Grounded

by G. P. Ching

  “Of course. I—I’m sorry. I’ll go inside now.” I step awkwardly around him and jog toward the door.

  “Take care of yourself, Lydia from Willow’s Province,” he calls over his shoulder.

  I close the French doors behind me, anxious to put distance between us.

  Head swimming from my strange encounter with Jameson, I pass the blue palominos and pad down the hall, trying to find my way back to my room. I get lost again and wind up wandering aimlessly near the gardens. A door on my right catches my eye. Although it looks exactly the same as any other down here, I can’t take my eyes off it. My heart aches to know what’s in this room, and an invisible tug moves me to place my palm on the wood. It’s warm beneath my touch. A hum reaches me through the barrier, a kind of music that eases my soul. I release a deep sigh.

  The door opens. I lower my hand and tilt my chin up to Korwin’s confused face. He’s dressed in plaid cotton pants and a gray T-shirt. I pull my robe tighter around me, suddenly feeling naked again.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t sleep. I was trying to be quiet.”

  “I didn’t hear you,” Korwin says, raising an eyebrow. He rubs a circle over his heart and lifts one corner of his mouth. “I felt you. Here.”

  Blink. Blink. I swallow. I know what he means but I can’t say it. There’s something wrong about the connection I feel to Korwin. I hardly know him. “Um, I guess I should try to go to bed now,” I say, but I can’t move.

  Korwin seems just as riveted. “Would you like to come in? For a few minutes? Until you can fall asleep?”

  All I can do is nod. He backs into his room and I follow. The bed is plain, with a gray wool cover that reminds me of home.

  He crawls in, pats the opposite side. “Keep your robe on—I mean, if it makes you more comfortable.”

  I lie down next to him, stretched out on my side so that we are face to face. He reaches over and strokes my hair. It’s not until he pulls his hand back that I even consider that the touch might be presumptuous.

  “I keep having these dreams that officers in green uniforms are chasing me with those…weapons,” I whisper.

  “You mean, the scramblers?”

  “Is that what they’re called? I knew they weren’t guns.”

  “Your subconscious must know that they are nightmare material. Scramblers were invented to stun human criminals by pumping voltage through their nervous systems. Believe it or not, scramblers are more dangerous to us than guns. When we’re fired up, our energy will absorb a bullet, but the technology behind the scrambler interrupts the transmission of electricity between our cells. They’re as incapacitating to us as they are to humans.”

  “Avoid scramblers,” I say to myself. My eyelids grow heavy, and I allow them to close. Despite the talk of guns and scramblers, I feel safe here next to Korwin. As safe as if I were home. “We don’t have weapons like that at home. I miss it so much. You would like it there, Korwin. There’s no fighting. No officers.” A tear escapes the corner of my eye, and I feel Korwin cup my cheek and wipe it away with his thumb

  “No wonder you want to go home so badly. It sounds… too good to be true.”

  “But it’s not.” I nuzzle his hand.

  “Lydia?”

  “Mm-hmm?” The question wakes me from my almost sleep. His eyes are wide. The heat from his palm seems to travel through me like a gathering storm. He runs his thumb across my bottom lip and the ribbons of electricity return, as does the faint blue glow. Just like at the bottom of the stairs, when I thought he might kiss me, blue sparks ignite at our touch.

  “We’re glowing,” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  “Has that ever happened to you before?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  He clears his throat. “Lydia, you know the day you saved me from CGEF?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “There’s something I want you to know.” His eyes drift away from me and his brows knit. “I’d given up. I’d reached a point…I was as good as dead. When you walked through the door, I thought you were either a hallucination or death coming for me.”

  “Honestly, I was afraid you might die,” I say. “You looked so sick. But I couldn’t leave you there.”

  “You took care of me that day. I’ll never forget what you did.”

  “Any decent human being would have done the same.”

  “After weeks inside that cell, I can tell you there aren’t many decent human beings in this world.”

