“She had to take another call. Personal business. She told me you wanted to learn about the Lily family. Is there something I can answer for you?” The chilliness in her voice is unmistakable.

“The woman I was speaking with said there’s an interesting story about them. Do you know what that was?”

“Other than the fact that they came to a land they didn’t know and founded one of the most stable, kindest communities in Minnesota? I think that’s incredibly interesting.”

“Yes,” I say, the earth opening beneath me, swallowing me whole. They’ve gotten to the other woman, the first one I was speaking with. Their reach is wide. How wide? “I agree. It’s a wonderful town. Thank you for your time.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you again.” I hang up. I sit at my typewriter and begin slamming the keys. I don’t even pretend it will be an article anymore. I just want to see the black words on white paper.

Lilydale, Minnesota, a town of 1,476 people, is ruled by a small cadre of men and women who call themselves the Fathers and Mothers. They look so normal and act so kind, these Fathers and Mothers, but they’re not. They rape women and kill the children, and they want my baby. I think they brought me here to—

The phone bleats, making me shriek. I yank the paper out of the typewriter and cram it into my pocket before I answer, my heart still beating so fast it’s dizzying.

“Hello?” My voice quavers. Have they seen me typing? Do they know I know?

“Joan?”

My relief is so strong that I whimper. “Benjamin. Can I call you back in five minutes?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just need to . . . I need to call you back.”

I hang up and race out of the house, but not before I burn what I typed, letting the charred flakes of paper drift into the sink.

CHAPTER 49

Catherine meets me at the end of my walkway. It must be her shift to chaperone me.

“Joan! What a beautiful day. Are you off to see Deck? I’m bringing Clan his lunch. We can walk together.”

I rub the back of my neck. It’s so sensitive that it feels covered in blisters. Or eyes.

“How wonderful,” I say, smiling as if my life depends on it, because it might. “I’m sure they’ll be happy about us dropping by.”

I pretend I can’t see her watching me from the corner of her eyes.

Risk. Uncooperative.

That’s what she thinks of me, what they all think of me.

But as long as I follow the rules, I—the host of a precious Mill Street baby that they wouldn’t have to hide for once—will be allowed some freedom of movement. Not much, but some. Once the child is born, though, unless they believe I’m one of them, I have no doubt I’ll suffer the same fate as Virginia Aandeg and the mugger who was so careless as to let me see him.

I have no intention of staying around long enough to test my theory.

I know that hatchet-faced Catherine is about to ask me about my health and then the weather—it’s part of their script, to stay at the surface—so I answer before she can speak.

“I have been sleeping so well lately, despite the unrelenting heat. I’ve never felt better. This summer weather sure agrees with my pregnancy.”

Does her smile slip?

“How lovely,” she says.

We’re both pretending we’re normal. I’m going to pretend better, even though my chance to speak with Benjamin is slipping away. I ask her about church, fertilizing roses, and baking casseroles, anything to keep her from asking me questions. And when we’re only a block from Schmidt Insurance, I act as if I’ve just realized something.

“Oh my gosh! I didn’t take out meat to thaw for supper before we left. I’m sorry, but I better run to the grocery store or Deck won’t have a thing to eat tonight.”

“I’ll go with you,” Catherine says, too quickly.

“No reason both husbands should be lonely this lunch,” I say, smiling. I touch her arm. “Maybe you and Clan can join us for dinner? I can shop with the two of you in mind.”

There is no misreading the anger on her tight face. “We’re dining with the Schramels. Maybe another evening?”

“Maybe.” We face off at the corner, neither of us wanting to be the first to walk away. I win, my brittle smile stronger than hers. I burn my eyes into her straight back until she steps into Schmidt Insurance. Then I walk quickly in the other direction and close myself in the phone booth. I retrieve Benjamin’s phone number and a coin out of my purse. I drop the coin into the slot and dial.

“Joan! What took you so long? I have to go out on a job.”

“Benjamin,” I say, breathless. “Thank god you’re still there. Tell me what you found.”

“Okay, but I only have a minute. Joan, I’m worried about you. Do you have a doctor there you can talk to?”

Not Benjamin, too. The tears are instant, but I keep my voice level. “Did you find anything else?”

“I didn’t uncover anything connecting Paulie and Angel, if that’s what you’re wondering. Could Angel just be part of a migrant family? They move their children in and out of schools.”

I remember Angel’s mother sobbing. “No, that’s not it. You didn’t find any other children missing from Lilydale over the years?”

“None. Joan—”

I cut in before he can finish. “I have one more favor. Can you find out anything suspicious about Johann and Minna Lily? They founded the town in 1857.”

Benjamin’s tone—slow, enunciating each word—suggests he’s at the end of his rope. “Why don’t you come to Minneapolis and look it up yourself?”

I’ve been peering across the street our entire phone conversation. Two men are staring back at me from the front window of the Fathers and Mothers building, not even bothering to hide their surveillance. “It’s complicated. Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Fine,” he says, sighing. “I’ll see what I can do. But I’m busy, so it might not be right away.”

“Thanks, Benjamin. I owe you one.”

“You owe me twenty. You’re lucky I’m a sucker for beautiful women.”

The men step back from the window, as if they know our conversation is over. I hang up. I feel a trembling, a cry coming. I think it’s rising in me, but I soon realize it’s fire trucks. They scream through town, racing south.

Toward Angel Gomez’s house.

CHAPTER 50

I race into the Gazette offices, startling Dennis.

“I need your keys!” Deck won’t give me ours. I know this without being told. If I allow Dennis too long to think about it or, even worse, time to seek permission from the Fathers, I won’t get his, either.

I lunge at him, grasping for the key chain that he’s pulling out of his front right pocket, his social conditioning moving faster than his brain. His jaw drops when I rip them away.

“I’m sorry!” I yell.

I dash out to the back door and slide into Dennis’s Coronet. I start it up, slam it in reverse, and peel out of the alleyway. The fire trucks are out of sight, but I can still hear them. I speed to catch up.