The Grace Year

by Kim Liggett

  Making a beeline for the well, I try to shove the bucket over the side, but it’s frozen solid to the stone. I’m trying to pry it free when I hear the most eerie sound.

  Singing. At least it sounds like singing.

  Abandoning the well, I make my way toward the gate. There’s a tiny figure hunched on the ground. The high voice, her small stature … for a moment I think it’s the little girl from my dreams. I want to run to her, but I force myself to take measured steps. Trust no one. Not even yourself. My mother’s words echo in my head.

  I crouch in front of her, but I can’t see her face. With trembling hands, I lift her filthy veil. It’s Ami Dumont. She’s stayed so quiet, so small, that I almost forgot she was here.

  Leaning in close, I listen to her song.

  Eve with the golden hair, sits on high in her rocking chair,

  The wind doth blow, the night unfurls, weeping for all the men she’s cursed.

  It’s an old nursery rhyme; I never gave it a second thought as a child, but now … here … in this moment, the words have taken on an entirely different meaning.

  Girls beware, if you don’t behave, you’ll be sent to an early grave.

  Never a bairn to call your own, never a care to—

  Abruptly, she stops singing, with her eyes fixed on the gate; her breath grows shallow in her chest, but it’s not in rhythm with the panting I hear. Following her gaze, I look behind me. At first, all I see is the gate, deep scratch marks embedded in the heavy timber, but beyond that, in the narrow cracks in the logs, I see eyes … dark eyes staring in at us.

  “They can smell your blood.” She smiles up at me.

  I’m backing away, trying to get away from whatever’s happening here, when my vision starts to blur. I’m staggering around the clearing trying to find anything to latch on to. The well. If I can just get some water. As I reach out for the stone ledge, my legs go out from under me. Smacking my head against the hard surface, I go down like a sack of bones.

  As my eyes slowly come back into focus, I hear someone say, “All you have to do is run to the cove and back.”

  Tilting my head back, I see the girls huddled in front of the gate.

  “As soon as you embrace your magic, I’ll take out your braid,” Kiersten says, as if she’s talking to a child. “You can be one of us.”

  Getting to my feet is harder than I thought it would be. My head is pounding. The dizziness makes the fence blur in and out like the dial on Father’s microscope.

  “Can you hold Dovey for me?” Helen offers the bird to Kiersten. Kiersten cringes, shoving Jessica forward to take it. “She likes it best when you nuzzle her under your chin,” Helen adds.

  “Wait,” I say as I make my way over. “She can’t leave the barrier. There’s poachers out there.”

  Jenna shoots me an exasperated look. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Yeah … no such luck.” I brush past her. “Helen, you can’t do this.”

  “But I’m invisible,” she says with a grin.

  “Since when?” I ask.

  “Go away,” Tamara says, pushing me aside. “Not that she needs any help, but we’ve got Ami distracting the poachers by the eastern fence with that awful singing.”

  I squint toward the east. I think I see Ami’s tiny frame crouched by the barrier, but I can’t be sure.

  Frantically, I’m stumbling around the crowd, searching for anyone who can talk some sense into Helen, when my eyes settle on Gertie. “You have to do something,” I whisper.

  Although she’s looking away, pretending not to hear, I see real fear in her eyes.

  “All you have to do is concentrate. Feel your magic,” Kiersten says, pressing the palm of her hand against Helen’s belly. “Remember, if something goes wrong I can always use my magic to make the poachers do what I want.”

  Helen looks up at her and nods, but I can tell she’s not right … she’s not completely there. She looks like one of those dolls Mrs. Weaver makes with the huge blinking eyes.

  “I’ll even let you wear my veil. For protection,” Kiersten says, placing the netting on top of her head. “That’s how much I believe in you.”

  “Hey, that’s my veil,” Hannah says from the crowd, but she’s quickly shushed.

  As Kiersten lowers the netting, they open the gate. I know I should turn around, walk away, Helen’s made her choice, but I can’t stop thinking about those scars on her feet, the ones her mother gave her for dreaming. “A seed of kindness,” I whisper.

