Hanna Who Fell from the Sky

by Christopher Meades

  Brother Paul cleared his throat. He took a sip of water from a clear glass. “Today we have another member of our congregation eager to start the next phase of her life. Jotham, I understand your daughter Hanna is about to reach the age of eighteen.”

  Jotham stepped forward. “In nine days’ time,” he said.

  Brother Paul spread his arms and curled his fingers upward. “Hanna, please rise.”

  Hanna almost stumbled as she stood up. Her forehead felt unusually warm, her insides fragile like they were coated in glass. Hundreds of eyes turned her way, pressing against her slender figure. She placed her hand on the glossy support board. Hanna steadied her feet and gazed straight ahead.

  “Who amongst us,” Brother Paul said, “has heard the word from above that he should take this woman into his family and give her purpose—to fulfill her destiny of wifeliness and womanhood?”

  For a brief moment, it seemed as though no one was going to speak, that not a single soul would step forward and claim Hanna for his own. Then, from across the room, a figure emerged from the darkness. It was Edwin, Jotham’s childhood friend, the man to whom Hanna had been promised. Edwin stood under the bright lights with his thick glasses and squat little legs, his belly that protruded as though his collared shirt concealed a glazed ham. Edwin’s eyes were stoic. His mouth formed a straight line.

  Emily reached up and Hanna grabbed her hand. Their fingers intertwined. Hanna pressed her thumb into the girl’s palm and braced herself. This was what had been planned. This was what she’d known was coming all along.

  Then the unbelievable happened. A second man stepped forward, then a third. One was a lantern-jawed farmer from the outskirts of town, the other the butcher from the marketplace. Hanna barely knew the farmer: she’d only seen him at church and they’d never spoken. But she knew the butcher well. When she was five years old, the butcher had allowed Hanna to throw a piece of meat to the stray dogs begging outside his tent. She still remembered the mongrels leaping, their teeth gnashing in the air, bodies crashing together in a desperate attempt to win the prize. She remembered the butcher’s boisterous laugh, his bloodstained apron. The cleaver in his hand.

  The butcher stood proudly before Brother Paul.

  Hanna almost gasped. She turned to Jotham, who shifted uncomfortably in his back brace. He looked equally taken aback. Everyone in this room already knew to whom Hanna had been promised. Ceremonies like this were a formality in Clearhaven, marriages being arranged years in advance. That these men—each with several wives already—stepped forward at all was an act against reason.

  Hanna’s skin flushed. Her heart pulsed against her rib cage.

  “You’re hurting me,” Emily whispered.

  She looked down to see Emily’s fingers turning purple in her grasp. Hanna loosened her grip, but she didn’t let go. The succession wasn’t complete. Another man stepped forward and then another, their shoulders colliding briefly, the one on the left knocked momentarily off balance in his haste. In total, seven men stepped forward, all middle-aged, all men with multiple wives. For weeks, months even, Hanna’s mother had told her to prepare herself for each step in this process. Kara never mentioned this possibility.

  Jessamina nudged Hanna with her elbow.

  “Do not grow satisfied with yourself,” she whispered. “This owes only to the way you look and not the person you are.”

  Hanna didn’t move. She couldn’t. It was as though an invisible hand was pushing against her throat.

  “It appears there are many suitors,” Brother Paul said. “Jotham, as father and guardian of this young woman, can you tell me—has the Creator spoken to you? Have you had a vision declaring the rightful suitor for your daughter’s hand in marriage?”

  Jotham moved farther toward the center. “I have. The Creator told me that Edwin will marry my oldest daughter.”

  All eyes turned to face Edwin. Jotham’s oldest friend adjusted his glasses. “The Creator spoke to me, as well,” he said.

  Brother Paul lowered his head. In deep concentration? A private conversation with the Creator, perhaps? As Hanna watched him closely, Jessamina leaned in again and whispered. “This is all for show. You know what will become of you.”

