Chapter 9: The New Arrivals
The dust plume rose over the western road long before the truck itself came into view, a pale brown smear against the hazy afternoon sky. Nia saw it first from her position at the edge of the tomato field, her hand shading her eyes against the low sun. She straightened, wiped the dirt from her palms onto her tunic, and began walking toward the gate.
By the time she reached the rusted iron barrier, Odette was already there, having emerged from the chicken coop with a basket of eggs tucked in the crook of her arm. The older woman set the basket down on a nearby post and smoothed her dress, her silver bob catching the light as she turned to face the approaching vehicle.
The truck was battered, its paint faded to a dull rust color that matched the gate, its bed loaded with crates and rolled bedding and a few pieces of furniture wrapped in tarpaulin. It slowed as it approached, engine coughing, and rolled to a stop just short of the gate.
The driver cut the engine and stepped out. He was tall, mid-thirties, with the kind of face that had learned early not to trust easy welcomes. His jaw was shadowed with a few days of stubble, and his eyes moved quickly over the surrounding fields, the buildings, the two women at the gate, taking everything in before he allowed himself to relax by even a fraction.
The passenger door opened, and a young woman climbed down. She had the same guarded set to her shoulders as the man, but her eyes were brighter, hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food. Her hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and her clothes were travel-worn, jeans and a faded flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves.
A third door opened, and a young man stepped out from behind the driver's seat. He was clearly the twin of the woman, same sharp cheekbones, same shade of brown hair, but where she held herself tense and watchful, he seemed almost eager, craning his neck to see past the gate into the compound beyond.
Nia crossed her arms and waited. She had learned, in her time at The Garden, that silence often did more work than words.
Odette stepped forward, her smile warm and practiced. "Welcome," she said. "You've traveled far. Can we offer you water? Rest?"
The older man studied her for a long moment. "We're looking for Abel Gaines."
"You've found the right place," Odette said simply. "This is The Garden."
The twins exchanged a glance. The young woman spoke first. "We read about it online. About him." She hesitated, then forged ahead. "There's not much detailed information. Just that it exists, and that people here... they seem happy."
"They are happy," Nia said flatly. "That's not a secret."
The older man's eyes shifted to her, measuring. "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
He shrugged. "Someone softer, maybe. This place has a reputation that draws a certain kind of person."
"It draws people who know what they want," Nia replied. "And who are willing to work for it."
The young man stepped around his sister, moving toward the gate. His hand brushed the rusted iron, and he looked past Nia and Odette toward the cluster of buildings, the church, the fields stretching green and gold in every direction. "It's beautiful here," he said, and there was something like wonder in his voice.
"It is," Odette agreed. She glanced at Nia, then back at the newcomers. "You said you came to see Abel. He'll want to speak with you himself, of course. But first, tell us your names. So we know who to announce."
The older man hesitated, then extended a hand. "Daniel. These are my siblings, Rachel and Samuel." He gestured to the twins in turn. "We sold everything we had. There's not much left to go back to."
Rachel moved to stand beside her brother, her chin lifting. "We've been looking for something real for a long time. Everywhere else felt like a performance. People pretending to be what they think they should be." She looked past the gate again, at the simple life laid out before her. "This doesn't look like a performance."
Nia studied her for a long moment. She'd heard variations of this speech before. Everyone who arrived at The Garden had their own reason, their own carefully rehearsed justification for why they had come. Some were genuine. Some were desperate. A few, very few, turned out to be threats.
She couldn't tell yet which kind these were.
"No," Nia said slowly. "It's not a performance. But it's not a vacation either. You'll work. You'll obey. And if you can't accept that, the road out is still open."
Daniel's eyes narrowed, but Samuel laughed, a bright, unguarded sound. "That's exactly what we came for," he said. "Work. Direction. Someone to tell us what we're supposed to do." He spread his hands. "We've spent years guessing. We're tired of guessing."
Odette smiled, her expression softening with something like maternal warmth. "Then you've come to the right place." She picked up her basket of eggs and gestured toward the compound. "Come. Let's get you some food and water. Abel will want to see you soon, but there's no need to stand out here in the dust while we wait."
Daniel looked back at the truck, at the possessions they'd packed, then at the open gate. Nia saw the calculation in his eyes, the weighing of risks and rewards.
