And that isn’t even the weirdest part. There are three towers next to the round building, each one taller than the last. The tallest one must be ten stories high! What are they for? No one could be living in them. They’re skinny with a wide platform on top, like someone has balanced birthday cakes on top of broomsticks.
Gilad sees my wide eyes. Chuckling, he says, “The New York State Pavilion. Nearly two hundred years old.”
Older than Time Zero!
He points to the roof. “We replaced all the stained glass up there. It looked like a big, sad bicycle wheel when I was a boy. Wait until you stand underneath it.” He beams at Silas and me. “See how the bottom of the building has red and white stripes all the way around? I think the architect wanted the whole thing to look like a merry-go-round, but that’s just my opinion.”
I nod, not sure what a merry-go-round is.
“Let’s get in there before it starts,” Bithia says.
Bithia and Gilad give hugs to Tabby, who leaves our group to join a couple of girls dressed the same as her. Other Promise girls I assume? We walk across the grass toward the pavilion, while Tabby’s group heads toward some trees.
The sun is setting and the sky has turned peach and rose. The smell of oak trees and damp grass fills the air. As we get closer to the pavilion, I hear music, and it’s so heartfelt and lovely that it sounds like every emotion I’ve ever had put to sound. I can’t imagine paying attention to anything else, but next I’m marveling that the twinkly lights that Tabby worked so hard on are magically reflected in the grass. However, Gilad explains that these are “fireflies.” Silas says he and Tabby chased after them as children.
Families arrive from all directions, and I’m sure every member of the Unbound is here. Up close, the red and white striped band at the base of the pavilion is twice as tall as any man. A double door has been opened to let in the crowd.
Once we’ve passed through, I feel as if I’ve entered a fairy paradise. The sunset causes the stained glass to sparkle in every shade of orange, pink, and yellow you’ve ever thought of. The white tissue flowers we made this morning wind around every pillar, while white balloons float up from long tables. Across from us, real white roses shroud an enormous doorway with a pointed arch, and above us, what must be thousands of lights are strung between pillars, a galaxy of stars close enough to touch.
Gilad and Bithia happily greet more friends. This is the happiest I’ve seen either of them. Many men clap Gilad on the back. Corny squirms under Bithia’s hand until she finally releases him. He runs into the crowd, seeking other boys his age.
“You look perfect,” Silas tells me.
I was fussing with my dress.
“All the other girls are jealous. That’s why they’re glaring at you.” I look around, and, sure enough, several girls are giving me nasty looks.
“They’re glaring because I’m a woolie.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Well then, let’s show them how razzamatazz you are.” Head up, he puts his hand on my back and leads me further into the crowd.
I’m having that off-balance feeling again. Is this the real Silas? Or is he being fake again? I’m so overwhelmed by the event and my surroundings that I think I have to trust him for the next few hours. I need an ally.
“Silas, why—”
I stop speaking as the lights dim and a hush falls over the crowd.
New music fills the room. Seeing musicians in the corner, I ask Silas, “What are those?”
“Violins,” he says.
I’m mesmerized by the movement of the musicians’ hands. I notice a man playing a huge harp, something I’ve only seen in illustrations of angels. He plucks and runs his hands over the strings, creating a dreamlike, tinkling sound that gives me chills. I’m so caught up in the music that I don’t notice that everyone else is looking at the entrance of the pavilion.
When I finally look away, I see a dozen girls in white dancing through the door. They’re twirling, leaping, tiptoeing their way inside. I spot Tabby. She’s a model of concentration, bending at the waist, swaying her head and shoulders along with the music. Her hair maintains its tower-like construction.
Eventually, the exquisite figures convene in a circle in the middle of the floor. They join hands, spinning around, their stiff white skirts floating as dreamily as snowflakes. The adults around me gasp in adoration.
The music gets louder, more furious. The violin players seem angry as they saw at their instruments. The girls shake their hands above their heads while the rhythm explodes. Finally, the girls collapse onto the floor, their heads bowed in subjugation. They look like dead swans, asking God for permission to enter Paradise.
The people around me burst into applause. Silas nudges me, so I clap, too.
One by one the girls peel themselves off the floor and flutter away through the enormous doorway covered with roses.
People around me mutter about which girls were the strongest dancers and which had the most beautiful smile.
Young men to my right elbow each other, giggling, like the young boys at my Offering. I’m sure they aren’t comparing the smiles of the girls. I become more self-conscious of how I look tonight, and then I feel angry. How can a group of boys with no power over one’s life still manage to make one feel so small? Maybe Nana could explain it to me.
A new song begins.
“May I have this dance?” Silas asks.
Panicking, I say, “I don’t dance.”
“I’m sure you’re not that bad,” he says, smiling with kindness.
Feeling as if everyone in the pavilion can hear me, I say, “It is––I mean, it was—forbidden. I don’t know how.”
Silas, embarrassed, says, “Of course. I’m sorry. Let’s get some food.”
He leads me to a buffet on the outskirts of the room. Like at my Offering, the table is piled high with food, but this table is twenty times the size of ours. There’s enough food here to feed my family for years.
