Quaking

by Kathryn Erskine

  Jessica smiles. “And it’s warm and soft. Feel it.”

  I pull back. “I do not like wool. It makes me itch.”

  “Not this kind. This is as soft as cotton balls but so warm.” She puts her face against it as if to prove her point.

  I hesitate, then stroke the shawl like it is a cat. Jessica wraps it around my hand and I notice instant warmth. I let out a sigh.

  “I want you to have this.”

  “For tonight?”

  She smiles. “Forever.”

  “You will not miss it?”

  She looks at me, still smiling. “Oh, I’ll see it all the time, and I’ll enjoy seeing you using it.” She puts it around me, even over my head. “You remind me of my grandmother.”

  “That is because I look like a little old Irish peasant at the moment.”

  “No, I mean your personalities.” Jessica puts her arm around the shawl, my jacket, and me, and gives a squeeze.

  “She was somewhat obnoxious, I take it.”

  “No,” Jessica says, giving a soft laugh and holding me close. “I loved her very, very much.”

  I do not know what to say. And I do not know why my nose is getting stuffy and I have to swallow so hard.

  She strokes my shawl-head for a long time. It makes me warm and drowsy.

  Finally, I yawn. “What was Grandmother-of-the-Shawl’s name?”

  “Maggie Mahone. She was full of wonderful stories, so I’m sure you’ll have pleasant dreams.” Jessica turns the bathroom light off and steers me toward the stairs, with a little hug. “Good night, Matt.”

  “Night.” I pull the shawl tighter around me. It is cozy. “Thanks,” I mumble. I am not sure if I am thanking Maggie Mahone or Jessica. I do not think Jessica heard me. Perhaps Maggie Mahone did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I take Maggie Mahone’s shawl on the bus with me. It covers both me and my backpack. Still, I shrink in my seat. The bus has to detour around some construction on lovely Route 229.We drive past the Meeting House, and I see what I had not seen when we left the day before. There is red paint, like splattered blood, all over the front of the Meeting House. I shudder. People—I recognize most of them, like Chuck and Laurie—are painting white over the blood. So far, you can still see the red oozing through.

  The Rat and his Vermin crowd to my side of the bus to get a better view. I shrink down into my seat.They are jeering and snickering at the “whitewashers.”

  I pull Maggie Mahone’s shawl tighter around me.

  At lunchtime, the peace club is spilling out of the library conference room onto not one, but two large tables. I sit by myself at the third.

  “Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Jimenez says, trying to get everyone’s attention. The librarian glares at her. “It’s great to see so many of you,” her voice strains a loud whisper, “but from now on our meetings will be immediately after school on Tuesdays. I’m afraid—well, glad—that we’re getting to be such a large group we can’t fit in a conference room, and we really can’t hold meetings during the day in the library.”

  “Aw, man,” a boy with long blond hair says, “I’ve got cross-country on Tuesdays starting next week.”

  “We’re lucky we get to meet at all.” I recognize one of the original students from several weeks ago. “If it were up to—uh, a certain teacher, we’d be banned.”

  “Let me guess,” says a boy with a peace symbol on his shirt. “Does his last name start with M?”

  I am thrown for a second because I was expecting to hear “W.”Then I remember it is only me who calls him Mr. Warhead.

  “Yeah, Rob, and he’d really like what you’ve done to your jeans!” someone says.

  The peace shirt boy stands up, grinning, and I see his torn jeans and wonder what the big deal is. He turns his back to the tables and lifts his T-shirt but I cannot see his jeans because of all the people.

  “So?” someone says. “It’s an American flag.”

  “Dude!” someone yells back. “It’s upside down! That’s the symbol of distress.”

  Mrs. Jimenez smiles but shakes her head. “Please don’t let . . .You Know Who see that.”

  “Voldemort?” Rob asks.

  I am starting to like this Rob.

  His large brown eyes are open wide but there is the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. He reminds me of an actor. I know! He looks like a younger version of Will Smith.

  Mrs. Jimenez sighs. “Let’s try to be understanding.”

