He cried ever harder, and what could she say to soothe him?
She only knew what she believed, in her heart’s core.
Gently, she prompted, “Do you know why the Prophet’s grandfather chose this land for us, so many years ago?”
“Because he was persecuted,” Ezekiel mumbled.
“That’s right. The Outsiders believe plural marriage is wrong. So he found a land far from the wicked, with a forest protecting it on one side and a canyon on the other. And that’s where we stay.”
“Except when we need something from Walmart.” He brightened at the familiar story. “Like shoes, or crayons.”
“Exactly. There are lots of sicknesses Outside, Ezekiel. And violence, thieving, and adultery. But as long as you’re in Red Creek, the Prophet will keep you safe.”
Ezekiel wiped his eyes. “Promise?”
Her baby brother, so small and trusting. She held him close, inhaling his scent.
“The Rapture won’t be a surprise. The Prophet will warn us, because God will warn him. I promise, you won’t hear it from Tommy King first. Now, let’s get you inside.”
Wending her way to the porch stoop with Ezekiel’s hand in hers, Agnes truly believed her own words. There was always chaos among Outsiders, because they chose to live in sin. But Red Creek was just the opposite: a land of peace and order. Even if sickness raged elsewhere, Agnes knew the Prophet would protect them. As long as they remained here, they’d be safe.
Under the wide white sky, Sam and the twins whooped and laughed, gleefully playing the Apocalypse Game. In the game, two children—the “angels”—chased after “sinners.” When they caught them, they pierced their hearts with an invisible blade.
Mary shrieked, “Down, blasphemer!”
Sam crumpled, gripping his chest in imaginary agony.
The evening bell tolled. The sound spread like ink through the darkening sky, and Agnes’s heart plummeted. Beth had been missing far too long. It was nearly sunset, the meadow’s edges tinted red, and Father would be home soon.
In the meadow, the game burned on, blazing with make-believe brimstone. Agnes kept her eyes on the horizon, feeling obscurely frightened.
A crow lighted on their trailer’s tin roof, claws clicking. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Where are you, sister? Oh, Beth, where have you gone?
4
BETH
Endure hardship without complaint. Your reward awaits you at life’s end.
—PROPHET JACOB ROLLINS
After suffering the longest, most boring Sunday school lesson imaginable, Beth lingered with her family in the church lobby just long enough to catch Cory Jameson’s eye.
She was wearing her favorite prairie dress—a pale blue that felt like wearing the sky—and had loosed a few locks of hair, the better to highlight the gold flecks in her eyes. She’d also viciously pinched her cheeks to bring out the blush. While technically she wasn’t breaking the Law—no painted faces or unbraided hair—she felt no compunction about bending rules that struck her, increasingly, as senselessly unfair.
Nosy matrons shot her sidelong looks, but it was worth it to see Cory’s jaw drop, ever so slightly, at the sight of her. Pride straightened her spine—a rare sense of power, like a firework going off in her chest.
Cory winked, and she winked back.
Their signal.
A smile broke over his face like a shaft of sun through parted clouds. He was easily the handsomest boy in Red Creek, and all the girls mooned over him (except Agnes, of course). Better still, Cory’s father, the powerful Matthew Jameson, had declared that he’d be a great patriarch one day, the inheritor of his lands. Cory was Matthew’s seventh boy child, but like Joseph in the Bible, he was the favorite. And everyone knew it.
Watching him slip away, Beth smiled like a satisfied cat. Then she caught sight of her oh-so-dutiful older sister, who was showing the young Mrs. Hearn (a fourteen-year-old new mother clearly on the verge of tears) how to swaddle her baby.
Beth’s heart squeezed small as a pomegranate seed. The truth was, she’d been thrilled to catch Agnes sneaking out last night, because Agnes rebelling meant Beth was free to tell her everything—about Cory, and about her own rebellious thoughts—without fear of disapproval. She’d even allowed herself to hope that they’d be confidantes again. Beth couldn’t think of anything she wanted more.
