“Well, where is he?” Pastor demanded.

Amos frowned and went still.

Who was he talking to? Pastor had walked off by himself.

“You said that last time,” Pastor snapped, although no one else had spoken. “Fetch him. Now.”

Amos crept closer and blinked. Held tightly in Pastor’s hand was a slender . . . box. It looked like a deck of cards. Except it was lit up, illuminating Pastor’s scowling face as he spoke.

“I see. When he is no longer indisposed, can you have him call me?”

Call him? Call him? That thing . . . that tiny thing was a . . . a phone?

No way. Wow. He remembered car phones, and Eden newcomers had whispered about how small the devices had become, but this . . . Wow.

Pastor must have ended the call, because he looked up to the sky and murmured, “Dammit, Ephraim, what have you done now?”

Amos held his breath, listening for the next words, but Pastor tapped the thing in his hand and held it to his ear. “Ephraim?”

Amos stiffened. Ephraim had a phone too, obviously, and was not lost in the wilderness. Which was a shame.

“When are you returning?” Pastor asked. “You were supposed to be back this morning.” Then he frowned. “Difficulties?”

Oh. Amos knew that tone. When Pastor spoke gently like that, it was never a good thing.

“Oh, good heavens,” Pastor said, sounding abruptly concerned. “I knew you had to have a good reason. DJ thought you might have decided not to come back.” Then he rolled his eyes heavenward again. “That’s what I told DJ. He has so little faith.”

Brother DJ was involved, too. Of course he was. Amos had never liked the young man, especially after Brother Waylon died. Amos had loved Waylon Belmont like a brother, but the man’s son had been coddled to the point of ruination.

“No,” Pastor said. “Just checking on you, like a good shepherd cares for his flock.” Another eye roll. “Yes, I’d like that. Call me every day, so that I know you’re okay. Where are you staying?” A pause. “I see. Should we target more of the younger girls for Eden? I hate that you have to go elsewhere for your needs.”

Target. His needs. Amos leaned against a tree, his knees suddenly weak. Younger girls. They’d brought in younger girls for Ephraim.

They gave him my daughter. Mercy. Bile rose in Amos’s throat and he had to focus on not throwing up.

“You do that,” Pastor was saying warmly. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Go take some aspirin.”

Pastor tapped the screen again, then slipped the phone—which was still blowing Amos’s mind—into his pocket. Exhaling impatiently, he turned for the compound.

Amos held himself as still as stone, not risking a single breath, a single twitch.

Pastor walked by within about twenty feet of him, muttering, “Damn the day I let you in. Should have kicked you to the curb years ago. Would have if it hadn’t been for Edward.”