Beyond the Cabin Read online

  Beyond the Cabin

  A novel

  by Jared Nathan Garrett

  Copyright ©2014 by Jared Nathan Garrett. All Rights Reserved

  Cover design by Nathan Shumate, http://www.nathanshumate.com

  Cover photo by Alfred Borchard, http://www.freeimages.com

  This book is dedicated to Annemarie. You justify my being a hopeful romantic.

  Chapter 1

  “Stop, stop.” I kept my voice down as I leaned on the log, trying to pin it between my shoulder and the cabin wall.

  “Josh, what?” The muscles on Mal’s forearms flexed as he gripped the rough tree trunk.

  The sharp pain in my palm spread all the way up my arm. Was there a freaking razor blade in the stupid bark? I pulled my hand free and tried not to scream at the feeling of something sliding out from under my skin. “My hand. Jabbed my hand.” Blood dripped from my palm near the base of my thumb.

  “I told you to watch out for that twig.” Mal shifted the log’s weight, settling it onto his upraised leg. He made holding the heavy tree trunk look easy. Jerk.

  “Twig? It’s a sword or something.” I glared at him, saw his grin, and looked away in disgust. Couldn’t he ever be serious? Sometimes I felt like I was his older brother, rather than the other way around.

  The blood dripped down my palm. I swiped the small river of red away with my other hand, feeling the log trying to slip. I pushed it harder against the wall we had already built.

  “Bro. Just get some leaves.” Mal snickered.

  “You get some leaves.” A sliver of brown still jutted from the center of the throbbing agony that was my hand. Okay, the lessening agony, but still. I held my breath, pinched the sliver, and yanked. A narrow bolt of pain flared then faded. Blood oozed. “Can we put this thing down?” I pushed at the log.

  “Come on, suck it up. This is the last of the walls.” Mal came my way a bit, taking more of the log’s weight.

  “What’s the rush, anyway?” We’d done something like fifteen logs today. This cabin was supposed to be fun, not work. We got enough work from the adults and the huge old house we all lived in—we didn’t need more during the time we could get out of there.

  “Forget it, let’s finish.” His feet scuffed through a pile of pale yellow wood chips left over from notching all of the logs. Then I felt him take the all the weight of the log.

  I stepped back, pressing my thumb against the bleeding spot on my other palm. “Fine. Gimme a second.”

  Mal raised an eyebrow and made a show of waiting not particularly patiently. I sighed and stalked over. When we each had an end of the bark covered log, I followed Mal’s lead and we heaved it up and rolled it in place. The notched ends needed some shoving, and swearing in Mal’s case, but then all at once they dropped into their spots.

  We both stepped back and surveyed the thing we’d built.

  Four walls in something resembling a square. A rough rectangle for a doorway. Sure, more than one wall had logs that didn’t quite go up in a straight, even line. But it looked surprisingly like what I imagined a cabin should look like. A roofless cabin, at least.

  “Bro, it’s beautiful.” I heard heavy sarcasm in Mal’s voice.

  “Yeah.” I tried to think of a good comeback, but came up empty. Like usual. The thing is, it was beautiful. Not pretty or anything, but since Mal had come up with the idea, we’d spent a ton of time together out here in the woods. Away from Miriam. Away from adults who seemed like they enjoyed making our lives miserable. Away from droning lessons about the corrupt world and greed and why the Fundamental Faith in God and its way of doing things was the only way to not become evil along with the rest of humanity.

  I didn’t care about humanity. I only wanted to have a normal life, maybe be able to have some peace and quiet. Maybe not have to look over my shoulder and sneak into quiet places where adults had less chance of finding me to give me random work. Maybe not feel like an orphan living in the same house as my dead parents—except my parents weren’t dead; they just didn’t care. Or maybe my father did, for all I knew.

  I let my eyes wander, taking in the small clearing, the pine trees and oaks and maples. Wood chips and shavings littered the ground, kicked all over during the last few weeks. Clean, green-smelling air filled my nose. Sometimes I could swear the air here in the woods tasted different from the air in the crowded house we lived in.

