Love, Joy, Feminism
The Vision, pp. 159-179
Ok, y’all. Buckle up! This week is going to be a treat.
The Herb Den conversations bout salvation was interrupted by a note being slid under the door. The note says: “Something bad is going to happen. You need to leave. I’m sorry. Your friend.” They yank open the door just in time to see the “young Muslim girl” Magdalene talked to earlier go into the Main Street Market two blocks away. Dang, girl moved fast! The envelope has an “M” on it, so they all assume it’s meant for Magdalene. They decide—of course—not to go to the authorities, and indeed, not to tell anyone—even Malachi or Asher. They’re worried the girl will become the victim of an honor killing if they say anything.
A footnote reads:
Honor killing is a murderous act that Muslims use to control their families into maintaining strict codes that are approved by Islam. Teenage girls who date non-Muslim boys, wives who seek divorce from an abusive husband, and even Muslim girls who are the unfortunate victims of rape are in jeopardy of being killed, all in the name of family honor.
You know what? I have two things to say to this.
First, yes, Muslim honor killings do sometimes occur in the U.S., but they are extremely rare. Are they bad? Yes! Very! But they are also not things most Muslim communities in the U.S. practice. But second, in the U.S., wives who seek divorce from abusive husbands are in grave danger of being killed in perfectly ordinary white non-immigrant Christian communities. Girlfriends whose boyfriends think they are cheating on them are also in danger of being murdered. In the U.S., over half of murdered women are killed by their husbands or boyfriends. Are these “honor” killings? They certainly can be!
Side note, I knew a Muslim girl growing up. She lived next door when I was little, and we were the same age. The last time I saw her, we were both around 11, and she was horrified to learn that I was being homeschooled and would not be sent to middle school, which she insisted was very important. How else would I be prepared to change classes in high school, or college? I could tell intuitively that she was more comfortable and at home in American society than I was.
Did you know that American Muslims are more pro-LGBTQ rights than are white American evangelicals? Yeah. Now, I think Debi’s argument here is that these Muslims have moved to the U.S. with the intent of taking over our country, implementing Sharia law, and carrying out some sort of Jihad … to which my response is that the world she is building is completely different from the one within which we live, despite her seeming to see it as a natural progression of forces already in motion.
But! Let’s move on!
This book is so weird.
Having decided not to tell anyone about the note—or indeed do anything about it at all—Cheyenne shows up at the Herb Den the next day to find Asher sitting outside. Which is weird, because these people actually do have cell phones. Asher is all haggard and disheveled and Cheyenne gets all hot in the pants. When Cheyenne walks up to Asher to ask what’s wrong—he’s not usually at her place of work when she arrives like this and she starts freaking out—he pulls her into an embrace.
They stood there locked together, rocking back and forth almost as if they were dancing.
In public!
On Main Street! Just when respectable folks were heading to work.
So weird, this book. So weird.
Taking a deep breath, Cheyenne’s anxiety was suddenly overrides by a strange sensation. He smells sweaty. Totally male. Almost nice smelling … yeah … I like it.
Uh…
Cheyenne tries to pull away and ask what’s going on—he’s never even hugged her before, much less whatever this is, in public no less—Asher starts praying out loud. With no explanation. For her safety.
Finally, he lets her go. She tells him he needs to ‘splain.
“Okay, Asher, you have never bear-hugged anyone that I know about. I doubt you even hugged your mother the last time you saw her. Now, what’s the deal? How come I suddenly am the recipient of such …” Now she threw her shoulder up in a teasing way, trying to lighten the tense mood, dragging out her vvvvs and rrrrrrs, “Vigorous ardor?”
This book.
He finally smiled but his tone remained serious. “My contacts in the government—”
“Your contacts?” Cheyenne interrupted, her brows up in surprise. “In government?” Her voice held a tinge of mockery.
