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stance and cold eyes told me she was anything but a friend. She had a wild look about her, emotional and tense, like a strand of wire that was being pulled too tight. She had straggly brown-and-gray hair, a broad face, and brooding eyes. She looked older than she was, and it was obvious that she had lived a hard life. Her eyes were dull, but grew excited now, an ember of fire beneath her drooping lids. She had rough hands and a rough manner that was all-business and curt. She was dressed in a linen robe, not the kind you tie at your waist, but those you have to slip over your head. It shocked me to see her dressed like that, up there on the mountain.
    That turned out to be one of the first clues as to what lay in store for me.
    The first thing she did was walk up and put her arms around me, pulling me into a strong embrace. But it was not a warm thing. Not an act of kindness, and certainly not an act of love. No, it felt more like an act of dominance than any sort of welcome. I am stronger than you are. And don’t ever doubt it—when it comes to you and me, I am number one.
    I felt dangerously out of place, standing there in my red pajamas. Though my top had a collar, sometime before, to be more modest, I had taken a safety pin and pinned it a little higher. I touched the collar, then thought of my mother, knowing she had a set of pajamas the same as mine. Thinking of her, I wanted to cry.
    I glanced quickly around the camp, trying to take it in. It was primitive but well stocked. Tents. Tarps. Other things. They had obviously been up there for a while.
    I don’t really know what time it was, probably close to midmorning. It had been something like six or seven hours since I had been taken. I don’t remember feeling tired any longer, but I remember feeling very scared.
    Immanuel (I didn’t know his real name yet) nodded, seeming to signal to the older woman. Hephzibah (again, I didn’t yet know her name was Wanda Barzee) nodded back. Without any explanation, she took me by the hand and pulled me toward the large tent. It was obvious they had planned out what was going to happen before I had been brought into the camp.
    As she pulled me by my arm, I knew that my world was about to come apart.

8.
Rape of a Child
    Stopping outside the tent, I had a better chance to look around. It was a big tent; maybe six people could sleep inside it. A large tarp had been placed on the dirt in front of it, with another tarp hung from the trees, making a roof of sorts that hung over the camp. There were several blue Rubbermaid plastic containers. Lots of kitchen utensils were out. It was a very well-stocked camp. On the far side of the tent there was a large mound of dirt where part of the mountain had been shoveled away. More than a dozen logs were piled on one another. Thick and heavy. It would have taken a lot of power to move them into place. I didn’t know yet what it was, some kind of dugout or winter bunker, but it was imposing and depressing to look at it and I had to turn away.
    Opening the flap, the woman pulled me into the tent, which was filled with bedding. She had a blue basin already set up, the kind that hospitals give to young mothers to wash their brand-new babies in. She had already filled it with clean water. She pushed me toward an upside-down bucket and told me to sit down on it. She took off my running shoes and placed my feet into the hot water and washed them. Then she told me to take off my red pajamas. I pulled back in horror. “No!” I cried. She scowled, her dark eyes hard. I could see even then that I was not going to be able to tell her no. But she forced herself to be patient. I didn’t know it yet, but this was to be my wedding day. It was supposed to be a beautiful occasion. So the woman forced herself to be patient, showing a little leniency, at least for now.
    “I need to bathe you,” she said through a tight smile.
    I recoiled even further, pressing against the fabric of the tent. “I took a