The Alliance

by Jolina Petersheim

  I don’t know who would have the gall to steal canned goods and flour, desiring to survive while the rest of the community starves. Everyone I know seems to have too much pride to reduce themselves to that. Or if not pride, then too much morality. Although we’ve all pretty much concluded that electricity and the normal life it provided—even for the Mennonites, who lived mostly without it—are not returning anytime soon, there is still this unspoken hope that, at some point, the current will suddenly flow again and the lights in the town of Liberty will shine.

  But the longer it goes since the EMP, the more I can see panic eating away at the community, swallowing all their determination and hope. I suppose I can’t judge someone for attempting to preserve their own hide when watching that mass of people coming down the highway from miles off made me want to do everything I could to preserve my own.

  I leave Field to Table and walk over to the perimeter that appears as fortified as those boarded-up glass doors. Sean and Old Man Henri are the only ones on duty, and for a second I wonder if I should bother telling them what Leora and I saw. All of us are sick and tired of rumors, which are in overabundance as if to make up for our storehouse’s lack. But these aren’t just rumors.

  So I recount my morning to Old Man Henri and Sean. No surprise that Henri narrows his eyes at me, grizzled mouth puckering as if sucking on a lemon drop. I can’t tell if he’s trying to absorb all the information I’m giving or trying to convey that he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.

  “But you couldn’t tell if they was friend or foe?” he asks, once I’m done. I shake my head. “How you know, then,” he continues, “they wasn’t another group of families trying to find someplace safer than where they left?”

  I shrug. “Could be. That’s just not the feeling I got when I saw them.”

  Sean leans back against the scaffolding and crosses his arms. “I’m with Henri on this one, Moses. We can’t make decisions based on what some drugged-up homeless person says.”

  “So you want to just sit here and take the chance he’s wrong?”

  Sean shakes his head. Old Man Henri sighs. We’re at a standstill, and nothing I say is going to budge them in my direction. Not sure who else to talk to, I walk up the lane to the Snyders’ house. The door’s locked—the first time it’s been locked since I came. At first, there’s no response. Then the youngest Snyder girl, Priscilla, opens it and peers up at me.

  “Your bruder Jabil home?” I ask, using one of the only Pennsylvania Dutch nouns I’ve picked up, since Priscilla, age five, hasn’t completely grasped the English language. She nods, chaff-colored braids brushing her heart-shaped face.

  “May I speak with him, please?” Priscilla must understand more than I think, and be feistier than she appears, because she tears off into the house, yelling for her eldest brother.

  Jabil comes to the door so fast, I get the feeling he locked me out on purpose and has been waiting for my return. Hands fisted at his sides, he leans against the frame, glowering with the same expression my father used to give whenever I would come home after curfew my senior year of high school, reeking of anger and Brut cologne.

  “Seth Ebersole came over around two this morning,” he says. “Seems Anna woke up and saw Leora was missing. The funny thing is, you were missing as well. I told Seth not to worry, that you two were probably out for some—” he throws one hand in the air, a bitter sneer on his face—“stroll.”

  I say nothing, hoping he’ll move on to another subject. But it soon becomes clear he has no intention of moving on until he’s understood what I’ve been up to with the girl he thinks belongs to him, even if he’s got no right—that I can see—to claim her as his.

  My silence must tick him off because he steps out on the porch while leaving the door ajar. He emphasizes our height difference by leering down at me. I know from personal experience that the only reason he’s posturing is because he feels threatened, so I don’t do or say anything—just stand here, slouched, and place knuckles against the side of my jaw to pop my neck. Really, I do everything but yawn.

  My casual behavior drives him over the edge, which was my intention. “You need to get something straight,” he says, all but poking a finger in my chest. “You’re not good for Leora. You’ll never be good for Leora. She simply likes you because you are the antithesis of me.”

