Dead Even - Mariah Stewart [23]
Genna turned over, restless. If she failed in convincing Reverend Prescott to permit her to spend an afternoon in town with one of the girls as a reward for lessons well learned, she’d have to come up with an alternative plan, and fast. She was running out of time. Soon the worst of the winter snows would begin to hit, and she’d be stuck here until such time as spring decided to arrive. How many months might that be?
Too many. She shook her head in the dark. She’d already spent too many nights away from John. And in the time she was there, three girls had disappeared from the compound.
In her mind, she rehearsed what she’d say to Reverend Prescott in the morning.
“It’s occurred to me that perhaps a bit of competition among the girls might inspire them to even better work,” she would say.
When pressed, she’d explain, “I’d like to have the girls write weekly essays. On appropriate topics, of course. As a reward, I will accompany the writer of the best essay into Linden for an afternoon. We can ride in with whoever goes in for supplies. As part of her reward, the girl will pick out a small treat—a journal, perhaps, or some colored pencils for her artwork, whatever she fancies—then we’ll have lunch there at the diner.”
She practiced this over and over, thinking how she might reword this part or that, until she fell asleep.
And the next morning, it had gone just as she’d suspected it might.
“What on earth would be the purpose of that?” Reverend Prescott’s eyes had darkened with suspicion.
“To promote healthy competition.” She’d smiled. “As well as to gain some greater insights into what the girls are really thinking. Besides, discipline without occasional reward rarely works well over time. There has to be some positive incentive.”
He’d stroked his chin and stared out the window for a long moment, then turned back to Genna.
“Have you already discussed this competition with the girls?”
“Of course not. Not without your approval. Though I do have a stack of essays I’ve read through.”
“I’ll let you try it this week; we’ll see what the results are.” He turned back to her. “But you understand that the girl is never to be out of your sight. That you are not to become involved in conversations with the people in town. And that you are not to call attention to yourself or to the girl in any way.”
“Certainly not,” Genna responded defensively.
“People in Linden are naturally curious about the Valley of the Angels.” He softened slightly at her obvious offense. “And there are those who cannot accept that what we do here, what we do for these girls, we do from love, with only their best interests at heart. There are those who are suspicious of our motives, those who would take the girls away from here, but what would happen to them then? They’d simply run away again, just like they did from their own homes, their own families. The last thing I want is for any of these girls to be exploited by someone on the outside. A careless word—”
She held up her hand. “Please. I understand. And I assure you that the girls’ best interests are my own. We’ll be very discreet. We’ll simply have our little treat, and we’ll be back before the dinner bell rings.”
“Then go ahead, Miss Ruth.” He watched her gather her wrap around her. “Any idea about who might be the first lucky little girl?”
“I think perhaps Eileen.” Genna smiled. “She wrote a very lovely paper on submission.”
He nodded approvingly. “Excellent. I’d like to read it.”
“I’ll have it brought right over.”
She’d left his office with her heart pounding, her stomach roiling. He was a disgusting excuse for a human being. He rescued girls off the streets only to clean them up—no one wanted a girl who looked like a junkie or a prostitute—to be sold into slavery, trading one form of hell for another.
And yet, how clever, preying on girls who don’t