Silas picks up tiny, intricate pastries that I don’t recognize and hands me one. I taste mushrooms and spices and maybe cheese? It’s incredible. As we nibble, we watch the couples dancing.
I spot Susanna dancing with a boy I suspect is her brother. They have the same short blond hair. Susanna glances over at Silas a few times, and I can imagine she would rather be dancing with him.
“Isn’t that your brother?” says Silas.
I search the room. “Where?”
“With the otter daughters.”
“Please stop calling them that,” I say.
“Over there.” He points to a group of families gathered in the corner and sure enough, Dekker is standing with Ginnie and Delilah Delford.
He’s wearing an orange suit. Orange. His hair is slicked back, and he’s grinning like someone told him he’s secretly heir to Uncle Ruho’s fortune. He talks animatedly to the sisters, his hands making grand gestures as if he were telling the greatest story ever told.
He looks so bizarre; I can’t stop staring. Eventually, he glances up and spots me. He makes a little wave, as if we see each other every day at Apostate parties.
What’s he up to?
When it becomes obvious he’s not coming over to speak with me, I cross the room. I tell Silas it’s best if he waits by the buffet table.
When I reach Dekker, he throws open his arms and embraces me the way he only embraces Mother. “Mina! How wonderful to see you!”
“Peace,” I say, smothered,
Ginnie giggles, seeming much more relaxed than when I met her with Tabby.
“You don’t need to say that here, goose,” says Dekker, releasing me. “I was just telling the girls how much more fun life is here, and how much they would hate life on the island. Isn’t that right?” He looks at the sisters, and they start giggling again.
“Yes,” says Delilah. “Dekker was just telling us about your Offering. It sounds just . . . medieval. I can’t imagine not being able to choose the man I marry.”
“N
o,” says Ginnie. “I need to be madly in love.” She looks up at Dekker, batting her lashes.
“May I speak to you in private?” I say, trying to keep a smile on my face.
“Why? The girls are my friends,” says Dekker, hugging them both around the waist as they giggle more.
“It’s personal family business,” I say, trying to indicate with my eyes how serious I am. “I just need a moment.”
“It doesn’t look good,” says Delilah.
“What?” says Dekker.
“Woolies talking to one another,” she says in a disapproving tone.
“We’ll see about that,” Dekker says, chest puffing up. Ever defiant, he now wants to talk to me. He releases the girls, puts a hand on my shoulder and leads me to the edge of another group of partiers.
“Dekker––” I begin.
“Isn’t this great?” he says. “These people . . . They really know how to live. Tons of food, they barely work, they practically throw their daughters at you––”
“Stop talking,” I say, realizing already how annoying this conversation will be.
He shakes his head. “Typical Mina. Miserable no matter what’s happening.”
I ignore my urge to fight with him. “Have you seen Juda?”
“That guy needs to lighten up, too.”
“Have you seen him?” I ask again.
“Nope.” He looks back toward Ginnie and Delilah and smiles.
“What are you doing?” I say with frustration.
“What do you think? Working on marriage prospects. Their dad is loaded. And just look around the room. There have to be plenty of rich girls here who are better looking than those two. As soon as I complete my Day of Valida—”
“Dekker! Can you pay attention to me for one second.”
“I am!”
“Juda is missing, Grace is transformed, and Rose is deathly ill. These people are not our friends.”
“Maybe they aren’t your friends, but they’re certainly mine. My hosts have been nothing but generous. Did you stop to ask yourself if maybe it’s you? Maybe if you acted a little more grateful and less suspicious all the time, you could see things for what they are––which is fantastic! All that Ram and anybody else wants is for us to thrive and be happy. They aren’t asking us to work or study or be perfect. They just want us to be happy. How amazing is that?”
He sounds like Grace.
“Then why are they keeping Juda locked up?”
“He has an attitude problem.”
“You can’t really believe that—”
“It’s been swell seeing you and everything, but I’d rather not be chastised for talking to a woolie, so I’m going to get back to the party.” He walks away without saying good-bye.
Talking to a woolie? I stifle the desire to yell, “Everyone here saw you fall on your butt and no one wanted to help you!”
Speaking with Dekker has made me feel worse than ever. Why won’t anyone help me? When I was little, I would have dreams that I was locked up in the Tunnel for a crime I didn’t commit. I would run around trying to explain to everyone that I was innocent, but no one would listen, as if I were speaking a foreign language. That’s how I feel right now. I’m telling people that an injustice is occurring, but they refuse to hear it or assist me.
Don’t ever desire or expect anyone to make things easier for you.
Nana said that to me. How many times will I have to learn it?
The music stops abruptly. A drum beat sounds, and the crowd moves to the edges of the pavilion. The sky has darkened to a smoky violet, making the lights inside seem to glow brighter. Wondering what’s happening, I walk back to Silas.
Before I can talk to him, two small boys, no older than six, come out of the flowered doorway. Wearing long white robes, they have wings attached to their backs like cherubs. Each of them carries a large sword, the weight threatening to pull them to the ground. They march forward in perfect unison, their tiny faces solemn. After about twenty steps, they hold perfectly still.