She understood that look. She'd worn it herself, once, standing on the edge of this same farm, wondering if she was making the worst mistake of her life or the only right choice she'd ever made.
Samuel didn't hesitate. He walked through the gate without waiting for his brother's approval, his stride quick and eager. Rachel followed a moment later, and finally Daniel, slower, his shoulders tight but his feet moving forward all the same.
Nia fell into step beside Odette as they led the newcomers toward the well. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the fields, and somewhere in the distance she could hear the low murmur of voices as the evening chores began.
"What do you think?" Odette asked quietly, so the newcomers couldn't hear.
Nia glanced back at the three figures following them. Samuel was craning his neck, taking in everything with undisguised curiosity. Rachel walked with purpose, her eyes fixed on the church in the distance. Daniel brought up the rear, his gaze still sweeping the perimeter, watching, always watching.
"Samuel's already halfway there," Nia said. "Rachel wants something she hasn't admitted yet, even to herself." She paused. "Daniel's the one who'll need convincing."
Odette nodded, unsurprised. "And if he can't be convinced?"
Nia's mouth tightened. "Then he won't stay."
They reached the well, and Odette turned with a warm smile to welcome the travelers properly, to offer them water and shade and the first taste of the life they might choose to join.
But Nia lingered a moment, watching Daniel where he stood at the edge of the group, his hands loose at his sides, his eyes still scanning the horizon.
There was a hardness in him that she recognized. A wariness born of experience, of having been burned before. He wouldn't be won over by pretty words or warm welcomes.
He would need to see, to believe, to understand what The Garden truly was.
And that, Nia thought as she turned to join the others, would be up to Abel.
The introductions were brief, practical. Odette led them to a shaded patch of ground near the well where a few wooden benches had been set beneath an old fig tree, and she returned with a pitcher of cool water and three clay cups. The newcomers drank gratefully, the dust of the road still clinging to their clothes and skin.
Nia watched from a short distance, leaning against the well's stone rim with her arms folded. She had chores to finish before sunset, but she wanted to see how this played out. Samuel had settled onto the bench with his legs stretched out, his head tilted back as he took in the sky, the fields, the slow drift of members moving between buildings. Rachel sat upright, her cup held in both hands, her eyes tracking every person who passed with the intensity of someone learning a new language. Daniel remained standing, one foot propped on the bench, his cup untouched at his side.
Odette sat across from them, her hands folded in her lap, her smile patient and warm. "You'll find the days follow a rhythm here," she was saying. "Morning chores, midday meal, afternoon work. Evenings are given to rest, or to worship. Abel likes to keep things simple. Clear. There's no confusion about what's expected of you, no guessing at what your purpose might be."
Rachel leaned forward. "And what is expected? Exactly?"
"Service," Odette said simply. "To the garden, to each other, and to Abel. Everyone contributes according to their strengths. Some work the fields. Some tend the animals. Some keep the buildings and the kitchen. And some serve Abel more directly." She paused, letting the weight of that settle. "Those are the ones who have proven themselves."
Rachel was the first to speak up, her voice barely above a whisper as she leaned forward. "You mean they get to sleep with him?" she asked for clarification, her eyes darting toward the Church of Abel in the distance. Odette's answer was simple, her serene smile unwavering. "No. None of us have yet gotten the honor of joining Abel in bed." The words hung between them like incense smoke, thick with implication and desire.
Daniel's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Samuel grinned. "And how do you prove yourself?"
"Through devotion. Through obedience. Through a willingness to surrender what you think you want, so that you can receive what you truly need." Odette's voice was gentle, almost maternal. "It's not always easy. But nothing worth having ever is."
Rachel nodded slowly, turning the words over. Daniel remained still, his eyes scanning the compound, the members who passed with their baskets and tools, the quiet sense of purpose that hung over everything like the afternoon heat.
It was then that Bambi appeared.
She came from the direction of the sleeping quarters, her platinum hair bouncing with each step, her body moving with the loose, unselfconscious sway of someone who had long stopped worrying about how she looked to others. She wore only the string bikini, the thin fabric barely containing her heavy breasts, her nipples evident through the wet cloth, her hips swinging wide. As she drew closer, Nia could see the sheen of sweat on her skin, the flush that had nothing to do with the heat.
Bambi spotted the small gathering and her face lit up. "Odie!" she called, her voice bright and slightly slurred, long words stretching and softening at the edges. She hurried over, her bare feet padding on the packed earth, and came to a stop beside Odette.
