Missionary

By Lehi Renner

The Prophet provides everything for the Flock, demanding absolute devotion in return. Before allowing men to wed, they must serve Him, which they do willingly to get their brides. There’s only one little problem. When each man has multiple wives, there’s simply far too many boys.

Knowledge isn’t always power, but ignorance isn’t always bliss...

Jacob Wright’s questioning nature has always gotten him into trouble. The only book he has access to is The Word, but he thinks too deeply about the contents, far more than a devout boy should. When he’s called by the Prophet to serve a mission, Jacob believes his quest for answers has begun, only to discover the more he knows the less he believes.

Kerioth Marshal is an authoritarian, keeper of all knowledge past and present. His duty is to oversee the missionary center library, holding close the secrets of the Prophet. He’s accepted loneliness as part of his job, but then Jacob comes, offering him an escape from isolation. At first, Jacob’s inquisitive nature amuses and enchants him, but how long will it be before Jacob realizes Kerioth has saved him from one horrible fate only to subject him to another?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lehi Renner
• Release date: Jul 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370236022

Book preview

Missionary

by Lehi Renner

Copyright 2016 by Lehi Renner

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Call

Chapter 2: The Journey

Chapter 3: The Gate

Chapter 4: Back on the Bus

Chapter 5: The Missionary Center

Chapter 6: Lessons Learned

Chapter 7: A New Chapter

Chapter 8: Fifteen Finally

Chapter 9: Easing Tensions

Chapter 10: Crushing Weight of Knowledge

Chapter 11: Retreat

Chapter 12: Eighteen Finally

Chapter 13: The Library

Chapter 14: On Top of the World

Chapter 15: All Good Things…

Chapter 16: Cover Up

Chapter 17: A Call to Action

Chapter 18: Reckoning

Chapter 1: The Call

I got the call! I got the call! Sunlight glinted off Timothy's pale blond hair as he ran toward Jacob. He pumped his scrawny legs hard enough to kick up puffs of dirt and send chickens squawking out of his way. Even though he'd just said the call, Jacob heard the words as if they'd been capitalized.

The Call.

A lot of times when he thought about that moment, he imagined it in all capitals with an exclamation point.

THE CALL!

Can I see? Jacob reached for the paper. He struggled to keep envy out of his heart, but that was almost impossible to do. More than anything, he wanted to be called for a mission. That Timothy had been when he hardly remembered any of the scriptures seemed unfair. How could Timothy spread The Word when he could hardly talk in class without peeing his pants?

You see with your eyes, not your hands. In his grubby fist, Timothy held a cream-colored parchment with gold filigree around the edges.

Jacob wanted to see the paper so he jammed his hands in his pants pockets.

Grinning so wide he looked crazy, Timothy held up the paper. For all his concern about Jacob ruining the precious document, he'd already smeared fingerprints all over it. If Jacob had gotten the call, he would have washed his hands. But that was Timothy. No reverence. So why had he been called ahead of Jacob?

See? It's got my full name and everything.

Jacob didn't care about the fancy script at the top. His gaze went to the signature at the bottom. He'd wanted to believe it was a joke, that Timothy had faked his call, but there was no mistaking that left-slanting signature at the bottom. Even from a distance, Jacob saw the paper pressed in where the pen had touched the page. Genuine calls to serve were signed, not printed. Timothy's call was real.

My ma says I'm to go to Salt Lake City on the big bus.

Anger and envy battled in Jacob. That place was held above all other places. Unlike the desert with the red dirt and the short buttes, snow-capped mountains ringed Salt Lake City. Fine houses with beautiful gardens lined every street. All the people were strong, fit, and serving the Prophet.

Timothy prattled on. Jacob nodded, but he wasn't really listening. He was thinking about how big the world was and what little he'd seen of it.

So are you? Timothy asked.

What? Jacob still wanted to hold the paper. If he waited, Timothy would eventually let him, but keeping his hands in his pockets took more effort each second.

Going to go?

To Salt Lake City? Jacob's heart pounded.

