And then I play. Within a few measures, Amy and Channing are clapping with the beat. I glide through the triplet notes. Channing plunges the blade of his shovel into the dirt and dances around the long handle like it’s his dance partner. Amy does a jig, bouncing from foot to foot.
The rhythm changes, and the horses bray. Channing abandons his shovel; he bows to Amy. The triplet pattern resumes. She curtsies to him, and soon they’re linked arm in arm, spinning and laughing. In the warmth of the barn, I repeat the verse and can’t help but wonder why this perfect happiness is so wrong.
14.
Hunched over a box of potato peels, I hum “Swallow Tail Jig” to myself and work the paring knife, removing the skin from another potato. Amy leans back in the kitchen chair, peeler in hand. “When are we gonna look for the rabbit?” she asks.
Behind me, Pearline barks orders at the others. She’s given each of us a task for the dinner preparation. Mother drops a bone into one of the boiling pots, preparing the base broth for stew. Others cut vegetables and make biscuits. Pearline walks the kitchen, supervising our progress.
She glares at us. “Hurry. Up.” She’s already gotten on my sister twice for being too slow. I speed up. When Pearline turns around, I push some of my finished potatoes into Amy’s pile, so our piles look more even.
“But what if he decides to move?” Amy asks, pulling a droopy brown strip from the edge of her peeler and flicking it from her finger.
“Who?” I ask, reaching for the next potato.
“The rabbit,” Amy says.
“He won’t move,” I say, peeling, peeling, careful not to cut my fingers as the potato gets more slippery without the skin. “It’s wintertime.” I look up, and my sister has stopped again. “Amy,” I say, pointing to the half-done potato in her hand.
“Are you sure?” She bobs on the edge of her seat. “Couldn’t we go back?”
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my patience. “We will. But we have to finish these first.”
With a heavy sigh, Amy returns to work.
“Carrots,” Channing announces as he stomps into the kitchen.
I sit up as he enters. He must’ve just come in from the cold. His cheeks are flushed, and his black coat is covered in droplets of melted snow. “I was told to put these here,” he says and dumps the box next to me with a thud.
I eye the box of mounded carrots. My shoulders fall as I realize we’re expected to peel these, too.
Amy’s face lights up. “Rabbits like carrots, don’t they?”
Oh no. Not again.
Channing glances at me and then at her. Smiling, he nods. “I think it’s their favorite food.”
Amy pokes my hand. “Gentry, we have to find the rabbit and give him a carrot.”
I shake my head at him. “Thanks for that.”
He laughs.
“Enough chitchat,” Pearline says to Channing. “They need to get back to work. So do you.”
Channing’s expression goes tight, but he nods anyway. “Yes, ma’am.”
“See ya,” he says to Amy and me as he brushes past Pearline. When he’s gone, I slide down in my chair. Pearline turns her attention to the group making biscuits. Immediately, she criticizes their sifting technique.
With a sigh, I stand to flip the box on its side so the carrots tumble onto the table. My hands check for rotten ones, when I notice a folded slip of paper among the carrots.
From the impressions on the back, I can tell something’s written on the paper. My pulse quickens. I turn to look for Channing, but he’s gone.
My hands tremble. I check to make sure Pearline’s not looking. Amy’s peeling again as I carefully unfold the paper and read it: Third floor. Brother. ASAP.
Tanner? Is he here? Or Kel? My heart beats even faster. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Amy, tucking the note inside my dress pocket.
Amy nods and keeps peeling the final potato.
When I’m almost out of the kitchen, Pearline snatches my arm. Tight. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I clench my skirt pocket, where the note sits. “Um, bathroom,” I say. Her face twists in disapproval, but she lets go.
Not giving her a chance to ask more, I turn and run through the living room. The Prophet’s eyes seem to follow me from his portrait, as if he knows I’ve told a lie. I dash past the front door and up the narrow stairs.
When I reach the third floor, I’m out of breath. The hall is empty.
“Tanner?” I whisper. “Kel?”
“Sorry,” Channing says, sneaking up behind me, startling me. “Uncle Hyram was blocking the front door. I had to come in around back.”
