Free Biding His Thyme: 4 by Shelley Munro

He’d
learned the cult didn’t have their own cattle, which begged several questions.
Where had the beef they’d eaten for dinner the previous evening come from? Had
they paid for it?
    The cult prided themselves on
self-sufficiency. Of course they might trade.
    “What’s for pudding tonight?”one of the
women asked.
    “I heard it was sticky date pudding and
custard. I’m off to see if the rumor is true,” another said. The rolls of fat
beneath her robe rippled when she waddled past.
    Jake eyed her for a few seconds longer,
wondering how come she got to eat when Brother Rick wouldn’t let Sorrel eat
three meals a day.
    He finished his meal and took his dirty
plate to the collection point. Deciding to pass on dessert, he left the dining
room. The door to the kitchen stood open, a blast of steamy heat slapping him
in the face when he stepped inside.
    “Here you go, Brother Jake,” Sister Andrea
said when she saw him. She handed over a square box.
    “Thanks. Do we grow all the produce and
meat here at the compound?”
    “Yes, we’re totally self-sufficient. We do
a little bartering with the local farmers. That’s where Brother Rick obtained
the beef we had for dinner last night.”
    “And very delicious it was too.” Bah, lies.
Beef was expensive, especially the finer cuts. Besides, what could the cult
exchange that was equal value? His mind drifted to bliss cakes and drugs. He
could hardly imagine the farmers Luke had described dealing in drugs, although
stranger things had happened. “Thanks again for this.” With a wave, he turned
away, making sure to limp.
    Back at the workshop, Sorrel was making
another batch of soap. Her hair was damp and she’d tied it back in a high
ponytail instead of her normal braid. She’d changed robes since this one didn’t
bear the same splatters he’d noted before he left for dinner. There was a
strange smell, sort of metallic and verging toward unpleasant. After shutting
the door, he moved closer, no longer limping since he was out of sight of
everyone else.
    “Sister Andrea packed a dinner for you,” he
said, thrusting the box at her. “I’ll stir the soap while you eat.”
    Shock flashed across her face. She stared
at him, her blue eyes wide and unsure before her gaze darted to the box.
Slowly, she reached out to accept it, her stomach letting out a rumble of
hunger. Her expression turned sheepish. “Thanks.”
    The look of vulnerability flickering across
her face tugged at him, made him angry and off-balance. He didn’t understand
why everyone treated her like a dog turd when she worked hard to help to
support the cult. There were individuals who didn’t think the same way in
private, yet when they were in the company of other cult members they followed
Brother Rick’s lead like well-trained sheep dogs.
    He stirred the pot with the soap, dragging
the spoon across the bottom as she’d shown him earlier. “This is almost melted.
What do you want me to add?”
    She swallowed a mouthful, dabbing the
corner of her mouth with a linen cloth. “Measure out three cups of oatmeal and
one tablespoon of the vanilla perfume oil.”
    Jake followed her instructions, sniffing at
the mixture in the pot. This wasn’t the smell. “This looks integrated. Should I
pour it into the molds?”
    “Please. Don’t fill the molds all the way
to the top. Leave a few millimeters so that we can add some toasted oats for
decoration.”
    Jake took the pot off the heat and poured
it into the square molds she’d already set out. His friends would die laughing
if they could see him, but he kind of enjoyed the process of making things.
    She finished eating, but didn’t jump up to
take over. “Good. Now sprinkle enough of the oat mix on top to cover the soap.
Yes, like that. Perfect.”
    Once he’d finished, he set the pot aside in
the industrial size sink, ready for washing. He cleaned the workspace as she’d
shown him and put the tubs of raw ingredients back on the shelf. “What else