“You two need to focus. Finish your reading and then we’ll have a quiz,” Penelope said, taking a deep breath.
Through it all, Esther hadn’t moved. She was hunched over her textbook and writing in her spiral-bound notebook. It was like she hadn’t even noticed what was going on.
We sat in one of the two school rooms on the top floor of the Faith’s house. The rooms had been fashioned from a huge attic space, but nothing had been done to alleviate the heat that built up under the house’s rafters during the hot months. And the two space heaters in each room had zero chance against the cold that came through the walls in winter.
The floor consisted of boards nailed to whatever was under them. The boards had been sanded and painted when the rooms were first put in, but now the white paint was chipped and worn. And nothing could be done to clear out the musty smell that had filled the attic, especially since the Faith obviously thought windows were a waste of time. So the school was basically a musty, wooden prison.
A prison that kept us from the world. The evil, contaminating world.
Maybe they have a point. If Mal hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have gotten into drugs. Yeah, but if we’d been raised in the real world, maybe he’d have been able to see what drugs could do. Now we all know, but it’s a little late.
Boredom oozed into every pore of my body. Like usual, I destroyed the others on the math quiz, but somehow Luke came in second, where Esther usually placed. What surprised me even more was that Esther was actually nearly the last to finish. I knew she had more advanced equations, but she was usually not too far behind me. Mary, the youngest at age thirteen, as always, came in last.
When the final class came to an end in the middle of the afternoon, I leapt to my feet.
“In a hurry, Joshua?” Penelope asked.
I shrugged and headed for the door. This Saturday, tomorrow, would be Mal’s funeral. Then he would be cremated. I had heard rumors that Miriam was going to scatter the ashes on the goose pond. I didn’t approve. That’ll be great. The geese will eat him. I’m sure that’s what he wanted: to be crapped out all over Pennsylvania.
As I passed Esther’s desk, I glanced down. She was hunched over her notebook, writing. What the? She’s got Mal’s name written all over that page! I kept walking, kind of embarrassed at what I’d seen.
Going down the stairs, I shouldered past the four younger kids who were in the other class. At the second floor landing, I turned toward my bedroom. I thought about all the kids in the cult. Why do they keep having kids, anyway? They shuffle us off to the school upstairs and make the idiots who can’t make any money teach us.
In my room, I sat on my bunk. I scanned the other beds in the room, thought about all the people living in the same house. Were the other kids supposed to be like my brothers and sisters? It never felt like that. It felt more like an orphanage. Like we’d been abandoned into the same cult our parents had joined.
I mentally counted all the kids that had been brought into or born into the cult. Twelve. How many of them know who their father is? Did that even matter?
How would I know? I was an orphan of the Fundamental Faith. Irritation filled me. “What is the point of this idiocy?”
Saul walked in, the neck of his guitar leading the way.
I ignored him, settling back in my bed.
“Can you believe Luke? He’s such a jerk,” Saul said.
“You’d think you would get used to it,” I said.
“It’s like he wants to get me in trouble.”
“This is a surprise? You act like we haven’t all grown up in the same house for our entire lives.” I rolled my eyes. “We know everything about each other. I read. Luke exercises on the island. You kill our ears with that guitar and draw.” I flopped back onto my bed. “It’s all stupid.”
Saul, as usual, sounded like a whiner. “What’s the matter with you? Geez.”
I sat up fast. “What’s the matter with me? Are you a moron? Tomorrow we’re having my brother’s funeral, dummy!” I headed for the hallway, not wanting to deal with the moron.
“But we’re all like brothers. It’s like we’re a huge family.”
“Not by choice!” I spun, feeling my chest rise and fall as I tried to control my breathing.
“You didn’t choose Malachi. But you can choose to stop being a jerk,” Saul said, his tall frame hunched over his dresser drawers.
“You’re a moron. Malachi was the only cool person here. You’re a freaking idiot! I’d choose Malachi over you any day.” I clenched my jaw and fists. I felt like I could punch a hole right through Saul’s stupid face.
