Abigail grabbed his uninjured hand. “I came to tell you that I have supper.”

He looked down at her, unable and unwilling to hide his affection. “You do? Butter sandwiches again?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Papa. It’s roast chicken with pumpkin. Deborah’s mother made extra by mistake. She said we should eat it or it would go bad.” She cocked her head, her pigtails swaying to one side. “I think she makes extra by mistake on purpose.”

Amos smothered a chuckle. “You do?”

Of course Deborah’s mother did. She was a good woman who hated to think of anyone going hungry. Her husband was a good man, always available to help.

Amos would miss them when he and Abigail were gone from this place.

“Yes,” Abigail said with a sharp nod. “She does it all the time, Papa. If it was truly an accident, I think she should have learned better by now. I think she likes to feed us.”

This time his chuckle escaped. “Well, we shouldn’t let on that we know her secret. We will accept her delicious gift and be thankful, yes?” He closed the door, not bothering to lock it.

The door had no lock. None of the homes in Eden did. Except the Founding Elders’ homes. And the clinic.

Which was where he needed to go. He bent over and kissed Abigail’s soft hair. “Go play. I’ll be by to pick you up very soon.”

He watched her bolt across the compound’s open courtyard, narrowly avoiding Sister Joan, who only chuckled and shook her head.

There were good people here.

And bad people.

Amos wondered which of the membership were evil like Brother Ephraim, hiding behind a nice smile and a friendly hello. He wondered which of the people he’d lived among for thirty years were aware that Brother Ephraim knew how to kill with his bare hands, or which, like himself, had simply been oblivious.

Amos had been so blind. So willingly blind, because there had been signs. Signs he’d been too happy to ignore.

No more.

Drawing a breath, he descended the steps into the clinic. It was housed in an earth home, partially underground, like all the dwellings in Eden. He glanced around, finding the room empty. He didn’t bother searching—there really wasn’t anywhere the healer could be hiding. The patient treatment area was one big room, with a curtain that could be pulled for patient privacy.

He avoided looking at the bed in the corner, pristinely made. That was where Abigail’s mother had died in childbirth. Afterward it had been especially hard to remember why he was here, living separate from the world. In a proper hospital, women didn’t usually die in childbirth.

Not like here, in Eden.

There was only one other place the healer could be. He approached the door to the healer’s office, where she kept supplies and medicines, intending to knock, but his fist froze midair. The door was slightly ajar, a faint whirring sound catching his ear. He frowned, having not heard anything like that before.