— Vivian, be quiet. Lenora, you look like one of those drugged up worldly kids at the mall in the city. You’re grounded until you fix it.
— Don’t tell me to be quiet! The floor seems to shake when her mom bursts up from the couch and stomps toward the kitchen, and Emily puts one palm against the wood panelling, to steady herself during the earthquake her family has become.
Her dad follows her mom into the kitchen and Lenora, who hasn’t yet taken off her boots or scarf, dashes back outside, with her long coat streaming behind her like the cape of a teenage superhero. Emily looks in the direction of her parents, who are now shouting accusations and blame at each other, and then out the back door at the path her sister is carving through the snow. She knows this is her chance to do what she has been meaning to do. She zips up her jacket and follows her.
Careful to keep distance between them, Emily ducks first behind the shed, then behind the larger trees, as Lenora storms into the woods that butt against the field behind their house. Since Lenora is wearing her Walkman, Emily is unconcerned about snapping twigs or tromping too hard in the snow, and as the sun gets heavier and sinks lower, it flickers between trees, and Emily has to squint and rush and hide so as not to lose her sister. She feels like a real detective, a younger Trixie Belden. Sometimes she gets close enough that she can hear Lenora sing tunelessly along to whatever worldly song is churning through her Walkman, and Emily draws closer to try to make out some of the lyrics. Maybe it will be about drugs, and her father will be right; Lenora will turn into one of those scary kids who do drugs and have scars on their faces and live at the mall. Or maybe the song is about fornication, like Brother Bulchinsky warned against the night before.
Then Lenora stops and lifts the foam headphones from her ears, and spins around. Emily ducks behind a tree but trips over a root, falls, and yelps as she lands on her elbow.
— I knew I was being followed. I could feel it.
Emily’s elbow stings and throbs, surging with a million little stabs and she’s sure it must be bleeding and maybe even broken, but she won’t cry in front of Lenora.
— I’m sorry. But I didn’t want to stay home. I wanted to see where you were going. Emily shields her eyes with her hand as the sun glares onto the snow and up at her.
— Whatever. Is Dad still mad at me?
— Yeah. They were screaming at each other about who is the worst parent and whose fault your hair is.
Lenora snorts.
— My hair has nothing to do with those narrow-minded control freaks. I did it because I like it and it looks cool.
Emily remembers the bandanna during Family Study.
— When did you dye it?
— A few days ago. Marla helped me.
Emily doesn’t remember Lenora being late after school that week. She hopes she isn’t skipping school — she’d get in even more trouble than she is over her hair.
— We did it at her place while her mom was still sleeping. She works nights at the hospital as a nurse and isn’t all strict like Mom and Dad.
— Was it during your spare?
— What? Yeah, during spare.
Emily scrutinizes the almost-white tufts that stick out from under her hat. She’s trying to get used it.
— Do you like it? Do you want to do yours the same? She takes a step toward Emily, who jumps back.
— No way! I mean, it’s okay for you, I guess, but I don’t want it. She touches her own brown braid as though unsure if it’s still there and the same colour it was all day. Lenora doesn’t seem as angry at being followed as she had anticipated. She passes her headphones to Emily.
— Here, listen to this song. It’s so cool.
A barrage of noise and growls bombards her eardrums, the singer snarls and shouts amid the thunder of what sounds like a jackhammer attacking a slab of concrete. She wants to like it, she wants to be like the new sixteen-year-old Lenora, but at the same time, she wants everything to go back to how it used to be. The music sounds terrible, like a catastrophe, the soundtrack for the end of the world. She hands back the headphones.
— Yeah. That’s cool.
Lenora laughs.
— It’s my new favourite band.
They walk along the main path until it forks and then they turn to loop back toward home. The wind has returned and stirs up the snow in the trees and tosses it into their faces. Emily shivers.
— I like walking out here. I come out and just wander around when I need to think. That and to listen to my music. I never see anyone else out here, it’s relaxing.
Emily nods. Maybe she should do that too; every time someone starts to argue or fight in the house, she could leave and just go for a long walk outside in the bush. They’re quiet for a while, and then Lenora takes off her headphones and lets them curl around her neck in silence.
— So do you think Mom likes going to the Hall?
Lenora has a way of changing the subject when you least expect it. It makes Emily’s stomach hurt and her hands sweat and makes her feel stupid to never see it coming. She probably does it on purpose, to catch her off guard, maybe trick into saying something wrong.
— What do you mean? What are you talking about?
Lenora tosses her head in that way that means she knows something that no one else does.
— Oh, come on! She doesn’t even listen half the time. I can tell; I watch her. She just stares into space. And when she does listen, her eyebrows scrunch up and she gets this angry look in her eyes.
Emily has seen it too, she has, but she concocted lots of good reasons on her mother’s behalf: she was tired, she had a stomach ache, a toothache, the brother sitting in front of them was wearing too much Old Spice. Doesn’t she make Emily and Lenora come to all the meetings and do all the readings? Then again, Emily can’t remember the last time she saw her mom reading a Watchtower or Awake! or one of the many brightly coloured Hall books, unless their dad made them all have a Family Study. But that doesn’t mean she’s an unbeliever. Of course she isn’t; she wants to live forever in Paradise on Earth, just like everyone else at the Hall.