“You’re the idiot! You think we should all bow to you because your brother got himself shot,” Saul yelled.
“It’s none of your business anyway, you twit.” I took a step toward Saul. One more word and you’re getting it.
“You call names and think you’re the best. You think you’re so smart,” Saul said, throwing his words over his shoulder. “Too bad Malachi wasn’t smart.”
I lunged and grabbed Saul, my vision red. Pure fire blazed in my stomach and chest so hot that Saul had to see it in my eyes. I took him by his shoulders and spun him around. I slugged him in the stomach and grabbed his collar. “Don’t you ever talk about my brother that way.” Suddenly I felt tears coming to my eyes. I spoke through closed teeth, “You keep your mouth shut. Never say his name again.”
Saul, catching his breath, tried to push away from me, but his arms didn’t have the strength. “Get off me! Get off!”
I knew Saul’s baby shouts would bring an adult running, so I pushed him hard against the dresser. The sound of Saul’s stuff falling onto the floor felt good. Leaving Saul catching his 1 balance, I darted out of the room, wiping the stupid tears from my eyes.
Chapter 8
Heavy clouds painted the sky gray, matching how I felt. Fine with me if the whole world was mourning. Luckily, I was left alone throughout the morning while the grown-ups bustled around preparing for the memorial service for Malachi.
The service was going to be held in the Celebration Room, since it was the only place that could fit everybody in the Faith. This was the room where the regular Sunday services were held. We would sing hymns, some of which were obviously written by members of the Faith, listen to Bible passages and then always finish off with Miriam delivering a sermon.
I hated those sermons. Miriam spent most of the time railing on the evil of the world ‘outside.’ All she did was rant for forty-five minutes about the corrupt government and the morally destitute society it was upholding. So uplifting. And repetitive.
When I walked by the room, the thick smell of burning candles and incense poured out through the door. This was going to be like a Sunday service, only harder to breathe.
As the hour approached, my throat tightened and I felt like I needed to puke. Why did I feel nervous? I couldn’t figure it out, but it only got worse when eleven o’clock rolled around and everybody found their way to the room. I looked for a chair that would be less conspicuous, but the single-level circle didn’t help matters much. When I looked closer, I saw that there was a red rose on each chair.
I chose a chair close to the door so that I could get out fast when the service was over. Mal wouldn’t have liked this. It all feels false. As I sat, Aaron showed up in the doorway. He caught my eye and made for a chair next to me.
“Hey,” Aaron said.
“Hey,” I said. Man, he looks exactly like Miriam!
“You okay?”
Surprised at the question, I had no idea what to say. “Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah… You?”
“Yeah,” Aaron said.
I tried to think of something else to say. When was the last time I’d heard Aaron say anything? Probably that day Mal left. The guy sometimes seemed like he had become one of the computers he worked with. “Hey. What’s with the roses?” I waved the flower up and down.
“Yeah, I dunno. I guess we’ll see.” Aaron rolled the rose in his fingers.
>
I grunted and nodded, completely clueless about anything else to say.
As the room slowly filled with the sound of people filing in and chatting, I let my mind wander and before long I found a soundtrack to cue up. Soft piano with softer drums and a violin. A sad tune, but kind of mocking too—mocking the ceremony of the service that was about to begin.
The music in my head was replaced by Ruth playing the piano as prelude to the service’s start. Andrew led the group in singing a special hymn. Then prayers were said and Bible passages read. Through it all, I let my attention wander, wishing it was over already.
This is like an extra useless Sunday service. What’s the point? I used my right thumbnail to pick at some of the thorns on the rose stem.
Finally Miriam strode to the center of the circle. As she spoke, she paced; her back straight, her hands folded in front of her. She circled the glass altar, on which two candles were burning. The incense had burned out. Miriam’s long black hair was down, making her pale face look almost haunted. With her weird, milky brown eyes—she looked like she was out of a horror movie or something. How could she be my mother? I didn’t look at all like her. And she never treated me like her kid—
But did I really want her to give me hugs and feed me? I pushed away the ridiculous image.
