The Chosen Read online

  The Chosen

  A Canyon Rock Suspense Spinoff Series

  Book 1

  ***

  Patricia Bell

  Copyright © 2019 by Patricia Bell Original copyright 2018 with the same title.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ***

  The Chosen is a work of fiction. All Characters and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Chosen (The Chosen Series)

  Chapter 1 - Luna

  Chapter 6 - Luna

  Chapter 7 - Chief Collins

  Chapter 8 - Rachel

  Chapter 9 - Linda

  Chapter 10 - Jacob

  Chapter 11 - Luna

  Chapter 12 - Chief Collins

  Chapter 13 - Rachel

  Chapter 14 - Linda

  Chapter 15 - Jacob

  Chapter 16 - Luna

  Chapter 17 - Chief Collins

  Chapter 18 - Rachel

  Chapter 19 - Linda

  Chapter 20 - Jacob

  Chapter 21 - Luna

  Chapter 22 - Chief Collins

  Chapter 23 - Rachel

  Chapter 24 - Linda

  Chapter 25 - Jacob

  Chapter 26 - Luna

  Chapter 27 - Chief Collins

  Chapter 28 - Rachel

  Chapter 29 - Linda

  Chapter 30 - Jacob

  Chapter 31 - Luna

  Chapter 33 - Rachel

  Chapter 34 - Linda

  Chapter 35 - Jacob

  Chapter 37 - Chief Collins

  Chapter 38 – Linda

  Chapter 39 - Luna

  Chapter 40 – Rachel

  All books by Patricia Bell

  The Surrogate – A Stand-alone Book

  Canyon Rock Suspense Series

  A Light in the Darkness

  An Eye for An Eye

  Karina’s Journey Series

  From House to Home

  From Good to Bad

  From Lies to Truth

  Girl Unbroken

  Karina Boxed Set

  The Elysian Chronicles – A Portal Fantasy

  Saffire

  THANK YOU TO MY LORD and Savior. The One who heals the brokenhearted. And to my husband, Cliff, who is my greatest earthly inspiration. Thanks to the sweet friends and beta readers who inspire me to keep writing: Kristen Overholt Iten, C.S Johnson, Cindy Hamilton, and Shoba Sadler. And to my dad who reads everything I write, and lovingly points out my flaws. Also, a special thank you to Lisa DeBartolomao for her wonderful editing skills and for putting up with me even when she disagrees.

  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO my sweet young friend, Luna. May you never get wrapped up in the things of this world, and I pray that you will always keep your eyes upon the One who loves you with grace and understanding.

  Chapter 1 - Luna

  Luna Ferris sat on the porch swing in front of the big, white two-story house and contemplated her dreadful existence, when a voice called from inside.

  “Rebecca, it is time for dinner.” It was one of the wives.

  “My name is not Rebecca,” she said through clenched teeth.

  As soon as she’d arrived, they’d changed her name. After seventeen years of answering to Luna Ferris, these people expected her to just up and respond to another name.

  And Rebecca? Why Rebecca?

  It’s a Biblical name, the wife of Isaac, they’d told her. Luna, on the other hand, was a worldly name. That, along with several other things about her that were “worldly.”

  For instance, her hair was cut in a short bob that framed her face to accentuate her high cheekbones. That would need to be grown out. A woman’s hair is her glory, they said. But then, those same women took all that “glory,” wrapped it up in a tight bun, and hid it underneath a bonnet that had been transported straight from the nineteenth century.

  “Rebecca? Do you hear me?” the woman called again from inside the house, only this time more harshly. “It is time for the evening meal.”

  Luna ignored her and continued her silent tirade . . . And then there was her attire. Yes, jeans and t-shirts were worldly as well. A woman should wear that which pertains to a woman, they said. And they hadn’t hesitated to pull out the humongous family King James Bible and show her the scripture to prove it. But what she wanted to know was, who decided that a dress that covered your entire body in a-hundred-and-ten-degree weather was that which pertaineth to a woman, anyway? And who’d have guessed that ankles were sinful? Yes, as it stood, the public display of any part of a woman’s legs was a big no-no.

  The men happily wore jeans and a plain button-down shirt, which made them look pretty much normal, all except for the suspenders, that was. Oh, and the two-ton straw hat many of them sported. But that wasn’t part of the prescribed uniform, just an added perk to being a man, she presumed.

  And the worldliest possession of all ― her cell phone. That was immediately taken away and thrown into the fireplace. Her only connection to the outside world had been whisked away right before her eyes.

  Who lived like that?

  The Chosen, that’s who.

  “Rebecca?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Luna shot back.

  She was hungry, but she was on strike. She’d tried several times in the last couple of months to leave the place she called a prison, but it had more security than Alcatraz. She’d attempted everything from sneaking out at night to hiding in the bed of one of the trucks heading into town. Needless to say, she’d been caught each and every time, brought right back, and punished sufficiently. Finally, she’d given in and resolved herself to livin’ la vida loca. That was until the bomb was dropped last week. Luna had been chosen by “God” to be the fourth wife of Naaman Sutton.

  “Blessed day!” Tabitha plopped down beside her. “You must eat.”

