The Revolution of Ivy

by Amy Engel

  “You didn’t believe me,” I whisper finally.

  “I didn’t believe you,” he confirms with the slightest lift of his lips. “Or at least, I didn’t believe you for long.”

  Of course he didn’t. I don’t know why I’m surprised. He always could read me like a book.

  “It was my father’s idea,” I tell him. I want to hide my face again, don’t want to say these words with his eyes on me, but force myself not to be a coward. And part of being brave is admitting my own culpability. It would be so easy to let Callie and my father take all the blame. But I was a willing participant, for far longer than I should have been. “But I went along with it. The whole time we were married, even before that. It was always the plan.” I notice my hand has curled into a fist in his shirt, and I make my fingers relax. “But I couldn’t do it. Not to you.”

  “I know,” he says, and I marvel all over again at the faith he’s always had in me. The sheer belief that somehow hurts worse than doubt. His hand leaves my hair and settles against my neck, his thumb fanning across my cheek. I lean into his touch without thinking about it, heat exploding low in my belly. “Your hair is lighter,” he says softly. His hand moves, his thumb skating over my bottom lip. “You have more freckles.”

  The air between us is suddenly so thick I cannot breathe, my chest aching with pressure. “It’s the sun,” I say on a strangled exhale.

  He nods. Pulls me forward with gentle pressure until my forehead rests against his. I close my eyes against the burning sting of tears. His breath feathers across my cheek, heating the skin like a flame.

  “Did they put you out?” I whisper against his mouth. I can’t imagine why they would, but I don’t know why else he’d be here.

  “No. I came to find you.”

  I shake my head a little, negating his words. It makes no sense to me that he would take this risk, when my own father and sister, my blood, would not. “How did you even know where to look?”

  “I’m the president’s son, remember? I’d heard rumors about a group near the river, southeast of Westfall. I figured it was as good a place to start as any.”

  “Why?” I draw back. “Why would you do that?”

  “Remember what I told you once?” He pauses. His fingers graze the sensitive skin of my waist underneath my shirt. “About not giving up on you?”

  His voice is gentle, but the words hit me like a punch right between the eyes, like a bullet tearing through all my most vulnerable organs, leaving me gasping and undone. After everything I’ve done to him, he can’t possibly be the same Bishop who once loved me, who held my hand and became my best friend. I know I am not the same Ivy. I feel like one of the rabbits I’ve learned to gut, my insides ripped out, everything I’ve locked away, tried so hard to forget, in danger of gushing out of me. I’m gripped with a terror not so different from what I felt on the riverbank with Mark, raw and primitive, as if my very survival is at stake.

  I jerk out of his grasp, scramble backward off the cot, away from him. My knee connects with his side, and he jackknifes forward.

  “I’m sorry,” I pant. “I’m sorry. Is it your ribs? I can get you some more medicine.”

  “Ivy—”

  I grab my shoes and practically fall out of the tent. I stand in the gentle morning sunlight, struggling for breath, muscles clenched, air hitching out of my lungs. I don’t understand how the pain of losing him can be a pale shadow in comparison to the pain of finding him again.

  Chapter Nine

  I stop by Carol’s tent for some more medicine for Bishop and take the time to gather some breakfast for him as well. When I get back to my tent, Caleb and Ash are waiting outside for me.

  “How’s he doing?” Caleb asks me.

  I hold open the tent flap. “See for yourself.”

  I follow Caleb and Ash inside, then move around them to hand Bishop the hunk of bread and canteen of water. I put the packet of medicine on the edge of the cot. “Take this after you eat. It will help with the pain.”

  “Thanks,” Bishop says. I know he wants me to look at him, but I avoid his eyes, train my gaze on anything but his face.

  “This is Caleb,” I say, pointing. “And Ash.”

  “Your ribs must not be broken, if you’re sitting up,” Caleb says. He doesn’t offer his hand to Bishop.

  “Probably just bruised,” Bishop agrees. His hand stays at his side, too.

  Caleb nods. “Sorry about last night. Couldn’t be helped.” He points to his swollen, purple-ringed eye. “If it makes you feel any better, you gave almost as good as you got.”