— Of course she likes going to the Hall. She doesn’t want to die at Armageddon.
Lenora stops and looks at her.
— Are you sure about that?
And suddenly Emily is not sure. She isn’t sure about anything anymore. Her lip trembles and she turns away and runs.
— Shut up!
IT COULDN’T BE TRUE. OF course her mom still cares about everlasting life. Her mom is not falling out of the Truth. Neither is Lenora. No one is.
Lenora catches up to her and they slow down.
— Do you think she’s . . . you know . . . Emily is scared to even say the word. She whispers it, as though uttering it aloud would make it true.
— An apostate?
Lenora waits a long time before she answers. The wind rushes past them and snaps a branch off a nearby tree. It crashes to the ground and Emily jumps, then shivers.
— No. I don’t think she’s an apostate. But I think Dad talked her into it, and now she wishes she was normal.
Emily doesn’t ask What about you? Do you wish you were normal too? Instead, she thinks it’s a good time to remind her of the consequences of falling out of the Truth.
— What if she gets disfellowshipped? What if we’re not allowed to associate with her anymore?
— Don’t worry, she won’t. The elders don’t know what she’s thinking, and she hasn’t done anything wrong. Anyway, she still goes out in service and comes to most of the meetings.
— Yeah. Emily wraps her arms around her middle.
— Once though, a few weeks ago, she told Dad we were going out in service, just her and I, and we went to Uncle Tyler’s instead. We rented a movie and she made me promise not to tell.
— Where was I? Emily hadn’t been invite
d. They hadn’t wanted her along. Suddenly, doing what she was told didn’t seem to be enough for her mom. She shakes her head and kicks at some of the wet leaves in the snow. Could it be possible that she is too obedient?
— You were out going door to door with Dad and Brother Wilde. You guys had no idea!
Lenora laughs it off as they walk back home, but Emily is quiet. They had lied about going out in service. And they didn’t want her along. She may have felt guilty, but she wouldn’t have told. This must be how worldly kids with divorced parents felt, like they’re being pulled in two different directions at once, and wanting to just stay put and not go either way.
In the distance, their house is a grey shape against a greyer sky. Then the kitchen light glints on and their mom is at the window washing dishes.
— Are you going to dye your hair back to normal?
— No way. They’ll get used to it. Trust me.
10
ON MONDAY, THE SUN STREAKS through the blinds into Emily’s classroom, leaving stripes of dust suspended in the air. The bell rings, and the other kids shove their books away and race outside for recess, while Emily stacks her books symmetrically on top of one another, then slides them into her desk. She is the last to leave the room, relieved to not have to go to the playground today, and heads to the school library for her volunteer shift shelving books or taping spines or maybe even helping open boxes of new books.
The library is in the centre of the round section of the school, with classrooms all around it. Outside the librarian’s office is a chart that lists the volunteers’ responsibilities for each of their shifts. Emily loves being a library volunteer; she rarely has to talk to anyone. Today her job is to shelve the picture books in the little kids’ section. She waves to Mr. MacKay through his office window and wheels the cart of books over to the shelves.
As she works, Emily wonders if Lenora will be in a good mood when she walks her home from school tonight, and will tell her about high school and the weird teenagers there and the cafeteria where you can actually buy French fries, or if she’ll be angry for some reason and ignore her. Emily has a present for Lenora, from art class last week when they finished their pottery projects. Emily made a clay candle holder for her sister who likes to burn candles, and glazed it shiny black with blood red dripping over the edges — Lenora’s favourite colours.
— Don’t you want to use a nicer colour than black, Emily? Her teacher tilted her head and put her hands on her hips. Emily shook her head emphatically and continued. The teacher muttered something about “religious kids” and “depressing” and moved on. For once Emily didn’t care. Lenora wears a lot of black and red. The candle holder is nestled safely at the back of her desk, wrapped in four layers of silver tissue paper.
As she slides the books alphabetically into their spots, aligning the spines evenly along the outer edge of each shelf, a girl with long braids and bottle-thick glasses walks over to her. Her dress shoes are shiny and wet-looking, and her skirt has big blue flowers on it, blooming and loud. She stops in front of Emily and leans toward her.
— How come you have to stand out in the hallway every morning?
No hello, no introduction, just this question that Emily has been asked countless times — and still she has no good answer. At least this time it wasn’t, “What do you do to get in trouble every single day? You’re always sent out to stand in the hall! You don’t look that bad. You look like a goody-goody!”
— Because.
Emily thinks her name is Agnes. What a terrible name. It looks like the word “acne.” Emily tries not to look at the small gold cross on a chain around her neck. Idolatry.
— Are you Agnes, from Miss Wilson’s class?
— Yes. You’re Emily. Mr. MacKay told me to come and watch you put the books away. I’m new on Library Staff, but I already know the Dewey Decimal system by heart, so you don’t need to show me anything. Agnes smiles, and her small, pointy teeth gleam in perfect symmetry. She stares at Emily.