He had the grace to grin. “Okay, my brother’s roommate works for the Feds, so I have my brother watching out for us. Anyways—as you say—my brother told me the same evening as the fire that it’s possible that the Muslims are planning something in this area. They intercepted a coded communique that caused them to believe it involved the Trio.”
What.
First, how many laws have just been broken here? Asher’s brother’s roommate is bound by various rules about what intelligence he’s allowed to tell who, and I’m pretty sure this is way past that line. But second, how in the heck would he even know what the “Trio” was? Remember, the Trio is what Cheyenne and her two friends Bobbie Jo and Julie call each other. Asher knows this, but it seems unlikely that he would have told his brother this. Even if he did tell his brother, what then? Is his brother asking the roommate if he’s heard anything about a specific group of three friends who live in Tennessee??
This would make a lot more sense if Asher had said the coded communique seemed to reference a bulk herb business in Tennessee. Not the Trio. And even here—lots of rules are still being broken.
“I just talked too Malachi. We don’t want you four girls here in town with no one to watch the place. You’re just sitting ducks.”
Asher adds that he has a bad feeling about her, like he’s in danger, and that he had this feeling about Dan before he died too, but didn’t do anything about it. He tells her that she has to believe him, that he’s praying for her and needs to keep her safe.
But what I’m wondering why Cheyenne is being told what to do. Why wasn’t she in this meeting, when Malachi and Asher made this conversation? They have cell phones—they could have called her while they were talking, if the conversation was spontaneous, and asked what she thought. Instead, Asher informs Cheyenne that he has arranged “The Gideon Band” to come move the whole herb packing business onto the compound.
Cheyenne stared at him, drinking in his concern for her. The fact that he cared so deeply seemed more important at the moment than any danger she might face. That he cared so much that he would step out from around his carefully constructed wall, was tantalizing.
Oh okay, apparently she doesn’t have an issue being told what to do, because it’s … sexy.
These people are completely unable to communicate directly about their feelings.
Cheyenne does have a few questions, though:
“If the Feds think we’re a target, why don’t they do something?”
The young man was accustomed to precise military compliance under command. He looked frustrated and sounded irritated.
Oh good god, Cheyenne, run away.
Like seriously, run.
This is just such a reasonable question.
“There are hundreds of possible targets. They do what they can, but until they have hard evidence, they can’t act. The ACLU would be all over them. They informed the local police, but that’s like telling the house cat that the alley cat is chasing mice.”
There are so many things wrong with this.
For example, there is absolutely no way police in a county run by literal white supremacists who control everything from the judge to the beat cop would sit by and let extremist Muslims buy up their town and plot terror attacks. No way.
In actuality, the cops in this town would be more than happy for any reason to round up and arrest all the Muslim immigrants in town, even on the flimsiest of evidence. I’m just baffled by the idea that Aryan white supremacists and extremist Muslim jihadists are in some sense on the same side.
Anyway! Asher informs Cheyenne that his crew will be there to help them get ready to move their herbs, supplies, and equipment within an hour.
“Some men will keep watch until the move is complete. Tonight you’ll be at TLP.”
He turned to look at her to make sure his words registered. Then his expression softened and the tension seemed to diminish. He winked, spun on his heels and left in a hurry.
Cheyenne’s knees could no longer hold her. She dropped onto her stool and put her elbows on the counter, holding her head in her trembling hands. Her fingers pulled through her hair in frustration as she spoke to the room. “That man has no idea what he does to me!”
This is like watching an abuse victim try to write a romance novel.
Rather than sticking around while the movers do their thing, Cheyenne decides to drive to the Super Center for some supplies. She tells her self she’ll be back quickly and have time to supervise the move, but that’s simply not going to happen.
Oh by the way, there’s still this whole side plot where Cheyenne is worried about not hearing from Rob Cohen, their contact in China who is setting up a factory to mass produce their magical Tree of Life brew (but only the less effective version, not the kind that can resurrect the dead). He used to call every day with updates (on their secure line), but hasn’t called in a week. We will never get closure on this side plot, so I’m ignoring it.