  She was Esther’s daughter. Esther was Naaman’s first wife. It was all so confusing at first to try and keep everyone straight, but in the few months she’d been there, she’d grown accustomed to it.

  “I don’t have to,” Luna returned gruffly.

  “No, I suppose you do not, but you know Father shall punish you again if you refuse.”

  Luna cringed at Tabitha’s words. Naaman had proven on more than one occasion that he could come up with a variety of horrid punishments. And still, she persisted.

  “What could be worse than being forced into marriage at seventeen?” Her stomach squeezed into a tight ball at the thought of it. “You’re the same age as me, and no one is forcing you to marry someone three times your age,” she shot at Tabitha as heat rose to her face.

  When will I ever learn?

  Anger was what had gotten her into her current predicament in the first place.

  “I shall be married when I am eighteen. Only one year away.”

  “Yes, but you get to choose who you marry.”

  “That is not so. God shall make the final decision.” Tabitha kicked the ground happily, making the porch swing sway.

  “Right, I forgot. The Ritual of the Fires. But why isn’t God choosing for me, too? I mean, don’t I count?”

  “Rebecca—” Tabitha started.

  “Luna,” she hissed.

  She’d learned not to correct the adults because there were severe consequences, but Tabitha was not an adult. Besides, she wouldn’t tell. She hated to see Luna in trouble even more than Luna did.

  “Luna,” Tabi
tha returned starkly as if the name alone tasted bitter on her tongue. “You are an outsider. You are not one of God’s Chosen. But when you marry Father, you shall become one. Do you not understand? It is the only way for you to be received into the Kingdom.”

  That was their technical term for Heaven. Everything with these people, had to be complicated. That’s what it meant to be set apart. Separate from the world . . . So they said.

  “I know you believe that, but I don’t.” And where was the scripture to back that one up? “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t even make sense. Why do I have to count on a forty-five-year-old man to get me into Heaven? Besides, there are more important things in life than marriage. Haven’t you ever wanted to go to school? College? Watch television?” Luna missed television more than anything.

  “I would never do such things. It is against our rules. Sinful,” Tabitha spat out as if the thought alone would send her straight to the fiery pits of hell.

  “Yeah, just like ankles, right?” Luna rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to be—”

  “Girls, inside!” another voice called from inside the house. “It is time for dinner.” It was Esther.

  “Yes, Mama Esther,” Tabitha called, then gave Luna a pleading look. “Please?” she whispered.

  “Fine,” Luna answered reluctantly as she scooted off the porch swing and followed the girl into the house.

  Inside, the noise was deafening. Josephine, Naaman’s third wife, ran around like a chicken with her head cut off as she attempted to coax each of the younglings into their seats. There were sixteen siblings, all total, ranging from the ages of eighteen years to six months. Two tables accommodated the entire family. The longer one was for the younglings. That’s what they call the children under the age of thirteen, most of which were. And the shorter table was for the adults.

  “Come, girls. Help set the table,” Mama Esther said as she placed the enormous bowls of room temperature, boiled potatoes onto the table.

  It was Saturday so there would be no meat. Another strange custom of The Chosen. Being that it was the Sabbath, it was the day set aside for the Lord. On that day, there was no work to be done. That included cooking and cleaning. All of the food was prepared the day before, and to partake of meat on that day was strictly prohibited. A sin. Luna wasn’t sure why. Something about recognizing burnt offerings from The Old Testament.

  Basically, on Saturdays, The Chosen spent the better part of their morning in prayer. They fasted for the entire day until five o’clock. That’s when the fast was broken with day-old bread and cold potatoes.

  Surely, even prisoners got better food than that. And on all accounts, that’s what she was — a prisoner.

  As Luna and Tabitha finished setting the table and took their seats, Mama Esther nodded her head in approval and gave Luna a warm smile. She was Luna’s favorite of the mamas. Soon to be her sister-wife. The thought of it made Luna shudder.

  Why didn’t I just listen to my mom? Then I wouldn’t be stuck here with three mothers and about to be . . . What she wouldn’t give to be back in her own home. There were so many things she missed. Soft drinks, potato chips, candy bars, real clothes, computers, cell phones and . . . stores. She hadn’t set foot in a store since she’d been there.

  Only men were allowed to exit the compound. And even then, they were only permitted with express permission from the Grand Poobah. No, that wasn’t really what they called him, it was just an inside joke between Luna and . . . herself. That thought served to remind her that no matter what, she would never be a part of these people. The Chosen. They wouldn’t get her horrible attempt at humor, even if they tried.

  They called him the High Prophet or something like that. She’d only seen him once, and the word “scary” was a complete understatement when it came to that man. He was abnormally tall, extremely pale, and his face seemed to be stuck in a constant grimace. Unlike the standard Chosen attire, the man wore a golden robe that trailed down past his feet like royalty. He couldn’t look kinglier if he’d had a crown on that smooth, milky blonde hair that intermingled seamlessly with his attire. The man provoked awe and fear all in the same breath.

  She’d never seen where he lived. He didn’t congregate with the rest of them. He just sat in a palace somewhere and enjoyed tea and crumpets with God. So she’d heard.

