Micah returned with the children who'd agreed. There were 10 to 15 of them, including Jedediah, Mordechai, and Jedediah's younger sister, Naomi. Rebekah met them in the living room and handed out the bags of supplies she had gathered.
"I'm sure Micah has told you what we're doing," she said, hurriedly taking a headcount. "And if he hasn't, you don't have to know anything except the fact that Isaac has gone too far this time." There was a soft murmur among the children; she went on. "I know most of you are either afraid of Isaac or in awe of him, but all of you -- now, don't lie to me -- all of you are afraid of Malachai." A pause, then a collective nod of assent. Yes, they had seen him in action. "We can't get to Hemmingford, not yet at least. We're going to stay in the abandoned barn at the edge of Gatlin. Whether you want to stay or not is your choice."
"But Isaac said--" Rebekah shot Mordechai a wary look, and he went silent.
"And no matter what choice you make, Micah and I are going to the barn."
"How will you keep them out?" asked Jedediah in a small voice. She dug in the duffel bag she was holding and produced a large iron padlock.
"This will be enough, Brian." Rebekah's gaze swept over the little crowd. "We're going. Now. Whoever wants to come can come." And without another word, she turned and slipped out the back door.
All fifteen children followed.
Rebekah ushered them all into the barn on Gatlin's borders. There was no one around, which was to their advantage, and she was hoping -- hell, she was praying -- that Isaac wouldn't see. Or worse, that Malachai would see and take matters into his own hands. He was interesting to talk to, but he was not one for conversation when things went awry.
"Hurry," she hissed, pushing them all ahead of her. When she was sure that the children were safely inside, Rebekah closed the heavy doors of the barn and snapped the padlock on the inner handles. Get through THAT, Isaac, she thought bitterly, and turned to the frightened faces that awaited her. "I cannot promise anything," Rebekah said quietly, eager to get the truth to the front. "I can't promise that we'll be safe or happy here. Because I will not lie to you. I don't know what's going to happen. All I can do -- all we can do is pray for the best." She offered a weak smile. The children didn't respond. "Go on to sleep," she urged gently. "You're all tired, and it's late. Sleep, I'll watch for them." But the tension would not be relieved. After an hour or so, the children relaxed and drifted off to sleep in the hay. Micah was asleep within minutes. Rebekah kept her promise and waited at the window, watching for only one person in particular. She was almost positive that her eyelids would blink only once and there he'd be -- a short, slender figure dressed in black, coming slowly at her, appearing out of the corn like a ghost. Isaac never came. At last, when dawn touched the tips of the sky, Rebekah slept. She dreamt of Abraham. He was just as handsome as ever, brown hair swept back gracefully from his face, hazel eyes warm and comforting. Abraham extended a hand to her and whispered,
"Come, Rebekah. It is nearly time." And yet his lips didn't move. His words echoed through her head and into her heart. Rebekah wanted to tell him how she didn't deserve to, that she had nearly surrendered to Isaac in the fields. Somehow he knew -- but Abraham didn't mind. His hand didn't falter. "Come," he whispered again, and Rebekah awoke.
"Don't leave," she gasped. Immediately, her mouth snapped shut. Abraham was gone, dead, sacrificed to He Who Walks Behind The Rows. Willingly. Rebekah squeezed her eyes shut, fought tears, and slept again.
Isaac pressed a palm gingerly to his stomach. It still hurt, but not as bad as he'd anticipated.
"Where are they?" he murmured. Malachai stared at him solemnly.
"Amos did a full-scale search. We think they're in the barn on Gatlin's edge." Isaac's breath caught in his throat. He tried to keep a steady voice to hide it.
"Have you tried to enter it?"
"It is locked. The windows are protected and too high to reach." Malachai's hand went to the long hunting knife at his side. He had discarded it since the massacre nearly two years ago; now it was in reach again. "We cannot break through. Someone has taken great care to keep us out." Isaac let out a quiet sigh of relief. She had not left town, then.
"Good." He saw Malachai's red brows twitch skeptically and hurried on. "Gather the strong ones. Arm them. We will be inside by tonight." The older boy stared back soberly.
"Are you so sure?" Isaac paused. He pressed his hand tighter against his stomach.
