No one came to the door, and she began to think that visiting on Easter might not have been the best idea. In just a moment, though, she heard the loud bleating of a lamb and, following the sounds around the building, came upon a weed- and brush-bordered clearing where a handful of men and women and a couple dozen children in Easter outfits stood in a semi-circle. An older man kneeled in their midst. Ada stayed behind a row of lilacs, not meaning to hide, but curious. Just then the grizzled man rose from his knees and addressed, as in prayer, the bleating lamb, which lay trussed upon a high wooden platform.

     As his words came to an end, an older boy, a young teen, stepped forward from among the children and took hold of the lamb, holding the animal’s head back. Without further address, the man produced a long knife that glinted in the sun momentarily before being plunged into the throat of the lamb. Blood spattered the teen’s face as the knife was drawn through and the lamb jerked and twisted. Blood spilled over the wooden alter and ran to the ground; the old man’s hands and robe were reddened with it.

     The rest of the people in the semi-circle then sang out and cried loudly. But Ada barely heard them over the unmistakable click of a hammer drawn back. She felt a gun barrel press against the back of her head just where it joined the neck.