Chapter 31 - Lowyn

"Surprised?" Ike is smirkin' at me.

"That you're the one who ruined my life?" I scoff. "Not in the least."

Ike scowls at me. "How the hell do you figure that I'm the one who ruined your life?"

"You sent that man to kidnap Olive?"

"That man?" He laughs. "That man, Lowyn, was Olive's real father."

"Bullshit." This word comes out quick and it comes out mean too. "That's bullshit. You're just making things up!"

"Oh, am I?" He leans down into my face. "You have no idea what is really going on around here. You saw something nine years ago. You got into my security room."

"You left the door open. I didn't force my way in."

"You went snoopin' around." He straightens up to his full height, which is considerable. Way over six foot. "So you saw a secret on those screens. Good for you. But that's just the literal tip of the iceberg, if, of course, the iceberg is a mountain. And it is."

"What?" I don't even know what he's talking about. I did see screens in his security room. There were like twenty or thirty of them in there. But I didn't really have enough time to make sense of what it all meant. I saw… lots of… places? Rooms? Hallways? I don't know. The only thing I did know was that they were not the part of Blackberry Hill that I had already seen. These places, they were in secret buildings or something. It looked military and it looked secret. That was my takeaway.

Ike grabs me by the arm and starts pulling me. I resist, but he yanks harder. And there's no way to resist if he's yanking me. I stumble along with him.

But as we're walking people emerge. Like maybe they were hiding, waiting to see what was gonna happen. They look… well, just like local people, I guess. Not as poor as they looked the last time I was here. There were a lot of people back then who were still wearing raggedy things. Dirty things.

They are neater now. Cleaner. Richer, I decide. Because of course they are. But still, I know in my heart that they are local. Descendants, maybe. From some hill clan.

We pass one of the larger buildings. It's made of logs. Everything is made of logs. And pressed against the nearly dozen windows lining the front of this building are the faces of children. They are watching Ike take me through the village.

It's weird, the way they watch me. Like they've never seen a stranger in their lives.

Maybe they haven't? Maybe they never leave this little place?

Last time I was up here I saw cars and trucks. Signs all over that there were ways leading up here that went beyond that horse trail.

But this time, there is none of that. No signs of any kind of transportation except for horses and, oddly enough, something that might be a helicopter pad. A wide-open space with a smooth blacktop square on the other side of the village—right in front of us actually, because we're walkin' that way. And I guess it makes sense. Not only is it not safe to live so isolated—there has to be some kind of emergency way in or out—but if they are military, helicopters would be the easiest way to come and go.

So maybe it's true? Maybe they are so isolated up here that I am a novelty to these children?

There are some old folks too. Mostly sitting on porches in small groups, but some are looking out the windows as well. They don't look at me with curiosity though. They look at me with… I dunno. Contempt, maybe.

Finally, after what seems like an eternal walk of shame, we arrive at a porch. Ike practically drags me up the steps, opens the door, and pushes me inside ahead of him.

I want to object to his manhandling, but the interior of this space has redirected my attention. It's… nice. And… homey. And… normal. And so far, this trip has been anything but normal, so I'm not sure what to do with this change of perspective.

It's all very new. And country. Kind of like the way I designed my bedroom, only more masculine. All done up in black and gray. There's a nice wide-plank wood floor, and cotton-rope rugs, and a fireplace with a huge raw-edge tree trunk as a mantel and a river-stone chimney climbing up the wall, all the way to the ceiling.

I turn and face Ike. "What is this place?"

He huffs. "My home? Where else would I bring you?"

I don't have an answer for that. Just more questions.

"You can snoop all you want in this one." He smirks at me again. "Not gonna find any secrets here, Low."

I'm just about to ask him what the hell that means when he turns and leaves. Closing the door behind him.

Then I hear the click of a lock.

He locked me in!

I could rush over to the door and make a scene. Pound on it for a while. Scream. Kick it. Break a window.

But I have a feeling that Ike Monroe would not respond well to a temper tantrum. And there's no point, anyway. I'm here until he has his words with Collin. So I sigh, walk over to the couch, and sit down. Just running this day back through my head so I can make some sense of it.

I just don't understand why Collin would decide, right out of the blue, to send Mercy on a trackin' job up the hill out back of the house.

