She’d nodded again and asked if she could bring her stuffed bear. He’d made sure that she’d watched him pack it in his bag, along with a loaf of bread, some cheese, a jar of jam, and a canteen of water. He’d also packed the wallet he’d brought with him to Eden, which held his ID, long expired, and an envelope with two hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills. He’d given Pastor all of his personal savings and his inheritance, but the money in the envelope had come from his grandfather, who’d told him to keep it “just in case.” Mad money, the old man had called it.

Amos suddenly missed his grandfather so much it stole his breath. The man had been in his eighties back in 1989, and dying of cancer. He’d wanted to join Pastor in Eden, but he’d been way too sick to make the journey. Amos had stayed with him until the end, and then, after burying him, sold the house his grandfather had left him, signed the proceeds over to Eden, and made the journey all alone.

I was a fool. Such a fool. But he was fixing that. Changing it, he hoped.

Through all his packing, Abigail had watched, those eyes of hers missing nothing. He’d nearly finished when she’d run from their little living area to his bedroom, returning with the Polaroid photos that he’d only shown her once.

He wasn’t even aware that she’d remembered them. “Papa,” she’d said. “You can’t forget Mercy and Gideon.” She’d put the Polaroids in his hands and he’d nearly broken down and cried. They were treasures and he wouldn’t have left them behind. He’d put them out on his small dresser along with his grandfather’s pocket watch, intending to carry them in his shirt pocket, close to his heart.

One of Eden’s early residents had brought a Polaroid camera with them and had taken photos of Gideon, Mercy, and Rhoda in exchange for a custom wardrobe. Amos considered it one of his most satisfying transactions. Eventually the member’s camera had run out of batteries and film and had been left behind after one of their moves. The Polaroids of his first family were faded, but he could still see Mercy’s sweet toddler face, Gideon’s always-serious expression, and Rhoda’s incandescent smile.

These were among his most valued possessions. He never would have left them behind. But that Abigail had remembered them . . . I’m so blessed. Please, God, help me get my baby girl out.

This had to work. If they were caught, Ephraim would kill him like he’d killed the Comstocks, of that he was sure. And Abigail would be given to another family. He couldn’t bear the thought of it.

But if DJ didn’t pass by soon in his truck, he’d have to carry Abigail back through the gate to their house and hope no one saw them in the shadows. Amos had, hopefully, bought them a little time by going by the clinic earlier and coughing convincingly enough that Sister Coleen gave him some of the herbal tea she blended specially for coughs and colds. He’d gotten some of the tea for Abigail too, claiming that she also was coughing pitifully. Which Abigail wasn’t, of course, but it was unlikely the healer would mention it to anyone who’d know differently till tomorrow.