  I almost ask him what antithesis means, to act like I’m some dumb Devil Dog, chock-full of hormones, with no conscience or heart. But though I want to keep toying with Jabil, we’ve got no time to lose. So I straighten up and look him in the eye. I tell him that Leora’s father is alive and, though not well, was the homeless man I spoke with. The one who warned me about the gang.

  “Who this gang is,” I finish, “or what they’ve been up to, I can’t say, but what I can say is this: we’d better figure out what we’re going to do about it.”

  “That’s easy. We’ll find protection in the shadow of his wings.”

  “I’d rather find protection in the shadow of my semiautomatic.”

  Jabil barks, “Don’t be sacrilegious!”

  “And don’t be ignorant! God gave us minds for a good reason!”

  “He also gave us hearts to trust.”

  Riled, I look away from him, at the warped cookie tray of butternut squash seeds drying in the sun. At the rusted chains holding up the front-porch swing. At the gutter hanging slightly off the roofline, more than likely pulled down under the weight of last winter’s snow. All the while, I’m envisioning the community’s nightmarish screams as they run down the highway, clutching their children and leaving all material possessions behind. And Jabil wants me to do nothing to prepare for the gang? To not put my body in action, but to use my heart to trust?

  “You really believe, don’t you?” I ask.

  He nods. “Like I believe I can see you standing before me.”

  “I respect you for that; I do. I wish I had more of whatever you got. But it’s not going to be good if this gang gets here, Jabil. We’re not talking about some washed-up gang leader like that one we met in town. We’re talking about ex-cons and drug addicts, made desperate without their fix. We’re talking the lowest of the low. These aren’t the kind that just steal; they’re the kind that murder and rape and pillage, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.”

  He says, “But you know none of that for fact.”

  “True, but there was real fear in Luke’s eyes when he told me about what’s coming. I know his word probably doesn’t hold much weight with you, but I believe him. That group of people heading our way is up to no good, and we’d better stay and fight or go now and leave everything behind. As far as I can see, there are no other options.”

  Jabil shakes his head, but the majority of his rancor is gone. “Are you going to take this to the elders again? Try to take over yet another meeting?”

  “I think it’s better to be prepared if we have that option, don’t you?”

  “Fine.” He steps to the left and jerks his chin toward the house.

  As I walk through the front door, I can see the three deacons and bishop gathered around the two tables in the dim kitchen, where I suppose they’ve been conducting a meeting in secret. The platters, which I remember being heaped with breakfast a week ago, now hold meager portions of potatoes, toast, and eggs. Even the community’s leadership is cutting back, which once again reassures me that they’re not expecting their people to do anything they’re not willing to do themselves.

  I enter the kitchen, and the men look up. “Hello, Moses,” Bishop Lowell says.

  “Good morning.”

  A whole bench is empty, but I don’t sit down. I lean against the wall with my fists in my pockets. My jeans haven’t fully dried from our early morning swim. Behind me, Jabil says, “Moses has something he’d like to say.” He may be trying to fight it, but I can hear the contempt in his voice. So I don’t really feel like opening my mouth. Let their ignorance get them killed for all I care. But then I remember Leora’
s face as she stared through the scope at that indistinguishable mass of people, and for her alone I start telling them what I saw this morning and what her father told me last night. However, I leave Leora out of it because I don’t want her getting into trouble for taking me to the fire tower unchaperoned.

  The bishop and the deacons look at me for a long time after I finish; then they look at each other—communicating through ESP, apparently. Enough time has passed during my speech that steam no longer rises from the platters of food. Then Bishop Lowell folds his square hands and places them beside his mug, like a gavel coming to rest.

  “Obviously, I can’t ask the people of Mt. Hebron to fight,” he says, “but I also can’t ask them to leave everything without having seen some evidence for myself that danger is coming.”

  A toxic mix of frustration and anger surges in my chest. I stride across the kitchen. Placing my palms flat on the table, I lean down and look directly at Bishop Lowell. “Would you even have left Egypt when Moses said it was time?”

  “For crying out loud!” Jabil says. “You’re not that Moses!”

