The Hallowed Ones tho-1

by Laura Bickle

  “Um. I don’t know anything about puppies,” Alex said. That was the first uncertain note I’d ever heard in his voice.

  “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Good.” He dropped a blanket over me that smelled like dog, tucked it up under my chin. There was a peculiar tenderness in that gesture.

  He dug in his bundle of clothes for a shirt. I was a bit sorry to see him put it on. I was fascinated by the marks he’d put on his flesh . . . and more than a little fascinated by the flesh itself. Blushing, I turned away.

  “Will they notice you’re gone?” he asked.

  “Probably not until morning,” I said.

  “At the risk of sounding incredibly forward, I think that you should stay here until the sun rises.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he leaned forward and put his finger to my lips. My lips buzzed, and I forgot what I was going to say.

  “Look, I’m not really concerned about your standards of decency. I’m more concerned about your safety.”

  “I have the Himmelsbrief,” I said in a small voice against his finger, but I didn’t relish the idea of running the vampire gauntlet again.

  “You mean you have it until the vamps glamour you into throwing it on the ground. Then you’re a midnight snack. Here you’re under the Hex sign.” He withdrew his hand, settled up against a wall with his arms across his chest. “As sad as it makes me to say it, you’re probably safer with me.”

  “I’m quite sure that you say that to anything in a skirt,” I retorted primly.

  “Historically, that’s probably accurate,” he admitted. “But I’m less of a monster than what’s out there.”

  The flashlight winked out. I heard Alex scrape around in the straw to slap it twice, but it remained dark.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  My eyes adjusted slowly. Streamers of moonlight filtered in through the chinks in the boards. It wasn’t pitch-black, but I was accustomed to darkness. The Plain folk didn’t sleep with night-lights.

  Alex leaned back up against the far wall of the paddock. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

  I stood, crossed to the far side of the paddock, and sat down next to Alex. I opened the blanket like a wing. “I’ll share if you promise not to bite.”

  He nodded, pulled the blanket around him. Gingerly, he put his arm around my shoulder. He smelled of straw and soap. I could hear his pulse thudding hypnotically in my ear.

  And I slept the dreamless sleep of the dead.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Hey. Wake up.”

  “Huh.” I was warm and didn’t want to get out of bed just yet.

  “Sun’s rising.”

  I blinked. I wasn’t in my bed. I was in the kennel, curled up next to Alex with my head on his chest. His arm was draped over me, his thumb resting lightly on my collarbone.

  I was terrified. And I didn’t want to move.

  “C’mon, Katie. You’ve got to get back before they notice you’re gone.” Alex’s voice was slurred in sleep. I thought for a moment that he had me confused with Cassia, but he’d called me Katie.

  He kissed me on the top of my head.

  That scared me. I slipped out from under his arm and the blanket and crawled over to where the dogs lay. Sunny’s head felt warm, as it usually did. I ran my fingers over her sides. No sign of labor yet. But there would be soon. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow.

  I turned back to Alex, who’d risen and was folding the blanket. “If she goes into labor before I get back . . .”

  “Um, no . . . that’s not gonna happen. I don’t do labor.” Sleepiness gave way to terror on his face. “You have to get back,” he pleaded, cleared his throat. “For the dog.”

  I continued, firmly. “If she goes into labor before I get back, don’t panic. This isn’t her first time. Give her water. And watch her. The puppies will come on their own. Give her a couple of minutes to tear off the membranes for each pup. If she doesn’t do it, you have to, or the pup will suffocate.”

  “Shit.” Alex watched me with rounded eyes. He was awake now.

  “Tie the umbilical cord off and cut it about an inch from the puppy’s belly.”

  “Shit,” he repeated. “With what?”

  “There are scissors in the tackle box in the front of the barn. Expect about one pup an hour after she’s gone into hard labor.”

  “Shit. How many will she have?”

  I grinned. The look on his face was worth listening to his swearing. “Usually four.” I stood and patted his sleeve. “You’ve faced the Undead. You can handle this.”