  “Understanding?” Rob says. “What about the attack on that Quaker church—while people were inside?”

  Mrs. Jimenez shudders. “Horrifying, I know. It’s getting dangerous out there.You heard what the mayor said?”

  “About the churches?” It is Susan. She shakes her head. “That’ll never happen. I mean, some people might stop going to church, but churches—or synagogues either for that matter—aren’t just going to close down for a few weeks.”

  “And why should they?” Rob asks.“What about freedom of religion? Freedom of assembly? Freedom of speech?”

  “I know,” Mrs. Jimenez says, “but the mayor has to keep his citizens safe. This is a small town with a lot of churches and temples, and he can’t promise that every church will be surrounded by police since most of them have services at roughly the same time. There’s only one peace vigil—Thursday nights—so he can cover that.”

  “But he still warned about the danger of going,” Susan says quietly.

  Rob kicks his feet off of a wooden chair so suddenly, the chair clatters to the floor.

  “Shhhhh!” the librarian sputters.

  Rob puts the chair upright but his teeth are clenched. He shakes his head. “Does anyone else feel like we’re living in a totalitarian society? Supposedly, we’re fighting to bring freedom and democracy to the rest of the world. Meanwhile, what’s happening to freedom and democracy at home?”

  There is no answer.

  Rob looks around the room. “Why are we all just sitting here? Why don’t we go see the mayor and tell him how we feel?”

  “Right now?” someone asks.

  “I don’t mean cut class, I mean we should make an appointment and go tell him that this sucks.” Rob’s eyes flit from face to face, including mine. His eyes linger on mine and it is not scary but my heart does start beating faster.

  “That’s it!” He turns from me to Mrs. Jimenez. “Why don’t we tell the mayor he should be stopping the local terrorists instead of telling innocent people to stop living their normal lives?”

  The room rumbles with agreement and I am surprised to hear a “yes” escape from even my mouth before the librarian comes over and shushes us all.

  At the end of the day, the bus leaves school using the detour and drives past the Meeting House again. I close my eyes. I cannot look. I let the shawl cover my ears so I cannot hear what the Rat says. I hear him laughing but I keep my head down and refuse to let him in.

  My head is still down, in disappearing mode, when I step into Casa Quaker. Jessica is on the phone. She tugs on my shoulder and hands me a postcard of the interior of a church in Washington, D.C.

  It is from Loopy. I wave to Jessica and walk upstairs, reading it.

  Hi, Matt!

  Hope you’re settling in nicely. Got my work cut out for me here. Can you believe all these church attacks? The beautiful windows in this church are now broken. Be careful—it’s happening all over!

  Love in Christ,

  Bernice (aka “Loopy”)

  I flip the card over and look at the red stained-glass windows and wonder how the inside of the church looked with shards of red glass.

  I sigh and hear Jessica still talking on the phone.

  “I know. I wish he wouldn’t put himself in such danger. . . .Yes, I’ve tried to talk to him, but you know Sam. . . . My heart is in my throat every time he leaves the house.”

  I close my door. I do not want to hear this.

  “Matt!” Jessica calls up the stairs.

  I jump. �
�Yes.”

  “Honey, I have to run to the legal aid clinic. Sam will be home soon.Will you be all right by yourself?”

  “I guess.”

  “Okay, see you later.” I hear the front door open.

  I open my door. “Wait!”

  “Yes?”

  “Where is . . . the kid?”

  There is a pause. “Rory is at physical therapy. I’m picking him up on my way back.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I will be fine.”

  “See you, sweetheart.”

  The front door closes.

  It is the first time I have been in this house alone. It is strange. I do not like it. I go down to the kitchen, looking for signs of life. The computer is on and I walk over to it. I sit down on the wheely stool and look at the opened site.

  CNN. BREAKING NEWS. A peace demonstration. In Washington, D.C. With pro-war activists. It spiraled out of control. Many are injured. One man is dead. I shudder when I read his name. Sam Hobbs. Sam.

  It is just a name. And it was in Washington. But it was a peace demonstration. And it could happen anywhere. Like Loopy said, Be careful—it’s happening all over!