  I continue staring at Bishop Lowell. “Am I not?”

  The front door opens. Jabil turns toward it, as do I. Leora’s standing there, cutting a stark shadow in the sunlit cavity. She comes forward and walks past Jabil. Her hair is as it was before Glacier Falls, slicked back and shackled beneath its prayer covering, like the freedom she experienced in the water didn’t happen at all. She looks over at me—her face colorless—before addressing the deacons and the bishop.

  “I was there, on the fire tower, with Moses.” Her voice remains clear and strong. “I saw it too: the people coming. Everything is just as he says.”

  Not one of them responds, but their shock is palpable, even to me. Finally Bishop Lowell looks at Leora, paternal reprimand deepening the parallel lines between his brows. “You purposely flouted the rule about being out with a member of the opposite sex after dark?”

  “It was actually two in the morning when we met,” I say, trying to defend her, but the look Jabil gives me confirms that I sound like a jerk. “I’m sorry, what I mean is that I’m the one who asked if she would take me to the fire tower. I’m the one. She would’ve never offered on her own. If you’re going to punish someone, punish me.”

  “Yes, well—” Bishop Lowell unfolds his hands and puts on a pair of half-glasses that are hooked on the front of his shirt. “I think we have more important matters to discuss than curfews.” He addresses the deacons. “It would probably be wise to have everyone leave the community for a few days until we know more—”

  “We’re not talking about a few days,” I interrupt. “This might be the end of Mt. Hebron Community as we know it.”

  Bishop Lowell sighs, his patience wearing thin. “Yes, you know that and I know that, but there’d be a lot less panic on our hands if we let them think this is only a precautionary measure.”

  “But don’t the people deserve to know the truth, rather than having you all hiding behind doors, discussing their lives?”

  Behind me, Jabil growls, “Address my uncle with respect, Moses, or leave.”

  I flip up my hands. “Okay. I’m not trying to be smart. I’m just trying to understand how a community that—until three weeks ago—worked somewhat like a democracy, has suddenly become this oligarchy, where the decisions for the majority are made by the elite few.”

  Bishop Lowell takes off his glasses, angling his compact body to face me. “What’s happened here, Moses, is that we don’t believe everyone who’s now part of the community is working for the good of the community. We cannot give out critical information to those we can no longer trust.”

  “This is true, Bishop Lowell,” Leora says. “When Moses and I were in the woods on our way back, we found a cellar concealing rations that were taken from our supplies. They have probably been stealing since day one.”

  Bishop Lowell shakes his head. “So it is as we feared.”

  “You knew about this?” I ask him.

  “No. Least not entirely,” he says. “Jabil’s the one who called this meeting. He was the first to notice that supplies were dwindling at a faster rate than we’d anticipated, given we were so closely monitoring our rations. He needs our help understanding how we can uncover who is doing it without making the entire community feel like they’re being placed under suspicion.”

  I say, “I don’t think we should even let the community know we’re aware someone’s stealing rations. It’d be best if we continue like normal and let the thief set himself up for a fall.”

  “And once he’s discovered?” Jabil asks. “What then? Put him in stocks?”

  “He’ll have to be cast out,” Bishop Lowell answers. “We can’t build a community on a foundation of lies and distrust.”

  Leora asks, “So what do we do? How do we help everyone prepare?”

  Bishop Lowell rises from the chair and stands before it, revealing afresh his diminutive height. “What can we do?” he says, as if speaking to himself. He looks up at the three of us—Leora, Jabil, and me—the lines on his forehead dissecting those etched between his brows. “We must stay calm. We must carry on with life the same as before. To leave our homes and the protection of the compound is not an easy decision to make, and on one hand, it seems like the foolish thing to do.” He pauses, allowing the room to fall quiet before meeting my eyes. “But if this mob is as you say it is, Moses, then I would rather my community face the uncertainty of the forest than the near certainty of death. I only wish to stave off as much violence and bloodshed as possible. If that means leaving, then we shall leave. The Lord knows all things, and it is to him we must look for our refuge in times like these. No amount of hoarding or fighting will be able to save us. We must trust our God, and if we perish—” the bishop looks up and his blue eyes are brilliant with resignation—“then we perish.”