  I’m terrified of even going near the gate, let alone through it, but I can’t let this happen.

  Pushing past the girls, I dart out after her. Some are screaming at me to turn back, but Kiersten says, “Let her go.”

  The second I leave the safety of the encampment, the sheer force of the wind coming off the great lake hits me, taking the air right out of my lungs. I stagger back a few steps. The openness, the nothingness … maybe I’ve been cooped up in there too long, but I don’t feel free here, I only feel … exposed.

  A caw in the distance slips under my skin. I’m not sure if it’s real or imagined, but it’s what I need to regain my focus.

  Searching the vast landscape, the muted palette of autumn giving way to winter—blue to gray, green to beige—I spot a blur of movement. Helen’s veil clinging to her like a cloud of low river gnats.

  When the second caw arrives, I know it’s real because Helen freezes in place. I’m running toward her, motioning for her to come back, but her eyes are fixed to the north, on an advancing poacher. Just the sight of him makes me woozy. He’s covered from head to toe in a gauzy charcoal fabric, a gleaming blade in his hand. Everything inside me wants to turn away, but I can’t let her die like this. For nothing.

  Picking up my pace, I call out her name.

  She looks at me, sheer panic washing over her face. “You can see me?”

  “Run.” I shove her back toward the encampment and then take off in the opposite direction. “Run!” I scream. I’m looking over my shoulder, making sure the poacher took the bait, when I trip on a tree root, skidding to the cold earth. Instead of closing my eyes, bracing myself for what’s to come, I flip over to face my executioner. He raises his blade to deliver the blow—and then stops.

  “Kick me.” A soft whisper emanates from the thin dark cloth covering his nose and mouth.

  I have no idea if he said it or if it’s just the sickness settling in, but I’m not about to stick around and find out.

  Pulling my knees in, I kick him as hard as I can. He reels back before doubling over on the ground.

  I think about taking his knife, slitting his throat right then and there, but there’s something about the way he looked at me—something in his eyes. I wonder if it’s the same poacher I met on the trail … the one who let me go before. Leaning over his body, I’m sure it’s him. I feel it in my gut. I’m reaching out to remove the cloth obscuring his face when I hear caws coming from each direction. Backing away from him, I run toward the gate.

  As Helen makes it through, the gate starts to close. I’m thinking it must be a mistake, they just don’t see me yet, but when the latch locks into place, I know this is Kiersten’s doing.

  Between the poachers’ fevered calls and the girls’ screeching, I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I’m pumping my legs as hard as I can when a dizzy spell crashes over me, tilting the very ground I’m running on, but I can’t afford to give in to this. If I don’t make it back over the fence, the only way I’ll be going home is in a row of pretty glass bottles. Leaping onto the gate, I grab the dead girls’ ribbons, pulling my way up, and when I run out of ribbon, I dig my fingernails into the splintery wood and claw my way to the top edge. I’m kicking my legs up, trying to get a foothold, but my thighs feel like they’re made of lead. As one of the poachers gets within cutting distance, I exert everything I have, managing to pull myself over, but as soon as I hit the ground on the other side, Kiersten is on top of me.

  Nostrils flaring, ey
es raging, she pins me to the ground, the axe pressed against my throat.

  “Why did you do that?” she demands. “Why did you interfere? You almost got her killed.”

  “I saved her…” I strain against the force of the blade to get the words out. “If I hadn’t interfered she would’ve been—”

  “Perfectly fine!” Kiersten screams, veins bulging in her temples. “And who do you think it was that saved you?” She thrusts the steel in a little deeper. “I did,” she says. “I’m the one who made the poacher stop. They all witnessed it.” She glances back at the crowd of girls. “Do you still deny our magic?”

  I’m trying to speak, but I’m afraid. Afraid of the blade going in any deeper, but more afraid of my answer. “I … I don’t know what made him stop,” I whisper, my eyes tearing up. “But it happened before … on the trail.”