"Hello, Bambi," Odette said, her smile not wavering for an instant. "I was just telling our guests about life here."
Bambi beamed and turned to face the three siblings. Her eyes swept over them with open, friendly curiosity, and then she seemed to register them properly for the first time. "Oh! New people! Hi! I'm Bambi." She extended a hand toward Rachel, then thought better of it and simply bounced on her heels. "Welcome to the Garden! You're gonna love it here, it's so pretty, and everyone's so nice, and Abel is just..." She paused, searching for the word, her lips pursing. "He's just the best. Like, the best ever. He knows everything."
The siblings were staring. Nia saw it happen in stages. Samuel's eyes had gone wide the moment Bambi approached, and now they were fixed on her chest, unable to rise higher than her collarbone. He wasn't leering; he looked frozen, caught between shock and something like embarrassment. Daniel had looked away almost immediately, his gaze fixed on the distant fields, his jaw tight. Rachel was trying to meet Bambi's eyes, but her focus kept slipping, dropping to the woman's breasts, her stomach, the thin strip of fabric barely covering her crotch, and then snapping back up again, only to dip once more.
Rachel wore the expression of someone forcing herself to be polite while the floor tilted beneath her.
Bambi didn't seem to notice. She was already continuing. "I love it here so much. I used to do, um, other stuff, before. But now I don't have to do anything except be pretty and make Abel happy." She giggled, a high, airy sound. "He said I'm his bimbo. Do you know what that means? It means I don't have to work or worry or think about anything. I just have to look good and feel good and let Abel use me whenever he wants."
She said it with such unguarded happiness that it took a beat for the words to fully land. When they did, Samuel's cheeks flushed. Daniel's eyes narrowed further. Rachel opened her mouth, closed it, and looked at Odette as if for guidance.
Odette sat serenely, her hands folded, her expression as calm as if Bambi had been discussing the weather.
"And Abel is so good to me," Bambi continued, her voice growing dreamy. "He picked this outfit for me himself. He said I should always be ready for him." She looked down at her body, and her hand drifted absently to her inner thigh. "And I am. I'm always ready."
Nia watched Daniel's face. He was a man who looked like he had seen a great deal, weathered a great deal, and trusted almost nothing. But even he couldn't quite hide the way his eyes flickered to Bambi's hand as her fingers trailed upward.
Bambi's fingers reached the fabric of her bikini bottom and pressed against it. She let out a soft sigh, her hips shifting forward slightly. "Mm. Just thinkin' about him makes me feel all tingly."
Rachel cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should—"
But Bambi was already gone. Her fingers had slipped beneath the fabric, and her eyes were drifting half-closed. She leaned back against the well, one hand bracing herself on the stone, the other moving in slow, steady circles. Her breathing quickened. Her hips began to rock.
"Bambi," Odette said, her voice carrying no censure, no surprise. "Perhaps we should finish the introductions first."
Bambi's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she seemed to remember where she was. "Oh! Right. Sorry." She giggled, but her hand didn't stop moving. "I just get so excited when I think about Abel. It's hard to, um, control it."
Rachel's face was a study in controlled discomfort. Samuel had turned away entirely, staring fixedly at a chicken pecking in the dust. Daniel finally spoke, his voice rough. "Is this... is this normal here?"
Odette tilted her head, as if considering the question for the first time. "Of course," she said simply. "We don't hide our desires. We embrace them. Most of us, however, prefer to express them privately in our sleeping quarters when our duties are done. Bambi is... special. Her devotion burns brighter, more freely than most. She has no qualms about offering herself wherever she feels called to do so. Abel gave her a purpose and she molded herself into a perfect vessel, empty-headed and perpetually aroused, designed for his pleasure alone. Her purpose is simple: to exist as a willing, blank canvas for his desires. She smiled at Bambi, who was now moaning softly, her head tilted back, her hips moving faster. "Bambi is simply expressing her love. There's nothing shameful in that."
Bambi whimpered, her legs beginning to tremble. Her hand moved frantically now, and her whole body arched against the stone rim. "Oh, oh, I'm gonna, I'm gonna—"
Daniel took a step back, but it was too late. Bambi cried out, a high, keening sound, and her body convulsed. The spasm was immediate and total. Her legs gave way beneath her and she slid down the well's side into a heap on the ground, her thighs slick, a spray of clear fluid catching the afternoon light and arcing across the short distance to land on Daniel's boots, his trousers, the front of his shirt.