  I read the full version of the article. It lists the attacks around the country on churches, nonprofits, peace centers—any group that is trying to bring peace to this country, and all countries. There is much damage. And fear.

  I am suddenly freezing cold, shivering, shaking. I run upstairs to put on my shawl. It does not seem to help. I grab my backpack and struggle with the zipper to get out my LifeSavers. Even with them, I do not like being upstairs by myself in this cold, dark house. I run downstairs and flick on every light I can find. I pace. I put my shawl over my head.

  And I am still pacing. Up and down the steps now. Not happy in any place. At least I am a moving target.

  I am making my turn at the bottom of the stairs to go back up when Sam comes in the front door. I jump.

  “Hi, Matt, honey. Where’s Jessica?”

  “She is at the legal aid clinic, for God’s sake!”

  He slowly closes the door behind him. “Are you okay, Matt?”

  “I am fine!” I turn and go into the kitchen, then remember that I cannot go in there because of the BREAKING NEWS, and I step out again. “Have you people never heard of screen savers?”

  I go upstairs to my room and sit down on the bed. I am clutching my LifeSavers in my fist.

  My door is open a little so I hear Sam when he groans and hits some keys on the keyboard.Then I hear him come up the steps. They creak and sigh under his great weight.

  He is standing outside my door.“Hi. It’s me again. Looks like I’m becoming a regular here at Matt’s Place.” He smiles. Obviously, he is trying to be witty. It is not a Quaker talent.

  I stare at him through the crack. I do not smile.

  He sighs and gently pushes my door open.“Look, honey, the police will offer some protection next First Day so we can all feel secure at worship.”

  I stare at him. “You mean, so you can feel secure at worship—falsely secure, I might add. I, myself, am never going anywhere near that Meeting House again.”

  Sam’s eyes look like I have kicked him. “I guess I can’t blame you. But, if you change your mind—”

  “I will not change my mind.”What kind of idiot do you think I am, Sam?

  He sits down on the bed next to me and it sinks almost to the floor. I struggle to keep myself from falling sideways into him.

  I can hear his breathing and his warm breath comes out softly and steadily.“I was just going to say, I’ll always be there to protect you, Matt.”

  “And what if they come with guns next time, Sam? How will you protect me from that?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think that would happen. I think they’re just kids. Or people who are frustrated, upset.”

  “I think they are just crazy. You cannot predict what crazy people will do, Sam.” My voice is rising and I can feel the tornado swirling inside of me again. I wonder why the tornado is there when I know that I can avoid the danger. I will simply never go back. I look at Sam and I realize why I am quaking. He is actually planning to be a Sitting Duck of Death on Sunday.“You would stay away from that place, too, if you had any brains.”

  His eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open. “The Meeting House? I could never stay away from there. It’s part of my life.”

  “It could be part of your death.”

  “Matt—” He lays his hand on my arm but my arm convulses so much I throw his hand off.

  He folds his hands together in his lap and looks down. His eyes are closed. I am not sure if he is thinking or praying. Or waiting for God’s Voice to tell him what to do.

  I stare at him. His MIA bracelet is sticking out from under the sleeve of his sweatshirt.Which has gack on it, from the kid, no doubt. The front of his sweatshirt says “Peace Takes Guts.” There are six photos of people under the slogan. The Sweatshirt People of Peace, who are probably all dead, grow larger and smaller, along with Sam’s belly as he breathes. Then the sweatshirt people twist toward me and I look up at Sam’s face.

  He is smiling. “You sound like Jessica. She’s worried, too.”

  I exhale loudly. “Because she is not an idiot. It is two against one, and you, Sam, are outvoted.”

  He grins. “But I have God on my side.”

  “Oh, please!”

  He presses his lips together and the grin goes away. His eyes are boring through me. “If I stay away, if we close the Meeting House, who wins?”

  I look away.

  “I won’t let that happen, Matt. You understand that, I know, because you wouldn’t, either.”

  I flash my eyes at him.

  “I mean, if you felt as I do about this issue, you wouldn’t give in. You’re too strong for that. You wouldn’t let them win.”