  Kiersten shakes her head in disgust. “If you want to deny your magic, risk facing the gallows upon your return, be my guest. But don’t drag the rest of them down with you.” She pulls the blade back and I take a deep gasp of air, clutching my throat.

  Kiersten stands to face the crowd. “We’ve tried to help her, but she’s lost to us now. Anyone caught consorting with this heretic will be punished.”

  As I lie on the ground, watching them walk back toward the camp, I can see it in their eyes. This is the final bit of proof they needed, when all I could offer them was a secondhand dream.

  But I know what I saw. I know what I felt.

  They can call it magic.

  I can call it madness.

  But one thing is certain.

  There is no grace here.

  Just before dawn, a sickening wave of caws echo through the woods, and when the sun rises, slow and thick over the eastern fence, Ami isn’t sitting by the gate anymore. I hear the girls whispering, saying Kiersten made her do it so she would stop singing that song, but I saw it in Ami’s eyes long before our grace year. She was always far too delicate for this world. And now she’s gone.

  No one speaks to me anymore. No one even looks at me.

  With all of the rain barrels destroyed, I have no choice but to drink from the well, but every time I get near it they chase me off.

  Crawling along the perimeter, I lick the morning dew from the leaves, but it only makes me crave water all the more. My tongue feels thick, like it’s taking up all the room in my mouth, and there are times when I think I can feel it swelling, like it might choke the life out of me.

  Walking the fence, in a half-moon shape, from the very edge of the clearing on the west all the way to the edge of the clearing on the east, I listen to the lake rush in and out with the tide, but that’s not all I hear. There’s breathing. Heavy. Constant. Like a living shadow. Sometimes, I convince myself that it’s Michael walking beside me, but Michael always talked my ear off. Or maybe it’s Hans, but it doesn’t feel like a protective presence. It’s the silence that’s killing me. Silence, knowing in my gut that it’s the poacher.

  “I know you’re there,” I whisper.

  I come to an abrupt halt and listen, but there’s no response.

  I feel like a crazy person, and maybe I am. I think I crossed that line the moment I arrived in this cursed place, but I want to know why he didn’t kill me on the trail, why he let me go when I went after Helen. I know it wasn’t Kiersten’s magic, because she was nowhere near me the first time. So, what stopped him?

  * * *

  In the early evening, lured to the fire by the smell of burning stew, I take my place in the back of the line. I know I’m taking a risk, but I’m too famished to care. Without food or water, I won’t last long.

  As I reach the front, I hold out my bowl. Katie scrapes the bottom of the kettle for the last scoop and pours it onto the ground. My stomach lets out an angry growl, but I can’t afford to be picky right now.

  I’m leaning down to scoop it into my bowl when Katie presses her boot into it, the gravy gurgling around the edges of her muddy sole.

  I look around at the other girls, waiting for someone to speak up for me, but no one does. It hurts. Especially after everything I’ve done to try to help them … to help the camp.

  Taking in a steeling breath, I walk past their glaring eyes into the lodging house to find dead space where my cot used to be, my belongings gone. I could get another dead girl’s frame from the corner, drag it over, have them cackling at me behind my back, but I’m too tired. Tired of fighting, tired of caring, tired of everything. Curling up on the floor, I’m trying not to cry, but the harder I try, the worse it gets.

  When the lodging house door creaks open, I hold my breath, hold myself still. A single set of boots comes toward me. I feel like that possum Michael and I found on the road leading to the meadow a few summers back. We thought it was dead, but it was just pretending. It seemed like such a useless survival skill at the time, but what else can you do when you feel completely defenseless. Outnumbered. Beaten.

  The footsteps stop just short of my lower back. I’m bracing myself for impact when there’s a soft tap on the floor, followed by a quick retreat. Picking up the lamp, I manage to catch a glimpse of the hem of a moss-green cloak leaving the lodging house. Gertie.

  And where she stood, there’s a small potato.

