I wasn’t alone. Before me was a man. He was not known to me.
He was ruggedly handsome in a blunt, powerful sort of way. His hair was wavy and black. Even though his face was unlined and his hair bore no streak of gray, he seemed older. Yet his age was hard to define, particularly since he knelt before me with downcast eyes.
“Mercy, Ellspeth. I beg you for mercy,” the man said, although it didn’t sound much like begging to me. His voice sounded strong and confident, like it belonged to someone used to getting his way. “Do you have any mercy in your heart?”
I scoffed at his halfhearted request. “Mercy? Why should I offer you mercy? After all you’ve done to me. After all the evil you’ve inflicted upon others.”
“Please, Ellspeth, it only seems like evil because you don’t understand it. When you are creating a new world, sacrifices must be made. Sacrifices that will eventually yield a greater good.” I knew that he meant his tone to soften me. And I could see that he believed in the veracity of his words. Yet I felt no leniency in my heart, only sadness and determination.
“Like my mother? Was she a necessary sacrifice?”
The man raised his gaze from the floor, and looked up at me. For the first time, I realized that his eyes were a startling, pale blue. Like mine.
His eyes filled with resignation and sadness. “I promised your mother that when this moment came, I would surrender to your decision. If you have no mercy to offer, I must accept your merciless sentence,” he said quietly, never losing my gaze.
I lifted my arms high above my head. I felt something heavy in my hands, but I didn’t know what it was. The room filled with a pure white light, almost like rarefied sunlight. It was the light of judgment.
Then I woke up.
Was the dream a vision of some future event? Was it a remnant of some awful image I’d procured from Ezekiel’s mind? Was I simply imagining the birth father that I’d been thinking about so much lately? What made this dream so different from all the rest?
I didn’t know. The not knowing made the dream incredibly hard to shake.
Chapter Eleven
By the time school rolled around on Monday morning, I was fed up. Fed up with Michael and Ruth always being so preoccupied. Fed up with playacting with everyone around me. Fed up with the disturbing dreams that inundated me every single night. Fed up with the uncertainties that plagued me beneath my self-assured surface. And really, really fed up with waiting, knowing that the end days were upon us.
I needed action. Any kind of action.
As I walked to my locker after the last bell, wondering how to get the action I craved, I noticed a cluster of kids around the main bulletin board. The communal board was covered with advertisements and notices about extracurricular activities and typically didn’t warrant too much attention. I usually walked right past it, along with every other student.
I was curious to see what the small crowd was staring at. As I drew closer, I realized that they were all gathered around a poster announcing the formation of a county-wide committee to raise funds for the earthquake victims. The first meeting was tonight at seven in the school gymnasium.
It seemed the perfect, temporary solution. Normally, I wasn’t much of a joiner. Right now I had energy to burn, and I felt partly responsible for all the tragedy. If I’d better understood my role and known how to stop that first sign, then maybe a lot of suffering could have been avoided. Pitching in wouldn’t offer much, but it was something.
Then I noticed that Missy stood in the small crowd of kids. And she noticed me. If Missy was planning on joining the committee, maybe I’d reconsider.
“More selfless acts for Ellie, I see,” she said, giving me a nasty little grin and a flip of her blond ponytail. I knew—and she knew—that it was a snide reference to the blame I took for her and Piper over the Facebook prank. Her comment was incredibly bold; I guessed she figured that I wasn’t planning on turning her and Piper in at this late stage.
“What on earth would draw you to a committee that helped people, Missy? I thought your forte was embarrassment and humiliation. Until I stopped you, anyway.” Tit for tat. If Missy was up for bandying about her malicious deed, so was I. Especially since I didn’t see on Missy’s face even a shred of the gratitude—or remorse—I’d spotted on Piper’s.
“You never know what cute guys might join a committee like that. Like Michael.” Her jibe hurt after the little scene I’d interrupted on Friday night, particularly on the heels of a day without any letters from Michael, even though we’d agreed to stop them for now.