It makes no sense to me.

I skip ahead to the next mystery, which might actually be solved. If Ike is telling the truth and Olive wasn't Collin's real sister—I'm not sure how that could be, but just for the sake of argument, let's say it's true—well, that kind of explains a lot. Why that man was there in the first place. Why he put his hands up so readily. Why everyone wanted to make it go away after Collin killed him.

Why Mr. and Mrs. Creed wanted to move away, and… why Ike Monroe thinks Collin Creed owes him something.

I sit there on the couch for a while, not really sure how much time passes. But eventually I get hungry and there is a very nice modern kitchen on the other side of the room. Since Ike practically gave me permission to snoop—Not gonna find any secrets here, Low—I figure I'm allowed to help myself to some food.

So I get up and walk in there, but just as I'm reaching for the refrigerator door, I spy a photo album on the kitchen table.

For some reason I look over my shoulder. Who am I kidding? I know the reason. He's probably got cameras in here, too.

But curiosity gets the better of me. A photo album is a treasure trove of information. I've picked my share of vintage photo albums so I know that images, even without a running commentary—though lots of them do have that—are a very good way to understand people.

This album looks a lot like those others that I have picked. Very thick and made of leather that is cracked and worn, like it's been collecting photos for generations.

I pull it towards me, then take a seat in a chair and open it up.

The inside title page says ‘Monroe Family' and there's an image of a family tree with lots of names and dates starting down at the roots and going all the way up to the highest leaves at the top.

Ike is near the top. But not the very top. On his same level are a couple of women too. And, of course, Lasher, his twin. They share the same bough. I do the math and figure out he's thirty-four. I didn't actually know that. It always felt like he was so much older than me because nine years ago, I was practically a child and I can't imagine Ike ever being small.

But he's only three years older than Collin. Which is kinda weird, since Lasher is the same age and he was, at one time at least, Collin's uncle.

I have to shake my head here. Of course, this wasn't by marriage or blood. Lasher was dating Collin's aunt—his mother's little sister—and that's how the relations got that way. That's also how Lucas got to be Lasher's stepson.

Who Lucas's real daddy is, I have no clue. Maybe one of these Blackberry people and that's why Lasher took over like that?

For the first time I begin to wonder why so many parents in these Trinity towns run off and leave whole families behind.

Then I scoff. I mean… these parts are weird. These towns are weird. And it's a small, small world out this way. It makes a lot of sense to run off if you're the kind of person who likes a bigger world better than a small one.

But to leave your kids behind? And Lucas, God, he was a gorgeous kid. Not that it matters—anyone who runs off on a kid, regardless of how they look, might be an asshole. I say ‘might' because I don't know what the situation was and it's really not my place to judge.

Lucas, though. Gorgeous child. I remember him. And… well, I have to laugh here. Because he was so much like Collin. Because that's almost exactly what Collin looked like as a boy too.

I turn the page and find two very fine old photographs of a young man and his bride. The names below these pictures say ‘Ginny McMann' and ‘Theodore Monroe.' They are pretty people too. Even if they are rather skinny and gaunt. I bet they had a hard life up here in these hills. They might even be the original people from this village. The ones who built those cabins.

I turn the page and find more people. Smaller, less fine pictures. And in groups. All with names under them. More Monroes, of course. Then I have to squint my eyes and blink a little, because I see the name McBride under one of these women. It's dated nineteen twenty-two and her name is Lindyn.

I just look at her for a while, seeing a little bit of myself in her light hair and eyes. I can't tell what color they are, since the picture is in black and white, but she does look like me.

She's got two brothers. Oren and Acacius. And when I page forward, I see that Acacius married a woman called… Elowyn.

"Oh, wow." I whisper this out loud as my fingertip glides across the woman's face. Elowyn. Lowyn. She is related to me. Or, at the very least, I think I was named after her.

I keep paging forward, but there are no more McBrides. Lots of other names appear. McGill, and McMann, and dozens of others along that line.

Sometimes they look hardened and tired. Like they work way too much. I might not know first-hand what it was like to grow up in the Appalachian hills, but I know more than most. No running water, no electricity, just a wood stove in the winter to keep you warm. No washing machines, no dishwashers, no TV. So these people probably didn't even know how hard they had it.

