She returned the photo to the stack. Although punishments for disobedience had been severe in the commune, she didn’t recall Jeremiah being forced to kneel in the corner or hit with a switch. As the leader’s firstborn son, he was given free rein. Avery had once spent an evening locked in the storm cellar for shoving Jeremiah after he’d pulled on her braids. The experience had taught her to endure his abuse without complaint.

It was a sad lesson, one of many in her childhood, but it had a silver lining. The resentment she’d carried over the incident had given fuel to her rebellion. Without Jeremiah’s bullying, and those hours in the dark, tomb-like space, she wouldn’t have drummed up the courage to escape. The cellar story was unpleasant, and indicative of the emotional torment she’d been subjected to. Even so, it paled in comparison with the events surrounding her mother’s death. She didn’t know if she was capable of recounting that tale.

“Ms. Samuels?” Diaz prompted.

“I don’t remember him being punished,” she said. “He was a year older, and we weren’t in the same classes. Boys and girls were separated.”

“How was the community structured outside of school?”

She set her tea aside, thinking. “It was highly gendered. Ruled by male elders. Women were expected to stay home and care for children. Some girls were chosen as brides as soon as they turned fourteen. Others were allowed to wait.”

“Did they marry boys their age?”

“No, they didn’t. Boys had to work in a trade for fourteen years before they became eligible for marriage. The youngest husbands were twenty-eight. After fourteen more years, they could ask for a second wife, but not everyone earned this honor. It was reserved for Father Jeff’s most loyal followers.”

“How many wives did he have?”

“Three, when I left.”

“At thirteen.”

“Yes.”

“Were you chosen as a bride?”

“I might have been, if I’d stayed.”

“Is that what prompted your decision to leave?”

She glanced at Richards, moistening her lips.

Diaz interpreted her reluctance clearly. “Would you rather continue without me? I can leave the room.”

“No,” Avery said. He was a good interviewer, and the warmer personality of the two. Her reticence had little to do with him, though she found it difficult to meet his eyes. They were too intense, too arresting. She also didn’t want to continue, period. She wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about this to anyone. “I ran away for two reasons. First, because I didn’t want to get married at fourteen. Father Jeff had already told my stepfather that I’d become a bride on my birthday, to whomever he selected as my husband.”

“What did your stepfather say?”

“Nothing. He was okay with it, but my mother cried when she found out. She thought I was too young. She begged him to ask Father Jeff to wait another year.”