"Yes," he whispered. "He tells me so."
Rebekah was distributing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
"I don't like peanut butter," muttered Mordechai, taking the sandwich nonetheless.
"Maybe you'll like it better if I shove it in your face," Jedediah said irritably. Micah ate his sandwich in silence.
"Quiet, you two," Rebekah ordered. They silenced. She handed the last sandwich to a blonde-haired little boy, who took it and hurried off to his own corner of the barn. The children had each found a comfortable spot in the hay and settled there. That was one good thing about the barn, she noted; there was a lot of hay, and it made good bedding. This would be all right until they could get help from Hemmingford.
"Someone's coming," whispered a little girl. She was perched in the loft, staring out the window with wide eyes.
"What?" Rebekah set down the butter knife in one of the duffel bags and hurried towards the loft. "Who?"
"I see Amos," the little girl murmured, and pointed as she named each boy she recognized. "And Moses, and Noah, and Jonah, and--" Rebekah moved the girl gently aside.
"Watch out, sweetheart. Okay -- Amos, Moses, Noah, Jonah--" And sure enough, Malachai followed close behind them. She let out a breath that was both frustrated and frightened. It would've taken a little longer to find their spot, she had hoped. "Stay quiet!" Rebekah hissed to the children. A hush fell over the barn; everyone looked up to see what was happening. She cracked the window just slightly.
"Rebekah!" Malachai bellowed, shielding his eyes as he squinted up at the barn. "Rebekah, we know you're in there!" Aw, shit, she thought, and placed her mouth next to the crack.
"Go away, Malachai!" He was too smart to let the locked door go unnoticed. It was not a bluff, he did know they were in there. Malachai's lips split into an ugly grin.
"He wants you to come out," he called up to her. Rebekah felt her breath quicken.
"We're not leaving this barn! Go tell him that!" The rest of the boys shifted apprehensively. They didn't hold weapons, she noticed with relief. Malachai's grin didn't waver.
"You can tell him yourself. He'll be here tonight." He motioned to Amos and the rest. They all followed, leaving the barn -- for now. Rebekah watched them leave dejectedly. She had certainly thought the peace would've lasted for more than a day.
"Becky?" She jumped as a hand fell on her shoulder. It was Micah; he had crawled up to the loft and settled behind her silently. Rebekah turned to him and smiled weakly.
"What, honey?" The little boy blinked, dark eyes innocent.
"Are they going to make us leave?" he asked softly. She stared at him for one long moment, then hugged him hard to her chest.
"No." Rebekah kissed the side of his head and shook her own. "No. They can't make us do anything." But she knew differently, and was almost sure that Micah did. He hugged back anyway. Rebekah gave God one last chance and spent the next fifteen minutes praying for their safety.
Isaac lit a candle.
"O Lord," he whispered to the flame, bowing his head in prayer. "Let not the Betrayal conflict with your plans. It has happened just as you told me it would. I am ready and waiting to accept--" And here he stopped. Isaac's breath quickened; he opened his eyes and shook his head. "No!" He glared at the candle as if everything were somehow its fault. "No, please, I request one thing of you, Lord! Show the girl how I feel, show her how I care, because I cannot!" Isaac paused, swallowed thickly, and added, "I am too weak to make her understand. In your power and knowledge, you could. Please, I ask this one thing of you--" He felt the tears rising to his eyes again. They didn't seem too far away these past few days; every time he turned a corner, it seemed that tears were waiting for him. "--deliver Rebekah safely into my arms. Make her see." Isaac closed his eyes again, and sure enough, the tears spilled from their corners and fled down his cheeks. "Please."
"Isaac?" He didn't open his eyes or jump. Isaac kept his eyes closed.
"Yes?" he murmured. Amos stood at the doorway cautiously.
"Night will fall in an hour. We are awaiting your orders." Isaac paused, contemplated, then said,
"When darkness is full, send Malachai to me. Then we will go to the barn and end the Betrayal." There was silence, then,
"Yes, Isaac." Steps retreated down the hall. Isaac sighed softly and opened his eyes, staring at the flame.