“Or your Zeke,” I goaded her right back. I was in no mood for turning the other cheek. Missy had picked the wrong day to pick a fight with me.
Missy froze. I could almost see the wheels of her cruel mind turning. How did I know about her mysterious boyfriend, the one who disappeared the night of the fall dance? she wondered. Part of me wanted to tell her what had actually happened to her precious Zeke—really, Ezekiel.
Instead of beating me down, as Missy had intended, our exchange emboldened me. I would definitely go to the committee meeting, to make sure that it met its purpose instead of becoming some big pickup scene. I would make it my outlet for action, for now.
Afterward, I suffered through another dinner with my parents, where I discussed trivialities over pasta primavera while thinking about the impending apocalypse. Hiding a secret this big from my parents was painful, and I was sure they could sense something was off. Yet they never questioned me.
I asked to borrow the car after dinner, not knowing how they’d respond, given their environmentalist mission to reduce our carbon footprint. To my surprise, they actually agreed. The committee meeting seemed to merit an exception to their stringent rules about walking everywhere, especially when they learned I’d be going alone. Ruth and Michael were too busy with football and schoolwork.
I pulled into the school parking lot a few minutes before seven, figuring I had plenty of time to make it into the gymnasium before the meeting began. But I hadn’t banked on the main lot being completely full. I wondered whether there was some kind of a scheduled event that I’d missed hearing about. Usually the cars emptied out of school lot by five, unless there was a Friday football game.
The big clock over the gymnasium doors read seven fifteen by the time I’d parked in a remote lot and run across the campus. Hoping to muffle the gymnasium doors’ usual loud creak and sneak into the meeting unnoticed, I opened one of the doors slowly. With no success. The screeching noise announced my entry.
A vast sea of faces turned in my direction. Suddenly, I understood why all those cars were in the lot. Students from all over the county were here to help.
An unfamiliar girl at the podium—presumably the committee organizer—paused when I walked into the room. While she waited for me to sit, she tapped her pencil on the podium and she smoothed her long, light brown hair. I could feel myself blush as I scanned the packed room for an open seat.
The chairs on the floor and the bleachers were nearly at capacity. Among the many unfamiliar kids, I recognized quite a few Tillinghast students. To my astonishment, I even saw Piper and Missy in the crowd. Did Missy have no shame?
Finally, I spied an opening on a bleacher in the far left corner of the room, next to a broad-shouldered guy wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. Scuttling by the rows of chairs and the podium where the organizer resumed her speech, I asked the guy if he could move over to make room for me.
“Like to make a grand entrance, do you?” he whispered with a mischievous smile as he slid over.
I glanced at his face. His hair was chestnut brown and his eyes were dark, almost black. He was handsome in a rough, unfinished sort of way. The flush on my cheeks deepened. They were probably crimson by now. “Sorry about that.”
The guy smiled again. In a deep, husky voice, he said, “Don’t worry. I was happy for the interruption. The organizer, Amanda, goes to my school, and she likes the sound of her own voice way too much.”<
br />
I tried to turn my attention to Amanda. But I couldn’t. I found myself staring down at the guy’s wide, calloused hands and strong thighs. There was something compelling about him, something I couldn’t quite describe.
“Told you she drones on,” he said, obviously noticing my drifting concentration.
I couldn’t suppress a giggle, although it seemed so inappropriate under the circumstances. Here we were on the brink of a major catastrophe—one far worse than most people could possibly comprehend, one in which I was destined to play a major role—and I was giggling at some joke made by a strange guy. I covered my mouth. What on earth was I doing?
He reached over and very lightly touched my hand. As if hearing my thoughts, he said, “It’s okay. I’m the only one that heard you laugh.”
The exchange so unnerved me that, when Amanda called for volunteers, I just stuck up my hand. I didn’t even know what I was volunteering for. The guy next to me raised his arm too.