But Agnes had cut her dead.
It’s none of your business where I go, she’d said.
Well. Her sister wasn’t the only one with a secret, and Beth, smarting from rejection, meant to indulge her own in full today.
After all, why should Agnes get to have all the fun?
Cory waited for her beneath their juniper tree, at the canyon’s edge.
There the earth plummeted into a sunset-colored abyss, a gash yawning wide and vast. When the wild winds swept it, the earth itself seemed to howl.
Most girls feared the canyon, and the coyotes and catamounts that made it their home, but the canyon was the most adventuresome, romantic setting Beth could picture. She loved it.
Only sometimes, like now, the sight of its vastness saddened her. Made her think how small her life was. How suffocating.
But Beth never stayed melancholy long. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of warm earth, and when Cory emerged from behind their tree with a rakish grin, she pressed herself against him and kissed him hard.
“Wow,” he said when they broke away. “What was that for?”
“I guess I missed you.”
Cory frowned, then cursed vehemently under his breath. “What a fucking mess we’re in.”
She raised an eyebrow. Red Creek’s golden boy liked to sling Outsider curses when they were alone. He learned them from the television at the nearby gas station, where the owner let him watch shows for a quarter. He often “borrowed” his father’s truck to get there.
Beth felt a tug of jealousy, thinking of the freedoms he enjoyed. Cory’s forays were secret, but even if he were found out—well—who wouldn’t forgive the golden boy for breaking a rule here or there?
Boys will be boys—especially the golden ones.
Yet Beth often felt she’d been buried alive.
“So, you didn’t miss me?”
His eyes blazed in a way that made her belly clench. “I couldn’t think of anything but you all week.”
“Is that so bad?”
“What we’re doing is wrong.” She heard the conflict in his voice, the yearning. “Beth, I think we’d better stop meeting.”
Though she kept her face serene, on the inside she panicked.
She’d known Cory Jameson since childhood. He’d always accepted her, flaws and all.
And the kissing was lovely.
Sometimes she’d lean against the juniper tree, just letting herself be kissed while he murmured: I love you, God help me, but I love you. At night, she’d write all about it in her diary, which she kept hidden beneath her side of the mattress, replaying every delicious moment before she fell asleep.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” He ran a hand through his sun-kissed hair. “I can’t keep doing what I know to be a sin. I’ll have responsibilities soon.”
She tipped her head back to look at him, aware of the afternoon light prettily illuminating her brow.
“We’re not hurting anyone. Anyway, if it wasn’t a little sinful, it wouldn’t be any fun, would it?”
He laughed, and looked more like himself.
“Beth, you’re a hell of a girl,” he said, surely quoting some secular movie he’d caught on the gas station television set. “But it’s the hereafter that matters. We’ve had our fun, and we’ve got to start taking eternal life seriously. Before it’s too late.”
She slipped from his grip, irritated by the mention of the hereafter—that vague concept around which her life was forced to revolve.
“If that’s how you feel, then why did you ever want me?”
&nb
sp; He winced. “There’s no harm in sinning when you’re young, as long as it doesn’t mean anything. But now it does. We were never supposed to choose each other. We ought to have waited for God.”
“Oh, that’s only about marriage,” she said airily.
“Treat the other sex like snakes,” he shot back. “And stay chaste.”
“Is this about your father? Did he say something?”
He scowled, trying to decide how much to tell. Now that she felt on the brink of losing him, he looked more handsome than ever.
So don’t lose him, she chided herself.
“You know I’m meant to inherit the homestead?”
She rolled her eyes. “Everybody knows.”
“Yesterday, Father said God would surely bless me with many wives—as soon as I’m old enough to marry. Can you even imagine what a huge responsibility that is? I’ll be a patriarch, Beth. And not later. Soon.”
A burst of pain, swift and sharp. Girls married as young as fourteen, but boys, as heads of households, waited until eighteen.