Two men step out of the crowd—Gilad and a man I don’t know. They march toward the cherubs (their synchronization not nearly as impressive as the boys), and when they reach them, they stop.
The little boys hold up the swords so the men can take them. As the cherubs skitter away into the crowd, the men brandish the swords. For a moment, I wonder if they’re about to fight, but they touch the tips of the swords together and raise them to form an upside down v.
The band plays a new tune—light and airy, like what birds would create if they could play instruments. It’s beautiful.
Out of the fancy door comes the group of girls who danced for us earlier, but now they are wearing long gowns. The colors of the dresses are remarkable: orange, yellow, purple, green, red. They sparkle like jewels.
I spot Tabby. She’s wearing a flowing emerald green dress that exposes her shoulders. The green is far from the sickening yellow green of the clothes in my closet. This is dark and lush, like spring leaves. She flashes a large smile, which exposes her perfect white teeth. Have I ever seen her smile without sarcasm or superiority? She looks stunning.
“Tabby looks beautiful,” I say to Silas.
“Yeah,” he says. “Tolerable, I guess.”
“Tolerable? You’re tough, Silas.”
He laughs. “She’s my sister. What do you want me to say?”
I laugh, too.
Tabby’s friend Deborah Tanner wears bright fuchsia, as she said she would. She looks proud and happy.
As the girls file out, they pass under the arch that Gilad and the man have created with their swords. Each of the girls is smiling but as they pass under the arch, their expressions become serious. They form a large circle in the middle of the pavilion. The serene music stops. Gilad and the man lower the swords.
I wait for something to happen but nothing does. We enter a silence so thick, I can hear the rustling of the girls’ dresses. I look to Silas for an explanation, but his head is down. I realize that everyone has a bowed head, so I tuck my chin as well. Silas murmurs words under his breath––a prayer I assume.
After a few seconds, I feel Silas look up, so I do, too.
Ram is standing in the middle of the circle of girls. How did he move so soundlessly? He wears white, as usual, but instead of his usual pajama-like ensemble, he wears a sharp suit with a tie.
“Welcome,” he says in his high voice. “What a glorious evening. What a momentous occasion. My heart is filled to bursting seeing you and your families here tonight. I know that God is pleased, too. Did you see the sunset he painted for us tonight?”
After many people smile and nod, Ram says, “I know that Promise Prom is a favorite occasion for many of you and for different reasons. Perhaps you love coming together as a community to make something beautiful; maybe you relish the opportunity to wear a new color, to try a new hairstyle; or perhaps you have an insatiable passion for dancing (I’m looking at you, Marcus McCoy!)”
Everyone laughs.
“This year is especially auspicious, as we grow closer and closer to an accord with our neighbors. Peace with Manhattan will bring us everything we’ve been working for.”
People clap, but underneath the applause, I hear angry mutterings, and a masculine voice says, “Bomb ‘em.”
I don’t have to search long to find the source of the comment. Luke Tanner stands with several scowling men, and they all look ready to pick a fight.
Silas reaches for my hand, and this time I’m happy to let him take it.
Ram continues. “But we aren’t here to discuss politics tonight. We are here for these girls.” He turns slowly, his arms outspread, indicating the twelve girls around him. His face becomes warm and loving. “Tonight they will make a pledge to their fathers, and their fathers will make a pledge to them, but you, as their neighbors, friends and mentors, are also taking a pledge. You are vowing to help these girls to keep their pledges in the face of temptation and desire. Satan lives among us––you
know this. He’s always here, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of weakness. And where does weakness live? In our young women. They’re our most precious resource, but, bless their little cotton socks, they just don’t have the life experience to understand when Satan is trying to seduce them. Their greatest quality––their innocence––is also their greatest liability. It is the father’s job to compensate for the weakness his daughter possesses. He must not just look over her, but to the side of her, and under her, and through her, if he needs to!”
The crowd laughs at this. I shudder, remembering how I wondered if the Bees could read my mind.
“We understand that daughters crave attention. They need love and affection. They want boyfriends! But they don’t really know what that means, so it’s up to a father to show her. Until it’s time for marriage, a father should act as a daughter’s companion, adoring her and teaching her what real men are about.”
Confused, I look to Silas, but he’s caught up in the proceedings.
“Fathers, come forward, please.”
Men of all shapes and sizes step out of the crowd. They look clean, polished, and disoriented, like their wives ran them through the dishwasher.
Mr. Tanner joins Deborah. His hair is tamed, but his face is still red and chapped, and, somehow, his dress clothes make him look even more disheveled. When he reaches his daughter, he gives her a compulsory smile. Deborah, so proud moments earlier, now looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
Ram’s voice gets louder. “Fathers, guardians, patriarchs, warriors: take the hand of your daughter!”
Taking their daughters’ hands, the men look to Ram for the next step. He says, “It’s time for your pledge.”
The fathers fumble with their free hands, reaching into the pockets of their jackets or pants and pulling out pieces of paper.
Together, they read out loud: I choose before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity. I will be pure in my own life as a man, husband, and father as I lead, guide, and pray over my daughter and my family as the high priest in my home.
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