eden guessed they didn’t have to. They knew why she was there. After changing their clothes, the African-American women went downstairs to help with dinner, but the Hispanic woman dumped a bucket with cleaning supplies at the foot of her bed and changed out of her uniform.
A little boy who couldn’t be more than four with eyes as big as a Frisbee bounded into the room, “Mama!”
She replied, “¡Querido José, hijo mío!”
Jose ran over and jumped into her lap. The woman giggled, dropped kisses on him, and hugged him tight. Between their embrace, she craned her neck toward Eden.
“I’m Alicia. What’s your name, hon?”
“Ed—no—Lisa.”
Alicia nodded. “All of us have new names here. For security.”
“Alicia is a pretty name.”
“What’s your story? This is a safe place. No stoolies.” At Eden’s puzzled look, she said, “Stool pigeons. You know, people who tell other people where someone is.”
A bolt of fear ran through Eden. “Does that happen?”
Alicia’s smile vanished. “Too much.” She pointedly looked at the two free beds on either side. “Before these girls got here, there were two other girls who cleaned office buildings at night. They didn’t get back until one or two in the morning. One night they showed up around two AM, and one of the woman was shot and killed by her husband. Right out front. Turns out someone told him where she was.”
“That’s horrible.” Eden shuddered. “What happened?”
“What you’d expect. The husband was picked up and indicted for first-degree murder.” At Eden’s anguished expression, Alicia said, “You’re not from Chicago, are you?”
Eden shook her head. “Did the woman have children?”
Alicia held up two fingers. “Both under five. They’re with DCFS. By the time they run through the system, well… I pray for them every night.”
Eden’s throat thickened with nausea. She took some deep breaths. What if Porter found her? She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’m sorry…Lisa, right? I didn’t mean to scare you. You’ll be okay. I can tell. You’re smart. So, where are you from? Don’t tell me the town. Just keep it kind of um—loose.”
Eden opened her eyes, nodded, and thought for a minute. “Near the Iowa border.”
Alicia nodded back. “We don’t get many pretty white women here. What happened?’”
“I married a Mormon. A Fundamentalist. He beat me. I ran.”
“Yeah? I Never met a Mormon before. They’re—they’re kinda weird, ain’t they?”
“You could say so. I converted when I got married.”
“That so? I guess I know how that went. Wait a minute. I do remember a woman who said she was a Mormon.”
“Really?” Eden jerked up her head. “Here in Chicago?”
“Hell, no. I was in Vegas turning tricks. Met up with a woman who said she’d been a Mormon. Young thing. Couldn’t have been more than eighteen.”
“And she was a hooker?”
“Said when she turned fourteen her parents made her marry this old white geezer who needed the little blue pill to get it up. He took one every night to rape his new ‘wife.’ After six months, the girl had enough and ran away to Vegas.” She made a brushing away motion. “You know the rest.”
A month after Eden converted, she’d heard some women in the Church whispering with pursed lips about a young girl of fourteen who’d married her uncle and was now pregnant. But Eden was six months pregnant herself, and she didn’t pay much attention to gossip. She wasn’t a teenager who’d just started menstruating. She was a mature young woman. And Porter wasn’t a dirty old man.
Now, though, ten years later, she worried. That’s one of the reasons she’d fled when she did. What if the elders forced Porter to marry Sariah off to some doddering old man when she started her period? That might only be five years away. She shivered. She had to get the kids back. She ran a hand through her now-cropped brown hair.