  I think about my battle with Mr.Warhead and how I will not give in. But that is different. I do not expect Mr. Warhead to come to class with a gun and shoot me. If that were a possibility, I would not fight him. I would run away. And I thought Quakers did the same thing. “Sam.You are a Quaker.You are not supposed to fight.”

  “Who said anything about fighting? I’m just standing my ground.”

  “Could you find a safer piece of ground upon which to stand?”

  He shrugs. “I can’t hide. I can’t run away from the things I want to change.”

  “Why not? It is a strategy that has always worked for me.”

  He looks at me with eyes that are both sad and serious. “I want peace, Matt. I want people to resolve conflicts without resorting to war, to killing.”

  “That is very nice, Sam, but just because you are a Quaker does not mean you have the monopoly on peace.”

  The Sweatshirt People of Peace jolt. “Of course not. I—I never said that. Peace isn’t even a religious issue. It’s individuals, and groups, like the Resource Center for Nonviolence that I work with, all the way up to the UN. I just happen to be Quaker and believe—”

  “Okay, there are many peace organizations in this world, Sam. Why not let the professionals handle it?”

  “I—I am. I’m in touch with the Lombard Peace Center, too—they’re a Mennonite group—”

  “Has anyone attacked the Mennonite Meeting House?”

  “Church. And, no, not that I’m aware of.”

  “So why not go to the Mennonite Church? I mean, how different could you people be, really? You all believe in God, right? Who cares about the details?”

  “But I’m a Quaker!”

  I stare at him like he is an Ignorant Child. “Okay.” I exhale loudly. “What do you have to believe if you are a Quaker? Because I am sure the Mennonites will not mind.”

  “I don’t have to believe anything.” He smiles. “That’s what I like about my faith.”

  “You are very exasperating.”

  He gives me a wink. “See, there you go again, acting like Jessica. In
fact, it almost sounds like you care about me.”

  I roll my eyes, cross my arms, and turn away.“Remember to close the door on your way out, thank you.”

  “No,” he says, getting up, “thank you.”

  I look at him involuntarily. He is standing with his gack-covered arm on the doorknob. His eyes are puppylike under his tousled hair. He is smiling a shy smile at me. I look away. When I look back, he is gone. I stare at the place he stood.

  I am squeezing my LifeSavers so hard, I think the foil is cutting into me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  At the end of the day, I am at my locker and I smell it. Beer, again. The Rat, again. And I see the Wall. shut my locker and quickly walk away from the Wall.

  But I do not want to ride the bus. I turn down a corridor to think. I decide to walk to Casa Quaker. It is probably a couple of miles, maybe less.The only reason we have a bus is that Route 229 is too narrow and dangerous to make us walk. But today I want to. I cannot handle seeing the Meeting House again. I also would rather avoid certain passengers on the bus.

  It is a nice change not to have to rush to the parking lot, so I relish the slow pace and take my time walking through the halls. I look around the school, seeing it, in a way, for the first time. Normally I do not look up, so I am very familiar with the floor, but nothing else. And it is usually too crowded to see the walls, anyway, because I am in so much of a hurry to get to class without being noticed that I never look.

  There is actually much on the walls. Notices about senior class picture retakes and senior class rings. A sign for the drama department’s production of West Side Story. Posters for Odyssey of the Mind, chess club, cheerleading practice, and my favorite, one on antibullying.

  It is mostly quiet as I wander the hallways. I like school much better this way. No people, or very few, at least. The teachers and handful of students ignore me. They have important things to do, and they assume I do, too.

  I saunter down the hall and the south stairwell toward the front door. Instead of scurrying down the stairs with my head tucked in, I take each step slowly, with my head held high. I am in a fashion show, today sporting a lovely designer Maggie Mahone wool wraparound skirt over my pants.The style is black on black, with black accessories. My hair is enviously big. It has been said that I have beautiful skin and haunting eyes. I pause, giving my imaginary fans a chance to take it all in. It is an elegant look. Occasionally, I nod to the adoring crowd.