  She’d also heard it said that he and the men in his family were the only ones allowed to sport long hair. The legend was, he had never cut it, like his father before him, and now his only son.

  His eyes were bright green riddled with specks of brown. The rumor was, with a mere glance into a person’s eyes, he could gaze into their soul and detect if they had sinned. Sounded more like a fairy tale, but one thing was certain, she did not want to find out.

  “Let us pray,” Naaman said, and like clockwork, the entire room became quiet.

  Each and every head bowed, and silence held throughout the room. Luna counted to thirty, slowly in her head.

  When she reached that number exactly, Naaman raised his head and said, “Let us eat.”

  She wondered if he actually prayed or did the same counting in his mind as she did. Either way, it was strange. No words were said aloud. Each person was obligated to say their own prayers.

  “Blessed evening, Rebecca. Please, pass the potatoes.” Jonathan drew out her name annoyingly as he nudged her side with his elbow. He was aware of how much she hated that name and therefore used it liberally.

  “No problem, Johnny,” Luna hissed back.

  Nicknames were not allowed, but with the commotion going on, no one was paying attention. Luna elbowed him as she passed the potatoes, and he retaliated with a charitable wink. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on between them, but somewhere along the way, she and Jonathan had fallen into a flirtatious kind of teasing.

  He’d just turned eighteen the month prior, so at the upcoming Winter Ritual of the Fires, he’d get to choose a wife. Or maybe God would pick for him. Luna wasn’t exactly sure. That would be a sad day. For her anyway. But she didn’t suppose it mattered. If she didn’t find a way out of there in another month, she would be one of his mothers, anyway. She swallowed heavily at the disturbing thought.

  Tabitha kneed her. She must have witnessed their playful banter. Luna glanced up from her dry bread and gave her a smirk. Tabitha giggled. The girl worked so hard to be Chosen, but Luna gathered that somewhere deep inside, Tabitha knew something wasn’t right about the way they lived.

  “Tabitha, is there something you find amusing?” Mama Josephine reprimanded from across the table.

  Josephine was the meanest person Luna had ever met. And she’d met some pretty nasty people, after all, she’d gone to public school.

  “No, Mama Josephine.” Tabitha lowered her head in shame.

  Luna nudged her with a knee, and Tabitha grinned, keeping her face low to hide it.

  “Very well. There is no need for idle chatter at the table.”

  “Yes, Mama Josephine,” Tabitha answered obediently as she forced back the smirk edging in on her face.

  “Rebecca, you are not eating. Are you well?” Mama Esther turned to Luna.

  “I’m okay,” Luna answered, knowing full well that speaking to an elder without using their proper designation was breaking a sacred rule and that a reprimand would be in order.

  In this case, the proper response should have been “I am well, Mama Esther.”

  The woman gave her a sympathetic frown then glanced away.

  “Rebecca, leave the table, please,” Naaman said in a calm voice as he swallowed a lump of chilled potato. “I will not allow you to disrespect my wife.”

  Luna stood and pitched her napkin onto her plate. She was tired of cold potatoes and bread, anyway. As she shot out of her seat, her chair squealed across the hardwood floor a couple of inches and tipped backward. Jonathan reached out and caught it before it clattered to the ground. He stared at her in warning, but she ignored him. Instead, she glared at Naaman with complete defia
nce. If she were going to be punished, she might as well make it worth it.

  Naaman rose to her challenge. “Go to your room and pray,” he bellowed. “I shall be there for your reproof when I have finished my meal.”

  At the boom of his voice, all banter ceased, and every eye focused on Luna. Turning, she stomped across the dining room and up the staircase to her sleeping quarters, ensuring with each proud step that her outburst did not go unnoticed.

  “I can’t wait,” she mumbled as she stomped into the room she shared with Tabitha.

  Her face steamed as heat blazed through her body. She’d wanted desperately to slam a door, but doors were not allowed on the bedrooms unless you were married. Another stupid rule of The Chosen.

  She slumped down on her neatly made bed and awaited her punisher.

  As she glanced around the dull room, she yearned to go back home where her bedroom was comfortable, warm. Where posters lined her walls and clothes cluttered the floor.

  Here the walls were white, and the hardwood floor was spotless and shiny. Luna should know. She cleaned and polished it weekly. There were no pictures in the house at all. The Chosen didn’t believe in anything that was “of the world.” It would taint them.

  And that went for style, as well. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of pants. Any pants at all would work. Jeans, shorts, dress pants, even sweatpants would do.

  Until her recent predicament, she had no idea how much a person’s legs sweat in the heat of the Arizona desert. At times, her inner thighs became so raw and chafed from rubbing together, she could hardly walk without crying out in pain. The least they could do was to have some kind of powder available. Maybe it was just her. No one else complained about it.

  Oh yeah, that’s right, complaining was a sin as well.

  The familiar sound of worn work boots clacked up the stairs. Luna readied herself for her inevitable punishment. Mentally — not physically. There was no way to physically prepare for what she was about to receive. She never seemed to learn. But if nothing else, she was consistent.