  I cover his hand with my own, holding it against my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re the only one who doesn’t need to be. You know what’s funny? Before I met you, I thought Amish women were historically timid.”

  “Well, we are supposed to be plain and modest. I try to be, but to live like we live, you’ve got to be brave.”

  Stroking my face one last time, he retracts his fingers and lowers them to the bed. The glow from our contact gradually fades. “This one time, let me be brave for you. Close your eyes. I’ll watch over you while you sleep.”

  My lids flutter closed again and I slip off, feeling completely at ease for the first time since coming to the English world.

  15

  Singing birds and a brightening light usher me into consciousness. Of course, it isn’t the sunrise or actual chirping. Both are artificial. Korwin has the same fake window as I have in my room, complete with computer-generated butterfly.

  He sleeps like an angel next to me, his olive skin a tempting contrast against his white pillow. Full lips part slightly, and a strand of his black hair sweeps across his forehead. Everything about him is peaceful. For a moment, I just lie there, smiling for no good reason whatsoever. But then, like a slow leak, my joy drains from me, and reality seizes me by the throat. I am in bed with a boy I hardly know. What would my father say?

  I creep from the bed, careful not to disturb Korwin, and slip into the hall. Halfway to my room, a sharp tug at my ribs pitches me forward onto my toes. My distance from Korwin. I’ve broken some unseen physical boundary, torn myself from the force of gravity surrounding his person. I rub circles over the sharp pang beneath my sternum but can’t dull the ache.

  Convinced I can wash this feeling away or at least suppress it, I strip down when I reach my room and start a shower. Under the warm spray, I have time and quiet to think about my actions. I’ve spent the night with Korwin. Nothing happened, of course. Still, my brain pummels me with excuses for my misaligned guilt. In Hemlock Hollow there is a tradition called bundling, where courting couples spend the night together in the same bed. Parents bundle the girl in blankets or hang a sheet between the two. It’s a way of showing they trust the boy and also a rite of passage. One more stop on the journey to Amish marriage.

  I compare what happened with Korwin to bundling and try not to think about the fact that we aren’t courting and my father isn’t here to approve. I’m in the English world, after all, and this behavior might be commonplace. Only I don’t think it is, even here. Desperate for self-forgiveness, I tell myself that my actions are due to my new abilities. My blood is different, my cells are different, and I’ve just met the only other person in the world with the same condition. However it came to be, Korwin and I share something unique.

  This last excuse sticks. I forgive myself for spending the night with Korwin. After all, I have more than enough to feel guilty about. I’ve participated in injuring a slew of people. Yes, it was in self-defense, but in the Amish world, violence is never the answer and self-sacrifice is not only encouraged but demanded. Then there’s Jeremiah. Technically we aren’t courting yet, but that doesn’t mean promises weren’t made. He’d promised to court me, and I hadn’t given him any reason to doubt that I’d accept. From the time we could walk, we’ve done everything together. Everyone in Hemlock Hollow expects us to marry.

  But never, not in all the times I’ve stretched out in the hay next to Jeremiah, have I felt the kind of attraction I fee
l for Korwin. I’m not sure it’s solely because I’m a Spark. Maybe, like the lightning, my cells are drawn to Korwin’s in some scientifically explainable way. Maybe Maxwell can make me understand with a series of charts and graphs.

  Here’s what I can’t deny. If God gave me this power—made me a Spark—for the purpose of saving Korwin and myself, then he also gave me this attraction to Korwin. And if he did, this is more than a human connection. Who am I to deny fate?

  All this thinking doesn’t give me any answers. Not how to get home or what Korwin will do when it’s time for me to leave. It doesn’t answer what to do about my father or Jeremiah. I finish showering, resolved to face the future as it comes.

  From the closet, I select a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt with a clever design I’ve never seen. My thumbs fit through holes in the cuffs and the neck is cut at an angle to reveal one shoulder. I apply some makeup from the basket on the counter, imitating the picture on the kit, and brush out my hair until it falls in waves down my back. The person in the mirror is not Lydia Troyer but an Englisher named Lydia Lane. For now, that’s how it has to be.

