Prologue: They were sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind the Rows as wanted. Isaac kept his reign through his connection to Him, Malachi still his enforcer, more passive and not as mutinous. The continual sacrifices were stopped abruptly when Rachel brought to their attention their society was dwindling. Isaac spent six days in solitude and return with a simple command from Him, 'That when the brothers and sisters come to age, they shall find their Other Beloved and continue the lineage of the Children of the Corn'.
Chapter I
Isaac watched her. He had an infatuation with Rosalyn. A year after the pair of Outlanders, when it was her fifteenth year, he noticed her, truly noticed her. Curves that pressed against her simple cotton smock, her face thinned out and her complexion cleared and grew rosy. He inquired daily with Him who she was meant to commit fornication, who would be her Other Beloved and had nothing.
She was unaware, simple and devoted to Malachi only. Less than a year from her coming of age and she wished he would become her Other Beloved. She ignored the pair of intent eyes and pushed deeper into the corn field, towards the outskirts where the concrete road lay. Her basket was partially filled, mostly because the fields had been stripped. They never attempted the outskirts, Isaac said He forbade it.
Malachi was quiet, his footsteps light. He watched her push through, a knuckle white grip on her woven basket. She broke out onto the main road, 21 miles West was Hemingford and 2 miles east was Gatlin.
She hummed softly, old tunes her father played before Isaac and the Deliverance. Her fingertips brushed along the leaves of the stalks, stopping occasionally to pluck a husk and drop it into her basket. She thought about little Sarah and Job and wished for conversion. Sweet but stubborn children. She thought about Isaac and the intense gaze she ignored. She knew it was lust and not His will. She thought of Malachi, a passionate boy turning broken man. He was at the age but He had not picked out an Other Beloved for him yet. She mussed over her ideas for a present for his seventeenth year. Gifts were not forbidden, but not condoled either. If given, it was kept to one's self.
Malachi had given her a locket he found amongst the Unmentionables and polished it back to gilded shine. She placed her hand on the bulge it caused by the collar of her dress. She was halfway through a flannel shirt, but wanted something more personal to give him.
Down the road she heard the simultaneous roars of a Harley Davidson. FLH 1200 Super Glide, 1970. Her father had worked on one for months, a gift for her brother's return from Vietnam. The received the letter declaring his MIA and the Deliverance fell through several days later. Her brother never came home.
The engines roar dulled to a low rumble and then nothing. The man was large and bearded like his friends; he kicked his peg stand and swung a leg over, moving towards Rosalyn. 'What's a pretty thing like you doing out here by yourself?'
She pulled the basket to her chest and stepped back for his step forward. 'Gathering this year's harvest for my brothers and sisters.'
He looked around, 'Any of them near by?'
She kept his gaze, 'Possible.'
The other two men dismounted as well and began to crowd her. 'You have a boyfriend, there, Miss Thing?'
She shook her head, 'But soon I will have an Other Beloved. I am not of age yet.'
'But your age is fine for other things.'
She tried to twist from his grasp, her basket tip sending corn heads onto to road. They cornered her, pulling at her dress. She screamed. One doubled over, a knife buried into his back so deep there was not sight of the blade. They retreated from Rosalyn, pulling out their own switch blades. Malachi moved out from the stalks and reached over to retrieve his knife.
The shock of the teenage murderer startled them for a moment; the first one lunge at him, the other following pattern. A clash of blades and punches and kicks, a deep throated scream and an echo of another, left only Malachi standing, his balance wavering, his knife red and held limply. She faced him, her mouth gaping for words. 'You're bleeding,' she managed.
He glanced down, 'It is their blood,' he gestured to the bikers.
She moved towards him, her hand resting on his stomach; Malachi flinched at the touch. Her fingers trailed a long gash about four inches long but shallow. 'That is yours,' she dropped to her knees, tearing away her hem and blotting it gently. 'We must get you to AID.' Her attention fell to another gash, deeper, on his left forearm.
He nodded, 'Tell Isaac of the Outlanders. He will send others to dispose of them.'
'How grateful I am you managed to be so close by,' she commented, raising her eyebrow.
He avoided her eyes. 'Yes. Fortunate.'
She sighed and they moved through the stalks back towards the clearing. She stumbled and he caught her around the waist, wincing in pain. Rosalyn spun around in his arms, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, his on her hips. 'You okay? You strained yourself, didn't you? Let me fall, Malachi.'
His grip tightened, 'Rosalyn—'
'What has happened?' A voice called out.
They tore apart and turned to see Rachel running towards them, her skirts hiked up to her knees. 'Malachi! Are you bleeding?' She called over her shoulder, 'Fetch Isaac! Malachi is hurt!' The twins, a recent addition from a tourist family, turned heel and ran to the barn.
Rosalyn looked at Malachi who stared unabashedly back. She swallowed hard and followed the twins.
- - -
'Outlanders?' Isaac repeated. 'So close?'
'Apparently, the meant to cause harm to Rosalyn, but Malachi prevented that from happening.' Rachel finished, her cheeks warm.
'Rosalyn is fine?'
Jealousy twisted her heart, 'Yes, Isaac. She is with Malachi now in the barn.'
'Send word to her,' he turned away and gazed out the church's stained glass window of Jesus and a dove. 'I wish to speak to her.'
Her eyes trailed his backside and her face grew warm again. 'Yes, Isaac' and left wordlessly.
Oh, Rachel. Isaac sighed out loud. Devote. Head-strong. Faithful. She was a true believer. She would be a suitable Other Beloved, if he was not convinced Rosalyn was to bore his heir. Her sixteenth was now five months away, and she would become of age and then his companion by command of He Who Walks Behind the Rows.
I wish for Malachi to have Rachel. Isaac thoughts went to Him, silent prayers. It would be compatible.
'You wished to see me, Isaac?'
He looked over his shoulder to see Rosalyn leaning against the door frame. 'Yes, Rosalyn, come in.' She stepped in tentatively. 'I heard of the incident; Malachi is well?' She nodded brusquely. 'You were on the outskirts, I've been informed. Rosalyn, they are forbidden for a reason, you understand?' She nodded again, her fists clenched and arms stiff at her sides. 'Good, so you understand why you must be punished.'
Her head shot up, her mouth slightly open. 'Punished?'
'Nine lashings,' he turned to face her fully. 'A reminder that this could have been avoided had you stayed inland.'
'Isaac, I only meant to—'
He held up a small hand, a small smile spread on his small face, 'Excuses are never welcome with Him, Rosalyn,' he voice low. 'It must be done.' He waved her away, 'It will be dealt with later, once I have seen Malachi.'
She left mutely, her soft footsteps echoed off the hall's walls. Isaac smiled to himself. Rosalyn is the one. If only she can rid of this bout of self dependence.
