by Pam Bachorz
“They just don’t know about him. He’s real,” I tell him.
Ford turns to face me. Even in the dark I feel his eyes, steady and firm, on me. “Do you really think he’s God?”
“He’s … Otto.” I never went to a Sunday school. I only know what my mother has told me for my whole life.
We sit quiet for a while. Ford’s fingers twine around mine again. I feel his pulse, slow, steady, where the webs of our fingers meet.
“He’s all you have, out here,” Ford says. “I get that.”
“He’s not here.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. Suddenly Ford’s fingers feel too heavy, too thick, and I slide my hand away.
“You pray to him, though,” Ford says.
“Yes.”
“Then doesn’t that make him your god?”
“He’s everyone’s god,” I say. “Otto heals all.”
“Otto isn’t my god.” Ford crosses his arms. “I’ve got the Holy Trinity. That’s what the Bible talks about.”
“Trinity … so you have three gods. Couldn’t there be one more?” I ask him.
He lets out a loud puff of air, like he’s been punched in the stomach. “The Trinity is all God. There’s only one God, Ruby. The Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit … all one God. Didn’t your mother tell you any of this?”
I raise a hand in the air. “Don’t tell me what to believe, Ford.” I sound more like Mother than I mean to—hard, final.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Then he shifts so he’s not facing me anymore.
“Otto performs miracles. The Congregants saw it,” I tell him. “Does your god do that?”
“Sure. There are all kinds of miracles in the Bible.”
“You’ve seen them?” I ask.
Ford pulls his legs in close to his body and hugs them, lowering his chin to his knees. “No.”
“Has anyone?”
“I don’t know. Not for a very long time, I guess. Or … at least there’s nothing recent in the Bible.”
Then maybe it’s Ford who’s found the wrong god. But I don’t say that. I know how it feels when he presses his god on me.
“I pray to God to save my mom, every day. That would be a miracle.”
“Like we prayed for Ellie,” I say.
“Yeah. And she’s probably going to die, like Ellie.”
We feel so far apart now. I edge closer, and closer, so our hips touch. Then I rest my head on his shoulder.
“They don’t seem to be listening, do they?” he asks.
“Who?” I whisper.
“Otto. And God.”
“Sometimes I wonder about that too,” I confess.
Ford strokes his hand over my head slowly, like a mother comforting a child. It leaves a trace of shivers behind, every hair feeling his touch.
I pull my head off his shoulder and shift away a bit. “What’s wrong with your mother?” I ask.
“Cancer,” Ford says. “She’s got it so bad, they can’t even treat it.”
“That sounds terrible,” I say.
“And worse every day.” He leans his head to the side so it’s touching mine, just for a second, then sits up.
“You could give her Water,” I say.
“No. Never.” He says it quickly.
It stings. I feel like he’s rejecting me, my blood. Would he feel the same if he knew my blood made the Water special? “You gave me medicine for Ellie. Is it any different?” I ask him.
“You ever give that to her?” he says.
“I didn’t get a chance, did I?”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Could it have saved her?” I ask.
“No. Just less pain,” he says.
“The Water might save your mother,” I say.
I could give him a tiny bit, couldn’t I? Just enough to help? Maybe then he’d believe in Otto’s miracles.
“If an Overseer steals Water, he’s done. Even one drop and Darwin will kill him,” Ford says.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“You think nobody’s tried?” Ford points up at the cisterns. “I’ve heard all the stories. Last guy who tried ended up strung up … never mind. We’ll just say it wasn’t pretty.”
“I never knew.”
“It’d be the same thing for a Congregant.” Ford’s voice is soft.
“I’m not stealing,” I say.
“I know.”
“I wish I could help your mother,” I tell him.
“I wish I could’ve helped Ellie.”
The cicadas in the woods let out a burst of sound, shrill, like a warning. There’s no breeze, suddenly: it is hot, airless, and a bead of sweat trickles behind my ear.