Amanda pointed to us. “Rafe, you’re in. And, you”—she pointed to me—“what’s your name?”
“Ellie. My name is Ellie.”
“Great, we have two volunteers for the event-planning subcommittee. Anybody else?”
Hands had surfaced throughout the crowd, although I noticed that Piper and Missy lowered their arms as soon as they saw that I’d been selected for the subcommittee. It seemed that Missy didn’t mind taunting me for a few minutes in the safety of a crowded hallway but didn’t want to spend too much time with me in a small subcommittee meeting. I smiled at the thought of scaring away the indomitable Missy.
As Amanda worked her way around the room, culling volunteers, the guy turned to me. “Since we’ll be working together, I guess I should properly introduce myself. I’m Rafe. Rafe Gregory.”
He stuck out his hand in greeting.
I almost didn’t take Rafe’s hand. I’d avoided touching anyone other than Michael or Ruth since I’d returned from Boston, because I didn’t want to experience any flashes. Then I thought twice. I’d had a strong reaction to him; and these days, strong reactions unnerved me. Was he really an average high school kid? There was only one way to be certain.
I extended my hand. As we shook, initially I received a very mild flash from him. I saw Rafe as a very small child, maybe three or four, flying a bright red kite. The sky was unbroken cerulean blue, and young Rafe was delighted with the way the red stood out against the sky’s vivid blueness. I wondered what made him think of that image right now.
The scene was quickly replaced with a more intense flash. Through Rafe’s eyes, I watched myself entering the gymnasium. He stared at me as I hunted around for an empty seat, and I felt his pleasure when I noticed the opening next to him. As I sat down, I heard him thinking how cute I was.
I quickly withdrew my hand, even though I kind of liked another guy thinking nice thoughts about me after watching Michael get so much attention from other girls. But honestly, I didn’t need any more information, because I had the answer to my question. Yes, Rafe seemed like an average teenage guy.
Rafe looked at me and smiled. “And you are Ellie—?”
“Ellie Faneuil. I’m Ellie Faneuil.”
“Nice to meet you, Ellie Faneuil. Looks like we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other.”
Chapter Twelve
The committee had meetings planned for the next two nights. The worldwide need was desperate and urgent, so Amanda proposed that we organize a county-wide party for high-school students in two weeks time. For the first time in days, I felt useful and busy. It quelled the misgivings about my role that lurked beneath my exterior.
On Tuesday and Wednesday nights, the twenty subcommittee members—me, Rafe, two senior girls from Tillinghast I didn’t know except by sight, fifteen kids from neighboring high schools, and the prissy, rigid Amanda—spent hours figuring out how to coordinate an enormous event on such short notice. Even though I was certainly not a partygoer, I relished mapping out the tasks, creating a timeline, and making lists of potential donors for drinks, food, decorations, and even music for the party. I liked rolling up my sleeves and doing something instead of sitting around my house. All the work took my focus off the end days.
As did watching Rafe and Amanda spar.
“You think that it matters to the earthquake victims if the invitations are printed in blue ink or green?” Rafe was exasperated with Amanda’s long monologue on the party invitations’ lettering. He didn’t have to say it out loud. He clearly thought that Amanda was using the earthquakes as an excuse to host a big party.
“Of course it matters, Rafe. We want as many people to attend the party as possible, don’t we?”
“And you truly think the deciding factor will be the invitation ink color? That kids won’t come out to help alleviate an enormous tragedy unless they find the invitations aesthetically pleasing?”
“You never know what will sway people’s decisions, Rafe,” Amanda said primly, as she held up yet another invitation mock-up for the subcommittee to vote upon.
I stifled a laugh as Rafe rolled his eyes in utter frustration at Amanda’s perspective. No matter how misguided and myopic they were, she was tenacious in her beliefs. As was he.
“Amanda, we shouldn’t be spending our time worrying about invitations or music or decorations. Whatever we end up with will be good enough for the people who come, the ones who genuinely care. Instead, we should be focusing on educating kids about the disaster. So they’ll want to help.”
