by Pam Bachorz
Ford drops his head and stares at the ground.
The other Overseer has hesitated for too long. “You want to go in there with him?” Darwin asks.
Then two of them step forward, one for each side of Ford, and grab his arms. They treat him as roughly as if he were a Congregant.
Darwin watches them take Ford away, but he doesn’t follow—not yet. First he turns to me and gives me the sort of sick smile that he usually saves for my mother.
“A half cup for you, by sunrise,” he says. “And if you don’t?”
He partly pulls the chain out from his pocket.
Darwin doesn’t tell me where to start my harvest. He only turns and leaves, pointing at a few Overseers to stay behind and watch me.
“Remember—my property,” he warns.
All that is left is to do the thing I do best. I obey. I kneel by the fence, and scrape leaves, and put drops of water in the cup.
And I whisper to Jonah.
“Jonah,” I say. “Wake up, Jonah.”
But he never stirs—not even when my cup is half full and I stand.
“I’ll marry you,” I tell him. “I’ll marry you, Jonah Pelling.” And maybe I would, if he woke—if it meant he didn’t die because of my childish attempt to escape.
Still he doesn’t answer, and the sky is tinged with gray at the horizon. Morning is coming.
“Good-bye,” I tell him.
And then I leave Jonah alone, behind the fence—free, and gone.
Chapter 24
I do something terrible: I don’t go to Earl’s cabin. I slink home and hide the vials with my blood in the deepest shadows under my bed. Then I slide under my covers, willing sleep to hide my sins.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper—to Ford, to Jonah, to Otto, to whoever can hear me. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. I only wanted to help.”
Maybe Otto does hear, for he grants me sleep. When I wake, my pillow is wet. Mother is shaking me.
“You will sit up now, Ruby Prosser,” she barks.
I squeeze my eyes shut and will the day to go away. Let me slide back to last night, let me change everything. Please, Otto.
But then someone coughs—a man, here in the cabin. That makes me sit up fast.
There, at the door, stand all the Elders—and Earl. They’re ghostly in the gloom of the cabin, barely lit by the light filtering in around the door and through the cracks in the wall mud.
“Found my boy,” Earl says. “Me and Zeke had a bad feeling.”
I am pinned under his stare. I try to say something, but I am held by the hatred in his eyes.
Then Asa comes closer. He tilts his head as he looks at me, studying me. “Earl here says you tried to run.”
“He’s dead,” Earl says.
“Is it true?” Hope asks. Her voice quavers a little.
“Jonah’s dead,” I whisper.
“Yes, we know, but …” Hope reaches for Earl, but he steps away from her, never taking his eyes off me. His fists are balled tight.
“Did you try to run?” Asa asks. “That’s what we need to know.”
“He was dead on the road, like an animal,” Earl growls.
“Yes.” The word barely comes out, and I clear my throat. “We tried to run. The tree branch broke.”
“I should have known,” Mother says. Then she turns her back on me.
“Mother, please …” But I don’t know how to ask for what I need, and I don’t know if I deserve it.
She walks away from me and cracks open the cabin door. “There’s not much time,” she says to the group, as if I weren’t here at all.
“Best we could do was touch him through the fence.” Earl’s voice chokes off and he looks to the side, brushes his arm over his eyes.
Only Boone hasn’t spoken. He stands behind the rest of them, arms folded, lips tight.
“I stayed with him, as long as I could,” I tell Earl. “But … I think he was already gone. He fell hard.”
“Must’ve been real broke up, being able to sleep and all,” he says.
“You’re nothing but a child, Ruby,” Mother says.
Now I find the strength to stand. “We had a plan. We were going to find Otto.”
“But Otto will come to us!” Hope exclaims.
“Hasn’t yet,” Earl says.
“I thought he might need a reminder—someone who could bring prayers to him,” I say.
“You’re lying.” Mother springs forward and grabs both my arms. She gives me a good shake. “You only wanted to get away from here.”