  This time Hanna met Jessamina’s gaze. She stared back at Jotham’s young wife: pleading, imploring, desperately searching for some sign of compassion. Six hundred sets of eyes were upon her. The men who would decide Hanna’s fate were standing only yards away. And still she searched in vain.

  “The Creator has spoken,” Brother Paul said.

  Hanna turned to see Brother Paul with his eyes open, looking straight at Edwin.

  “Edwin is to marry Hanna on the anniversary of her birth,” Brother Paul said. “In the name of the Creator, may he protect my eternal soul.”

  The congregation lowered their heads and repeated.

  “In the name of the Creator, may he protect my eternal soul.”

  4

  After the ceremony, refreshments were served. Jotham often allowed the children to roam free at church, so long as they remained within the building. Today, however, he stayed within an arm’s reach of Hanna at all times. As members of the congregation approached to offer their congratulations, Jotham listened to every word, hovering like a satiated bird of prey unwilling to let a field mouse out of its sight. Then Edwin came over and placed his hand against the small of Hanna’s back. He received the well-wishers alongside his fiancée, a gap-toothed grin on his face.

  Last week, Edwin had approached Hanna and attempted to make light of their arrangement. “What strange bedfellows we make,” he said and then seemed to realize his mistake right away. He took Hanna’s hand and told her not to worry. Life in his house would be “grand and fine, without worry or concern.” Still, Hanna felt his eyes upon her. Edwin’s mouth could speak all the kindnesses in the world. His eyes told a greater truth and what they said, what they hoped for—moreover, what they had planned—sent shivers rippling down Hanna’s spine.

  All week she’d felt like a bell that couldn’t stop ringing. She felt it at rest and when she walked in the woods. She felt it as the family sat down to supper. Amidst the chaos of the older children eating and the toddlers competing for attention, with her sister-mother Katherine perpetually chatting about the evening’s stew and Jessamina staring daggers at her from across the room, that look on Edwin’s face echoed through Hanna’s rib cage, into her limbs and all the way to her fingertips.

  Today, with his hand on her back, Edwin had yet to look at her. He was too busy shaking hands with the other congregants, too busy holding court to glance at his soon-to-be bride. Before long, Hanna would no longer kneel with Jotham’s family at church. A baby, perhaps the size of a pea, might soon be growing inside her belly. Hanna would be Edwin’s for all eternity. And he knew it.

  “What dress will you be wearing?”

  A woman’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. Only, whose voice was it? Hanna scanned left and right, searching the faces.

  “I’m sorry?” she said.

  “I was wondering about your wedding dress. Also, have you chosen the flowers for your headdress yet?”

  The voice belonged to Paedyn, one of Edwin’s wives, a woman with a pointed chin and pencil-thin eyebrows framed by a cluster of curly hair atop her head. She took Hanna’s hand, and Hanna felt her smooth skin and manicured fingernails. Paedyn pulled her close. While Hanna’s feet barely shifted on the hardwood floor, it felt like she couldn’t move—like Hanna wasn’t allowed to move—entangled in this woman’s invisible, unbreakable web.

  Paedyn watched her expectantly.

  “The headdress?” Hanna said. “I haven’t found the time, no.”

  “Oh dear, you can’t leave these things until the last minute.” Paedyn tightened her grip on Hanna’s arm. She leaned in to where Hanna could feel th
e warmth from Paedyn’s body, ensnaring Hanna completely.

  “Perhaps Paedyn can assist you,” Edwin said, smiling widely.

  “Yes, perhaps...” Hanna said.

  From across the room, Brother Paul approached. He didn’t just walk. The man glided, as though under his robes he was drifting on ice. The parishioners reached out their hands and Brother Paul shook each and every one. He listened to their greetings and spoke to a select few. Brother Paul spread his arms wide and offered a gentle embrace to a young boy, all the while keeping his gaze locked on Hanna, pinning her feet to the floor.

  Finally, he arrived. “How are you today?” he said.