  He looked at me skeptically. “Um . . .”

  “She does all the work. Just be there for her.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay.”

  “Don’t panic,” I repeated.

  “Shit.”

  I walked to the front of the barn. Alex hauled open the door to the dawn.

  The gray of night had given way to a red gash at the horizon. I glanced at him. “Is it safe now?”

  He stood with his hands in his pockets, barefoot, shirt open, and hair mussed, blinking into the wan light. “Yeah. As soon as the sun comes up. As long as you stay out of shadows and shade.”

  I nodded, ran my fingers through my hair. I pinned it up in a loose roll with the hairpins I had remaining and straightened my apron over the tear in my dress. There was nothing to be done for the lost bonnet, but I hoped to be back before anyone noticed I was gone. I realized then that I looked very guilty. So did Alex. I blushed.

  “Hey,” he said.

  I half turned toward him, eager to be on my way and escape this awkwardness.

  He caught my hand. “Be careful, will you?”

  His fingers meshed in mine. I nodded wordlessly and moved away, pulling against his grip.

  But he didn’t let go. He reeled me back in as if I were a fish. With a startled gasp, I stumbled and landed against his chest. A flicker of amusement glittered in his eyes.

  He kissed me on my forehead, whispered against my skin. “Be careful, Bonnet.”

  He released me. I stumbled backwards, nodded again, and turned to walk the way back home with my heart thundering in my chest.

  * * *

  I let myself in the back door, wincing as the screen door banged against my calf. I heard footsteps above me, and I lurched to the cupboards to begin banging around with pots and pans.

  My mother descended the stairs, tucking her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. She was always the earliest riser in our family. “Katie. You’re up early.”

  I lit the kerosene stove burner with a match. I smiled at her and remembered what Ginger had said about the simplest lie being the best one. “Couldn’t sleep. Would you like some eggs?”

  “That would be lovely.” My mother seemed relieved to see me in the kitchen and puttering about in an obedient fashion. I flopped a chunk of lard into the skillet and took some eggs out of the egg basket.

  My mother plucked a piece of straw from my dress. I swallowed. My mouth was dry around the half-truth: “I saw Sunny this morning.”

  “How big is she?”

  I wrapped my arms around an imaginary dog belly the size of a barrel. “Huge. Her temperature hasn’t dropped yet. The puppies could come soon. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Good.” My mother slid into a chair at the table. “About yesterday . . .” she began.

  I cracked four eggs, one by one, into the skillet of sizzling lard, waiting for her to continue.

  She stared down at her hands, knotted together before her, as if in prayer, working the piece of straw between them. “I know that it’s difficult to understand why the Elders do what they do. But it’s for the best.”

  I turned over my shoulder, smiled reassuringly at her. “It’s all right.” As bad as things were, a tiny flicker of something had lit inside me. Hope. Despite the Elders.

  I seasoned the eggs with salt and pepper, then scraped them out on two plates with a fork. They were te
nder and slightly runny, just the way my mother liked them. I took my plate and sat across from her. I was ravenous and rushed through my prayer to get to the eggs.

  My mother set her fork down. “I just want you to accept that things are the way they are for a reason. We may not understand it. But we have to do as we’re told.”

  I spoke around hot egg in my mouth, not meeting her eyes. “Gelassenheit.”

  “Yes. Gelassenheit.” She tapped the piece of straw on the table. “Sometimes I think that your father and I have been too lax with you.”

  I looked up in alarm.

  She continued. “But then I remember the kinds of freedoms I had at your age. When I was on Rumspringa, I was riding a motorcycle.”

  My jaw dropped. “You . . . what?”

  My parents had told me little of their time Outside, only allowing stories to come in bits and pieces as circumstances warranted.

  Her eyes twinkled, and she nodded. “We are not nearly the sticks in the mud that you think. I know your heart, that you are a good girl. You are bright and a hard worker. I have faith that you will eventually come around to what’s best. As we all do, sooner or later.”