No! Timothy laughed. To the celebration at the Lee's for all the group tens who got called. My first ma is making biscuits.

Maybe that's why Timothy got the call. His dad had five wives and he oversaw the slaughterhouse. He also had a bigger house than Jacob's dad, who was only a tanner. As much as Jacob liked Timothy's ma's biscuits, Jacob didn't want to go to the Lee's. Zedekiah Lee, their son, was a pecker. Zedekiah picked on everyone, especially Timothy. When no adults were looking, Zedekiah would pinch Timothy's arm. Sometimes he drew blood.

I don't think so. Jacob wanted to go home, sit on his bed, and ask the Prophet why he had yet to be called.

But I'm going to show off my paper and everything.

If you do that, Zedekiah will ruin it.

He won't. Timothy rolled the paper up and held it close.

He's a pecker.

Timothy's eyes widened. He looked around. Ma said you shouldn't call him that.

He pecks on people just like a chicken. As if to prove his point, one of the bigger speckled chickens started pecking on a smaller brown one. She didn't stop until she'd pulled out a feather.

Ma says that's a dirty word.

Jacob rolled his eyes. If Timothy was a baby, then his ma was an even bigger one. She fainted a lot. Jacob's third ma said Timothy's ma was given to histrionics. Everything was shocking, dirty, or immoral to Mrs. Moore. Honestly, the woman believes she's more pious than the Prophet himself. Jacob had laughed, but his father's frown had silenced his mother. Gossip, even in their own home, went against the teachings of the Prophet.

Rather than argue about what a pecker Zedekiah was, Jacob pointed to the parchment. Can I touch it?

Timothy's grip tightened a little.

By the Prophet, I give you my word I won't hurt it.

Tentatively, Timothy handed the scroll over.

As soon as he touched the cool, creamy paper, Jacob's longing exploded in his chest. He'd never wanted anything as much as THE CALL. Slowly unfurling the edges, he imagined this paper was for him. His full name would be on the page with the left-slanted signature below. But wishing didn't make it so. All touching it had done was make his longing a hundred times sharper. Jacob rolled up the paper and handed it back.

Don't worry, Timothy said, the compassion in his voice genuine. Someday you'll get one.

Jacob had believed that for a long time but not anymore. What if he didn't get called to serve a mission? He'd have to stay in town and become a tanner like his pa. Their house always smelled like leather. His dad's hands were rough, his eyes haunted. The older he got, the more Jacob realized that his father's sadness had nothing to do with his job. And it wasn't first Ma. They loved each other a lot. And they loved second Ma as much as Jacob did. Third Ma was fussy and almost impossible to please, but Jacob loved her anyway, mainly because he had to. But that still left Jacob to wonder over what made his pa so miserable.

When Timothy's ma screamed his full name, he ran off without a word.

Jacob took the long way home. He walked along the creek, stick in hand, whacking the tops of the longest plants. Quickly bored, he tossed the stick in the water and watched until it disappeared. He jumped over at the narrow part then climbed up the embankment. Funny how the air was cooler down by the creek. Up top, the air got hot and dry again, especially when he stepped out of the shade.

When the sun burned down on his back, he imagined he was walking long miles to share The Word with the faithless heathens beyond The Gate. Jacob pictured himself older, taller, and even more filled with the fire of the one true way. He had already memorized almost half of The Word. By the time he was grown, he would know the book so well he could recite it effortlessly. Most drawings of missionaries showed the book held in their hands, but Jacob wouldn't need to carry the symbol. He would become the book. He would be the living embodiment of The Word.

Of course, if he never got called, he wouldn't be able to prove himself.

Jacob came to the back part of his neighborhood. He could cut through the Harris's yard, but Levi's second ma would scold him if she caught him. And she would. Since her baby was close to coming, she spent most of her time in the sunroom, which faced the backyard.

Besides, he had no reason to hurry home. If he'd been called, one of his parents would have sought him out, like Timothy's obviously had. There was no coveted parchment waiting for Jacob Wright. He would stay in Willow Creek for the rest of his life.