  Hanna went to take a step back, only to be held in place by Paedyn’s grip on her arm, Edwin’s hand on her back. “I’m quite well,” she said.

  “And you remember our talk from last week?”

  “How could I forget?” Hanna said.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  Brother Paul loomed over top of her, so close she could feel his breath against her forehead. There was nothing informal in Brother Paul’s speech. He orated more than he conversed—each sentence a continuation of a sermon he’d begun long ago—and Hanna didn’t believe for a second that he was about to answer any of her questions with all these people listening. His query was only for show, and it was all Hanna could do to get her words out.

  “No, thank you. You were quite clear.”

  Jotham lumbered up beside them. He shook Brother Paul’s hand and the two men smiled. Reptilian smiles, Hanna thought.

  “We have much to discuss,” Jotham said.

  “Can it not wait for another time?”

  “I’m afraid it cannot.”

  Brother Paul’s expression shifted, his peaceful look slipped away. His jaw tightened ever so slightly and his shoulders tensed. He placed a cold hand on Hanna’s cheek. “Will you excuse us, child?” he said, and the two men walked away.

  Paedyn released her grip on Hanna’s arm and went to speak with one of Brother Paul’s wives, leaving Hanna with Edwin. Hanna scanned the crowd for her sisters, who had yet to return from the restroom. As she waited, a familiar face approached, a woman Hanna had seen at the marketplace. The woman shook Hanna’s hand and quickly launched into an absentminded monologue about gardening. And flowers. Something about the variant moisture of topsoil. Hanna tried to be polite, but she could barely listen. The longer she stood under these bright white lights, the more her eyesight wavered. Everything around her: the people, their faces, the paint on the walls, suddenly distorted. The room felt tilted on its side, the ground misshapen, the air fused with halos; long and orange and shimmering like schools of fish. This woman’s voice, the sincerity in her brown eyes, the discreet way she whispered about her horticultural endeavors as though unearthing and replanting begonias was a mystery to be unraveled...all became too much for her.

  Hanna stepped away from Edwin—if he noticed her leave, he didn’t show it—and moved quickly toward the exit. She slipped into the front hall and made her way toward the open door. The air grew hotter and denser with each step. The exit was twenty paces away and then fifteen. A purple panic manifested in Hanna’s chest. A great weight pressed against her temples, the oxygen fleeing her body. Now only ten steps away, Hanna didn’t believe she was going to make it. Her legs grew weak, her very thoughts plastic and uncontrollable. The heat in her head intensified until it was five steps and then three and then one last step and finally Hanna was outside. She hurried around the side of the church and collapsed against the wall.

  Alone in the crisp afternoon air, the overwhelming fear slipped away like a ghost. When it was at its worst only moments ago, the alarm inside her head had felt as real as the ground beneath her feet. It was tangible, unrelenting and impossible to control. Now she suddenly wondered why she’d fled through the church doors at all. Hanna had long known what was expected of her. It wasn’t like her engagement came as a surprise. Still, she’d pushed the truth out of her mind as though she could suppress it with her own strength of will. Like a child, she’d pretended none of this was happening. She’d lied to herself for so long.

  The future had been ordained. There was no denying destiny.

  Hanna leaned back against the wall. She fought her welling tears. Soon Jotham would notice she’d gone missing and come for her. Or worse, it would be Edwin, with his kind words and wanton eyes.

  A voice came from over by the parked cars. “You’re Hanna, aren’t you?”

  Hanna looked over to see a young man she didn’t recognize. Her first instinct was to jump up and rush back inside, but she was so startled and still so out of breath that her legs refused to move.

  “Are you okay?” he said. When she didn’t answer, he said, “You don’t remember me, do you? I’m Daniel.”