At the Super Center, Cheyenne parks in a spot on a “gentle slope” so that “if it won’t start, I’ve got enough room to get a rolling start out of here.” There should be a word for people who take pride in driving vehicles that should probably be in the scrapyard, because this is an actual thing, and not just in Debi’s book.
In the Super Center, Cheyenne checks yogurt ingredients and is horrified to see how many brands include corn syrup. A footnote tells us that corn syrup contains mercury, and is very very dangerous.
While she’s standing at the dairy section, she hears someone talking in a foreign language, which she quickly identifies as Arabic—“the same dialect as the Muslims were speaking at Main Street Market.” I buy that she can recognize Arabic, but I do not buy that she can tell one dialect of Arabic apart from another. She looks around and sees a man standing forty feet away from her, talking on a cell phone—he makes eye contact with her momentarily, and then looks away.
He has a cart full of paint thinner and paint remover.
As she’s hyperventilating nad freaking out, she runs into someone else.
“Hey, Herb Gal! ‘member me?” Cheyenne pulley’s date heavy cart to a stop. She stared with a vacant look.
“It’s me, Zulla Mae. I done come by y’uns back yonder in tha spring.”
Yep! It’s the hillbilly that scared Yancey with her prophesies of death and blood. She’s still pregnant—very pregnant. Cheyenne comments on this, because, Debi tells us, she’s never ever seen anyone this hugely pregnant before.
But Cheyenne is extremely distracted, and Zulla Mae can tell. She asks what’s wrong, and Cheyenne tells her about the guy with the cell phone. Zulla Mae looks over, and then tells Cheyenne she saw the same guy earlier in another part of the store, by the fertilizer.
“This ain’t good. My man uses nitro furderlizer mixed with diesel gas to blow rocks too big fur him to move by hand.”
The man is still nearby. He makes eye contact with Cheyenne again, then looks away and walks off to another aisle.
As if talking to herself, Zulla Mae groaned, “Deayuth … I … I smell it. He dun gots the evil eye. Doers of darkness dun follered you hyere, Herb Gal. Mah bones tell me of a truth.”
Throughout this passage—and I’m summarizing most of it, because it’s long—the implication is that this man is specifically trying to kill Cheyenne. At one point Debi notes that the man is surprised to see Cheyenne talking to someone. This is very, very clear: he is targeting Cheyenne. But he would have had no way to know that Cheyenne was here. What, did he follower her panel truck to the store, and then decide to make a bomb in it, on the fly? This makes no sense.
Also, it isn’t this easy to make a bomb. There’s no way.
“They’s gonna blow the place,” Zulla Mae announces, and simultaneously goes into labor. “I know, this very day I knew I wuz a’smellin’ death,” she announces to Cheyenne between contractions.
A slight ringing of a phone at the opposite end of the aisle caused both women to turn in time to see the same Arabic man looking straight at Cheyenne. There was recognition in his eyes. He answered the ringing phone. Both women heard the words clearly as he spoke in English, “I see her. I am sure.”
Then he sprinted for the front door.
Now yes, that is creepy and definitely a bad sign, and I’d GTFO too, but why in the world did he say this in English??
Now, before we go on, I need you to hit play on Yakety Sax:
Got it started? Good. Let’s continue.
As the Arabic man sprints away, Zulla Mae freaks out and tells Cheyenne to “Run! Fast!” Cheyenne looks around and realizes the store is full of people. She starts yelling, screaming that there is a bomb, yelling like a crazy woman for everyone to get out, NOW! People heed her screams and start stampeding to the exit.
Cheyenne grabs Zulla Mae to get her moving, but Zulla Mae is having another contraction and is rooted to the spot. (As I well know from experience, it really is impossible to walk and have a contraction at the same time.) Zulla Mae tells Cheyenne to leave her and run. “Go!” she orders Cheyenne as people run screaming for the exit all around them.