Cory was seventeen already.
“Is that what you want?” she demanded. “To be a big exalted patriarch with dozens of dull, obedient wives?”
“I want to be a righteous man.”
She stamped her foot—she couldn’t help it. “Cory Jameson, you’re boring! You’re smart enough to be anything, do anything. You could leave, if you wanted. Have a life Outside.”
The word quivered on her tongue like a breathless dream.
“But then I’d be damned,” he said. “If it’s here or the lake of fire, I’d much rather stay where I am.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her eyes towards the canyon.
What was wrong with her, that she didn’t give a damn about being damned?
I just want to live, she thought desperately. To kiss a boy, see new things, have real friends…
The tears streamed hot and sudden down her cheeks.
In an instant, poor, conflicted Cory had her in his arms. “Oh, there. Don’t cry. Please don’t.”
She rested her cheek against his collarbone. “I hope you’re happy with your dozen wives,” she said bitterly. “I hope they’re god-awful nags.”
He stroked her hair. “Let’s not think about it now. As long as I’m free, we can keep meeting. But you know, if anyone ever found out—”
Beth thought of Agnes—her sister, hoarding her secrets—and cried harder.
“You knew it wasn’t forever when we began,” he said. “So what’s really bothering you?”
“It’s Agnes,” she cried. “She’s been sneaking out!”
He frowned. “Which one is Agnes?”
“It’s because she’s plain you haven’t noticed her,” she said accusingly, pushing back. “You know all the pretty girls by name.”
He blushed. “Not all.”
But Beth knew she was right. It was the strangest thing, because to her, Agnes possessed a striking beauty. There was something in the way she held herself. Something in the tilt of her head. Her features were undeniably coarse and square, and yet sometimes Beth found herself unable to take her eyes off her.
She’d always thought privately (and with mild irritation) that to a certain kind of man, her sister would eclipse her entirely.
“Agnes is my elder sister,” she said, her voice shifting to irony. “The paragon of virtue.”
“Oh, right.” Cory sounded amused. When he wasn’t in high-holy mode, amusement was his default position towards life. “So, she has a secret boyfriend?”
“I don’t think so.” Beth bit her lip, pondering. “I don’t think she’s ever sinned, even inside her own head.”
“What do you think she’s up to, then?”
She chewed her thumbnail. “I’m afraid she might be doing something noble.”
“Really? Like what?” As a future upstanding patriarch, Cory was always interested in gallantry. “No offense, but what can a girl do that’s noble?”
“I don’t know,” she snapped, faintly bothered.
For all that the faithful praised Agnes’s piety, no one seemed to see what Beth did—that her sister was special.
When she bowed her head for prayers, the craziest thought sometimes leapt into Beth’s mind: that Agnes was like an ancient prophet. The thought would overwhelm her like the vapor of a numinous cloud, then quickly pass, and she’d only see her plain-faced sister praying once more. She’d half forget the unsettling suspicion that Agnes was destined for greatness.
Real greatness.
Beth wouldn’t mind that she was destined for greatness, if only she’d share it. But last night, Agnes had slammed a door in her face.
And why? Hadn’t she always tried to be a good sister?
Beth broke away from her bleak thoughts and looked ardently at Cory, enjoying the way her gaze made him blush to the tips of his ears.
Despite his grand intentions, he was helpless to resist her.
“Let’s not talk about Agnes anymore,” she whispered.
Cory groaned, quickly conquered.
Under the juniper tree, they kissed until they were starved for breath, utterly consumed by their shared fire at the crimson edge of the earth.
5
BETH
Vanity on the part of a woman is whoredom. An affront to God.
—PROPHET JACOB ROLLINS
The bell tolled at sunset. Beth remembered: I’ve got to get home.
She pressed away from Cory, feeling the vise grip of panic.
It wasn’t just that Father would punish her if she were late for prayers. On this holy day of chores, there was one task that only she could perform.