He leans closer to me, and I to him, until there’s barely any space between our lips. I imagine the rose petal between us, soft, touching his lips and mine.
“No. No!” I scramble away, and his head jerks back for a second—in shock, I think. He reaches out as I stand up, and then he is standing too. But he doesn’t make a move to come closer to me.
“I can save you,” he says. “I can take you somewhere safe, away from Darwin West.”
It all comes out easily, like he’s planned saying it to me.
“Only Otto can save me,” I tell him.
“We could be together if we were away from here.” His voice cracks.
“We can’t be together. Not ever.” I take one step back, then another. I want to tell him to leave me alone—to never talk to me again.
But I can’t get those words out. So I whirl and run and pretend I can’t hear him calling me.
He doesn’t follow.
And I don’t stop running until I’ve reached our cabin, and then the safety of bed, Mother breathing deeply across the room.
I am back where I belong. I can’t ever stray again.
Chapter 15
He said he could take me away.
He said he could take me somewhere safe, somewhere that Darwin West couldn’t reach. But I ran, like a child. I didn’t listen, all because of a kiss that didn’t even happen … an almost-kiss I can’t stop thinking about.
Mother’s right. I am still a child.
“I sure hope all you Toads are paying attention!” Darwin has us gathered around one of the holes; the Overseers are carrying a long pole to it. “This is going to be your job, starting today!”
Already we gather and dig. Now we have something else to do for him too.
“Will there be a reward this time?” I ask Mother softly. “Or only more hitting?”
She gives me a sad smile and touches her fingers lightly to one of the cuts she garnered in last night’s beating. “Otto is our only reward.”
“I know.” But is it wrong to hope for bread? For soup? For far, far more?
Ford isn’t here today. Perhaps he stayed at the cisterns all night, hoping I’d return. But I didn’t. I lay in bed, trying to sleep. When Mother woke for the morning, I hadn’t slept one bit.
It’s still a little dark; I have to squint to see exactly what Darwin is doing. He kneels by a pole, knotting three long, thick ropes around it.
“These will hold the poles in place until you pour the cement,” he says.
He motions and one of the Overseers gives him a short metal stake with loops at the top. He drives one into the ground, a fair distance from the pole; the Overseers drive two more into the ground at equal distances.
“How ’bout give us one of those stakes, boy,” I hear a man’s voice say quietly behind me. I turn to look; it’s all Congregants. But who? Maybe Jonah’s father Earl, standing at the edge of the pack. When he’s not giving Darwin West a murderous look, he spares an angry glance for Mother.
“We’ll be counting stakes before you’re released today.” Darwin looks around our group, eyes stopping on each of us, it seems, with a hard warning. “If one of you Toads tries anything—and I mean anything—with one of these …”
He whips around and swings his rifle straight at the Congregant closest to
him—Mary Evans, already near fifty when she came to the woods. She hunches and throws her hands over her head.
But Darwin stops the rifle just before it strikes her.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice soft, too sweet. “As long as you behave.” Darwin smiles. “Tell me you understand, Toads. No games with the stakes.”
The Congregants mutter.
“Make sure the rope is secure. No slips, got it?” Darwin says.
This time he does not have to tell us what to do. We nod, all of us, quickly.
He watches as the Overseers raise the pole and then tie the ropes to the stakes.
“That’s when you get cement. Load up a wheelbarrow and head to the hole.” Darwin points a finger into the crowd. “No spilling! Cement isn’t cheap.”
A beefy Overseer, nearly twice my height, struggles to get a heavy wheelbarrow up the short hill to the hole. Darwin lets out a sigh and the Overseer looks up. There’s fear in his eyes.
Good. I don’t feel any compassion for this man. Ford told me all the good things the Overseers get, in exchange for terrorizing us. Let him taste what is forced on us every day.
I wonder where Ford is right now. Sleeping, I warrant. Is he dreaming of the place he’d take me? Is he dreaming of him, me, together there?
