One of them moved forward, toward her. It was Vera, and Agafia had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. She could tell by the expression on the other woman’s face that Vera no longer believed her to be corrupted, and her relief was so great that she wanted to cry. Semyon had obviously gotten through to them. She scanned the row of faces looking for him, but he was not among the Molokans gathered before her.
Why were they at the banya instead of the house? She’d told Semyon to make sure they went to the house.
She looked at Vera and understood. The old woman had had another dream. And it had pointed her here.
“I am sorry,” Vera said, moving closer, throwing her arms around her, and hugging her close. Agafia remained holding onto her Bible, but she tossed the unlit candle aside and hugged her old friend back with one arm.
There was a lot to be said but no time to say it, and Vera’s apology covered all of it for now.
“Did you see him?” Agafia asked, nodding toward the hillside.
Vera nodded grimly.
“Whose house is he from?”
“No one knows.”
“You have been watching him?”
Vera nodded, looked at the others. “We did not know what to do.”
It was a tacit acknowledgment that she was now the leader, that she was the one who would decide how they would act, and Agafia had never felt prouder in her life. She scanned the faces, looking for Nikolai, but the minister was nowhere to be found.
“Where is Nikolai?” she asked. “Where is Semyon?”
“Nikolai went with Peter to bring back the prophet, as you said.” Vera met her eyes. “Semyon has disappeared.”
There was no time to waste, no time to dwell on what they should have done or could have done, and Agafia nodded. She pointed toward the banya. “I’m going to look.”
Even as she said it, a shiver ran down her spine, but the others trained their flashlights on the bathhouse and followed along with her, and she was grateful for both their presence and their courage. Although she had no light of her own, the moonlight was bright enough to see by, and she did not stop until she was directly in front of the banya’s open door. Vera shone her flashlight into the darkness.
The inside of the banya was filled with bodies.
Bodies of Jedushka Di Muvedushka.
Agafia took an involuntary step back, nearly stepping on Onya’s toes. The bodies were barely there, shimmering like spirits, the flashlight beams granting them even less substance than the refracted moonlight, but she could see them piled one on top of the other, like logs, and in a sudden flash of insight, she understood what had happened.
Jedushka Di Muvedushka had followed them from California.
And he was killing off all of the other Owners in McGuane.
It explained the increase in supernatural activity, the reason why these supernatural forces had been allowed to spread outward from their home. There had been no protection. Anywhere.
Agafia stared at the stacked ephemeral bodies, stunned. A flashlight beam played across the back wall of the bathhouse, and she saw that the figure on the wall had changed. Its head had grown, its body had shrunk, and it no longer looked like a typical Molokan man. It looked like what it was.
Jedushka Di Muvedushka.
Slowly, tentatively, she walked inside. The power here was incredible. She could feel it. It was stronger than it should have been, it had obviously been fed. She recalled Father telling her when she’d asked that the Owner of the House ate mice and rats and possums, kept vermin away from the house and fed himself at the same time.
She could not recall seeing any rodents or pests on their property since they’d arrived in McGuane.
She could not even remember the last time she’d seen a bird on their land.
Vera had already started chanting. A prayer of forgiveness, a prayer of healing. It did not seem entirely appropriate, but like the others, she fell in behind Vera, repeating the words, holding tight to her Bible, and there actually did seem to be a slight lessening in the oppressiveness of the air. When they finished and she opened up her eyes, she could no longer see the small stacked bodies.
Why had she not been killed?
Why had no one in her family been killed?
That was what puzzled her. Jim was gone. People she didn’t even know, who had no connection to the family, had been murdered. But so far she and all her family were still alive.
Perhaps Jedushka Di Muvedushka could not actually harm them. Perhaps he merely wanted to shut down the defenses to show them what they were missing, how he could have protected them had they not abandoned him. More likely, he was out for revenge and wanted to destroy them, but wanted to do so in as subtle a way as possible, to drag it out, to prolong their suffering. Nearly the entire town had been turned against them now; it made her think of how things had been in Russia before the Molokans had left. The persecution. The public beatings.
She thought of Russiantown.
Was that the point of all of this? Spite and revenge? She had learned from Father—and had always believed—that the devil, like God, had a grand scheme, a master plan, and that he would use whatever means were at his disposal to convert the good and recruit the wicked and sow the seeds of death and destruction wherever and whenever possible. But was that really the case? It seemed to her that this had all been brought to bear not as part of some cosmic design but to satisfy the petty desires of a minor spirit.
Was evil really that small?
Perhaps it was. That thought gave her hope.
The Molokans all crowded into the tiny building. There were seven of them, and they could barely fit, but they stood close to each other, holding hands, and without speaking, without planning, began to perform the Cleansing. After all of their previous efforts, they knew the words by heart, and as they chanted, Agafia wondered what would happen if the Owner of the House returned. Would he be repelled by the force of their prayers?
Flashlights had been switched off, and before they were even halfway through, the darkness around them was moving, sliding sinuously between their legs, wrapping itself around their heads. They remained focused, kept praying, and the movement within the bathhouse became more agitated.
After this, they would walk back to the house, get her daughter-in-law and her grandchildren. The Molokans had obviously come in cars, and even Gregory could not hope to combat so many allies. She and the children would escape and go to one of the others’ houses and decide on a further plan from there.
Agafia felt good, invested with power by the Holy Spirit, and though she knew it was inappropriate in this place and under these circumstances, she wanted to jump, wanted to give herself over to the Lord and let the Spirit overtake her.
It was then that the sandstorm hit.
Twenty
1
The wind began blowing, sand scraping loudly against the windows and the sides of the house. Visibility was worse than in fog, and through the small attic window Gregory could see only blackness: no moon, no stars, no lights.
He thought to himself, It’s time.
He stood up slowly. He’d been sitting here for hours, in the same position, revolver loaded, waiting, and the muscles in his legs were sore. His father had stopped talking to him some time ago, but he’d stopped listening long before that. He didn’t really need his father to tell him what needed to be done.
He knew.
Oh, he definitely knew.
Gregory opened the trapdoor, carefully lowered the ladder, and climbed out of the attic as quietly as possible. The hallway was dark, but he didn’t need light to see. Something had happened to him after all those hours in the attic. His eyes had not merely adjusted to the dark, his vision had been enhanced. It was like a cat’s, and though the world was in black and white, it was clear, clearer than it had ever been before. He saw the empty corridor before him, saw the metal ladder that someone had brought in from outside and that for some reason had been laid along the side wall.