  My stomach turned, and I pushed the half-eaten plate of eggs away. I forced myself to look my mother in the eye. She seemed in such a perfect state of denial of everything, clinging to her beliefs and the way things used to be. “Thank you, Mother. I will . . . strive to do better.”

  “That’s my girl.” She reached across the table to pat my cheek.

  “May I go begin my chores?” I asked.

  “Yes. And remember to bring more milk and eggs in today, liewe.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “And one more thing.”

  I looked at her expectantly.

  “Bring Elijah some supper today.”

  “Yes, Mother.” I bit my tongue so hard it bled. More likely, I’d feed it to the dogs. Or the Outsider.

  “You and I will talk later about getting baptized. Your father and I have decided that this is best for you.” The set of her mouth showed that she would brook no argument.

  I slid away from the table, scraped the remainder of my plate into the trash. I slipped down to the spring room to wash and retrieve a clean dress from the laundry before I left the house. I reminded myself to put the Himmelsbrief in the pocket of my clean dress. Apparently, the Himmelsbrief didn’t seem to mind my wavering faith as much as my mother did.

  The sun had climbed high enough on the horizon that I could see its full yellow body. I headed due north when I left the house. Not toward the chicken coop, the cows, or the Miller house. But to the Hexenmeister.

  Herr Stoltz’s house lay at the farthest northern edge of our settlement. His vegetable garden was overgrown and tangled with thistles, and the shade cast by the nearby forest over his small dwelling lent a palpable chill to the land. The whitewash on the house was speckled with mildew, and sprigs of peppermint grew wild around its foundations. The shade around it made me nervous, as I thought of things that could lurk there. I steeled myself, reasoning that the Hexenmeister’s property would be better protected than ours.

  As children, we avoided this place. The Hexenmeister was a bit frightening. He’d never done anything to harm anyone, but we feared the way he talked to himself and watched how the adults gave him a wide berth. But I needed him now.

  I screwed up my courage and knocked at the door. It echoed back through the rooms of the house.

  I waited and knocked again, more insistently.

  Eventually, I heard shuffling and the thump of a cane against the floor. The door opened, and the Hexenmeister blinked dazedly at me. Well, not at me . . . He looked beyond me at the sky.

  “Oh, it’s sunrise already. Good thing.”

  I swallowed hard. “Herr Stoltz, may I speak with you?”

  He stepped aside to let me in. I noted that the collar on his shirt was wrinkled and bore paint stains. He smelled like he needed a bath.

  I had never been inside the Hexenmeister’s house. Whenever it had been his turn to host church, he always did so from the yard. I could see why.

  Every horizontal surface was cluttered with bits of wood, paper, paint, a T-square, rulers, and old brass compasses. I saw the petals of a hex sign beginning to unfold from a sketch on a perfectly sanded piece of wood, a jar full of blackberry ink. A fly buzzed past me, and I swatted at it. I didn’t want to imagine the chaos in the kitchen.

  The old man stumped to a worn rocking chair and sat down. “What can I do for you, Katie?”

  “I wanted . . . to thank you for the Himmelsbrief . . .” I began. I perched uncomfortably on a stool at his feet.

  His eyes narrowed. “Have you had to use it?”

  I lowered my head. “Yes, Herr Stoltz. It saved my life.”

  “The Darkness has come.” He leaned back in his chair, letting it creak against the scarred floor as he rocked. He looked up into space, at a cobweb in the corner.

  “What do you know about the Darkness?” I asked timidly.

  He rocked vigorously in his chair as he spoke. “The Darkness has always been a part of mankind. I have never seen it myself, mind you. Only heard stories about it from the Hexenmeister before me.”

  I laced my hands together in my lap. “What did he say?”

  “Not all Plain folk came to America solely for reasons of political and religious persecution. Europe had become crowded. It was difficult to buy any land of one’s own and not swear fealty to some minor land baron. Our little group of Plain folk could not have truly sacred land. Land that was immune to the Darkness.”