  “I gotta— We gotta get out of here.”

  I glanced at Mal. “What? We have to get back?” Had I forgotten something? Was it already time to go back for dinner?

  “Josh, no.” He laughed. “I mean, out of the Faith. Out of this weird, messed up cult.”

  “I know. We’ll get out. As soon as we can.” I looked at his face. I wondered if he looked like his father. Our other brother, Aaron, looked so much like Miriam it was weird. But Mal looked way different. Did Mal even remember his father?

  “It’s got to be sooner.” Mal paced, kicking piles of wood bits. He grabbed the hatchet we’d stolen from one of the sheds near the house. “I’m going crazy here.”

  “I know.” He talked about it all the time. I couldn’t remember him talking about anything else, except for when we were building this cabin. He hated the Faith. “Do—“ I swallowed. “Do you remember your father?”

  Mal stopped, his head turning quicker than his body as he faced me. “Yeah. I do.” He swore. “That’s the most ridiculous thing. Miriam’s always talking about being good, genuine people.”

  Genuine. She loved that word. Almost as much as she loved ‘authentic.’

  “But how is her trashing the family we had, taking me away from my dad, and making this cult good or genuine? I mean, dad wasn’t the best and he sometimes—“ Mal trailed off. He glared at the sky. “Doesn’t matter. Point is that this thing is screwed. Aaron’s dad left. We don’t even know who your dad is. These people spend their days begging for money for some charitable cause I don’t even see us doing.”

  I kind of zoned out. When Mal got going, he tended to rant. I mean, I believed him. He was the only one of the kids that hadn’t been born in the Faith—except maybe Esther. Nobody knew anything about Esther’s family.

  Family. Yeah. What did that even mean?

  “Wake up.” Mal flung the hatchet at the cabin; it bounced off with a metal clang and into one of the piles of branches we’d made. He started after it. “You were off in dreamy land again. And you didn’t even have a book.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “It’s like a superpower.”

  Too bad I didn’t have a real superpower. Like flying. If I could fly, I could do whatever I wanted. Nobody could bug me.

  “And now you’re thinking about Superman.” He tossed the hatchet in through the doorway.

  “No I’m not.”

  “Don’t deny it.” Mal bumped my shoulder and started into the woods.

  I let him get ahead of me. It was about a twenty minute walk back to the house. We’d chosen a spot really deep in the woods so nobody would find us, or hear us building the cabin. It was going to be our place, our private place to go and get away from Miriam and Abraham and the rest of the adults.

  “We’ll get some rafters on that thing and then we can figure out a roof,” Mal said, his voice sounding like it was almost bouncing off the trunks of the trees around us. He led the way between trees and around bushes, following no real path. We’d decided not to go the same way to the cabin very often so that we didn’t make an obvious path to it. So far, that had worked.

  “Cool.” Heck, even the other kids were annoying. Saul with his out of tune guitar and Luke with his stupid pranks. And David and Ethan never stopped shouting. At least the little girls, Sarah and Rachel, pretty much stay
ed out of sight, along with Mary, although she was older than them. But still younger than me. I’m actually one of the older kids now. Not that anybody cares about that.

  “And when we get out, I’ll get a job. Maybe we’ll go to Philly or something.” Mal snapped a skinny branch off a tree as he walked past it.

  “Or leave the state? Like go to Virginia or something.” Virginia had tons of horse farms. That would be awesome.

  “Virginia? Seriously? Why would we go there?” Mal’s laughter trickled back and I realized I’d let him get kind of far ahead of me.

  I walked faster. Not even Mal would understand. He didn’t read as much as me; nobody did. Our weekly library trips were the only bright spot in the week, except for out here in the woods with Mal. I’d told him he should read The Black Stallion, but he’d laughed, saying he already lived in a fantasy and why would he want to read stories?

  I gave up on trying explain a while ago. It was impossible to describe it. The peace and excitement and stuff.

  Sometimes the books made it worse though. Like Bridge to Terabithia. I still couldn’t believe I’d cried so much. But it wasn’t because the book was sad. Jessie had been heartbroken, but he had a family, messed up though it was. And his sisters were terrible, but even in the hard times, they were a family. His mother and father had problems too, but—

  I wondered what that would be like. Having people like that.