Cheyenne isn’t about to leave Zulla Mae behind, however. She bends down and throws everything off of her flatbed cart, then halfway drags and pushes Zulla Mae onto the dolly. Cheyenne starts running for the exit, pushing the cart with Zulla Mae, very pregnant and very in labor, sprawled across it.
Zulla Mae struggled to remain on the speeding cart, lying on her back, both hands gripping the bars.
As Cheyenne pushes the cart with a laboring pregnant woman sprawled across it toward the exit at a dead sprint, she goes on yelling for people to get out, now. “Are you crazy?! Run! It’s a bomb … run!”
Cheyenne looks ahead and, even as time seems to compress, plots a course amongst all the running, screaming people through the store and out the doors. Once she gets to the parking lot, she sprints toward her panel truck, still pushing the dolly with Zulla Mae sprawled out on it. Just as she reaches the far side of her panel truck, the bomb goes off.
The ground vibrated as though a terrible weight had been dropped onto it. Then there was a forceful blast of hot air that punched the truck like a giant fist. Both women were kicked to the ground by the concussion. There was pressure all around them, like having hot weights pressed against their flesh. For a moment, the breath was sucked from their lungs.
The explosion knocks out Cheyenne’s hearing, but it doesn’t end Zulla Mae’s labor, so Cheyenne doesn’t stop moving. Instead, she throws open the back doors of her panel truck and shoves aside paper towels rolls and a cooler full of peaches.
As Cheyenne is trying to figure out how to get Zulla Mae—still very pregnant and still very much in labor—into the truck, a man “holding a cloth to his bleeding head” appears out of nowhere and solves her problem by helping hoist Zulla Mae. Cheyenne still can’t hear, so she tosses the man the keys, climbs in the back of the truck with Zulla Mae, closes the doors, and hopes the man will know to drive them to the small hospital at the edge of town.
As the truck starts moving, Cheyenne is at a loss as to why the baby hasn’t already been born yet, a mere 10 minutes into labor. She decides that something is wrong because there is blood, so she reaches into Zulla Mae, finds the baby’s head, and unwraps the cord from around the baby’s neck (does a nuchal cord actually cause bleeding?). When this doesn’t work, and the baby still isn’t instantly born, Cheyenne reaches in again and unwraps a second loop of cord form around the baby’s neck.
This problem solved, the baby is born instantly, but not breathing. After some frantic work, Cheyenne manages to coax the baby into a whimper. She casts about and makes a bed for the baby out of paper towel rolls, laying her down gently. Momentarily forgotten, Zulla Mae hollers that “There’s anothern’!” At that moment, she delivers a second baby “almost without effort.” At that exact moment, paramedics open the back doors of the panel truck, and light pours in on “the exhausted foursome.”
Hopefully you’ve about finished Yakety Sax by now.
Putting that music to this section wasn’t my idea—it was Petticoat Philosopher’s. She was right, though—for such a serious topic, this section is written like comedy.
The mental image of Cheyenne pushing a pregnant Zulla Mae out of the store on a shopping cart while screaming like a madwoman for everyone to run is something I’ll probably have with me for a very long time. The panel truck part is equally odd. Babies aren’t generally born on the inside of twenty minutes, and tossing the truck keys to a random stranger is wild.
In all seriousness, the bomb destroys the entire Super Center, leaving only two walls standing and killing 10 people. I did enough googling just now to put myself on an FBI watchlist, but wasn’t able to find definitive information about whether it’s possible to create a bomb on this scale out of paint thinner and fertilizer in the middle of a shopping center at a moment’s notice. I’m nearly positive that the answer is that this is not possible, however, because if it was, I’m pretty sure stores would be a lot more careful about how they handle both fertilizer and paint thinner.
None of this makes sense. Why target Cheyenne? And if they’re targeting Cheyenne, why not just drive her off the road? This plot makes no sense at all. Is it even possible for a baby to be born 20 minutes after the first contraction?
Anyway, this books is nuts.
And that’s all I’ve got.
I have a Patreon! Please support my writing!
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In