Drought (6 page)

“Are you crying?” I ask.

“These days I do that a lot.” He clears his throat and looks up at the sky.

His entire life is so easy compared to mine. And he is here to keep my world terrible. But I still feel tears welling in my eyes, a response to his pain, even though I should hate him. I reach a hand out. I imagine laying it on top of his hand, cool skin on warm. I drop it fast.

“What happens here …” He trails off. “I can’t—I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“It doesn’t help to think about it,” I say.

“That doesn’t make it right. Darwin West makes me sick.” His voice is low, rough, like it hurts for the words to come out.

“Why are you here, then? If he makes you ill, why don’t you leave?”

“My mom needs medicine, and hospice, and … I can’t let her suffer,” he says.

“Seems like there’s better work than this,” I mutter.

“Round here, there’s not many choices. But you know that—you’re working here too,” he says.

Should I tell him the truth? Would it change anything?

No. Ford is not Otto. It is not his job to save us. It is his job to imprison us.

“I haven’t any choice,” I say. But I do not tell him more.

“Is it because you’re a cult?” he asks.

“A cult.” I taste the word—strange, brand-new. “What’s that?”

“No offense. That’s what the other guards told me—that’s why you wear those old-fashioned clothes and have all the Otto stuff on your church days …”

“Is a cult a Congregation?” I ask.

“Sort of.” He draws out the words. “But you can’t leave them, really. You’re stuck.”

“Then maybe that’s what we are,” I say.

“Maybe someday we’ll both find something better,” Ford says.

“Someday,” I say, sending Otto a silent prayer.

“How’s that lady doing—the one who’s so sick?” Ford asks. “I didn’t see her in the woods today, or the day before.”

It’s been six days since Ellie was denied Communion. For the last two, she’s been too weak to be out of bed. I brought her the last of our squirrel jerky this morning.

But she made me eat it while she watched.

“She was in the woods,” I lie, trying to keep my voice steady. “She’s much better.”

“I see. That’s … good. I thought maybe it was something serious.”

“Ellie’s real strong. You don’t have to worry about her,” I say. But I like that he asked. He cares, at least a part of him does.

“You’re strong too,” he says.

His voice is too familiar, too warm. I push to my feet. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” Ford says. There’s enough command in his voice to make me brace my body. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

“I only … I …” I will myself not to touch my arm. “I come to pray. And I bless the Water. My mother taught me how.”

He shifts in the grass and I feel his eyes on me. “Maybe you’ll come to bless the Water tomorrow.”

“My mother—” I shake my head and back away, slow at first and then faster, faster.

“I’ll be here,” he says.

I might stutter a few more words—I’m not sure. My heart is beating too fast to hear. I turn, run, so panicked that my feet find every rut and hole in the road. But it doesn’t slow me down.

Chapter 6

The Elders are meeting tonight, and they want to talk to me—just as Ellie said they would.

Hope found us in the clearing, after we emptied our cups. “We’re meeting at Ellie’s tonight,” she whispered. Her eyes darted about, hunting for guards, I think. Only the Congregants even know the Elders exist.

“I’ll come if I can,” Mother told her.

“We need Ruby too.” Hope gave Mother a strong look, then me. “You’ll come?”

I remembered that Ellie said this would happen. Now I’d finally find out what they wanted.

“Of course I will,” I told Hope.

She pulled me into a tight hug and whispered something.
Just say yes
, I think it was. But before I could ask, Gabe was there, and then Hope was gone.

The Elders have met with Mother at our cabin every Tuesday night for as long as I can remember. Some of the faces have changed: Asa’s wife Mabel and Christian Banks are both withered and gone, with Hope and Asa taking their places. But the meetings are mostly the same. They sort out arguments between families, give our meager extras to those who need them the most, and they always pray to Otto.

Sometimes other Congregants come too, pleading their case or complaining about a neighbor. They all trust the Elders, and Mother, to smooth things over, to protect us, as much as anyone can.

When Hope asked us to come, I wondered whether Mother would be too hurt, too beaten. And when we didn’t meet our quota today, I was so afraid for her.

But Darwin only lifted a hand to Mother’s cheek and smiled.

“Remember I love you,” he said.

Then they gave us hard biscuits and chopped fish that tasted mostly like the metal cans it came in. The Congregants were jolly, as if it were a holiday. I suppose it was. And all of us know it could be very different tomorrow.

The walk to Ellie’s is short; her cabin is the closet one to ours. I remember all the times I ran there, my heart burning from Mother’s careless or hard words. Ellie knows all my secrets … except for this new one about the Overseer, flourishing like a summer weed while she slips away.

