“I’ll stay here,” she said, bouncing the dog in her arms. “You’re going to pick a fight and I don’t want to be there.”

Elliot laughed. “I can behave.”

She looked at him, unconvinced.

“Really,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, “but I’m still going to stay here. Let me know what you unearth.”

Evajean took the dog inside and Elliot walked out, closing the small gate behind him. He greeted several of Nahom’s residents on his way to the town square and church, only making pleasantries, however, and not quizzing them for info. For that he wanted a leader of some sort and his best guess was that he’d be in or near the church, if this place really was a bizarre fundamentalist town.

Nahom was a dozen homes and not much else. Deep in a valley, the town had a picture postcard look, with quaint architecture, happy children dressed like sunday school enthusiasts, and husbands and wives helping each other with rustic chores. Elliot noticed far more of the latter than the former as he explored, the women easily outnumbering the grown men by three or more to one. Evajean has said they weren’t polygamists anymore but Nahom seemed to buck the trend.

From what he could tell, these people spent their time farming, maybe hunting–for both meat and treasure, and attending church at the largest building they had. His impression, as he waved and smiled at people, nodding greetings and once helping a group of men right an overturned plow, was of the community of hobbits in the Lord of the Rings movie he and Clarine had gone to see years ago, after his wife told him those were her favorite books in high school. The people were caricatures of small town America in colonial times and he knew there were never any scandals here bigger than a couple of teenagers getting caught kissing in the hay.

The dozen homes mostly gathered along one dirt road in a gentle arc, the church at its apex. Beyond these, on both sides, were cultivated fields. The road began at the bottom of the path they’d taken down the valley slope the night before, and ended at a wide brook, bustling with children fishing and catching crayfish. Nahom was, in the end, nauseatingly idyllic. The city boy in Elliot had thought Charlottesville was bad, cut off from his loved urban density, but he was convinced a week in this place would drive him very nearly mad. He couldn’t imagine why anyone chose to live this way, even with the pressures of strictly following religious texts. The bad vibe he’d told Evajean about was fiercer now, because a people who could keep the violence he’d seen suppressed under a facade like this were definitely not to be trusted.

He was right about this clan having a leader. Asking around and following directions eventually had him in the small office of Jeffry Lester, or Uncle Jeffry as he was apparently called.

Uncle Jeffry stood up from behind a modest oak desk, covered with books and papers, and held out his hand as Elliot walked into the room. “Elliot,” he said, in a big voice well used to the booming intonations of public preaching. “Is it Bishop?”

“Elliot Bishop,” Elliot said, taking Jeffry’s offered hand.

After they shook and Elliot sat down, Jeffry said, “I want to welcome you to Nahom. Terrible circumstances, I know, but nonetheless it is good to have you and Ms. Rhodes as our guests.”

“I appreciate it,” Elliot said. “Especially what you did last night with the–”

“Oh, thank you, but please don’t mention it. Good men do good for others and we in Nahom like to think of ourselves as very good men. Call it a point of pride.”

“You’re Mormons here?” Elliot asked.

“We are. Followers of the true faith of Joseph Smith and the revelations of the prophets. Is that a problem for you, Mr. Bishop? Some people, those ignorant of our faith, often develop prejudiced feelings about our beliefs and our church. It’s a battle we fight every day and is a large part of the reason we founded this very town. Nahom is without bigots.”

“It’s not a problem,” Elliot said, but Jeffry’s abundant answer and the mighty tone with which it was delivered, had him on edge. He and Evajean had stumbled upon some kind of fundamentalist camp and he didn’t care if these people worshiped Allah or Jesus or the sun and moon–they were all dangerous so far as he was concerned. He continued, “I’m not Mormon, neither is Evajean, but then I’m not really anything, so I always just live and let live, you know?”

“That is my attitude, too, Mr. Bishop. Not God’s–he very much cares what you believe–but I’m a simple man in a complex world. Still,” he said, clapping his hands together, “that’s not what you came to me to talk about. What was your intention for this visit? And would you like something to drink? It is getting hot already and I can offer you water or milk.”

“Water,” Elliot said, “thank you.”

Jeffry, a small man with a tight face and eyes the color of brushed steel, pushed back his chair and walked over to a large shelf against the office’s back wall. He lifted down a silver tray with crystal glasses and a decanter of water. The setup was exactly the kind Elliot had wanted in their living room in Charlottesville, elegant and classy, the sort of display you craved showing off to guests. The effect certainly worked here, even if the clear liquid pouring smoothly into the heavy glasses was only water and not triple distilled vodka or Dutch gin.

Elliot took the offered glass. Jeffry carried his back to his desk and resumed his spot behind it, leaning forward towards Elliot and saying, “Getting back to my question: why did you take this opportunity to come see me? I imagine these last days have not been terribly pleasant for you and your traveling companion.”