"Deliver Rebekah to me in safety," he whispered helplessly. "This is all I ask of you. In the Lord's name I pray, amen." Isaac wiped away his tears and blew out the candle.
"What will we do, Rebekah?" asked Jedediah softly. Rebekah was busy searching the back of the barn for any type of weapon.
"I'll hold them off as best I can." She picked up a rusted hoe, made a soft sound of frustration, and continued looking. "I won't make you kids fight. This is my battle, not yours."
"We can fight." Mordechai was sitting sullenly in the hay next to Jedediah. "We're not babies."
"No," Rebekah said tightly, turning to him. "No, you're not. But you're children." He stared up at her in silence. She glanced around the barn. Everyone was watching her, waiting to see why they couldn't help. "I," Rebekah murmured slowly, "am closest to the Age of Sacrifice. If we stayed in Gatlin, I would've been sacrificed in 3 or 4 years anyway." There was a little ripple of sound through the children. She continued searching for weapons. "And no matter what happens, the rest of you are going to stay in here. No matter what." No one said anything. Rebekah kicked at a pile of old hay with her foot and hit something solid; a knife handle. "Oh, perfect," she breathed, and picked it up. But relief didn't last long -- that's all it was, a knife handle. No blade. "Shit," she snapped.
"Why can't we help?" asked Micah quietly. Rebekah turned the handle over carefully in her palm. It might work, if only as a bluff. She stuck it in her pocket, making it look as if she possessed a knife. It would be better than nothing.
"Because I'm not sure what Isaac will do," she replied. It was the truth, too. It seemed that Isaac had three settings: nonchalant, gentle, and violent. There was no telling when he'd shift from one to the other. She was hoping wildly that he'd be set on gentle -- he was more vulnerable that way. Maybe she could play on Isaac's emotions.
"Will he try to hurt us?" Jedediah asked quietly. Rebekah paused, then touched the knife handle lightly.
"I don't know."
The sun was setting.
Isaac sat in his room, ready and waiting. Malachai entered in silence.
"Isaac," he said solemnly. "It is dark. Are you ready to go?" Isaac stared at his hands for one long moment, then let out a small sigh.
"Yes," he murmured, standing. "I'm ready. Where are the others?" Malachai blinked lazily. He spoke a lot less often than usual.
"Waiting in the center of town."
"You have armed them?" Isaac asked softly. The redhead nodded.
"Yes." The younger boy paused, then licked his lips apprehensively.
"And-- you remember the plan?" Malachai touched the knife at his side carefully, almost lovingly.
"Yes," he murmured. "I remember the plan." Isaac closed his eyes, made one last desperate plea to the Lord, and sighed again.
"Then I am ready. Let us go the barn."
Mordechai was on watch at the loft window.
"I see them," he said worriedly. Rebekah sat in the hay by Micah, hugging him close to her side. He hadn't spoken in almost an hour.
"Do they have anything with them?" she asked. Mordechai squinted.
"Amos has a hoe, I think. I can't see the others. Malachai--" He drew in his breath sharply. "--he has that long hunting knife of his." The children gave a collective shudder. Jedediah and Naomi crawled from their corner to nestle beside Rebekah. She put an arm around the two of them and sighed quietly.
"And Isaac?" There was no telling what he'd have. Mordechai looked again.
"Isaac has--" His eyes widened in fear. "Isaac has fire."
"What?!" Rebekah stiffened. He's not that crazy, her mind pleaded. ...is he?
"He's got a torch," Mordechai confirmed, and swallowed thickly. "Is he going to... burn down the..."
"I don't know." Rebekah paused, then hugged the three children tightly. "I'm going to go take a look, okay?" Jedediah and Naomi nodded; Micah stayed silent. She took him by the hand and shook it lightly. "Micah," Rebekah murmured. His dark eyes stayed downcast. Someone pounded on the door.
"Rebekah!" It was Isaac's voice, already sounding tense. She stared desperately at Micah.
"Please, Micah, look at me." Another thump on the barn door.
"Unlock the door, Rebekah!" That was Malachai. "We need to talk to you!" Micah didn't move. Rebekah let him go and stood slowly. It was time.
Ready or not, she thought drily, here I come. And she headed for the door.