“And while we might want to blame the world in its degradation and ignominy for this unspeakable tragedy, such would not be the Godly way.” Miriam paused, gazing around the room like a queen regarding her peasants. “It is our lot to mourn Malachi, who was taken from us through unfortunate circumstances.”
Unfortunate circumstances? He was shot! I wanted to jump up and storm out of the room, wanted to shut Miriam up. I knew, yet again, exactly what she was leading up to. Everyone else in the room had to know what was coming too. What was wrong with these people?
Miriam’s voice carried easily throughout the room. “But we must not stop with mourning. After grief is gone, we can find a truth… a lesson from all of this.”
I needed to break something. I tossed a quick look to my left to see how Aaron was receiving Miriam’s diatribe. Aaron’s eyes were on her, but I could tell he was thinking of something else. I had to fight to not glare at her.
“It is together that we will be able to stand against the evils of this world. Together we can forgive, together we can learn. We can honor Malachi through our increased efforts to bring change to this hardened world. As we are able to expand our work with children in hospitals and animal awareness and care, Malachi’s memory will be with us. A memory of a world too harsh, too wicked to become a part of.”
The anger bled out of me. I hated every word she said, but in a way, she was right. The world had done this to Malachi. He hadn’t been ready. But why did she refuse to talk about Mal as her son? Better yet, why did it irritate me now? Business as usual, right?
Twits on a string. And nobody who gave a crap that a mother didn’t care about her sons. It all felt so empty. Like everyone was acting.
“For now, my dear brothers and sisters; you who have forsaken the world and all else to dedicate yourselves to this cause, we will grieve together.” Miriam paused. She lifted a rose from the altar and held it up. “Each of us will now have the opportunity to place a rose on the altar, one by one, as an homage and memorial to Malachi. It would be appropriate to take a quiet moment at the altar to offer a prayer, if you so choose.”
Something sour filled my mouth. My heart skipped a few beats. No way. I didn’t want to go to that altar; didn’t want to have everyone’s eyes on me as I went through the motions dictated by Miriam. Worst of all, I didn’t want to have the being up there mean something to me. I didn’t want to give Miriam that victory.
Miriam turned to the altar. She lowered her head and closed her eyes, slowly placing the rose on the glass top of the altar. A while passed as the angles of her face glowed sharply in the glittering light of the candles. Then she straightened and spoke. “Please. Any here who would like to place their rose on the altar, come forward one at a time.” She walked, although it seemed like no part of her body moved, to an empty chair reserved for her and sat.
I jerked in surprise at movement to my left. Aaron strode to the altar, paused for a maybe a second to place the rose and lower his gaze, and then turned and walked back to his chair. What was he thinking? Didn’t he know Mal would have been mocking this thing? It almost felt like a betrayal.
Trying to appear casual, I glanced at Aaron’s face. Was he sincere in what he’d just done? If Aaron felt anything now, it was impossible to tell; his face was as blank as a computer screen.
Joan was next. She stood at the altar, hands clasped tightly and tears streaming down her face, for several minutes. When she was done, she walked back to her place, making no effort to dry her eyes and cheeks.
The procession continued, people who I had hardly ever seen talking to Mal taking long seconds at the altar. Are they really praying, or are they all just doing what Miriam expects? Is it for real? I wanted the gestures to be sincere, but I couldn’t stop thinking that the tears were not really for Malachi, but because the service seemed to call for them. It was as if crying was what you did at a memorial service, so everybody was crying.
It felt empty and I wanted—needed—to Get. Out.
As the service went on, people walking quietly to the altar, I noticed that several people were throwing strange, nervous glances my way. Then Penelope’s gaze stayed on me, even as Saul went to the altar and took far too long to “say a prayer.” Finally, it occurred to me that people were wondering if I was going to go up.
I thought about it. Not a chance. Even if I’m the only one who doesn’t. From the looks of things, it was entirely possible I would be the only member of the Faith to not go up to the rose-strewn altar. That was fine with me. I imagined that the delicate and precarious-looking altar would fall down if I put my rose on it. Can’t have that, it’d ruin the moment. In spite of the ‘moment,’ I had to fight the smile that wanted to stretch across my face at the image of the altar collapsing, hot wax and red roses flying everywhere.