  Ash is perched on the edge of her cot, and I sit down next to her. Caleb squats down on the ground between the cots. I don’t know how he can sit like that for minutes on end, but it never seems to bother him.

  “So, you’re Ivy’s husband,” Caleb says after a pause that’s gone on too long, everyone waiting for someone else to start the conversation.

  “No,” Bishop says. I watch his fingers tear into the bread. He is still wearing his wedding ring. “Not anymore.”

  Now my gaze does fly to his. “What do you mean?”

  “They dissolved the marriage. After you were put out.”

  So I’m not Ivy Lattimer anymore. I don’t know why that fact leaves me with a pang of regret. Maybe because it means I don’t belong to anyone anymore, neither the Westfalls nor the Lattimers willing to claim me as their own.

  “Ivy told you everything, I’m guessing?” Bishop continues.

  “Not at first,” Caleb says. “Only after you got here.”

  Bishop huffs out a small laugh. “Well, telling the truth isn’t Ivy’s strong suit.” And there it is, the anger I’ve been waiting for. Just a hint of it, but there all the same. I wonder when it will come roaring out of him, if I’ll be ready for it when it does.

  “But you still came looking for her,” Ash says, not quite a question.

  “Yes.”

  Caleb is twirling a small stick around and around his fingers. “Took you long enough.”

  Bishop swings his gaze away from me, thoughtful eyes taking Caleb’s measure. “They kept a close watch on me. I couldn’t get away. I think my mother suspected I’d go after Ivy as soon as I could.” I can only imagine how that must have eaten at Erin, knowing her only son would side with me over his family. Just one more Lattimer man who chose another woman over her.

  “And now what?” Caleb asks. “You want to stay here?”

  “That’s up to Ivy,” Bishop says.

  Caleb turns his head toward me. “Is that what you want?”

  I swallow. Just because I’m not sure how to live with Bishop anymore, doesn’t mean I want to live without him. Maybe I am as selfish as Callie once accused me of being. “Yes,” I say, barely a whisper. Even from across the tent, I can feel some of the tension drain out of Bishop.

  “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” Caleb says. “A lot of our people are out here because of your father.”

  “I’m not my father,” Bishop says.

  Caleb stares at him. “Some may not see the distinction.”

  Bishop gives a slight nod, then asks, with a raise of his eyebrows, “The same way I might lump Mark Laird and you together?”

  “Fair point,” Caleb says after a second’s hesitation. I think I catch a glimpse of respect in his eyes when he looks at Bishop. “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll talk to everyone, urge them to give you a chance.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for,” Bishop says.

  Caleb nods, glances from Bishop to me. “We’ve put it off long enough. I need to know the story on Mark.”

  “Bishop can tell it,” I say. I find I don’t want any more words about Mark on my tongue, as if even speaking of him is infecting me somehow.

  Bishop is matter-of-fact in his recitation, beginning with my work in the jail and the crime that caused Mark to be put out, up through the girl he killed on the other side of the fence. When he’s done, Caleb looks at Ash with sorry
eyes, and I know he’s beating himself up for letting someone like Mark near her. He turns those regret-filled eyes to me.

  “He’s the one who hurt you, isn’t he?”

  Bishop shifts on the cot across from me, but I don’t take my eyes off Caleb. “Yes.”

  “What did he do to you?” Bishop asks. His voice is steady, but raw, like he’s fighting hard to keep it that way.

  I glance at him and then at the ground. “It was my second day out. He found me. He attacked me…”

  “Bashed her face in pretty good. Dislocated her shoulder,” Ash says. No one speaks, everyone unwilling to voice the question they must all be thinking.

  “Did he rape you?” Bishop asks finally.

  “No,” I say, looking up into his drawn face. “He would have. But I hit him in the head with a rock until he was unconscious.”

  “Should have hit him harder,” Caleb mutters.

  “Should have killed him,” Bishop says and the two of them share grim smiles.

  “I knew you would say that,” I tell Bishop, with a tiny smile of my own. “I wanted to. I knew I should. But I just…couldn’t.”