  “The Darkness . . . existed back then? In the eighteenth century?” My brow furrowed. I knew the stories of our ancestors being forced to worship in secret, at night, in secluded forests and caves. I now wondered if there was more reason than persecution for that.

  “In those days, people were wiser to the true nature of evil. We were different than other Plain folk in that regard. We knew about the Darkness, and we fought it with the tools we had available to us: the hex signs, the Himmelsbrief . . . and in other ways. We would sever the heads of the dead, stuff their mouths with garlic, burn them with fire. It was ugly . . . but it worked.”

  I could not imagine desecrating a corpse like that. “And they were able to contain this contagion?”

  “Then, yes. Remember that this was a long time ago. Fewer people. When we saw the glint of evil, we would destroy it before it grew too large to control. Now”—he waved a hand around the room—“we have forgotten. Become complacent. People saw no Darkness and no need to teach the means to stop it to recent generations. Now it festers.”

  “As it festers here,” I whispered.

  The Hexenmeister stared at me under bushy eyebrows. “You’ve seen them.”

  “Ja. I have seen them. They only come out at night, with their teeth and their claws.” I rolled up my sleeve to show the Hexenmeister my scratch. “The Outsiders call these creatures vampires . . .”

  Herr Stoltz frowned at the scratch, muttered: “Outsiders.”

  “You heard it. The Elders have decided that the Outsider woman is crazy,” I said. I shied away from the topic of Alex.

  The old man’s eyes darkened. “They are fools. The Outsiders are no more or less pure than we are. We simply have . . . we have the knowledge to stop the Darkness.”

  I leaned forward on the stool. “You have the knowledge. You have the power to make Himmelsbriefen. And the hex signs.” My hand swept around to indicate his workshop. “You can keep us safe.”

  The Hexenmeister snorted. “They would have to believe that I could help them, believe that the Darkness is here.” He gestured to me with his chin. “That was why I gave you the Himmelsbrief. You would believe. You had seen it.”

  My mind froze in its tracks. “How did you know?”

  A thin smile curled over his lips. “Few things escape the observation of a crazy old man with no supervision. I saw you leave the other day, saw you go over the g
ate with your bicycle.”

  I stared down at the floor. I’d been caught. I was finished.

  “And I know that you are hiding the Outsider man.”

  I shut my eyes. Alex and I were both finished.

  “I went back to the field after the Elders had left to look for the man myself.” The Hexenmeister’s chair creaked rhythmically against the floor. “I wanted to see what he was, to see if he had any Darkness in him. If he did, I brought my saw to take his head.”

  I shuddered.

  “If not”—he shrugged—“I probably would have done the same as you did. But he was not there when I returned.”

  “How did . . . how did you know that it was my doing?”

  “You left a canning jar beside the fence, half-full of water. Of all the people who saw that man, you were the only one who had any sympathy for him.” He smiled. “I took your jar and roughed up the tracks in the grass you left with your sledge. I hoped that the Elders would think that he had recovered and walked away. Or that animals had taken him.”

  My throat tightened. “He’s not a vampire. I have seen him in daylight.”

  Herr Stoltz chuckled. “I know, child. If he were, you would be dead.” He leaned forward to cup my face in his hands. “You merely have a large heart. And a rebellious spirit.” He tapped my nose with his index finger.

  “Will you . . . will you tell the Elders?” I squeaked.

  “No. There would be no good purpose achieved by that.”

  “Will you make a Himmelsbrief for everyone?” I asked.

  “I will try.” His mouth creased. “But they must believe in the Darkness first. They must believe that they are in danger, that evil has fallen upon us . . .”

  A knock sounded at the front door, startling me. The Hexenmeister’s runny eyes turned to the door. “Huh. I’ve had more visitors today than in the past year.” He rose, stumped to the door.

  One of the congregation members I dimly recognized was there. I’d seen him yesterday, with the gathering in my yard. He was the one who’d asked about the cattle, who had seemed most dubious of the Elders’ explanation. He was out of breath, his beard shaking, hands braced on his knees.