Mission, and a big box of beauty supplies ordered by her Aunt Conchita.
“I’m not as good at this as my aunt is,” she announced cheerfully, “but I’ve certainly watched her enough times, so here goes! You’re first, Melinda!”
An hour later, all the females in the bus were brunettes, two with still-wet, very dark hair. Shannon’s, Melinda’s, and Amber’s long tresses had all been cut short, as well—even Jeremy’s (at the commune, only the Anointed men were permitted shaves or haircuts). Soon just two now-empty bottles of black hair dye and a pile of hair clippings at the bottom of the bus wastebasket were left to tell the tale.
Next, holding up a travel blanket to make an impromptu “fitting room,” SueAnn helped outfit Melinda (and her very groggy children) in well-worn but clean jeans and T-shirts. (Jeans, actual jeans—Melinda’s first in almost ten years, long enough to hide her bad ankle; and the girls’ first ever!) Holding her nose, Silvia quickly stuffed their old, still-damp commune clothes into a plastic bag, then into one of the Rescue Mission bags. Finally, as the children conked out again, Noah’s daughter-in-law transformed Melinda’s face with dark makeup and bright red lipstick (with Chapstick underneath to help heal the swelling).
After that, SueAnn gave her a rapid-fire review course in beginning Spanish: si, señor, and the rest, most of which Melinda remembered from high school—thank God! Even though her pronunciation was lousy.
Finally, Pete’s wife looked at her watch and yawned. “Good heavens, it’s past midnight. We’d better get some sleep ourselves before those chickens up on top wake up and start cackling their heads off for breakfast.”
Fully dressed, the weary adults found some empty seats, turned off the lights, and crashed for the night. Melinda was so wrought up over everything, she thought she would never get to sleep. But suddenly she woke in terror. What a horrible nightmare! She’d dreamed the Prophet and his men were outside pounding on the bus door and—
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. No, she wasn’t dreaming.
Dear God! That pounding was real!
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