I check the stairs to make sure Pearline isn’t following me. “What’s going on?” I ask, holding up his note.
Then, the phone rings. Channing grins. “Come on,” he says and rushes toward the sound, disappearing inside one of the bedrooms.
I pocket the note and follow him into the biggest bedroom I’ve ever seen. There’s a king-size bed in the center of the room, covered in a diamond-patterned quilt. There’s even an attached bathroom. The phone rings again.
“Whose room is this?” I ask, eyeing a box of candy on the nightstand. My mouth waters. I’ve only eaten candy a handful of times.
“Pearline’s,” Channing says, and answers the phone.
My throat tightens; I back into the doorway. We shouldn’t be here. I turn to leave until I hear Channing whisper, “Tanner wants to talk to you.”
At the sound of my brother’s name, I spin around.
Channing offers me the phone.
Even though I know I shouldn’t be in Pearline’s room, I can’t miss the chance to talk to my brother. I near Channing and slowly take the phone from him. “H-hello?” I say, tentative.
“Hey, kid,” Tanner says with his familiar lilt.
I gasp with excitement. “Tanner! Where are you? How’d you find us?”
Channing smiles and whispers, “I’ve gotta go.”
I mouth Thank you to him.
He nods and escapes, leaving me alone in Pearline’s room.
“Meryl told me all of you were sent to Uncle Hyram’s,” Tanner says.
There’s a crash downstairs, and I jump. My eyes flash to the doorway—no one. I turn away from the empty hallway, whispering, “You’ve talked to Meryl?”
“Ever since you were reassigned to Uncle Hyram, Mother hasn’t called me. Are you all okay?”
Meryl was right. Mother was talking to Tanner.
“Yes,” I say. “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Everything’s all messed up. Did you know Kel ran away?”
“He’s here with me in Santa Fe.”
I manage a breath. “You’re in Santa Fe?”
“Yeah, after Uncle Max kicked me out, I hitchhiked here and began sleeping in the Plaza. You know the one where we played?”
I nod to myself.
“I was there about a week before the cops found me.”
My mouth goes dry. “Are you in prison?”
Tanner laughs. “No, the cops set me up with Dr. Lawrence and her husband. They took me in.”
A woman doctor? “Who’s Dr. Lawrence?” I ask, suspicious.
“She’s this awesome therapist and counselor.”
I shift, suddenly uncomfortable. Why would Tanner need a therapist?
“Kel’s here. There are others here from Watchful, too. Apparently, the Prophet’s been cleaning house a lot lately. They call us ‘lost boys.’ Can you imagine?” He laughs to himself. “Lost boys.”
“You sound happy,” I admit, even though I don’t want to.
“I am, but it’s hard. I miss you all so much, and most of the time, I feel so lost and stupid.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, spotting the picture of Uncle Hyram next to the candy. I turn the other way.
“Everything’s so different out here.” He sighs. “I’m happy, but I’m angry, too. I know Mother couldn’t do much, but how could Father let him kick me out
like that?”
I hear distant footsteps. How long before Pearline realizes I’ve been gone too long? “Have you heard from Father?” I ask under my breath.
“I tried to call him, but he won’t speak to me. Can you believe it? He won’t speak to his own son, because he’s trying to get right with the Prophet.”
I nod to myself. “The Prophet said he might get to come back if he wrote a good enough confession.”
Tanner releases a dry laugh. “Like that’s gonna happen.”
I flinch from the harshness of his words. “It will happen,” I say, suddenly defensive. “Father’s repenting right now.” I wipe my sweaty hand on my skirt. “The Prophet will let him come home any day now, and we’ll get to return to Watchful. Maybe he’ll let you and Kel return, too. We can be a family again.”
“I can’t come back.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot someone passing Pearline’s bedroom. The phone slips from my fingers, but the person doesn’t stop. Still eyeing the doorway, I scramble to bring the phone back up to my ear.
“Did you know the Prophet asked me to spy on Father?”
