The blood of animals could no longer sustain him. He spent his days lethargic and more exhausted than he had ever been in his entire life, unable to remember the last time he awoke refreshed.
Worst of all, his sleep was often interrupted by the dreams. He did not enjoy this altogether disorienting experience; it led to more restless nights. The sooner he found her, the sooner these symptoms would stop.
How have more than two hundred and seventy years passed since he ventured this far from the farm? The river upon which their ship had docked in Philadelphia was now unrecognizable. The memory of debarking from their vessel, The Charming Nancy, was nothing like what presently occupied the area.
Dirt roads were now paved. The asphalt pocked with sinkholes and grates that reeked of sewage. Buildings crammed tightly together to cover what was once open space. Litter tickled every surface like flies scratch over rotting flesh.
The overwhelming scent of desperation and poverty reminded him of Europe during the age of the plague. Although the streets were not filled with rotting bodies, they were crawling with mortals whose conscience had died long ago.
Every mind he touched had been scheming in one way or another. Rarely did he pick up a thought about God. When he did, it was usually followed by a silent request for some frivolous favor, like winning the Pick 6, whatever that was.
He considered the called mates brought to their farm over the past century. How was it that those mates, who were of good moral fiber, for the most part, had come from such a grim place? It was a wonder mortals were not breaking into the Amish communities in droves, trying to escape this evil.
He did not think of himself as overly cantankerous. Sure, he had a way of doing things and saw no need in adjusting, but it was not as if he had grown into an unbendable grump. He could be a bit pious, but he was the bishop. It was his duty to maintain a level of religious honor among The Order.
Who was he kidding? He was turning into a sour old man. Every dawn he faced with more and more cynical views.
Half a millennia was a long time. Perhaps he should step down as bishop and allow one of the others to fill his seat on The Council’s bench. He could maybe return to his birthplace in Spain. But would Spain today be anything like it was in the sixteenth century? Most likely not.
He traveled all over Europe, but Lancaster was the only place he called home. He did not want to leave, but it could be his time to go.
He left the woods to meander along a suburban sidewalk lit by electric lamp posts. Letting down his guard, he allowed the voices of the mortals to seep into his mind—the normally intolerable roar of English citizens quieting to a low hum. And still no sign of Larissa Hartzler.
Discouraged, he slowed and paused outside of a brick home. For once, he allowed all the emotions of love and loyalty to wash over him. A good family lived within those four walls, a male and female with three young sons.
The woman’s affection for the man struck him like a foreign language. More than five centuries old, and Eleazar still didn’t know what it meant to make love, what it felt like to be loved, or if his heart was even capable of loving another.
After so many centuries of living life completely alone, he doubted he would make a decent partner, which fueled his hesitation to claim his mate. Perhaps he was worrying over nothing. Many around him had been called, but his existence, up until recently, had been destined to be a solitary one.
Meaningless. Endless. Empty.
No wonder he’d become such a miserable son of a bitch.
Chapter 5
Abilene watched the light from the blue moon sneak through a tiny crack in the window covering and blossom into a pool of silver over her bed. She lay still beneath the weight of her wedding quilt, waiting for her husband to come home to her.
Supper was quiet. Silence swallowed their home since the night of Adam’s wedding.
While Gracie, their youngest at only twenty-one years, was still living under their roof, the rest had left the nest. It had all happened so suddenly that Abilene was still acclimating to the hush that filled her home. She was not sure she would ever come to terms with its oppressing presence. Homes should be filled with children, laughter, and love. Instead, hers was turning into nothing more than a hollow building.
She did not blame her children. They were her babies. To love them meant letting them go. They needed to fly into the world and spread their own wings.
She loved all four of them with her every breath, nurtured them well past adulthood, and armed them with wisdom, morals, and enough love to extend well past her children’s children’s children. So why did she appear so downtrodden, so sad? She couldn’t shake the sense that she’d somehow failed.