Always Watching

think they’d come after someone who spoke about them?”
    Mary didn’t say anything for a second, then just nodded.
    I didn’t know if she was afraid of a lawsuit, or that they might choose some sort of violent means of silencing potential witnesses, but I certainly didn’t want her to be scared to speak with me.
    “I can understand that you might be concerned, but I don’t believe he would risk drawing more attention to himself—not now.” I explained about my own abuse and that I’d made a report.
    She said, “Sorry to hear that he messed around with you, but it doesn’t surprise me. Lots of sex and drugs at the commune. People telling themselves that what they’re doing is okay as long as it’s all in the name of love and peace.”
    “Yes, and I don’t think he’s ever stopped, just moved on from victim to victim. We may never know how many lives he’s ruined over the years.” I added, “There was a girl, Willow. I’m trying to find out what happened to her.”
    “Willow? I thought she left?” Mary’s expression was puzzled.
    I decided to hold back on my suspicions for now, until I knew more about Mary. “Yes, but I’d like to know where she ended up. I’d love to reconnect with her.” I held her gaze so I could read any change in her expression.
    Her eyes narrowed, like she was trying to understand what I might be getting at. She pulled her hand out from under the hen and rubbed her forehead.
    I glanced at her hand. And that’s when I noticed one of her fingers was missing. Seeing the direction of my gaze, she snatched her hand back down by her side and closed her fingers in a fist, holding it protectively against her stomach.
    It was too late. The memory came rolling back in.
    It’s night, not long after Willow left. I’m awake in my cabin, thinking about running away to find her. I hear strange sounds from the campfire. I sneak out the door, then creep along the dark edge until I can hear raised voices. Joseph is kneeling behind a blond-haired woman, also down on her knees, with her hand strapped to a chopping block and a gag in her mouth. He’s holding a machete. The woman is crying in muffled sobs and trying to pull away, but Joseph holds her in place.
    Aaron is standing near, his face alarmed. I can’t make out the words, but he’s talking to Joseph, his hands reaching out, and I have a feeling that he’s trying to get Joseph to give him the machete. Joseph hesitates, but then he looks up at the sky. He says something to the air. There’s a flash as Joseph raises the machete, then a quick thwack as it comes down hard. I quickly slap my hand over my mouth, to hold in the scream, but a moan leaks out. Aaron, now pulling the machete out of his brother’s hand, as the woman sobs at their feet, has noticed. He starts toward me as I cower in the shadows, but the woman is crying louder, nearly choking on the gag, and he turns back around, whispering to Joseph, “Shut her up.”
    I crouch low and scurry to the cabin.
    In the morning, I skirt around the campfire, noticing the scuffle marks in the dirt, the dark splotches of blood. During our breakfast meditation, Cedar sits alone, not speaking to anyone, a large bandage wrapped around her hand.
    My mother whispers, “Aaron said she caught her hand in a blade, after he warned her to be careful. Now she’s chosen to sit in silence and reflect on her decision, so she can learn from her mistake.”
    I glance at the woman again. Her eyes meet mine. And in the back of them, I see something. She’s not sorry. She’s angry.
    *   *   *
    Now, years later, I saw that same look in Mary’s eyes. I said, “Joseph did that to you. I remember now. But I don’t know why.”
    Mary didn’t say anything, just turned away and moved to the next chicken.
    “You must’ve been terrified.”
    She paused for a minute, studying the eggs in her bucket, her good hand holding the handle. I wondered what she was thinking. Finally, her voice raw and angry, she said, “I’d wanted to leave the commune at the end of the summer. One of my cousins was living in California, and I thought it would be fun. I’d told Aaron that night, after everyone had gone to bed, but Joseph heard us talking.…”
    “Joseph cut your finger off because you wanted to leave?”
    She nodded abruptly, her neck muscles corded. “He said he had a vision of my finger being a snake full of venom. That it was poisoning my thoughts.”
    “Why didn’t you leave after they