  A knock startles me. I don’t have to open the door to know who it is. I rub my chest, noting the way my heart pounds, as if it has just noticed there’s blood in my veins.

  “Korwin.” I open the door. The connection snaps into place. “Good morning.”

  His mouth drops open, his eyes searching my face. “Good morning.”

  Whoa. His stare is intense. I lower my eyes.

  He rubs his chest in the same spot I did. “I felt you leave and now…do you feel this?”

  “Yes.” My cheeks warm as I say the word. I’m flustered by the intimacy between us. “It’s getting stronger. I felt it the first day, after seeing you in the healer and last night. Every time I see you it’s stronger.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  As if I would understand it. As if I was the one who grew up with a science lab in my house rather than milking cows and baking bread. “I don’t know.”

  We stand in the doorway, staring at each other until the silence becomes awkward.

  He shrugs and smiles weakly. “Well, maybe there will be some answers at breakfast.” He holds out his hand to me.

  I lace my fingers into his, and we walk to the stairway. He stops me at the landing, the same place where we almost kissed my first night here. “By the way, you are… beautiful, really beautiful.”

  I play with the hem of the black shirt. “Thanks. I’m still getting used to your manner of dress.”

  He sighed. “I wasn’t talking about your outfit.”

  I smile. “Thank you, Korwin. I find you… where I’m from, we would say handsome. What’s the word here for an attractive man?”

  He laughs. “Scorching hottie.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Really? Then I guess you are a scorching hottie.”

  “I’m kidding, Lydia. We say handsome too.”

  “I’m sticking with hottie.” I grin. “Thanks for helping me last night.”

  “Any time.”

  We climb to the top of the stairs and enter the dining room, hand in hand. I stop short when I see who is sitting at the table.

  “Well, it’s good to see you’re okay after all.” Jeremiah’s somber face stares at our coupled hands.

  “Jeremiah,” I gasp. I drop Korwin’s hand and spring around the table. His stony expression warms as I approach and by the time I reach him, he’s out of his chair and receiving my hug.

  “How? How did you get here?” I grip his shoulders to make sure he’s real.

  “Maxwell Stuart sent for me,” Jeremiah hisses. There’s nothing happy about his tone. He looks terrible. His blond hair is matted and there are dark circles under his eyes. But worse, his disposition, usually bright and sunny, feels like a gray cloud in my arms.

  Maxwell clears his throat. He’s sitting at the head of the table. I’d walked right by him to get to Jeremiah and hadn’t noticed. “May I suggest we eat before the crepes get cold? I’ll explain everything.”

  I frown, not knowing what to make of this turn of events. But Jeremiah definitely needs to eat. He looks worn and thin. I give a curt nod.

  Jameson pulls out the chair next to Jeremiah for me. As he begins doling out breakfast, I remember our odd conversation from the night before. The butler doesn’t make eye contact even though I make a point of staring in his direction. Korwin seats himself across the table from me.

  Jeremiah’s hand finds mine under the table, and he rests our threaded fingers on his thigh. “Lydia, there’ve been officers at the house since they took you. Your face is all over the television. They’re calling you a fugitive and a scamper. What is going on?”

  I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t get a chance.

  “Jeremiah, I know this must be confusing for you,” Maxwell says.

  “Confusing?” Jeremiah says angrily. “That’s not the word I might have chosen.”

  “I’m sorry I had to take you the way that I did, but there was no other way of getting you out of there. The house is under constant surveillance.”

  “How did you get him?” I ask.

  “They came into my room this morning before sunrise, put duct tape over my mouth and a bag over my head. That’s how.” Jeremiah drops his fork and squeezes my hand beneath the table.

  “How awful!” I eye Maxwell incredulously.

  “I can explain—” Maxwell starts but Jeremiah speaks over him.