  Leora

  I don’t say anything as Moses and I walk in tandem down the path leading to the lane. He has no reason that I can see for leaving the Snyders’ house. The idea that he might’ve left simply because he enjoys my presence is frightening and exhilarating at the same time. So I try concentrating on the mountains in an attempt to divert my thoughts.

  Yet, looking at them in the distance—each spike and dip defined with snow—I find my mind refusing to be diverted from the memory of Moses holding me on the fire tower as we looked down on the highway. The memory of my behavior makes me uncomfortable, but not ashamed. He held me until my fortifications crumbled . . . until I felt my heart opening up and my body turning toward his. I don’t believe he comprehends the magnitude of that scene, as we looked down on our post-EMP world. Or if he does comprehend it, he is at a loss for how to interpret his thoughts and emotions, the same as I.

  Only once the silence becomes strained do I realize that Moses—he of the glib tongue—must feel uncomfortable as well.

  He bumps into my shoulder with his. “Nice the bishop’s so preoccupied with the invasion, we get off the hook for breaking curfew.”

  His nonchalance gives me a healthy dose of reality. “That’s probably the truth . . . for you,” I tell him. “For me, on the other hand? Bishop Lowell and the deacons will never look at me the same way again. They’ll always just think I’m some rebellious girl who doesn’t mind flouting the rules.”

  “Is that really so bad,” he says, “when the rules are so outdated to begin with?”

  “Yes, it actually is bad. I need them to trust that I have a good head on my shoulders, or else they’ll never listen to a word I say.”

  “Trust me.” He grins. “When you speak, they have no choice but to listen.”

  My face grows warm. “I have to be serious here, Moses. So many things are hanging in the balance.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like if that was really my vadder you spoke with at the center, how can he come back here, to the community, when they don’t want to let anyone in they cannot trust?”

  �
��But your father’s not just some random guy off the street.”

  “No. But he’s also a drug addict.”

  Moses drags a hand over his beard. “So you know about the drugs.”

  “I know they’re what drove him from our family. Or, I guess, they didn’t drive him as much as he drove himself away from us.”

  We pass the pavilion. Moses looks at the lane as he says, “Melinda came in contact with him, Leora. At the center. She tried paying her way out of Liberty with prescription drugs.”

  “And he took them?”

  Moses nods.

  My mouth tastes bitter. I swallow in disgust. “He must be more addicted than I thought.”

  “I think he’s pretty bad.”

  “Where is Melinda now?”

  We are standing in front of my house. The sun beats down hard on my kapp, but beyond that, it’s almost impossible to feel its warmth.

  “Luke doesn’t know,” Moses says. “I guess she showed up at the center and told him she was willing to do anything to get home. Apparently, after she gave him the pills, he turned her over to someone who could ‘help’ her, but I’m afraid what that ‘friend’ might want from her in return.”

  I wipe tears, angry and sick.

  Moses sighs. “I wasn’t sure I was going to tell you. Jabil even told me not to. But I thought you should know, since we’re going to be leaving soon.”

  I nod, though I am not sure he has made the right choice, since I cannot handle another stressor in addition to the ones I already have. I watch Anna come out of the greenhouse with a calico kitten draped in surrender over her arms, a stand-in for her favorite orange tom that recently disappeared. My stomach somersaults with anxiety. My sister’s been outside, by herself, the entire time I’ve been over at the Snyders’. I don’t know how to keep her safe without telling Grossmammi and Seth about the attack so they will guard her as they should. I don’t know how to ensure Anna’s future while trying to navigate the direction of my own. Therefore I must do what I have always done. Or at least what I have done in the past two years since our vadder left. I must put duty before desire and put Anna’s needs before my own.