Her parents huddled around Milo in concern. Callum got out of the truck, and without any sort of introduction, Milo sent him up the walkway that led to the farmer’s house.
Zia parked behind the white truck and joined the group. Her posture was stiff and angry. Charity pulled behind the trucks. She opened the trailer to give the chickens some fresh air and then trekked over to join everyone else.
Over the last year, when Charity considered her father’s prediction about the matches, she’d wondered if her mother would say the words, “Thank heavens for whatever forces turned your father into a psychic so you had that book of matches to protect you,” in a forced way, like an actress reading a script. She must have the phrase memorized. Charity did.
But nothing about her mother’s response seemed forced. As Charity walked up, her mother flung her arms around her, shuddering with emotion. Her voice choked, and the sentence came from her mouth like a prayer. She said the words over and over, nearly sobbing them into Charity’s shoulder.
Charity hugged her mother for a few moments, then let her go. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” She wasn’t okay. The prediction had been accurate, and yet at the same time, it hadn’t been. “I didn’t throw the matches. Zia did. She’s the one who saved us.”
Charity’s mom wiped the tears from her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter who threw them. You had them, and you’re all safe.”
It mattered to Charity. “Why didn’t Dad tell Zia to carry the matches?”
“Maybe,” Zia said tightly, “your parents didn’t trust me with the important job of matchbook carrier.” Her eyes flashed, nostrils flaring. She’d been offended that no one had told her the truth about the family until after she’d been married to Milo for six months, and apparently, they were all going to discuss that subject now.
“Or maybe,” Zia added, “they’re just happiest that Charity is safe, so the vision didn’t mention Milo or me.”
“You don’t mean that,” Charity said. Zia knew how much her parents loved the two of them. She didn’t usually talk this way to anyone, let alone her in-laws.
Charity’s father glanced around to make sure no one had come back from the fields and was within earshot. “I don’t know why the visions come as they do or even what they mean sometimes.” One of his best qualities was the ability to remain unoffended when others were upset. He gave Zia a gentle, pleading look. “We’d be devastated if we lost any of you.”
Zia took quick, unplacated breaths. “Did you know what would happen to us today? Did you send us there knowing slavers would capture us?”
Charity’s father lifted his hands in an appeasing gesture. “The vision didn’t give me those details. And I’m glad it didn’t. I don’t know if I could’ve sent you if I’d known what you would go through.”
Um, Charity would hope that no, he absolutely couldn’t have sent them.
Zia pursed her lips. “You told us to pick up something else. You said we’d know it when we saw it.” She waved her hand inthe direction Callum had gone. “You obviously knewsomethingout of the ordinary would happen.”
Charity’s gaze cut to Milo. Usually, he was their father’s biggest supporter, but he was scowling, nearly as upset as Zia.
“I knew something would happen,” her father admitted, “but not what. I didn’t know what you’d bring home. I had a premonition today would be important and hard, but no vision to tell me why.”
Milo grunted, unsatisfied by the explanation. “So you knew you were sending us into danger, and you did it anyway.”
The thought was like a gut punch. Charity opened her mouth to agree with Milo, then snapped it shut. Her father had always said the visions showed the way to keep them safe. If he hadn’t sent them—even to that horrible situation—they had no way of knowing whether something worse would’ve happened. What if they hadn’t gone to the market and those same slavers—undiminished in manpower and rifles—had attacked the harvesters while they traveled to the next farm?
Her father rubbed his jaw, choosing his words carefully. “I knew we would benefit from whatever occurred today.” He held his hands out, gesturing to the trucks laden with supplies. “We have.”
A flush of anger reddened Milo’s cheeks. “And the fact that my wife and your daughter could have been beaten and violated didn’t matter to you?” He jabbed his finger into the air, emphasizing his point. “Your vision about the matches only said they would save Charity’s life. We weren’t even mentioned. Anything could’ve happened to us. And a whole lot could’ve happened to Charity before the matches became useful.”
Their mother’s jaw dropped at the accusation. “Of course your safety matters to us. How could you say such a thing?”
Their father reached out to put his hand on Milo’s shoulder, then thought better and let his hand fall back at his side. “Everyday, we’re in danger. As long as the raiders and slavers roam around, as long as the government eliminates anyone they deem a threat, we’re all in danger. That’s why we’re working so hard, gathering resources and people—so one day we can live in a safe place.”
Their father could come up with a rousing motivational speech at the drop of the hat. It was the reason people who’d only known him for a short time willingly changed their plans, flaunted laws about crossing into the breakaway states, and headed off to his settlement to help build it into a great city.
Charity already knew all this. So did Milo. They’d told people the same thing. Milo hardly seemed to hear the words now. He simply stared at his injured hand, gritting his teeth.
“You helped quite a lot of people,” their father pointed out. “If I had asked the three of you to go on a mission to free captives from slavers today, would you have done it?”
A vein pulsed in Milo’s neck. “Not with my wife and sister in tow.”
Zia sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “I guess I would’ve done it.”
Charity didn’t answer. Now that the ordeal was over—sure, yes, she could say everything they’d gone through had been worth it to free captives, diminish the slavers’ power, and bring back the wealth they had. But if her father asked her tomorrow to take on more slavers, she’d have a different response for him.
Milo looked firmly at Zia. “Don’t give him ideas. You’re not going anywhere near slavers again. Ever.”