“What?” I whisper. My chest tightens. I drop to the edge of Pearline’s bed, sinking into her soft mattress. Immediately, I can smell her floral soap. I blot my forehead with the back of my hand. “Why would he do that?”
“Because, according to Uncle Max, Father was losing control. For one thing, Mother Lenora told Uncle Max there was tension between her and her sister wives on how to raise the children, and that Father refused to step in.”
“Mother Lenora should just mind her own business,” I say, feeling protective of Mother all over again. “We were doing fine.”
“Not according to the Prophet. ‘You can only achieve the United Order if your children are humble and faithful servants of their priesthood head and the Prophet,’” he says, repeating the Prophet’s words. Tanner scoffs into the phone. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
The flowery smell is making me feel worse. “You probably shouldn’t make fun like that,” I say, twisting the curly phone cord around my finger.
“Shouldn’t I? Did you know Mother Dee was sealed to Uncle Max yesterday?”
“No,” I say. My stomach twists like the cord around my finger. “What about Father?”
“Believe what I’m telling you: They’re never gonna let him back into Watchful.”
“Don’t say that.” I unfurl the cord and stand. I don’t want to believe him. I can’t. “How do you even know all this when you’re out there?”
“Meryl told me when I called, looking for Mother.”
My heart sinks. If what Tanner says is true, it has to be so weird for Meryl to be a sister wife to Mother Dee, who was once her mother.
“Now Baby Gwen will only know Uncle Max as her father,” Tanner adds. “It’s sick.”
The Prophet preaches that when a family remarries another man, God changes the children’s blood and DNA so it becomes the same as the new father’s. He does this so their blood is worthy, and they can gain entrance into the celestial kingdom.
I shake my head. Poor Gwen. Poor Meryl. It can’t be true. But why would Tanner lie? “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I need to get you all out of there before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” I ask, my chest so tight I can hardly breathe. I hurry to straighten Pearline’s quilt, trying to remove any evidence I was here.
“The way I see it, the Prophet’s rewarding his yes-men with all the wives and subsequently kicking out anyone he views as a potential threat.”
All of a sudden, a horrible thought crosses my mind. “Are you saying if we don’t leave, Mother might be sealed to someone besides Father?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But Mother won’t talk to me since you got there. I took a chance you might.”
“Of course I’ll talk to you,” I say. “You’re my brother.” I don’t bother to mention the fact that I would’ve talked to him when we were still in Watchful, too. Especially since I now know he was talking to both Mother and Meryl.
“You know I couldn’t talk to you before, right?” he says, like he can read my mind. “They were watching you too closely.”
“Watching me?” I ask. I can’t help it: I check over my shoulder for Pearline.
“Since we went to the festival together, they figured you’d be the first person I’d try to contact.” He sighs into the phone. “I’m sorry. You have to talk to Mother. I’ll feel better when I can get you all out of there.”
“But we’ll be apostates if we leave,” I say, even though he already knows this. Of course he knows it.
Suddenly, Mother calls my name. Her voice is growing louder, closer.
My heart stutters. “Mother’s looking for me,” I say, getting ready to hang up.
“Okay, but think about what I said,” Tanner urges. “Promise?”
“I promise,” I say and lower the phone before rushing from Pearline’s bedroom.
Mother’s winded as she tops the stairs. Her cheeks turn red when she spots me. “What are the two of you doing in there? Where’s Amy?”
I shrug. “She’s in the kitchen peeling potatoes.”
Mother shakes her head. “No, one second you were both there, and the next I turned around and you both were gone. One of Pearline’s daughters said she saw Amy stealing a carrot.”
Goose bumps rush my arms.
“What are you doing up here, anyway?”
“Rabbit,” I say and speed past Mother, down the stairs, almost falling as my heel slips, skipping a step. No time to snatch my coat off the hook, I throw open the door and run past the God Squad guard.
“Gentry, where are you going?” Mother calls from the front door. “We have to get back to the meal prep!”