“No, Mother! We were going to come back, just as soon as we found Otto.”
Then Mother drops her hands from me, letting out a low laugh snagged with tears. “If it were only that easy, Ruby.”
Finally Boone speaks. “You were going to do this with Jonah?”
Earl swings to stare at Boone. “Girl needed protection.”
“You knew about this?” Mother exclaims.
First Earl tries to meet her eyes, but then he drops his head. “I knew.”
“Should’ve told us before they scrammed,” Asa says.
“Seemed like a good plan, fighting. Gave them weapons,” Earl says.
“We weren’t going to fight,” I say quickly, even though I know it’s what Jonah truly hungered for. “We only went to find Otto.”
“So you had weapons. And how many Overseers did you conquer, Ruby?” Mother says.
“None,” I whisper, thinking of Ford, who saved me with his lies. “But the Overseers found me there, with … Jonah. After he fell.”
“Are you hurt?” Hope asks. “Did they punish you?”
“They didn’t hit me. They made me work,” I say. “I was up most the night harvesting.”
Mother snorts. “What good is a cup and spoon in the dark?”
“Perhaps that’s why they made her do it,” Boone says softly.
“No,” I say. “Those poles have lanterns on the tops of them now—the brightest lanterns you’ve ever seen.
“Last night, they turned them on. Right before …” I look at Earl.
He crosses his arms and lets out a low curse.
“Darwin said we’ll harvest all the time now,” I say.
Hope sucks in a shuddering breath; then tears well in her eyes.
“He’s the devil.” Earl spits on the floor, ignoring Mother’s sharp look.
“Did anyone else go with you?” Hope asks. “Is anyone else missing?”
“No,” I tell her quickly. “It was only Jonah and me.”
“Jonah, of all people.” She shakes her head.
“Some of this falls on you,” Earl snaps at Hope. “He never would’ve tried to leave if you’d taken him.”
“Oh … I think he would’ve tried to find a way out, with or without me.” Hope gives me a small smile. “This was his idea, wasn’t it?”
It would be so easy to say yes. But it’s my fault, and mine alone.
“It was my idea,” I say.
Mother grabs my dress off the wall peg and tosses it at me. “Get dressed. It’s nearly harvest time.”
“She’s going to pay. My boy’s dead,” Earl says.
“Something’s got to change.” Boone glances at the drawing of Otto hanging on the wall, and I follow his eyes. Even in the dim, I feel like my father’s stare is on me too.
“I’ll pay for it,” I say. “Somehow. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
I take a step closer to Earl, then another. In such a small place, it only takes one more step until I am inches away from Jonah’s father.
“I know I can’t fix it,” I say.
He lifts his face to meet my eyes. And then his face crumples.
“Jonah wanted freedom,” he says. “That’s how you can pay, you worthless snip.”
Then he shoves past me to the door. He flings it open, and the sudden glow of predawn light makes us all turn our heads a little.
“I’ll go talk to the fool.” Asa jerks his head toward the door. “And as for
my vote, I say she’s gone.”
When he leaves, Asa slams the cabin door behind him. It’s dark again.
“What does he mean … gone?” I ask.
“You set yourself above us, Ruby,” Mother says. “You put yourself above everyone else.”
“No. No! I didn’t.”
“We sustain. We endure. We wait,” Hope reminds me.
“If you knew …,” I start. Then I swallow. “I only wanted to do the right thing for the Congregation … as the Leader.”
Mother lets out a short, barking laugh. “Leader. That was the last thing you were last night, Ruby.”
“Selfish. Childish. Cowardly,” Boone says.
“Disobedient,” Mother adds.
“I think she was brave,” Hope says softly.
“Enough,” Mother snaps.
Hope doesn’t say anything more. In truth, Mother rules the Elders.
“Are you going to make me leave?” I ask.
“Leave? Isn’t that what you just tried to do?” Mother asks.