It's the life of a pioneer, is what it is.

Now, in this house, Ike has everything. All the modern comforts. When I look around, I don't see a TV, but everything else seems to be here. There are speakers, so there's some kind of sound system. Plus, I saw that room with all the computer screens last time, so I know he has those. Maybe not here, but he's got them somewhere.

Ike changed the direction of this town. He was born here—this album proves it. But he's part of something bigger too.

That's why I asked Collin if he was with the government. I didn't specifically think he was connected to Blackberry Hill, but it did cross my mind that he might be. So I asked him and he said no.

But I know as much about Collin's business as I do Ike's at this point.

I blow out a breath and turn the page again. Now it's the current generation. Baby pictures of Lasher and Ike. And their sisters and mama. A few more page turns and they are teenagers, then practically men.

The next time I turn the page there's a picture of me. I nearly gasp out loud. I even pick up the album and put it right up to my face, trying to see every detail.

It was… my wedding day. I'm wearing a borrowed white dress and my hair is piled on top of my head and sprinkled with flowers.

Ike's sisters did that. I don't know how old they were back then—fourteen? Fifteen? They were so excited. They danced around me that day like little fairies, trying to make me pretty and happy.

I was pretty, but I wasn't happy. I don't know what I was thinking, actually. This man appears and rescues me. He takes up into the hills on a horse and feeds me, and makes a fire, and we talk. Well, he talked mostly. It was some kind of shock, or something. I did hit my head, and Ike wouldn't let me sleep. He said I had to stay up for twenty-four hours to make sure there was no concussion. So we talked all night. Twenty-four hours of… spilling guts, I guess. I didn't talk at first, but he was so chatty and nice. He rescued me, made me feel safe, took away all the worries I had been carrying around for the past year after Mama died, and I think that's why I said I wanted to stay.

I was done. I wanted a husband to just take over. The accident was the last straw for me. Leaving Blackberry Hill and going home meant that all my problems would be there waiting for me.

Or maybe I'm just making excuses.

Regardless, I am the one who brought it up. I am the one who put the idea of marriage in his head. It was me. It was all me, really.

And I just don't know what I was thinking.

What I do know is that after I saw that secret room, I came to my senses. And that's when the phone calls started, and deals had to be made, and Jim Bob came up the hill and walked me back out. Furious as a raging fire.

I turn the page again and then there's a picture of all of us. Me and Ike—he's even smiling. His sisters, his mama, his granny. I don't know what happened to his daddy or grandad. I only knew the man for one weekend total, so it never came up. But there are no other men in that picture, just him. Lasher was already gone by then, I guess.

This is when it occurs to me, while I'm looking at these pictures, that while the wedding might've felt fake to me—maybe I was concussed, maybe I was just depressed—it doesn't matter because the point is, it wasn't fake to them.

My wedding to Ike was real. It was their festival day. There was food, and dancing, and laughing, and photographs being taken. It was a big party. And in the middle of that, there was a wedding.

Looking back, it feels really strange to me. I mean, that's just not how weddings happen in Disciple. They are a big deal and they are planned far in advance. They happen during a Revival with tons of singing, and dancing, and fanfare. It's part of the show. They are also legal. There is a license and a preacher.

But people living up here—maybe not so much these days, but back in the old days—they wouldn't care if there was a preacher, or a church, or a license. If they wanted to get married, I imagine it happened for them the same way it happened for me. On a festival day with friends and family as their witness. They said words, made promises, and then they kissed and they were married.

For the first time in nine years I begin to see my wedding through a different set of eyes. I see it though Ike's eyes, and his sister's eyes, and his mama's eyes.

And then I imagine what they thought of me when I walked away.

The front door opens and I stand up quickly, almost knocking the chair over as I do this.

Ike comes in, his boots thudding across the floors. He looks for me and his squinting eyes find me in the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

I point to the table where the photo album is still open. "I… I was looking."

His eyes dart down to the table, then immediately back up at me. I get the feeling that maybe he was lookin' at that photo album earlier and he forgot he left it out. He sighs, but doesn't say anything.

That's OK though. I know just what to say. "Ike, I need to see your mother. I have something to say to her."