  “We’ll get out before we go crazy, okay?”

  I laughed. “Too late for you!”

  “True enough,” he called back, bursting into laughter.

  At least I had Mal.

  Chapter 2

  Miriam’s voice rang off the dark hardwood and drafty windows of the ancient house. I winced; were we in for a huge lecture again? As I stepped onto the landing, I considered going back into my room, not going downstairs. Wow, who was she so mad at?

  I tasted burnt toast in the air as I crept to the stairs. A weird picture came to mind: Miriam’s burning eyes cooking bread until it was a charcoal brick.

  Blinking the image away, I tried to make out actual words. What was going on?

  I eased down each step, carefully placing my feet on the inside edges of the stairs so they didn't creak as loudly. Although, when you lived in a 120 year old house, it was pretty much impossible to find a place in it that didn't creak.

  Whatever was happening, I didn’t want to miss it. But if Miriam caught me listening—Probably a hundred lines saying that God’s children don’t eavesdrop.

  "I'm leaving. That's it!"

  "You do not make that decision!"

  Holy crap. That was Mal. Yelling at Miriam.

  Excitement speared through my gut. Mal was finally taking it to her, saying everything we’d talked about in the woods. I moved faster; I had to be there, say my stuff too. Like tell her that I knew what a mother was supposed to be, even if she didn’t want me to.

  "Nope. I'm eighteen now. I do make this decision." I heard the satisfaction in my oldest brother's voice.

  Hold on a second. Leaving? We’d gotten the rafters on the cabin only a few days ago. Mal hadn’t said anything to me about this. What was going on?

  "You have not earned the right to make such a decision!" Shock jittered through me at the volume of her voice. "And I forbid it." A short pause. "Maybe when you're more mature we can talk again." Now her voice was lower, almost a snarl.

  “But that’s all,” Mal said, “there’s nothing else to say.”

  He wasn’t saying anything about me. What about me?

  I took two stairs at once and almost fell. Catching myself, I slowed down a bit. Come on Mal, tell her everything.

  “Malachi,” Miriam’s voice had reverted to its calm firmness. “While you seem old enough to make your own decisions, you clearly are not ready to. There will be no leaving.”

  “Too late! I’m going. I can’t take this—this—freaked out thing. I mean, what’s the point of everybody living in one huge old house?”

  I stood on the bottom step, confused. This wasn’t the plan. Something was wrong.

  “You say we’re a religious commune. Doing godly service? To who? Not me. Not the other guys. Or girls. Life here sucks.” I heard Mal’s heavy steps. He was pacing.

  “Life sucks?” Anger exploded from her voice now. She sounded mad enough that her head had to be inflating. “You have food. You have acres to play on―”

  “Play? What are you- I’m eighteen. I don’t want to play. I want a job. A life!”

  I nodded agreement.

  What was I doing? I needed to get in there. A martial drum beat cued up in my head, kind of like in Taps. I took a deep breath. This hadn’t been the plan, but hey, if it was time, it was time. I stepped toward the door.

  “Malachi. You have a life. We have a life here; we do good things. We educate all of you children,” Miriam said in a steely voice.

  “Children?” I heard the contempt coming from Mal. The excitement was making me shaky. I grabbed the doorjamb, took another breath, and walked through. Quietly. I caught a glimpse of Mal and Miriam, then stepped to the side, out of sight. My legs were wobbling.

  Mal spoke again. “You gotta be kidding me. Anyway that’s not school. That’s like tutoring. We almost never go into town. And there is no freaking way you’re gonna get me to go begging like the rest of these idiots.”

  “You know that we are trying to do something different, make a difference―”

  “How does sending people who're capable of holding down a job onto the streets to beg for money make a difference? You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

  “I had hoped you would understand this by now. We need the money to support our work and―” How could her voice be so calm again with him shouting like that?