  “Still,” Bishop says, “sounds like you kicked his ass.”

  “From here to next Tuesday,” I say, my smile widening. His eyes lose some of their graveness, warming as we stare at each other, remembering another day in another place. From the corner of my eye I can see Ash glancing between us, and I turn my attention back to her, even as heat spreads along my neck and races into my cheeks.

  “So what now?” Ash asks. “What should we do about Mark?”

  “Nothing to do,” Caleb says with a sigh. “He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, gone?” I ask.

  “Went by his tent this morning and it’s cleaned out.” Caleb shrugs. “He must have figured you were going to tell us the truth and he made a run for it.”

  “Good riddance,” Ash says.

  “Yeah, for now,” Bishop says.

  Caleb catches his eye again. It’s like the two of them are already working out some kind of unspoken guy language. “Exactly. I doubt he’s gone for good. He doesn’t seem like the type who can survive the winter out here alone.”

  “Then we’ll have to keep an eye out for him,” Ash says.

  Caleb stands with a grunt, points at Bishop. “For now, you need to rest. Get healed up. We’re moving camp soon.” Caleb pauses. “Let me ask you something. Were things all right in Westfall when you left?”

  Bishop’s eyebrows go up. “Why do you ask?”

  “No real reason,” Caleb says. “I’ve just noticed signs in the woods, tracks, more people coming this way. Trying to figure out why and where they’re from.”

  “Everything was fine when I left.” Bishop pauses. “Well, maybe not fine. People were a little more on edge than usual, ever since Ivy was put out, but no real unrest.” Bishop’s eyes find mine. Worry, tempered with the knowledge that whatever happens in Westfall is beyond our control, flows between us.

  “Okay,” Caleb says, pushing open the tent flap. “Just thought I’d check.”

  Ash scoots around me. “I can handle the washing today, Ivy,” she says, voice clipped. “There are plenty of other people to help.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll come,” I tell her.

  After Caleb and Ash are gone, I busy myself tying my hair up in a ponytail, my back to Bishop.

  “Are you ever going to talk to me?”

  I turn. “We’re talking. We’ve been talking.”

  Bishop sighs. “What about looking at me? Can you bring yourself to do that, at least?”

  The truth is, I barely can. I glance at him, but keep my gaze unfocused, my heart beating triple time in my chest. “What?” I ask, wishing he would stop staring at me.

  He doesn’t answer, just continues to watch me. My blood buzzes; my whole body tingles. I want to peel out of my own skin to escape. “I didn’t need you to come save me,” I tell him. I don’t even know what I’m saying, or why I’m saying it, words hurling out of my mouth like weapons. “I was doing fine on my own.” Which is so far from the truth. Apparently lying still comes as easily to me as breathing.

  His head jerks back just a little. “I know that,” he says. “I’m not here to save you. That’s not why I came.”

  “Then why are you here? What do you want from me?” And oh, I’m being so unfair. Maybe I hope I’ll push him to anger, if only so I don’t have to face some even more dangerous emotion.

  “What do I want from you?” Bishop asks, like I’ve lost my mind.

  “Yes. What do you want?” I realize this is a question I’ve needed an answer to from the time we met. The suspicious part of me, birthed and nurtured by my father, still can’t truly believe Bishop doesn’t have some type of ulterior motive, even after all the times he’s proved otherwise. Nobody ever wants me solely for me.

  Bishop’s jaw tightens, but he only sounds incredibly tired when he says, “I just want to be with you. Walk next to you, Ivy, wherever you’re headed. That’s all.”

  My stomach drops. My heart twists into a tiny ball. “I have to go. Ash is waiting.” I leave him there, alone in the tent, running as far and fast as my fear can take me.

  Ash and I don’t talk much as we work, other than the basics: Can you pass the soap? I’ll rinse that one. We’re almost done. When we’ve finished hanging the last of the clothes, I sink down on the riverbank, cross my arms over my upturned knees, and rest my chin on my forearms. At some point, the sound and smell of the river have become soothing to me. I understand now why Bishop spent so much time here. Bishop. Who, by now, probably wishes he’d never bothered coming after me. Just more time wasted on a girl who will never deserve him.