Jacob kept moving along the yard line. He passed several other houses, but none with yards he could cut through, not without getting his school clothes snagged. Third ma would fuss if he came up tattered again. So he kept walking along the back. Usually, there were lots of kids around after school, but the streets seemed empty. Jacob's shoulders slumped when he thought they were probably all at home, celebrating their calling papers.

Why not me? Jacob asked. I don't want to bother you, Prophet, but what's wrong with me?

Everything, my son.

Had he not snickered, Jacob might have believed the Prophet was talking to him. Jacob spun around. Go home, Zedekiah. He'd only been able to trick Jacob because of his low voice.

Zedekiah ran to Jacob's side. He had his fingers out, ready to peck, but Jacob was smaller and faster. Zedekiah ended up pinching air. After trying again, Zedekiah gave up. Instead, he hawked a loogie into the air and then caught it in his mouth.

Jacob spit when his family wasn't around, but he would never do that. He had a feeling Zedekiah only did that to annoy people.

Guess what I got? Zedekiah asked.

Uglier and stupider? Right after asking, Jacob took off running. Zedekiah gave chase, but he was too slow.

I got called! Zedekiah bellowed.

Jacob stopped so fast he slid in the dirt. He would have fallen but he flung out his arms, wind milling to keep his balance.

Me, Timothy, Abner, Levi, and Boaz all got called. Zedekiah caught up to Jacob. When he did, he punched him in the arm hard enough to make Jacob's eyes water. Looks like you're the only one left from group ten.

There are more than just six of us in group ten. You'd know that if you knew how to count.

Everyone got called but you. Triumph brightened Zedekiah's cold eyes.

Liar. Jacob didn't believe him. Twice, Zedekiah had gotten whipped in the town square for fibbing. Most kids would have learned their lesson, but Zedekiah didn't seem to mind the public shame. Jacob would have died of embarrassment long before he was put in the stocks.

Truth. Zedekiah extended two fingers and tapped his left shoulder.

Where's your paper? Jacob didn't believe Zedekiah's gesture any more than he believed his words.

"My eighth mother is framing mine."

They're your dad's wives, not yours. Only a pecker like Zedekiah would think he had bragging rights for someone else's accomplishment.

Someday I'll have so many wives I'll need a dozen homes.

You're lucky.

Zedekiah's thick brows lowered.

If it wasn't for the Prophet picking wives, you'd never get any. None of the girls liked Zedekiah, but that didn't matter when it came to marriage.

I'll convert so many non-believers during my mission that the Prophet will give me twenty just for starters.

They'll take one look at you and cry. Jacob wanted to say something much worse, but third mother had cautioned him that words carried heavy weight. A mean word is but a bare step away from a dreadful deed. Jacob didn't see how, but the fact all his groupmates had been called but for him might mean the weight of his harsh words had finally sunk him.

Oh, they'll cry. Zedekiah's gaze softened as if he were looking toward the future. I'll make sure all my wives cry.

Jacob had no idea what he meant, but he wasn't about to ask. Zedekiah often said things that clenched up Jacob's stomach. Don't count your eggs before they hatch or your wives before the match.

You won't get any wives. Zedekiah sneered.

Will so. The retort came out automatically even though Jacob hadn't really thought about wives. He didn't want to become his father. At least not just yet. Maybe someday he'd have a home filled with wives and children. But first, he wanted to be a missionary for the Prophet. The Word burned in Jacob's heart so brightly he feared if he couldn't tell non-believers the truth he'd die.

We'll see. Zedekiah's gaze landed on LaDonna, Boaz's younger sister. If I could pick, I'd take a dozen like her.

The red hair and freckles that made Boaz ugly looked entirely different on LaDonna. Since she wasn't yet chosen, she wore her long hair unbound. Curls rippled down her back, standing out against her pale pink dress.

I'll bet if I pulled her hair, she'd wail like a dying cow. Since Zedekiah's dad oversaw all the livestock around their tiny town, he ought to know.