Tonight I could go to him at the cisterns. He could take me away. No more pain, no more starving, no more holes or scraping water off leaves.
Joy bubbles in me, just thinking of what it might be like. I don’t need much. I just need to be away from here.
But then I hear Mother murmuring prayers to Otto under her breath. How could I leave her—how could I leave the Congregation? They would die without me, unless Otto finally comes. And I’ve sworn to be their Leader.
As wrong as it would be to leave the Congregants to die, it would be even worse to leave with an Overseer. For all of Ford’s kindness, he chose this job … and he has not left it. Who’s to say what he would be like away from here?
“And that’s how you raise and cement a pole!” Darwin finishes. “Go to your assignments now.”
It’s almost noon, and my stomach cramps with hunger. No breakfast today—the oatmeal and apples seem so far away now, like a dream, or something from Darwin’s gentler days long ago.
“Ruby? Ruby.” Mother stands close to me so we’re eye to eye. “We’ve got to go to our hole.”
“Our hole?” I ask.
“The one they assigned us to just a moment ago.” Mother squints at me. “What are you dreaming about, daughter?”
“Noth—nothing. No one,” I stammer.
Mother stares at me for a moment longer, then gestures for me to follow her deeper into the woods. “Has Jonah Pelling swayed you?”
“No … No, it’s not him,” I say.
It doesn’t seem to quiet her mind. She frowns. “This life leaves us little room for dreaming, Ruby.”
She’s right. But even as I follow her past a line of holes, all covered in clear sheets, I think of Ford. So long as my feet are doing as they’re told, what does it matter where my mind travels?
Soon three of our men arrive carrying a pole with three ropes draped over it. One of the men is Boone. They drop the pole on the forest floor, and two of the Congregants head back down the hill. Boone lingers behind, looking first at the pole and then Mother and me.
“How will you lift this by yourself?” he asks.
I wonder the same thing. Are we really supposed to lift something as tall as a tree, just the two of us?
“We’ll call for help if we need it,” Mother answers. “Go back before they decide you’ve been gone too long.”
He hesitates, looking at the other two Congregants already disappearing into the leaves. Then he follows them.
“Boone fancies himself our protector,” Mother grumbles. “It only gets worse and worse.”
“What’s wrong with a protector?” I ask.
“What’s wrong is that eventually they go away … or they give up. Then where are you left?” Mother kneels and pulls the first rope away from the tree. Then she hands it to me.
“Boone carries you home, Mother, after Darwin’s done hurting you.”
She pulls a knot tight around the pole and grimaces.
I think about Ford’s eyes, steady on me—asking for something. And then I think of how Boone looks at Mother.
“He … He loves you,” I say. “Doesn’t he?”
As soon as I say it, I know I shouldn’t have. Mother comes close to me and grips both my wrists tight. Her eyes are narrowed.
“That hurts,” I say.
She loosens her hold a bit. “Girls your age want romance. But Ruby …” She gives my wrists a small shake. “There’s no romance to be had here.”
I drop my eyes; I feel a flush crawling over the back of my neck. I can’t let her see my secrets.
“Do you understand?” she asks.
“That don’t look like working.” An Overseer is upon us, right behind Mother—neither of us even noticed.
We both scramble to our feet.
“Just one more rope and we’ll be ready to raise it,” Mother says.
“You do that. No more holding hands, Toads. I’ll be back in ten minutes to make sure you’re doing your fair share.” The man looks at the pole, then aims a wad of spit at the ground. “Here’s your stakes.”
He drops three stakes on the ground, then ambles off to check on Jonah and Earl Pelling, set up not too far from us.
Just that sentence is the spark my mind needs to go racing. He’ll be back—he’s not gone for good. He’s only stepping away for a bit.
That’s what I could do too. I don’t have to run away forever.
“Hurry,” Mother says.