  Ash lowers herself next to me. “So,” she says, “that’s Bishop.”

  “That’s Bishop.” I turn my head so I can see her, my cheek resting on my folded arms. “Do you hate him?”

  Ash’s eyes open wide, like I’ve slapped her. “Why would I?”

  “Because he’s a Lattimer. And his family put your mother out.”

  “He wasn’t even born then, Ivy,” Ash says. “And you obviously care about him, so he must be a good guy.”

  A sobbing little laugh escapes me. “Mark said no one here would forgive me for caring about a Lattimer.”

  Ash rolls her eyes. “And you believed him?”

  “I was scared not to.”

  Ash doesn’t have a response for that, and we both sit quietly for a few minutes, watching the river roll by. “Bishop must love you a lot,” Ash says finally. “Coming out here to find you.”

  “Yes.” It takes me a second to continue. “I think he did.”

  Ash shakes her head. “Not did, Ivy. Does.”

  “I don’t know why he would,” I say, voice quiet. “I’ve hurt him. Over and over again.”

  Ash’s face softens, her eyes warm. “That’s what love is, though, isn’t it? You don’t stop loving someone just because they disappoint you.”

  I’ve always thought of myself as older than Ash, though her years probably outnumber mine. With her quick smile and easy laugh, her steadfast belief in the good left in this world, she’s always seemed more innocent and hopeful than I’ll ever be again, even after that day in the woods with those dead men at our feet. But now for the first time I feel like the younger one, tongue-tied in the face of her superior knowledge.

  “I don’t know,” I say finally. “I don’t know if I understand what it means to love someone. Not really.”

  Ash gives me a tender smile, so different from her usual broad grins. “Caleb told me about what happened to you in Westfall. About your family.”

  “They weren’t the best teachers.” Probably the biggest understatement of my life.

  “No.” Ash tucks an errant strand of hair back behind my ear. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t still learn. It’s not an excuse for not trying.”

  The sun is out, but it has the weak, watery quality of autumn, clear a
nd bright in the sky, but not carrying much warmth by the time it hits your skin. I sit up straight and pull the sleeves of my sweater down, tuck my river-pruned fingers inside.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “that I wasn’t honest with you from the beginning.”

  “I forgive you. I know you must’ve been afraid. But no more secrets, okay?” She lays her hand over my forearm and squeezes.

  “I’ll try,” I say. “It’s something else I have to learn. How to trust people. How to stop lying to them.” I wonder if it’s even possible for me; maybe deceit is something I carry in my blood, passed down from my father without my consent.

  “It’s probably none of my business, but you seem mad at him,” Ash says after we’ve watched the water flow for a while.

  I shake my head, and Ash makes a clucking noise with her tongue. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. But you just promised not to lie anymore.”

  I sigh. She’s right. I’m so, so angry. When I close my eyes and breathe, it flows through me like acid, making my stomach boil and my fingers ache to clench, rip into something too hard and leave damage behind. “I’m angry,” I admit, voice low. “Not with Bishop, not really, but…”

  “But he’s here? And they’re not?” There’s no judgment in Ash’s voice, none in her eyes when they meet mine. “I get it,” she says. “When my dad died, I was furious. At the whole world, I guess. I mean, I’d never had a mom, and then I lost my dad, too? The only person I had left?” She breathes out a tiny, bitter laugh. “I took it out on Caleb. For longer than I should have.”

  “He probably didn’t mind,” I say, thinking of the way Caleb protects her, worries over her like a mother hen.

  “Oh, he minded,” Ash says, with a roll of her eyes. “He’s not the most patient guy in the world. He got sick of it pretty quick. But I worked it out eventually.” She smiles at me. “You will, too.”

  But it’s not just anger that’s keeping me away from Bishop. There’s the snapping, snarling fear that’s even stronger. A fear I don’t understand or really want to examine, not sure what it will tell me about myself. About us.

  Ash stands up. “You heading back?”