The siblings stared, frozen. Bambi lay on the ground in post-orgasmic bliss, her eyes unfocused, her mouth open, a strand of drool spilling from the corner of her lips and running down her chin. She made a small, contented sound, then slowly, as if waking from a dream, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.
"Mm," she murmured, blinking. She looked at the siblings, at Daniel's damp clothing, and smiled a sleepy, vacant smile. "Sorry about that. He just makes me so happy." Then she was up, stumbling slightly, padding away toward the sleeping quarters without another word, leaving the three travelers in stunned silence.
Odette rose gracefully, dusting off her hands. "Well. Now you've seen a small piece of what life here can look like." She smiled at them, unruffled. "I'll go and tell Abel you've arrived. He'll want to meet you himself." She turned and walked toward the church, her steps unhurried.
Nia watched the siblings. Samuel was gaping at Bambi's retreating form. Rachel's eyes were wide, her lips parted. Daniel stood rigid, looking down at his own stained clothes, his fists clenched, a complex war of expressions playing across his face.
None of them, Nia noted, were reaching for their bags. None of them were moving toward the road.
She wondered if they even knew what they were feeling anymore.
Nia watched the three siblings for a moment longer, taking in the tableau they made against the afternoon light. Samuel had finally torn his gaze away from Bambi's retreating form and was now staring at the ground, his ears red. Rachel had gone very still, her hands clasped tight in her lap, her eyes fixed on some middle distance that held neither the church nor the well. Daniel stood like a man who had been struck and was still deciding whether to swing back.
None of them had moved toward the road. None of them had reached for their bags.
Nia pushed off from the well's rim. Her chores were not going to finish themselves, and she had seen enough. Whatever seed had been planted in these three, it would either take root or wither on its own. That part was not her concern. Abel would tend to it.
She passed the siblings without a word, her boots scuffing softly on the packed earth. Rachel's head turned to follow her, but Nia did not look back. She had a row of winter squash to mulch before the light gave out, and the satisfaction of a task completed cleanly was the only currency she spent freely.
The silence stretched after she left. A chicken clucked somewhere near the coop. The wind moved through the fig leaves overhead, a soft, papery rustle. Samuel was the first to break it.
"So," he said, his voice a little too bright. "That happened."
Rachel let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for some time. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't... that."
"Did you see her?" Samuel's voice pitched up, caught between disbelief and something that might have been admiration. "She just. She came. Right there. Like it was nothing."
"It was something to her," Daniel said quietly. His voice was rough, but not angry. Not quite. He was looking down at his own shirt, at the damp stain spreading across the fabric, and his expression was unreadable. "That's what worries me."
Rachel turned to face him. "What does?"
"She didn't even notice us." Daniel shook his head slowly. "She was standing right in front of three strangers, and she didn't see us at all. She was somewhere else entirely. That woman who talked to us, Odette, she didn't even blink. Like it was normal. Like it was just another Tuesday afternoon."
"Maybe it is," Samuel offered. "For them."
Daniel's jaw worked. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Rachel studied her older brother for a long moment. They had been through a great deal together, the three of them. Their parents had died within a year of each other, their mother to illness, their father to the quiet grief that followed. Daniel had raised them after that, working double shifts, putting food on the table, keeping the family together when everything else had fallen apart. He had sacrificed more than either of them would ever fully know.
"Daniel," she said softly. "You're the one who found this place. You read the articles. You said it sounded like somewhere people could actually belong."
"I said it sounded interesting," he corrected. "I didn't say it sounded sane."
"But you drove us here." She held his gaze. "You sold the truck we've had since we were kids. You packed up everything we own and drove us three days across the country. You didn't do that because it sounded interesting."
Daniel was silent for a long moment. The wind moved through the fig tree again, and the shadows stretched longer across the ground. Samuel shifted on the bench, looking between his siblings with the anxious expression of a man who hated conflict more than almost anything.
"I wanted it to be real," Daniel said finally, the words coming out slow and heavy. "I wanted there to be a place where people weren't just... performing all the time. Where you didn't have to pretend to be something you weren't just to survive. That woman, the one who came all over my boots, she's the most honest person I've met in years. She wanted something, so she did it. No shame. No hiding. Just... truth."