— Oh. Okay. Emily doesn’t know what else to say, so she just continues to put the books away. After a few minutes of feeling watched, she breaks the silence.
— The picture books are alphabetical by last name.
— Obviously. Agnes is still smiling at her, but in a way that seems more demanding than friendly.
— You didn’t answer my question.
— What question? Emily pretends not to understand.
— Why do you have to stand out in the hall during the national anthem and the Lord’s Prayer? You can’t get in trouble every single day of school.
Emily’s face reddens. She knows that this is her opportunity to Witness to Agnes, to tell her about the Truth, and to offer her some magazines if she is interested. “Interested” is one of the categories at the Hall; if you get a worldly person “interested,” you have achieved the first step in turning them into a Witness. Her dad would be so proud of her if she placed some Watchtowers at school. He always tells her to be stronger and braver, to talk to her classmates about living forever in Paradise on Earth, about Jesus and the Last Days and Armageddon. Emily never does. She hasn’t placed any magazines at school, not even one, and so cannot tick off the box on her very own Service Report. Again this month she will have to write a zero.
— Because.
Sweat sears down her back in rivulets.
— It’s against our religious beliefs.
— What religion are you? I’m a Pentecostal. Do you know what that is? Agnes takes a step closer to Emily, who backs up and bangs her hip against the book cart.
— Ouch! Emily pushes the cart between her and Agnes.
— I’ve heard of it. Your church is just outside of town, on the highway, right?
— Right! Agnes nods so vigorously that her blond braids bounce on her shoulders.
Pentecostals — the worst religion of all. They are from Babylon, and they talk in made-up languages because they are demonized. When they drive past the Pentecostal church on their way to the Hall, Emily’s dad tells them not to even look at it out the window. Emily does though, she always sneaks a glance at the Pentecostals. She had assumed they would look different, monstrous, with wild hair and eyes that bulge, constantly howling and maybe even flying. But no — Emily was disappointed to see the Pentecostals parking their freshly washed vans and station wagons, dressed up in three-piece suits and dresses just like them, waving to each other, chatting, some holding hands, strolling into their church.
— So what religion are you, then?
— I’m one of Jehovah’s Witnesses.
The elders always tell the congregation never to be ashamed of their faith in Jehovah God, that young Samuel in the Bible was only four years old when he devoted his life to serving God. At the end of My Book of Bible Stories, the only Hall book for kids, it says, Let’s tell as many people as we can about our wonderful God, Jehovah, and His Son, Jesus Christ. If we do these things, then we will be able to live forever in God’s new Paradise on Earth. Emily hopes she sounds proud and confident. Agnes leans across the book cart toward Emily.
— What? I can’t hear you.
Emily repeats herself, more loudly, and wonders if anyone else can hear her.
— So you’re not allowed to sing? Is that why you have to stand out in the hall? You’re not allowed to sing or dance or take alcohol or swear?
— Well, no . . .
Emily is confused; of course they are permitted to sing. They have an entire songbook, purple with gold lettering on the front, called Singing and Accompanying Yourselves With Music in Your Hearts. And they dance at weddings, and sometimes drink wine, though not to excess, but they definitely aren’t supposed to swear.
— We can sing, just not the national anthem. It’s against our religion.
— But why?
— Because we are to be no part of this world.
&
nbsp; — What does that mean, ‘no part of this world’?
— It means, well . . . Emily falters. She knows what it means. There are Jehovah’s Witnesses, who are in the Truth, and there is everybody else, who are the worldly people.
— It means not taking part in this wicked system of things.
Agnes nods again as though she understands, but Emily can tell that she’s bored already; Emily is nowhere near interesting her in learning about Jehovah’s Witnesses. Agnes hops from one foot to the other on the other side of the book cart. Her glasses slide down to the tip of her nose. She peers over them at Emily.
— Can you speak in tongues?
— No! That’s Satanic!
— No it’s not. It’s the Holy Spirit.
Emily knows she’s wrong, but says nothing. It’s pagan, not real Christianity at all; people who speak in tongues are usually just trying to get attention. Her mom says it’s either that or they are demonized.
— I’ve got the gift of receiving the Holy Spirit. I speak in tongues all the time. My mom says that out of everyone at church, I’m the best at it.
Emily nods, turns away, and shelves more books. She’s never been this close to a demonized person before, but finds it difficult to actually be afraid of Agnes. Maybe she’s faking her gift.
— It’s true. I’m the youngest person there who gets the Holy Spirit in my heart but when I start speaking in tongues, everybody listens. Even the old people.
She waits but Emily has no response to this.
— Don’t you speak in tongues at your church at all?
Emily shakes her head hard.
— No way!
— No? No one does? That must be so boring! Is your Sunday School teacher nice though? I love my Sunday School teacher, Miss B.; she’s the best teacher yet. She never yells or anything. Sometimes she brings us cookies.
— We don’t have Sunday School.
— Really? You don’t have Sunday School? What do the kids do?
— The same thing as everybody else. Sit and listen.
— But do you understand everything at church, just like the grown-ups?
Watch How We Walk Page 5