“I’m getting Amy,” I shout and race toward the grove of trees. The snow is blindingly white. I squint as I run; the icy crust crunches beneath my feet. But I don’t stop. I keep running. Pushing my legs as fast as they will go, my thighs burning with each footfall. The icy wind whips against my body as I enter the canopy of trees.
Inside the thicket, armlike shadows writhe along the ground. I keep running. “Amy!” I call again.
Straight ahead, I spot the bridge, icicles reaching toward the frozen river below. She’s not there.
There’s a crackle up ahead and to my right. That’s when I spy her through the trees. Walking near the rabbit’s den. Another pop. She’s standing on the surface of the icy river. “Stop!”
Amy turns to face me, giving a quick smile as she holds up the carrot. Then there’s a loud crack, like the sound of a shotgun. The surface of the river gives way; chunks of ice drop into the water. Her face stretches in horror as she falls through the hole with a splash.
“Amy!” I shout and weave through the trees. A branch scratches my face. I pump my arms as fast as I can, racing to the riverbank.
My sister’s gasping for air. Her arms thrash, making the water lap onto the ice. I rush along the windy bank and step out onto the frozen surface. My dress blows around my legs. Before I’m within reach, the ice cracks beneath my feet. I skirt back to the bank. Another crackle. My heart races. “Can you swim to the edge of the hole? Kick your feet.”
“I can’t,” she cries. Her arms splash wildly. She’s gasping and wheezing. Water sloshes over the rim of the hole, wetting the surface of the ice. It freezes almost immediately.
“Throw your arms over the side,” I say as I whip around, searching for something—anything—for her to hold on to. I hurry to the nearest tree. “Hold on,” I shout, my voice carried by the stiff breeze. I search for the right-size branch.
She manages to get to the edge of the ice; her body remains submerged. “I can’t hold on,” she says, throwing one of her arms over the ice.
I keep looking until I find a branch, right above my head. I reach with both hands and jump. My hands skid along the bark as I miss. I barely notice the cutting sti
ng as I jump again and hold tight. Hanging from the branch, I hop, hop, hop. Trying to break it from the tree with my weight. “Come on. Come on.”
Suddenly, the branch snaps; I fall to the hard-packed snow with a hrumph.
Standing on the riverbank, I carefully slide the branch across the ice and lean over the edge as far as I can reach. It’s not long enough.
I scan the dark and light patches of ice, weighing my chances. The frozen wind bites my exposed skin. Amy’s slumped over. “I can’t move,” she says. It looks like her sleeve has frozen to the icy surface.
With no time to lose, I drop to the snow on the bank and onto my stomach, trying to spread my weight evenly before I slide across. I slowly inch toward her, shivering with each movement. “Grab the branch,” I shout, stretching my arm as far as I can. My hands shake. Blood drips from my fingers and freezes against the ice.
My sister’s glasses sit crooked on her face. Her teeth chatter. The branch clicks against the ice as I move it around. Amy grunts, her right hand frantically reaching for the branch. She misses it. A chunk of ice breaks off beneath her arms. She sinks; the water rushes over her head.
“No!” I shout.
She bobs up, managing to throw one arm over the ice. She gasps again. I inch a little closer—another snap—until she finally snags it. “Hold on,” I say, my shivering growing worse. I try to leverage my feet, try to find a place to wedge them, but it’s no use. It’s too slick.
I use every bit of strength I have—my arms burn—until I manage to pull the branch back enough to draw her onto the ice. The surface crackles under her added weight. It’s getting harder to breathe. Like my lungs are filling with snow.
Forcing a sharp breath, I release the branch and slither alongside it before snagging her frozen fingers. “Amy,” I say.
Her lips are turning blue. “My legs . . .”
Ice snaps down the river. I have to get us off the ice. With the last of my strength, I manage to roll her onto my body and hold tight. I can hear the ice pop and strain beneath us. One roll at a time, I move us across the surface until we reach the riverbank, landing in the snow.
Amy flops on top of me, and the ice we were on seconds before cracks and dissolves with a splash. It’s harder to breathe. I have to get up. Get help. She’s like a dead weight. My muscles are too weak to push her off me.
The Prophet Calls Page 13