Why would you want to make a pretty girl cry? Jacob regretting asking as soon as the words left his mouth.

That's what my dad does to my mothers.

Jacob didn't want details. He also didn't want to hear anything else Zedekiah had to say. Ever. About anything. When Zedekiah ran after LaDonna, Jacob kept moving toward home. Before, he'd felt a sense of urgency. In the back of his mind, he'd thought maybe his call would be waiting. Then he didn't. Then he did. But not anymore. All the other boys had gotten their calls. There wasn't any hope left in him. Jacob scuffed his heels in the dirt even though doing so ruined his shoes. What did it matter if he had nice shoes when he wouldn't ever be walking anywhere other than Willow Creek?

Looking the opposite direction of town, Jacob wondered, and not for the first time, what was out there. What was the world like beyond The Gate? Their teacher told them the tale of how the Prophet had won against the United States Government, but the thrilling story left out details Jacob wanted to know. To defend their way, the Prophet, and his most faithful followers, had to kill many men. The War of the Righteous and the Heathens spanned generations. Eventually, the Righteous won, claiming all the land from Canada to South America. The Gate ran down the Great Plains, keeping the Flock protected from the heathens.

Only missionaries could cross The Gate. Only those heathens who were willing to face the trials would be allowed to enter the kingdom of the Prophet. Jacob wished to see The Gate and the world beyond.

After dragging his feet for as long as he could, Jacob stepped onto his street. His house looked a lot like the others. Painted almost the same color as the tan dirt, all the homes seemed to blend into the very earth. Not for the first time, Jacob wondered why they weren't allowed to paint their houses different colors. Since they were on the lower end of town, their roads were dirt, the buildings one story.

By comparison, the houses that dotted the foothills had paved streets, lush gardens, and pointed roofs that seemed to pierce the sky. All of them were painted in bold colors. Zedekiah's house was up there. Was he better because his father had more wives and a bigger house that sat higher up?

Jacob wanted to know why things were so different. An ever-growing list of questions filled his mind. He used to ask his teacher, but he'd complained to Jacob's father. As soon as Jacob had seen his father's face, he'd known he was in trouble. Taking him into his shop, father lifted Jacob up until he sat on his workbench. This put him very near to eye level with his pa.

Soon you'll be too big for me to lift. Father had tapped two fingers to Jacob's left shoulder, touching the angel that was said to rest there.

Jacob opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but he decided not to ask when he really didn't want to know.

We do not question why the world is the way it is. Father placed his work-worn hands in his lap, holding them together as if to stop them from moving. Jacob rarely saw his father without a piece of leather in his grip. Maybe if he didn't still them they would start working of their own accord.

But if we don't ask questions, then how do we learn? Jacob had tried praying for answers but it hadn't worked.

The look of pride on his father's face quickly vanished. When you question the world, you question the Prophet. Do you think it is wise to question His judgment?

No. Jacob knew that was the right answer. When adults wanted to make a point, they always asked questions that could only be answered with yes or no. The choice they wanted him to make was always obvious. Right after giving the correct answer, Jacob asked, But how does the Prophet decide everything? How does he pick who lives on the hill, how many wives each man is to have, and—

Jacob. Father said his name in a way that cautioned him to silence. Accept the world as it is. Asking questions of your teacher, or of anyone, even me, shows you are listening to your devil. Father tapped Jacob's right shoulder. She tells you to ask after things that matter not.

Jacob tried to sit still and keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't. But how will I ever know if I don't ask?

You will be shown your path. Father patted Jacob's left shoulder, encouraging him to take heed from his angel. When the time comes, the Prophet will reveal your destiny.

Such a big word. Destiny implied a wealth of information to Jacob. I want to spread The Word. Confessing his greatest wish to his father felt good until he saw his father's reaction.

There was no burst of pleasure on his father's face this time. Only disappointment. If that's not what the Prophet wants of you, will you defy him?

The obvious answer was no, which Jacob gave. He wouldn't be a very good missionary if he defied the Prophet.