  “I didn’t know what was going on. They dragged me through an underground passageway.” If his cornflower blue eyes had their way, Maxwell would be dead, struck down by the daggers in them. I’ve never seen Jeremiah so upset.

  Maxwell takes a deep breath and blows it out. “You said you were concerned for Jeremiah’s safety. I promised to help you with that. This was the only way we could get him out of there alive.” He removes his glasses and returns my scathing look with a point of his finger. “If we didn’t take him, someone else would have, Lydia. They would use him to get to you. We couldn’t have that.”

  “What about Caleb and Hannah?” I ask.

  “Those two can take care of themselves.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Hannah and Caleb work for me.”

  Korwin’s head snaps toward me and his eyebrows sink over his nose. “Fifty-four Lakehurst… You were staying with Caleb Hunter?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “That’s how we were able to get to Jeremiah. There’s a tunnel to the house.”

  Jeremiah exchanges glances with me, but I can’t offer an explanation. I shake my head. I’m as confused as he is.

  “Stop, Dad. She doesn’t need to know this.” Korwin seems angry. “Why did you bring him here?”

  But Maxwell ignores his son and looks directly at me. “Caleb and Hannah are scampers. They keep their energy usage below normal and their house full of renters like you. Increases their units. We skim the difference off the top, sell it on the black market, and pay them ten percent. That’s how they support themselves.”

  “But it’s illegal,” I say.

  A flash of disbelief wrinkles his face, and he stares down his nose at me, as if my concern for the illegality of the matter is a sign of my ignorance.

  Korwin’s fingers are splayed on either side of his plate. No one is eating.

  “How much have you told Lydia about our mission?” Maxwell asks Korwin.

  He answers through his teeth. “Nothing. She doesn’t need to know.”

  “Of course she needs to know. She’s a part of this now.” Maxwell’s eyes bore into me.

  Korwin’s expression hardens. “She doesn’t have to be.”

  Crossing my arms, I glare at him. “What’s he talking about?”

  He shakes his head and turns away.

  I look back at Maxwell. “What exactly is your mission?”

  “To overthrow the Green Republic,” he tells me. “To take back the government by force.”

&
nbsp; Everything stops. My mouth drops open. I can’t organize my scattered thoughts long enough to form words. Next to me, Jeremiah takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his mess of blond curls.

  Korwin is around the table in a heartbeat and tugging on his father’s bicep. “I need to speak to you. Now!”

  16

  Korwin’s voice ebbs and flows like a wave, as if he’s trying to whisper but the volume keeps getting away from him. I can’t hear every word from the dining room where Jeremiah and I wait, but the wood floors and high ceilings do a good job of carrying the general tone of the argument from the kitchen.

  “… think you’re doing? …Classified…no choice…” Korwin’s smooth voice cuts in and out.

  “…Greens will never let her go. Impossible,” Maxwell answers.

  “You promised…”

  “…only way.”

  “…pacifists…deadly game… Almost killed me!”

  “Too late. Can’t risk…only way.”

  I train my ear toward the kitchen but the voices have quieted again. Jeremiah nudges me under the table. “Let me do the talking when they come back,” he says.

  “What? Why?”

  He raises his eyebrows at me as if the answer is obvious. Of course, it’s obvious. He’s a boy and thinks he’s more capable than me. But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what I can do, what I have done.

  “No, Jeremiah, listen—”

  I’m interrupted as Korwin and Maxwell plod back into the dining room. Neither looks happy.

  “I’ve promised to help you get home, Lydia, and I plan to keep that promise,” Maxwell begins. His eyes flash to Korwin’s. “But the question is timing.”

  “We need to go back now,” Jeremiah says. Korwin nods.

  “It can’t happen. It won’t happen. You don’t understand the stakes.” Maxwell straightens his glasses and buries his hands in the pockets of his shawl-collared cardigan. The man looks like a schoolteacher, not the leader of a revolution.

  “Then make me understand,” Jeremiah says.