While the rest of us listened—even Amanda—Rafe explained that the party was a prime opportunity to reveal what the news reports didn’t. He argued that the media was understating the damages. With compassion and persuasion, he spouted off specific data about the number of people killed and injured in each earthquake region and the economic and agricultural harm suffered in those sectors. Data that made the earthquakes seem so much more real, and more deadly, than I’d ever imagined. I knew I needed to hear the information he had at his fingertips, but I didn’t like it one bit.
No one spoke after Rafe finished. His message inspired that kind of quiet reverence, as did his delivery. His coarse, challenging exterior masked a thoughtful, surprisingly tender interior. I liked the combination. Especially compared to Michael’s current football focus.
Slowly and deliberately, Amanda stood up. Placing her hands on her hips, she said, “Thank you for your lecture, Rafe. If what you say is true, it is important information indeed. However, this is the party planning subcommittee. Perhaps your interests would be better suited to another subcommittee. You are welcome to take your talents elsewhere.”
Amanda had finally silenced Rafe. I had been wondering the same thing myself. Why had he picked this subcommittee out of all the choices available?
The entire group held their breaths as Rafe made his decision. He glanced over at me for a split second and then said, “I’ll stick with this one.”
Amanda beamed in victory. “Good, glad to have you. However, given your views, I think I’ll take you off the decorations assignment, Rafe. The kids wouldn’t want to see some gruesome news photos plastered on the walls that you might deem suitable or educational, while they’re at a party. I think I’ll put you on the food donations assignment with”—she paused to look at her list—“Ellie Faneuil.”
I didn’t know how to feel about Rafe’s new assignment.
The meeting broke up a few minutes later. As I gathered my bag to leave, Rafe came over to my side.
“I guess we’ll be working together on food and drink donations for the party,” he muttered, a bit sheepishly.
“Amanda made that pretty clear.” I smiled as we left the meeting room and entered the darkened hallway. “She sure let you have it tonight. Although, for whatever it’s worth, I agree with you.”
Instead of responding, he held open the doors leading to the parking lot and asked, “What’s your game plan for getting donations?”
“I thought we’d start out by callin
g the restaurants and markets tomorrow night. That way, we could narrow down the ones that might actually commit to a donation.”
“What if we went door-to-door instead? We might have more luck if we pleaded our case in person?”
“That could take hours, Rafe, if not a couple of evenings.”
“I’d rather spend the time than come up empty-handed.” He smirked and mock swaggered. “Plus, I can be pretty persuasive when I try.”
I smirked back. I couldn’t resist saying, “Like tonight with Amanda?”
If it wasn’t so dark, I felt certain that I would’ve seen the rugged Rafe blush. He ignored my comment and continued talking about our approach. Tomorrow during the day we’d be too busy with school to make a decision, he maintained, and we needed to hit the ground running tomorrow night.
As we strolled through the chilly parking lot toward my car, I had to laugh at the persistence—and earnestness—of Rafe’s arguments. I was on the verge of agreeing to meet him in downtown Tillinghast the next night, when we came across a guy I didn’t know but who seemed familiar from the larger committee meeting, sitting on the ground next to his beat-up, brown Honda. He was trying to fix a flat tire.
The night was cold and dark, and most kids would have walked right past the guy, especially if they didn’t know him. At best, they might have stopped and asked if he needed help, praying that the guy declined the offer, of course. Not Rafe.
Without a single word, without a single question to the guy, Rafe handed me his backpack, took off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. He knelt next to the kid and asked, “What can I do?”
I watched as the two guys wordlessly replaced the punctured tire with a spare. Rafe looked even broader and stronger with his shirtsleeves rolled up; and as he worked, I couldn’t help but notice how muscular his forearms were and how expertly he held a wrench. When they finished the job, I stared as they shook hands and said good-bye as if they’d known each other for years.
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