Their mother—who Cory had explained might be depressed, according to a commercial he’d seen—refused to take food from anyone but Beth.
“She’ll be starving,” she muttered to herself.
“Who?” Cory’s lips looked bee-stung.
“Never mind, we’d better run.”
He glanced at the sun, barely clinging to a lavender sky, and blanched. They clasped hands once, then broke away, hurrying in opposite directions.
Beth raced through the far pastures, where the scent of manure assaulted her senses, and past the brackish baptismal lake. She cursed the heavy prairie skirt she clutched in one hand, while on the other side of town Cory sprinted unencumbered. She decided to cut through the western fields to avoid being seen on Church Street. Then she followed the green forest line to her own meadow and the hill that led her home.
She hoped to just beat Father, but dreaded Agnes’s cutting disappointment. Would she scold her in front of the kids? Or simply refuse to speak to her at all?
No one knew what a pain it was to have a perfect older sister. No one knew—
She slowed at the top of the hill, sighting Agnes on the porch stoop. Her sister’s arms were wrapped about herself like she was trying to keep out the cold. She looked exhausted, ancient.
Beth stepped onto the porch, automatically stamping her boots on the mat. Red canyon dust betrayed where she’d been. She froze midstamp.
Agnes displayed not a trace of anger or disappointment or even grief. She smiled kindly, with only the hint of a question in her eyes.
A look that said: If you want, you can tell me. If not, I understand.
No reaction could’ve made Beth feel more like slime. Her stomach turned in on itself, contorting with shame.
“Dinner’s on the stove. Mother’s waiting.” Agnes hesitated. “I’m so sorry that chore always falls to you.”
The screen door smacked behind her, and she was gone.
Beth doubled over, groaning her frustration.
Oh, why couldn’t Agnes shout and scold like other sisters? Why did she have to be so damned forgiving?
Insufferable. Infuriating.
Her sister, whom she couldn’t hate for loving so.
Their mother was born an Outsider.
Years ago, she’d come to Red Creek in search of a mor
e spiritual way of life. Red Creek didn’t usually permit strangers onto the land, but their mother was persistent. Then Father fell in love with her and vouched for her purity of spirit. She’d already given birth to Agnes and Beth when it became clear she’d never fit in at Red Creek. In theory, she’d embraced their Laws; in practice, living among them was torture to her.
“I always thought she’d adjust to our ways,” Father had once told Beth, rubbing his bearded jaw bemusedly. “But she never did. She believed her opinions should matter as much as a man’s, and never understood that you can’t argue with God’s Law.”
Beth loaded a tray with homemade macaroni and cheese—Ezekiel’s favorite. Only the noodles were whole wheat now, which Agnes claimed was healthier. She was obsessive about caring for the baby of the family. Beth couldn’t help the rusty jealousy that hooked her heart. After all, Agnes didn’t care what she ate. Didn’t even care to ask where she’d been all afternoon.
Not that Beth owed her an explanation.
She walked the short hallway to the trailer’s back room, hardly aware that her hands were shaking, rattling the dishes balanced on their tray.
Once upon a time, Beth had loved being her mother’s special favorite. But as the years went on, her feelings had spoiled. Father claimed Beth was the spitting image of her mother when she was younger, a fact that disturbed her deeply. What if she’d inherited some kind of Outsider curse? What if that was why she was so unhappy living here, among God’s chosen?
She shook her head, clearing the doubts and fears, thick as cobwebs inside her skull.
I’m not in love, and that’s the main thing.
Cory couldn’t break her heart, as Father had broken her mother’s. She swore she’d never let herself love him so much that it destroyed her.
But she did love her family.
Even in her most selfish moments, her love for Mary, Faith, Ezekiel, and Sam remained like an inner ocean, sometimes ebbing, sometimes swelling—always there. And how could it be otherwise? She remembered the kids as toddlers, when they’d wandered about the trailer like clumsy bumblebees. She’d heard them speak their first words.
Agnes at the End of the World Page 3