  “So let people have a job. Standing around on street corners―”

  I wondered why Mal had stopped. I tried to push strength into my legs. They felt like rubber. Come on, Josh. Go!

  “Forget it. There’s no way I’m gonna beg for money to support you and your idiotic mission here,” Mal said.

  “You and the other children are reaping the benefits of this lifestyle that you call an ‘idiotic mission.’ You are protected from ―”

  What benefits? I had to move. Fear and excitement made it hard to breathe. I straightened and finally took another step.

  “The other children? They- Some of us are your sons! My brothers. This isn’t normal.”

  “Who said normal is good? What makes you think that normal will make you happy?”

  “If I leave it to you and this messed up cult, I’ll never know if normal will make me happy. I’ll never―” Mal stopped. My heart thudded. “It doesn’t matter. I’m gone. Hank’s coming to get me and then I’m out of here.”

  What? Today? Leaving today? That got me going. I ran into the dining room. I saw Miriam’s pale face and long, black hair, totally opposite of Mal’s angry, red face and short, red hair. Miriam leaned on the edge of the dining table, while Mal and his fury seemed to take up the entire rest of the dining room where the table wasn't. Abraham and Penelope were there too, which surprised me. It looked like they had been eating and had been interrupted by the fight. I hadn’t heard them during the argument. Their faces were wide with surprise.

  “Mal! Already?” My throat hurt as I yelled. “Not without me?”

  I ran to my brother, panic flooding my gut. Malachi’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Please. You can’t. Not yet.” No. I saw it in his expression. “You’re leaving. Today.” Emphasis on you.

  “Josh. You heard that?” Mal closed his eyes, his face going a different shade of red. “I- I was gonna tell you. I was.”

  “Why didn’t you? Why?”

  “Joshua,” Miriam broke in. “You need to leave. Now.”

  “Shut up Miriam,” Mal said, fierce anger shredding his voice. “Josh’s my brother.” I wanted to grab him and get out of there, terrified but thrilled at his total dismissal of her.
r />   Miriam gasped, her eyes wide.

  Right then I knew it was true. Mal wouldn’t be talking to Miriam this way if he wasn’t going. He wasn't going to get in trouble. Not anymore. But I was. The eggs and toast I’d had earlier rolled in my stomach, threatening to come up.

  He was leaving without me.

  “Bro, we need to talk,” Mal kept his gaze intently on my face. “Let’s go.”

  As Mal took me by the shoulder and turned to leave the dining room, I threw a look over my shoulder, expecting Miriam to be getting ready to yell at us. She was dropping into a chair, turning to talk to Abraham and Penelope.

  I silently followed Mal out the front door, across the old, warped porch boards and to the gravel walk that led to the driveway. The smells of the Pennsylvania early-summer day assaulted me: the sweet grass, the tangy smell of the pine trees. The dust kicked up from the gravel tasted gray.

  Mal led the way down the hill. Sunlight painted the water of the goose pond white; the reflected dark green of the firs surrounding the pond shimmering as geese swam. I felt like there was a storm in my head. Mal spoke as we walked, but I kept thinking of things I should say, arguments I could use to make him stay for a while. But I couldn't hold onto them for long enough to get the courage to say them. At the bottom of the hill, I sat on a stone bench at the water’s edge as Mal talked and paced. “I mean, do you even realize how weird our life is?” Mal stopped pacing in circles. His expression felt heavy.

  I swallowed and cleared my tight throat. “You’ve said it’s weird. Lots. In the woods.” I sound like a moron. But how am I supposed to know what’s weird and what’s not?

  “Yeah. At the cabin,” Mal said. He seemed to notice something—maybe my twinge at his mention of the cabin. I watched his face soften. “Josh. I know, I’m sorry.”

  I followed his movement as he sat down next to me, close enough for me to feel his warmth in the still-cool day.

  “Hey,” Mal said. “Look. I really meant to tell you. I was gonna last week, when we put the rafters in.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I felt like breaking something. “And how am I supposed to finish the cabin by myself?” My voice cracked, my throat squeezing shut. I clenched my teeth, holding back the last question. And why can’t you wait long enough so I can go with you?