  Snatching it up, I sink my teeth into it. The skin is scalding hot. It burns my throat to the point that I can’t even taste it, but I don’t care, anything for a moment of warmth. It takes everything I have not to devour it in one fell swoop, but I have to be smart about this. After all, I’m not sure how long my punishment will last. Tucking the remaining half into my pocket, I feel the smallest shred of hope.

  “You,” Kiersten says, loud enough to wake the entire island. “You stole from the larder. How dare you.”

  “What?” I struggle to prop myself on my elbows. “I did no such thing.”

  “Empty your pockets,” Kiersten yells at me.

  The potato.

  “Hold her down,” Kiersten says.

  The other girls grab me while Kiersten rifles through the pockets of my cloak.

  A satisfied grin spreads across her lips like wildfire as she pulls the cold, half-eaten potato from my pocket.

  “She’s the one that told us we need to ration, trust in each other,” Jenna says.

  “She only did that so she could steal from us,” a voice hisses against the back of my neck.

  “I didn’t steal it. I swear—”

  “Then who gave it to you?” Kiersten asks.

  I shoot Gertie a nervous look. “I … I just found it.”

  “Liar,” she seethes.

  The girls tighten their grip.

  “And what happens to girls who spread lies?” Kiersten asks.

  “They lose their tongues,” the girls answer in unison.

  Kiersten smiles down at me. I know that smile. “Get the calipers.”

  As the mob drags me out of the lodging house toward the punishment tree, I scream for her to stop, but I know it’s no use. Kiersten is the only God here, and she wants everyone to know it.

  Ellie skips over to us with a rusty iron clamp.

  Kiersten then grabs my face, squeezing so hard that I can feel my teeth cutting into the inside of my cheeks. “Stick out your tongue,” she commands.

  I’m shaking my head, tears are burning the back of my eyes, clouding my vision, but I hear Gertie yelling, “Stop … I did it.” She pushes through the crowd to get to us. “I gave her the potato,” she says, pulling Kiersten away from me.

  “How could you?” Kiersten seethes. “After I gave you a second chance? After I forgave you?”

  “Forgave her?” I blurt. “You’re the one who should be begging Gertie for forgiveness. I know what you did. That was your lithograph. You took it from your father’s study and blamed it on Gertie. You ruined her life.”

  Kiersten raises a brow. “Is that what she told you?”

  “Come on, Tierney, let’s go,” Gertie says, locking her arm through mine.

 
; “Yes, it was my father’s lithograph,” Kiersten says. “But that’s not why she was charged with depravity.”

  “Please … don’t.” Gertie shakes her head, a haunted look on her face.

  “Do you know what she did?” Kiersten asks, her eyes welling up.

  “Don’t listen to her…,” Gertie urges, but I hold my ground.

  “She tried to kiss me. And I knew then and there what she was … what she wanted,” she says, her chin trembling with rage. “She wanted me to do the dirty things that were in that picture. Sin against God.”

  I feel the weight of Gertie’s body and I realize her knees must’ve gone soft. Clenching my arm tighter around hers, we take our first step back toward the lodging house, when Gertie’s head jerks back.

  The sickening sound of a blade scraping against the back of her skull makes my blood turn cold.

  I turn to find her crouched on the ground next to me, Kiersten standing over her with Gertie’s ribboned braid coiled around her fist. At the end, a bloody patch of scalp drips in the moonlight.

  “You’re a monster,” I whisper.

  “And you’re a fool,” Kiersten says, rolling her shoulders back. “But I am not without mercy. I’ll give you a choice. Embrace your magic … or face the woods.”

  The girls stand there, watching in anticipation.

  I look to Gertie, but she’s huddled in a tight ball on the ground, rocking back and forth like a broken seesaw.

  “I can’t…,” I whisper back. “I can’t accept something I don’t feel.”

  “So be it,” Kiersten says with the wave of Gertie’s scalp. “Good-bye.”

  “Now?” I ask, fighting for control of my breath. “I can’t … it’s dark … at least give me until morning.”