As Ezekiel walked solemnly to the altar, I looked around the room. Only a few people remained who still gripped roses in their hands. Esther was one of them. She held her rose so tightly that I could see her knuckles gleaming white. Tears sprouted from her eyes, washing down her soaking wet cheeks. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. Wasn’t she worried everyone would suspect something?
I kicked myself for not figuring it out before. Even behind the raw grief on her face, Esther was really pretty. And she had always been kind, even if she was bossy. I knew I’d figured out the truth. She loved him. Maybe they even got together somehow. A thought struck me. Maybe they met in the cabin. I hoped not; hoped that the cabin was a place sacred to only me and Mal. And now only me. The music that had been playing softly through my mind swelled dramatically before fading to a simple violin playing a tune similar to Amazing Grace.
Esther stood, taking her place in front of the altar. She held onto her rose for longer than the others. Shock like splinters of ice covered my neck when she kissed the soft petals of the rose and placed it on top of the pile. I looked around and could tell that the others in the room were as surprised as me at what Esther had done—how she didn’t seem to care what everyone saw. Whispers filled the room.
Esther bent her head. Did she not know what was happening around her? Could she hear the whispers or feel the tension that had filled the room? I counted the tears that fell from her wet cheeks onto the pile of roses. One, two… I stopped at ten. Then Esther straightened and, looking straight ahead of her, walked back to her chair.
She has to know that this is a dumb ritual. Why would she jump through this hoop? I sighed. A pointless ritual.
I felt the weight of eyes on me. I looked to my left. Aaron was staring at me. I made a questioning face at him. Aaron made a small gesture with his head, toward the altar. The violin playing in my mind stopped as I shook my he
ad at Aaron. No way. Aaron didn’t stop. He gave an insistent nod, then pointed at the altar again with his head.
I thought about it. I don’t want to be a part of some lame, shallow thing that Miriam’s using to ‘teach us a lesson.’ I mouthed, “I don’t want to,” at Aaron.
Aaron mouthed a single word back. “Go.”
You’re not my boss, I thought. He was barely even my brother. But then I remembered Esther. There was no doubt in anybody’s mind now that she had loved Mal. Then why had she cheapened everything she felt by jumping through Miriam’s hoop and mourning like another member of the cow herd? I looked away from Aaron’s glare and settled on looking at the pile of roses. Estelle was there now. I realized I might be the last one with a flower in my hand. She did it because she loved him, not because Miriam told her to. The thought came suddenly, from somewhere I didn’t understand.
But I knew right away that it was true. Esther did it because she loved him. Maybe that was why Aaron did it too.
As Estelle turned to head back to her chair, I gripped my rose tighter and stood. I half-expected to hear a sigh of relief come from the congregation. No such luck. Willing myself not to look at anyone, I stepped up to the altar. Dark green leaves piled with blood-red velvet and long stems greeted me. The smell of melting wax overpowered the honey-sweet scent coming from the roses. In the corner of my eyes the candle flames flickered.
My chest heaved and my throat closed up. I forced a breath past the pain. Oh no. No. Not here, please. I squeezed my eyes closed and an image of Esther came to me. I saw Esther’s shoulders again, shaking as she bent over the pile of roses. My mouth filled with a bitter taste. I couldn’t catch my breath. I tightened my hands, feeling the one remaining thorn on the rose stem digging into my palm. The pain helped. I took a deep breath and fought the heavy cloud away from behind my eyes.
I bent my head. Mal. This sucks. I wish I could hear you call me ‘bro’ again. My mind went empty and suddenly I had no trouble with my breathing. The tears behind my closed eyelids were gone. I’m gonna get out of here. And I’m not gonna cry for these twits on a string. A burning string. For you, I’m not gonna do it. I took another breath and could almost see the air streaming through my nose and down my throat to fill my lungs.
Beyond the Cabin Page 7