She drives one stake in the ground; I manage two, stomping on each so they’re in deep, set at an angle like I watched the Overseers do.
“What’re these poles for?” I ask, even though I know Mother won’t want to speculate.
“They’re torture enough, aren’t they? We don’t need to know more,” she answers.
We finish tying the ropes, then stand and each take a deep breath. We roll the log until the end is over the hole, then Mother stands near the bottom and I in the middle.
“Walk it up,” she says, and we do, though the log is entirely too heavy and my muscles tremble with the effort. I see Mother’s shoulders and arms shaking too.
The worst part is knowing that we’ll have to do this again, and again, today.
“Otto help us,” Mother grunts.
I echo her prayer, but the pole is no lighter. I think of Ford’s saints. We need one to make Otto listen.
But even without Otto’s help, finally the log is in the hole, standing upright like a tree stripped of branches.
“You hold and I’ll tie,” Mother says.
I balance the log while Mother ties the ropes to the three stakes.
We stand back to admire the pole for a moment.
“It’s real ugly,” Mother says.
“Almost as ugly as Darwin West,” I answer.
She looks at me, a smile twitching on her face. It makes my own smile want to come out. And then, she laughs—a real laugh, not a tired or angry one. I haven’t heard her laugh all summer, I think. It makes me laugh too.
“Look out!” a man’s voice calls behind us. “Run!”
We turn in time to see a pole falling fast, right toward us. One tree catches it, then lets go—then another. The ropes that were supposed to hold it fast are flying alongside it.
Our laughter dies in an instant.
“Move!” Mother grabs my elbow and drags me away. We stumble over one hole. And then, a boom. The ground shakes, and leaves scatter from the trees. We were barely clear of it.
The Overseer who was watching us comes running from another part of the woods. As he runs, he pulls out the chain from his pocket.
We creep closer to the Pellings. I pray the Overseer won’t notice us.
&n
bsp; Jonah and Earl are standing at the foot of the fallen pole. It’s ripped up some of the hole it was meant for. Clods of dirt are plastered on both father and son.
The Overseer folds his arms. “You Toads drop something?”
More Congregants are sliding through the woods now, watching, but not getting too close.
“These ropes don’t want to stay knotted.” Jonah hunches his shoulders and looks to the side.
The Overseer bends to pick up one of the ropes scattered around the pole. He holds it close to his face, then drops it. “Looks like you’re just too stupid to tie knots.”
“We know how—” Jonah starts, but Earl presses his hand against his son. Jonah doesn’t say anything else. He stares at the Overseer though, bold.
“I’ll get the pole up real fast. I promise you that,” Earl says, still not meeting the Overseer’s eyes.
“You better get these poles up like Darwin said to, or else.” The Overseer turns his head to look at Mother. “She don’t look like she wants for another beating.”
“There won’t need to be any beating,” Jonah says.
“What did you just say, Toad?” The Overseer whips the chain behind his head; its path knocks leaves off the branch behind him.
“He said we’d better get back to work.” Earl puts one hand on Jonah’s shoulder.
Jonah pauses. He looks at me.
I shake my head slowly.
“Yep,” Jonah says. “That’s what I said.”
“Good.” The Overseer lets out a huge yawn and looks back at the deep shade he was standing in. “I’ll be watching.”
As soon as he’s out of earshot, Jonah whispers, “Or napping.”
“Watch your tongue,” Mother snaps.
“If you were some kind of good Leader, you’d stop this,” Earl growls at me.
“I—But we have to. They’ll beat us—” I start.
“Someone should stand up to him. Tell him we’re not hoisting poles,” Jonah says.
“Like a Leader,” Earl says. “Worthless girl.”
“The only reason you’re mad at Ruby is because she refused Jonah,” Mother says.
“She couldn’t do better.” Earl gives me a sour, measuring look.
“She’s better off staying with me,” Mother answers.
“Stop,” Jonah says. He won’t look at me. Pity fills me.
