“Yes,” Liza said slowly. “I do. Is that bad?”

“They made Papa get a tattoo. They made all of the boys get one when they turned thirteen. Even the grown-up men had to get one if they joined the congregation.”

“Oh.” Liza sighed. Abigail sounded too grown-up herself as she parroted the words she’d undoubtedly heard from Eden’s adults. She’d known that Eden marked the males in the community by tattooing their chests with the cult’s symbol—two children kneeling in prayer beneath an olive tree, all under the wings of an angel holding a flaming sword. “Well,” she said, stalling for time as she considered her response.

Mercy’s brother Gideon had gotten his tattooed over, choosing a phoenix to cover the symbol of the cult’s cruelty. Liza had seen Amos’s tattoo when a hospital physician had pulled his gown aside to listen to his heart. She hadn’t realized that Abigail would associate all tattoos with oppression.

“Well,” she said again, “not all tattoos are bad. Not like in Eden when the boys were forced to get them. I got mine because I chose to.”

“But why?” Abigail pressed.

Liza tugged her blouse a little farther down so that Abigail could see more of the tattoo. “It’s a rose and a musical note, twined together. For my mother and sister. Mom loved roses. Lindsay played the piano. So I got their favorite things inked over my heart.”

“Oh.” Abigail seemed to consider this. “Did it hurt?”

“A little. But it was worth it to me.”

“Do you have any tattoos, Mercy?” Abigail asked.

“No,” Mercy answered. “I’m kind of like you, kiddo. For me, a tattoo is a bad memory of Eden. But you remember my friend Miss Farrah? The one who lives in New Orleans?”

Abigail nodded. “Does she have one?”

“She does. Hers is a shield with her fiancé’s name. He’s a police officer, so that’s why the shield. Like the shape of a badge. Mr. Karl has a tattoo, too.”

Abigail’s eyes widened comically. “He does?”

Mercy nodded. “From when he was in the army. So not every tattoo is bad.”

Abigail bit her lip. “But what if the person is bad? Are all their tattoos bad?”

Liza lifted Abigail’s chin so that their eyes met. “Who do you mean?”

“Brother DJ. He had another tattoo that wasn’t of the Eden tree.”

The hairs on the back of Liza’s neck lifted, her intuition shouting that this was important. “What did it look like?”

“It was letters. A long word.” Abigail moved her hand in the shape of a rainbow. “Across his back. I saw it once,” she admitted in a small voice that sounded guilty.

“How did you see it?” Liza asked. “Were you guys swimming or something?” She hoped it was something that innocent. She hadn’t considered that DJ Belmont might have touched her Abigail. Fury flared at the very notion.

Abigail shook her head hard and fast. “No. We didn’t swim. At least we girls didn’t.”