We have arrived at Ellie’s door. Someone pushed fresh flowers in the knothole near eye level; they are limp, but the tiny yellow petals are pretty.

There’s a burst of laughter from inside the cabin, the same kind of joy we all felt at dinner. But Mother lets out an irritated sigh and pushes inside.

“Have a care,” she warns as we enter the cabin. “Do you want the Overseers finding us?”

Hope is sitting on Ellie’s bed, holding one of her hands. A smile slides off her face, and she looks away from us. Her thick black hair swings to cover her face like a curtain.

“I’m sorry I was loud,” she says.

“We’re telling stories about the old days.” Boone is tending a small fire in Ellie’s stove, poking twigs into the fledgling flame. He pauses to offer us one of his rare smiles, and I see Mother’s shoulders relax.

It’s hotter than noontime, but Ellie has drawn the blankets tight up to her chin. The evening’s slight chill must be soaking into her bones. I pull at my bodice to free it from my sticky skin.

Her bed is plumped with pillows I’ve never seen in the cabin before. They’re made from faded fabric, lumpy with pine needles or dried grasses. It’s a luxury for any Congregant to have more than one pillow—or even that.

“Who brought these?” I ask. One has faint yellow stripes on it; another shows brighter spots of blue where buttons used to be.

“Joan made them, but Mary gave her the fabric. She’ll wish she had those shirts come wintertime.” Ellie frowns and reaches back to touch the pillows.

Come winter, will Ellie even need the pillows? I swallow hard and twist away, pretending to study the careful dried daubs of mud that seal the logs of her cabin.

I helped Ellie add more mud, every fall, keeping the wind away from her. She followed behind and smoothed each bit until it was perfect. Our walls never looked so nice. Mother didn’t have the patience for making them perfect, and I didn’t have the steady hand.

Mother sets her stool next to Ellie’s pillow and takes a seat. She brushes a light hand over Ellie’s forehead. “And how are you tonight?” she asks.

“Better now that I see all of you,” Ellie answers in her worn-down voice. “Give me a hug, Ruby.”

I draw Ellie’s shoulders up for a hug. “Let me give you Water,” I whisper.

“Don’t you start that,” Ellie warns.

I ease back and retreat to the corner farthest from the fire.

“Remember how you used to mix beans in the leftover mashed potatoes, Sula? And feed them to the cat?” Ellie asks Mother.

The corners of her mouth twitch as she stares into the air, as if she sees something the rest of us cannot. “Snowball spit out every single bean, no matter how much I hid them.”

I know that story—I know every single one they tell—but I still love to hear them. What was it like, living in a time when you had more food than you could eat? When you could spare food to feed a picky animal?

“That durn cat wasn’t fussy about eating Mabel’s flowers.” The last Elder, Asa, is leaning against the wall, farthest from the group. His face is in shadows, but I can imagine the sour look on his face—it so rarely goes away since Mabel withered a few years back. That was when Hope took her place as an Elder.

“Mabel didn’t mind,” Hope says.

“She was soft like that. Always falling for the strays, like your mother here, Ruby,” he answers. “Otto came out of the woods. Biggest stray of them all. See what trouble that got us into?”

Nobody else could talk to Mother like that, but she only shrugs. We’re all accustomed to Asa’s vinegar, and the loyalty that lies beneath it too.

“Why so grumpy, old man?” Ellie asks in a light voice. “Was our dinner too rich for you?”

We all laugh at that one, even Mother.

“Truly … Darwin West was merciful today,” Hope says. “We got biscuits
and
fish. And no beatings.”

“Sula must have thrown him a smile,” Asa says.

“No. Nobody can predict that monster.” Boone gives Mother a quick look. “And Sula doesn’t control that man.”

Mother draws in a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Shall we begin?”

The Elders settle into a rough circle, Asa and Boone perching on low stools they must have brought from their cabins. Hope stays on Ellie’s bed. Once we two played childish pretend games in Ellie’s cabin, especially in the long winter months—right on that bed.

“We can talk about Ed and Posey first,” Boone says.

“Or maybe those shiftless Pellings,” Asa growls.

But then they look at Hope, who is bouncing a bit on the bed and frowning—and the men laugh.

“Only teasing, Hope,” Asa says. “It’ll be Ruby first, of course.”

“What is this about?” Mother asks, looking at each Elder in turn.

But they are all looking at me.

“Ruby, you were born two hundred years ago,” Boone starts.