“Asa said he’d vote for me to be gone.”
Hope takes a few small steps and then my hand is in hers. She squeezes softly. “He means he doesn’t want you to be Leader.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be Leader, when they asked me. But now I feel panic, shame. I’ve become used to it—proud of it, even. “And you?” I ask her.
“I want a Leader who won’t abandon us,” Hope says.
“I was only trying to save us,” I say.
Mother lets out another snort.
“But I won’t … I won’t leave again.” I look over at her, but she does not return my glance.
“Then my vote is that you stay, Leader,” Hope says.
“It’s up to Boone, then,” Mother says. “Since Ruby can’t vote.”
“You said you wanted to pay for what you did,” Boone says. Still he hasn’t moved; he stays near the door, as solid as a wall of stone.
“I’d do anything,” I say.
“It’s simple.” Boone draws in a deep breath and lets it out before he continues. “No more secrets, Ruby. None.”
“No more secrets,” I echo. But one secret will stay buried: Ford.
“And if we ever catch you lying …” Boone trails off and looks at Mother.
“Then you’re done,” Mother finishes.
“As Leader,” Hope adds.
“Done,” Boone says.
A chill runs down my back, but I stand up straight and lift my chin. “No more secrets, I promise it.”
I’ll keep them all safe until my father comes to save us.
Chapter 25
The Overseers come in the middle of the night, with loud horns and bright lights shining from the tops of their trucks. A loud, distorted voice comes from one of the trucks: Darwin, speaking as loud as if he had ten pairs of lungs.
“Sleepy time is over!” he shouts. “Come out and get to work!”
It’s been three nights since Jonah died, three nights since the Overseers took Ford away to Darwin’s tool shed.
“Wake up, Mother.” I give her a gentle shake, but her eyelids only flutter. “It’s time to work.”
There’s a little Water left in the bucket beneath her bed. I dip my fingers in it, then flick the drops onto her face. She does not even twitch.
“Darwin’s waiting. He might hurt us.” I give her a harder shake; her body is heavy and limp.
“Come when you can,” I tell her.
Then I draw the sheet a little tighter under her chin and throw my dress over my underskirts. There’s nothing I can do—she will not rise; she will not walk. For once we will have to harvest without her.
All the dark and shadows are gone from nighttime. Pools of stark light fill the woods, with softer light that is more like sunshine between each bright spot. The road still has some dark spots. As I stare at the woods, I stumble in a few of them. Even my feet are shocked by the change the lights bring.
Up ahead, I spot Hope and Gabe, small and tall, striding down the road and holding hands. I hurry my pace to a trot until I reach them.
“Good morning,” I say.
Both are looking at the woods; Gabe gives me a nod but doesn’t tear his eyes away from the strange lights.
Hope gives me a smile. “It’s good that you told us about the lights.”
“Never seen the like,” Gabe mutters.
Hope rests her head on his shoulder, only for a moment. “They’re like candles, hundreds of them, is all,” she says.
“Some will say they’re the devil’s work,” Gabe answers.
Devil. I think of Ford, who thinks maybe I am a devil, but still helped me. “Isn’t it the devil’s work?” I ask. “Is anyone more devil than Darwin West?”
“Quiet,” Hope warns. “And Ruby … where’s your mother?”
“I couldn’t wake her,” I answer. “She breathes … but that is all.”
“Otto save her,” she says.
When we get to the clearing, the Congregants stand about, bodies hunched as if still trying to steal sleep. Some shade their eyes against the harsh lights, while others stare straight at them.
Overseers stand in a circle around us, but some are still coming up the road in their trucks. And there aren’t as many as usual. I guess Darwin has to let them get some rest. I don’t see Ford among them.
We stand close and wait for Darwin to speak.
His eyes fall on me, and look around me—for Mother, I’m sure. But he doesn’t ask for her. His smile only grows bigger.
“Tonight is a new kind of night!” he calls out. “Now we can work without the sun!”