Wouldn't you be proud to stay in Willow Creek and make leather?

Yes. Jacob knew that was the right answer, so he gave it, but he wouldn't be proud. He didn't want to stay in Willow Creek making leather while Zedekiah and his kin lived on the hill looking down on him. Jacob would rather die.

His father peered at him for a very long time. Did you know the stocks are for more than just those who lie?

Chilled, Jacob nodded. Smack dab in the center of town, the stocks served their function of making everyone keep on the side of angels.

Now be a good boy and go work ditch detail.

Jacob had donned his gloves and joined the other children his age to clear the ditches on either side of the streets. When the rains came, the water flowed off the hump of the road and into the ditches, which collected the deluge and channeled it toward the creek. Keeping them clear kept the streets and yards from flooding.

Back then, his world had seemed complicated, but it wasn't. Not like now.

As he turned from the main street to his street, he saw Boaz's pa showing kids how to clean the ditches. Jacob wondered if the Prophet decided at what age children learned what chores. He wouldn't ask anyone, but that didn't mean he couldn't wonder inside his own head. Everyone in town, except babies, worked. Until Jacob was old enough to learn the vats at the tannery, he'd continue to do chores that benefited the town. The older he grew, the more vigorous his work.

Jacob's hope, that he would never have to learn his father's trade because he'd be called to serve, died. He would follow in his father's footsteps. Three wives would be his and many children. A new thought caused him to pause in the middle of the road. Even with three wives, his father had only made two children. Jacob's older sister had been chosen last spring, leaving Jacob. Maybe that was why pa seemed sad.

And why I'll never be called. The answer hit Jacob like a bolt from heaven. With only one son, pa had to pass his training onto Jacob. That was the way of it. Zedekiah had been called because his father had dozens of sons who could run his massive ranch. Sparing one or more wouldn't hurt his legacy.

Doom settled on Jacob's head, making him feel too heavy to move. But he kept walking. There had to be another way. Maybe third ma would have a baby soon, and then Jacob would be free. Realizing he'd only get in trouble if he shirked his after-school responsibilities, Jacob kept going toward his house. After he changed his clothes, he'd go and help with fence mending.

When he got home, he flung open the screen door and took two steps into the living room before he remembered. He returned to the stoop and wiped his feet. That was why he hadn't been called. He knew the rules. He knew the right thing but forgot. Maybe his words hadn't sunk him. His actions had.

His gaze traveled over the framed items on the wall. All three of his mothers enjoyed embroidering colorful thread onto fabric, but third mother only stitched pearls of wisdom. Jacob had seen them so many times he hardly noticed them anymore, but today they leapt out and seemed to accuse him.

Act as if the Prophet watched.

Speak not but praise of the Prophet.

Question not the Prophet.

Believe in the Prophet above all else.

Jacob?

Gasping, Jacob turned toward the kitchen doorway. He'd been so intent on the wall he hadn't seen or heard third mother come into the living room. When he saw a tan envelope in her hand, his misery turned to joy. Had he been called?

Go to your room. Strands of dirty blond hair stuck to her sweaty, pinched face. Food and dirt smudged her pale green dress.

What did I do?

Dare you argue with me? Third ma lifted her nose, seeming to be excited at the prospect of a fight. Her long thin fingers fluttered over the surface of the envelope, making Jacob wonder what was within. Would she destroy his call if he angered her?

Unwilling to take the risk, Jacob lowered his head the way that always seemed to make third ma feel superior. No, Mother.

Go wash then change into your very best. Sit on the end of your bed until father calls for you.

Knowing the reason for the order, he didn't argue. When he went to do her bidding, he caught a frown of disappointment on her face. She did so enjoy disciplining him. Jacob loved her because he had to, but he didn't like third Mother very much. She had a way of turning everything into an argument. More times than not, Father had to step between his wives and demand silence. Once, he'd caught Father disciplining third Ma. His father turned her over his knee and spanked her the very same way he'd paddled his children. For a long time after that, she'd seemed to be nicer, or