“The tiniest, prettiest thing,” Hope adds.

Ellie nods.

“Now you’re nearly as ugly as the rest of us,” Asa says.

“A woman, now,” Ellie says.

Mother seems as lost as I, still looking from face to face—and then at me. “Ruby?” she asks.

I shrug.

“We’ve been … watching you for a while,” Hope says.

“Seeing if you’re ready,” Asa adds.

“For what?” I burst out. I’ve tried to be patient, but I can’t imagine what they want.

“We want you to be our Leader,” Boone says.

“Until your father—until Otto comes,” Hope adds quickly.

They all look up at the sky, for just a moment.

The heat presses on me like someone is holding a blanket over my face. I gasp for air. The dim-lit room sparkles and shifts.

“You already have a Leader,” I say—too afraid to look at Mother and see what her face must be like.

“We have a Reverend—and that won’t change.” Boone stands now and puts his hand on Mother’s shoulder.

I dare a glance, then. She doesn’t look angry. She is only shocked, I think. Our eyes meet, and I know she must see a mirror of her expression on my face.

“Mother is all the Leader you need,” I say.

“There’s four Elders. We need a fifth,” says Asa.

“Then get another Elder.” I must sound ungrateful, whining, even. But I have never expected this—never wanted it.

Ellie answers, the words said with careful effort. “You carry Otto’s blood. You’re the one meant to lead us.”

“What does that mean for her then—lead?” Mother asks. She stays on her chair, Boone’s hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll come to the Elders’ meetings. You’ll talk to anyone who has a problem, or dispute—and you’ll pray with them,” Hope says.

“That’s what Mother does,” I say.

“Not this summer,” Mother whispers, and Boone squeezes her shoulder.

“You’ll do what Otto did—mostly. Some you already do, with your blood,” Asa says.

“I won’t have her beat,” Mother warns.

“No,” Boone agrees. “We’d protect her, like we always have.”

“It’s a good idea.” Mother stands to come close to me. She takes my hand in hers. “You can lead. Darwin never has to know. You can be what the Congregation needs … what I haven’t been, this summer.”

“Because of
him,”
Boone says through gritted teeth.

Mother nods.

“So many people want you to do this,” Hope says. “They want
you
.”

“They do?” I can’t imagine who.

“We all see how you’ve grown,” Ellie says.

“And we all know who your father is,” Hope adds.

“I’m not my father,” I say.

Asa shifts his weight and aims a finger at Ellie, or perhaps Hope. “Told you she’d balk.”

That raises my hackles. “I’m not balking. I’m only—”

“Shocked.” Hope’s smile warms the cold, afraid feeling that’s stealing over me.

“Shocked,” I agree.

“Come here, Ruby,” Ellie says.

Hope slides off Ellie’s bed and I climb up, gently. Ellie hooks her pinky finger through mine. I can feel her pulse, fast and light.

“You would be sustaining us, like always,” Ellie says. “That’s all.”

“No, No. If I’m to lead us … I want to change things,” I tell them.

Ellie pulls her hand away.
“Sustain,”
she says, stressing the word.

Mother walks to the bed. “You must accept things as they are. You can’t try to
save
this Congregation.”

Tears are pinching at my eyelids, trying to push out. I bow my head and will them to go away. “I want to help,” I say.

“Not this again,” Asa sighs.

“You will help,” Ellie says. “As we need you to.”

“Can you promise us that?” Hope asks.

“And if I don’t?” I say. Rebellion burns in me. “Or if I won’t lead?”

They look at one another; they didn’t expect that question.

Mother finally answers. “If you don’t do as the Elders ask, then … Otto will condemn you to hell.”

Hope gasps. But no one disagrees.

“To hell?” I stand up and so does she; we are eye to eye, so close that I could breathe in the air she pushes from her lungs. “Do you really think my father would send me to hell for trying to help?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” She does not seem to blink or even breathe, only stares at me.

“Please just promise, Ruby,” Hope says. “We only want you to be safe.”

“Promise for me,” Ellie says.

I should try to make them see what I know—that I can save all of us. But maybe Otto would condemn me. Maybe we are meant only to wait.

So I swallow and say it. “I promise. I’ll lead. The way … The way you want me to.”

“Good girl,” Mother says, and she pulls me into a hug. I do not hug her back.

“Congratulations,” Boone says.

“Thank you,” Ellie says, and the other Elders give their thanks too. But hearing their voices only flames the anger in me.

“I have to be alone … for now,” I say, and nobody stops me.

Nobody even walks me outside.