Rachel blinked. She had not expected that interpretation.
"But she's," Samuel started, then stopped, searching for the words. "I mean, she's clearly. You know."
"Empty?" Daniel supplied. "Hollowed out? Brainwashed?"
"I was going to say happy, actually." Samuel shrugged. "But sure, those words work too."
Rachel stood up, brushing the dust from her jeans. She walked a few steps toward the compound, then stopped, looking back at the church. Its simple wooden frame caught the low sun, the cross on its peak casting a long shadow across the ground.
"She said no one has slept with him yet," Rachel said quietly. "Odette. She said none of them have earned that. Not even her, and she's clearly been here the longest."
Daniel moved to stand beside her. "What's your point?"
"My point is that this isn't a place where you just show up and get what you want." Rachel's voice was steady, thoughtful. "It's a place where you have to prove yourself. Where what you get is tied to what you give. That's not nothing. That's the opposite of nothing."
"Odette also said Bambi was 'special,'" Daniel countered. "That her 'devotion burns brighter.' And her devotion consists of lying around masturbating all day while everyone else does the actual work."
Rachel winced. She couldn't deny it. But she also couldn't deny what she had seen in the moments before Bambi had given in to her need. There had been a joy in that woman, a peace, that Rachel had spent her entire adult life searching for and never found.
"I'm not saying it's perfect," she said. "I'm saying we came all this way. We should at least meet him. We should at least see what he has to say for himself."
Samuel rose and joined them, his earlier embarrassment fading into something more eager. "Yeah. We didn't drive three days to turn around because a hot girl got a little excited."
"You're not helping," Daniel said flatly.
"I'm not trying to help. I'm trying to be honest." Samuel spread his hands. "Look. I know you're scared, Daniel. You've been scared since Mom died, since you had to take care of us. You've been the strong one for so long you forgot what it feels like to not have to be. But we're here now. We're on the other side of the gate. We can leave anytime we want, but we came here for a reason. I think we owe it to ourselves to at least hear what he has to say."
Daniel looked at his brother, then at his sister. The sun had sunk lower, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. The shadows stretched longer. Somewhere in the compound, a bell rang, soft and clear, calling the members to the evening meal.
"Fine," he said at last. The word came out heavy, reluctant, but it came out. "We'll meet him."
Relief flickered across Rachel's face. Samuel clapped Daniel on the shoulder, a brief, brotherly gesture. They stood together in the lengthening shadows, three travelers at the end of a long road, waiting for whatever came next.
It was not long before Odette returned.
She emerged from the direction of the church, her silver bob catching the last light, her cream dress brushing the tops of her feet as she walked. She moved with the same unhurried grace as before, as if she had all the time in the world and the patience to use it.
She stopped before them and smiled. "Abel is willing to see you," she said simply. "He's waiting at the church. Shall we?"
Samuel moved first, as he always did. Rachel followed a step behind. Daniel brought up the rear, his shoulders squared, his jaw set, but his feet moving forward all the same.
The walk to the church was short, but it felt longer than it should have. They passed members heading toward the dining hall, their arms full of baskets and platters, their faces flushed with the warmth of the evening. A few glanced at the newcomers with open curiosity, but none stopped to speak. The path was packed earth, worn smooth by countless feet, and it wound between buildings and gardens until it opened into a wide clearing before the church.
The Church of Abel stood at the center of it all. It was not a large building, but it was solid, built of timber and stone with a simple pitched roof. The door itself was closed, dark wood worn smooth at the edges by years of hands. Two small windows flanked it, their glass dark in the fading light.
Odette walked in front of the siblings, leading the way as she stopped in front of the stairs and turned to face them. Her smile had not wavered. "He's inside. But he'll see you one by one. Starting with Samuel." She stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. Samuel started forward immediately. Rachel followed, her heart beating a little faster than she would have liked. Daniel hesitated for just a moment, his eyes sweeping the clearing once more, the church, the windows, the sky overhead. Then he climbed the steps after his siblings, and they stood before the door. Samuel reached for the handle, then paused, glancing back at Daniel. For a moment, the older brother saw the question in his eyes, the same question that had been there since they were children, looking to him for guidance. Daniel nodded once. Samuel pushed the door open, and he stepped inside without his siblings, with Odette in tow.