Deep Redemption

“Harmony.” I pushed my body to the side, as close to the wall as it would go. I wanted to hold her in my arms. I wanted to make her feel better. Something within me wanted to make everything better for her.

“He has a consort. She is called Sarai.” Harmony breathed deeply. “She holds the same wickedness in her stare as the prophet.” A single tear fell down Harmony’s flawless cheek. She let it fall to the stone floor then looked into my eyes. “I know what my duty is. I came here knowing what path lay before me. But . . . after today, I cannot help but question: what is my life going to look like as his wife? Sarai has his love, it is plain for all to see. And I could see hatred for me in her eyes,” she said. “I do not know if I can do it, Rider. In this moment, I do not know if I can go through with living under their cruelty. I have lived like that before. I cannot . . . I am not sure I am strong enough to endure it again . . . ” Her voice faded to a whisper.

Panic burst through every cell I had in my body at the defeat in her voice. “Listen to me,” I said firmly. “You are strong. You have to keep that strength.”

Harmony cast me a weak smile. “I am not as strong as I appear. Inside I am trembling. I am shackled with fear.” I felt my heart break. But before I could try and comfort her, she spoke again. “Prophet Cain is different to Prophet David in every way. Something inside tells me he will lead our people to ruin, not raise them to glory. The sermons he preaches, the guns . . . he will lead us straight to the gates of hell by himself, with no help from these devil’s men he so frequently refers to.”

I didn’t know what to say. And more, I couldn’t stand hearing the pain she was in. Without thinking, I lifted my filth-ridden hand and pushed it through the gap. When I had reached as far as I could, I laid it flat on the floor. My eyes darted to Harmony’s. She had frozen completely still, her eyes staring at my hand.

Feeling stupid, I went to pull back my hand. I shut my eyes to escape the embarrassment. Just as I did, I felt a small warm hand cover my own. My eyes snapped open. Harmony’s delicate fingers were draped over mine. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the sight.

She was touching me of her own free will.

She was touching me without fear or reluctance. . . it felt . . . good.

“Rider,” Harmony said quietly. “I see such agony in your eyes that I feel it all the way down to my soul.”

My heart tore at the sadness in her voice. My throat clogged at her compassion. This is what this feels like, I thought. This is what affection was—unbarred, unforced . . . natural. No coercion. No panic. Just freely given.

Harmony’s fingers twitched. She swallowed hard, then began to stroke the back of my hand. It soothed a fire I hadn’t realized flared in my heart. She was silent as she brushed her fingertips along my broken skin. I tried to breathe, but her touch stole all the air from my lungs.

“Tell me,” Harmony whispered. I closed my eyes at the sound of her gentle voice. “Tell me what is wrong. What plagues you?”

What I wanted to confess was on the tip of my tongue. But when I opened my mouth, my soul spoke instead. “I’m lonely,” I said, brokenly. “I’m so damn lonely that I can barely breathe.”

I opened my eyes to see Harmony’s deep brown ones shining with tears. “Rider,” she hushed out. Her fingers stopped stroking my skin. Instead her hand slipped under mine, and her fingers threaded through my fingers. She gripped them tight. She didn’t say a word, but I understood . . . she was here for me.

She was with me in my pain.

I stared into her eyes, and she stared into mine. No words were spoken, but they didn’t need to be. Words were useless right now. Our silent touch gave me more peace than I had ever felt in my entire life.

A single sweet touch took away the hurt . . . just for one cherished moment.

Suddenly, I heard a gasp from the doorway. In a flash, I had released Harmony’s hand and rushed to sit up straight. I turned my head to see who had entered my cell, and my eyes clashed with Phebe’s. She stayed frozen, eyes wide as she glanced down to the brick-less gap in the wall.

The water basin in her hands shook. “Phebe,” I whispered, moving away from the wall.

The blood drained from Phebe’s face, but she managed to pull herself together and close the door of my cell. She ducked her eyes and walked slowly toward me. She placed the basin on the floor, keeping her head down. She dipped the rag into the water, picked up my arm and began washing the blood from my skin. She never once lifted her head.

My heart raced. She had seen me holding hands with Harmony.

I couldn’t let Phebe tell Judah. I couldn’t let her tell the guards. I wouldn’t let them take Harmony from the cell beside mine. I wanted her here . . . I needed her here.

As Phebe moved to wash my other arm, I flipped my hand and gently took hold of her wrist. The touch was soft, but Phebe jumped as though I had just slapped her across her face. I frowned as she tried to pull away.

I kept hold.

“Phebe,” I said quietly, my eye drifting to the door. She was beginning to panic. I didn’t want the guards to hear her. “Phebe,” I tried again. “Please . . . I won’t hurt you.”

At my words, Phebe seemed to come back from whatever nightmare she had drifted to in her mind. Her head was still turned away from mine as she tried to control her breathing. I gently pulled on her wrist. Her body grew stiff. Confusion and concern fogged my mind. Phebe was not herself. Not at all. She was drawn in and flinching at my every touch.

I wondered what Judah had told her about me to warrant this kind of response. Deciding to find out, I leaned forward and lifted my free hand to place my fingers under her chin. Phebe’s breath caught in her throat. She was a deer caught in the headlights. As gently as I could, I turned her face toward mine. She tried to resist at first, but then finally submitted.

Just like every woman in the commune would naturally do.

My eyes widened in shock. Her face was heavily beaten, her pale skin awash with black and blue. Fading yellow bruises laid the canvas for more recent cuts and wounds. Phebe kept her blue eyes facing down to the ground.

“Phebe, look at me,” I ordered. Her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she looked up at my face. Tears tracked down her marred skin. “Who did this to you?”

Phebe’s gaze dropped once more, but I tilted her chin up higher. “Tell me,” I insisted. Phebe closed her eyes, her bottom lip quivering with emotion. When her lids opened again, she stared right at me.