Darwin pauses as if he expects something—for us to cheer, perhaps? Or groan? When nobody speaks, he grins and holds up two fingers.
“Double cups today!” he calls out.
“Two cups? We’ll all be beaten,” Gabe says to Hope.
But we all shuffle into line to get our cups and spoons. Arguing won’t make the inside of the cup any wetter.
“There’s a lot more water in the night, hiding in the leaves,” I say.
“Guess you’d know what’s out here at night.” Gabe looks back to give me a quick glance.
“Where are the cups?” Darwin asks.
The Overseers all stare at one another. Finally one answers. “Nobody brought ’em.”
“Get them!” Darwin roars.
The man he shouted at raises his talk box to his mouth and mutters something into it.
Then we all wait. The Overseers shoulder their guns and watch us with bleary eyes.
The evening breeze moves over the back of my neck and raises goose bumps along my hairline. Until the sun comes up, it will be damp and cold. I wonder if the bright lights will bring any warmth.
If they do, they’ll also drive the water away. The best place to be this night—or is it early morning?—will be in the few shadows left between the lights.
A few minutes after the Overseer speaks into his talk box, one more red truck pulls up. The man who gets out of the driver’s side is like all the rest: tall, beefy, interchangeable.
He flips down the back of the truck to pull out the box that holds the cups.
Then the other front door opens and shuts; I can’t see who’s come out until he walks around the other side of the truck.
It is Ford—Ford, with long deep bruises on his arms, with a cut on his face that’s red and festering.
I gasp.
“Ruby? Are you all right?” Hope’s curious glance makes me realize I must look away from Ford.
Instead, I look at the cups. “They look bigger than usual,” I say. “Filling them will be hard.”
“As I said,” Gabe answers.
“I … I changed my mind. You were right,” I tell him.
He gives a satisfied grunt and turns back to his place in line. I let Hope stand next to him, and take the place behind her. Now I can look at Ford more carefully.
For a moment, he stands to the side, not holding a gun or of
fering cups to anyone. He looks lost.
But then Darwin comes close to him and says something in a voice so quiet that I cannot hear.
Ford lowers his head for a moment and stares at the ground.
Look at me, I will him.
But he doesn’t. When he looks up, his eyes are straight on Darwin. He nods.
Darwin claps him on the back, a move that makes Ford wince, then points at the cups.
Ford takes a step, then two steps, to the man with the cups. He is limping, favoring his right leg. His foot dangles oddly.
Our line moves twice as fast now, having two Overseers up front; I wonder if I’ll get to go to him when it’s my turn. Will he at least meet my eyes?
The closer I get, the more damaged he looks. There’s a lump on his temple, and his lips are cracked and bleeding.
Only four people wait in front of me now. One goes to the man in front, another to Ford. Then Gabe and Hope get their cups, and it is my turn to go to Ford.
He gives me my cup. Our fingers don’t brush; no part of us touches, save the air that flows between us.
He doesn’t look at me.
It’s time for me to move. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry you ever met me.”
He doesn’t even seem to hear me. He looks over my shoulder at the line and shouts, “Next!”
Chapter 26
Seven nights I’ve come to the cisterns, no longer hiding from Ford. But he’s never here.
I check the shadows beneath each cistern and peer into the pools of dark in the woods. The lights aren’t on yet; in a few hours, I’m certain, the lights will be burning and we will be harvesting. I might only have an hour, even.
Ford isn’t anywhere.
“Come soon,” I say out loud, quietly, and then louder.
But of course there is no answer.
I finally know what I should do; I know what I should say. But I know better than to find him during harvest to say it. He might not want to listen. And it might take some time to get it out.
The night is cooler, with a hint of the fall that’s to come soon. When the weather cools, it happens fast, the leaves changing in what seems to be only a few days. Mother says things were gentler off the mountain, that spring and fall crept in slowly. But here the weather seems eager to be its most extreme, nothing in between.