  Why hadn’t Hanna seen it right away? This was the benefactor’s son, Francis’s third boy, the one Brother Paul had called out but who didn’t go up on the stage. Hanna hadn’t seen him at church in a long while. Daniel looked different now, unlike the other boys in Clearhaven. His hair dangled over his forehead in waves, unkempt and yet perfectly arranged, as though he woke up in the morning with each strand effortlessly in place. Daniel was wearing dark blue denim and a gray jacket, and his arms were gangly, as though he’d just grown into his body. He’d been standing two yards away. He’d watched her run out and collapse against the wall and Hanna had been completely oblivious.

  “You snuck up on me,” Hanna said.

  “It’s easy to sneak up on someone when they’re not paying attention. Besides, I was standing right here. You snuck up on me.”

  Hanna glanced back toward the church doors.

  “Are you going to marry that man, Edwin?” he asked.

  Hanna didn’t know quite what to say. After the ceremony, not a single well-wisher had asked how Hanna felt, what she wanted, whether she truly intended to marry Edwin. Now, faced with this young man’s question, she couldn’t bring herself to answer out loud: of course I’m going to marry Edwin. What other choice do I have? Her mind raced, mulling over unsaid words, contorting them, rephrasing them in a futile attempt to change their meaning. Hanna was about to stand up and walk back inside when she stopped herself. She refused to run away from two conversations today.

  “I thought you weren’t in the church. Brother Paul called your name,” she said.

  “I was there. I just didn’t feel like being paraded up onstage.”

  “Then why are you out here now?”

  Daniel leaned against the wall and cocked his head to the side. “I wanted some fresh air.”

  “I see,” Hanna said, wondering whether even Daniel believed his own excuse. “Were there too many people looking at you and your brothers?”

  “Oh, I think they were all looking at you.”

  There was an unfamiliar inflection in his tone, like he was engaging her in banter to which she was completely unaccustomed. In the distance, a starling was calling. Hanna looked into the sky but couldn’t spot the tiny bird.

  “So you’re going to be Edwin’s third wife?” Daniel said.

  “He has four wives. I will be the fifth.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you, the thought of sharing your husband with four other women?”

  Hanna didn’t answer. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked back at the church doors again, knowing full well Jotham would not approve of this conversation. She started to stand up when Daniel reached out and touched her hand. Hanna recoiled, her eyes wide and afraid.

  The young man backed away. “I was trying to help.”

  “I can stand just fine on my own, thank you.”

  Hanna climbed to her feet and dusted off her dress. It was colder outside than she’d remembered and in her haste, she’d left her jacket behind. Hanna felt compelled to run her hand along he
r sleeve, to remind herself that she was present, that this entire day hadn’t all been part of some uncanny dream. There was no one else in the parking lot except her and the young man, whose eyes remained locked on her.

  The sunlight caught a shiny black string dangling around Daniel’s neck.

  “What is that?” Hanna said.

  Daniel pulled on the string. As he reached into his jacket, Hanna stepped back. She was all too aware of how improper it was for her to speak with this boy alone. And she didn’t really know him. Daniel could have pulled anything out of his jacket. A cigarette. A knife. A hangman’s noose. Instead, he produced a small silver box. Attached to the box was the shiny black wire and fastened to that was what looked like the world’s smallest, most ineffectual set of earmuffs.

  “They’re headphones.”

  Hanna’s expression grew more confused.

  He held up the small silver box. “You seriously don’t know what this is?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t say you were,” he said, and his tone softened. “I got this on the trip with my parents. It plays music. You put these soft little things to your ears and you listen to it.”

  “And you’re the only one who hears it?”

  “Yes. You do listen to music, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Hanna said.

  “What kind?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What kind of music do you listen to?”

  Hanna’s mind grew cloudy. No one had ever asked her to describe her taste in music before. It occurred to her that were she ever to be magically plucked from her bed like a heroine in a storybook, and wake up in an entirely different place, hundreds of miles away, she would know nothing of the world around her. Strangers would sense she was different. They’d know she didn’t belong.

  “We have a record player and six records,” she said. “The music is soothing. There are violins. And a piano.”

  “But no singing?”