Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  “Except, fire version?” Wesley asks. “So we what? Stick Ruby in an incinerator and if she doesn't burn, she's God's chosen?”

  Adam shrugs. “The accused may select the method of death, as long as it's something that’s inconclusively fatal.”

  “Game changer.” Wesley grins.

  I realize what he's thinking. “God may very well choose the next ruler.” I smile at Adam. “Your advice has been transformational, thank you. Please deliver a message for me personally. Please go and tell my darling cousin Sawyer Blevins that while I appreciate his generous offer, God has directed me not to take it. In fact I feel specifically guided down another, fierier path.”

  4

  Once I've explained my plan to everyone in the room and sent Wesley off on his errand, it occurs to me. Tricking the Port Heads and all my subjects will probably solve my problem. Which will allow me to be crowned queen and prevent the Cleansing. I can even send aid to the Marked population.

  It's also exactly what my biological father would have done if he were in my shoes. I look down at my feet and try to ignore the heartburn that thought produces.

  “What's wrong?” Sam takes one of my hands in his.

  “This is what he would have done in my place,” I whisper. “And I'm risking the lives of all those Marked kids on the belief that my plan will work. It's selfish and deceitful.” My voice drops even lower. If it were anyone else, I doubt they could hear me, but I know Sam will. “I'm like him whether I like it or not.” Bile rises in my throat. I can't do it. I'll have to run after all.

  “You're nothing like him.” Sam sits down on the chair next to me and pulls me up onto his lap. I should feel like a child, but somehow I don't. I sink back against him, my stress, my fear, and my guilt pouring out of me. “You're doing this for the right reasons, and it's a risk you should take. You're not even worried about your own life. If I'm being honest, that's my only real concern. Instead you're doing this to help people, including my little brother.”

  “You are doing the right thing,” Josephine says quietly, “even if it requires a lie.” She sits down on one of the dining chairs, her hand to her mouth. A single tear runs down her face. “For years I've prayed, begging God for your safety and asking him to tell me why. Why He let you be taken from me, why He allowed a madman from my past to steal my darling daughter.”

  Off the top of my head, if I really believed there was a God sitting up in heaven who was controlling this stuff, I'd think maybe it was to spare me from her abusive piece of crap husband. But I don't mention that aloud. It hardly seems helpful.

  “I finally have an answer. In the Bible, Joseph's the youngest, a beloved child of a great man, a prophet renamed Israel by God. Through no fault of his own, Joseph's brothers were jealous of his father's preference for him, and they sold poor Joseph into slavery. He spent many years doing the right thing, but no matter what he did, things became progressively worse and worse for him. He was thrown in jail, tempted and tormented, and no matter who he helped, he was forgotten. Even so Joseph never forgot God, and when the time came, God used Joseph to save his entire family. He was in a position of power in Egypt and he ultimately fed the entire nation of Israel. Without Joseph's ordeal the whole house of Israel would've starved.”

  Like the Marked kids will die, starving slowly as Tercera shuts down the function of their gastrointestinal tract. “Are we thinking that story's going to be on the test?” I ask.

  Josephine takes my hand. “No darling, that's my answer. It’s yours too, if you’ve ever wondered why your mother was taken from you. You don't need to feel guilt about what you're planning. You were taken from me for a reason, so that you'd be prepared to take over and lead our people when the time came. You're a present day Joseph. God wants you to rule, and He always provides a way to accomplish His designs. You and your friend Wesley were smart enough to see it. I still mourn the years with you I lost, but I know this is divine will.”

  Hmm. Well, that makes one of us.

  Once we've worked out the rest of the details I head to my room to change. Adam takes up his position at the door and Sam follows me through the doorway.

  “It's inappropriate for you to stay with Her Royal Highness,” Adam says. “You'll start rumors.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sam stays with me at my request. I trust him.”

  Sam pauses and turns. “It's inappropriate for you to question Her Royal Highness, isn't it?”

  Adam lifts one eyebrow. “You don't scare me, sir. My vows are to Her Majesty Ruby Solomon. I speak only out of concern for her well being. You may demote me or challenge me or whatever you choose, but I will speak when I believe it is in her best interest that I do so. Otherwise I would be failing in my duty.”

  Sam grins. “I can respect that.” He shuts the door in Adam's beautiful, self-righteous face.

  The second the door closes, Sam snags my hand and pulls me against him. “Say the word and we'll leave right now. My cursed uniform will get us out of here, I promise. You don't need to risk your life on this sunshine. No one would blame you, even your saintly but misguided mother.”

  “It's fine,” I say. “The plan’s solid.”

  Sam leans toward me and brushes his lips against mine, lightly. Too lightly. “It's a good one,” he murmurs against me, “but every time we turn around those maniacs have some extra hoop for you to jump through. I'm an inch away from breaking all their prideful necks.”

  “I'm pretty sure murder's worse than pride.”

  “Is it?” Sam asks.

  I snort. “Actually, that’s the problem, right?” I start laughing and for some reason I can’t seem to stop. “I have no idea.”

  Sam smirks. “You're so going to fail this test.”

  I’m still laughing. “Totally.”

  He kisses the smiles off my face and I think that’s the one thing better than laughter. Kissing Sam.

  We're both late by the time we’re dressed and ready to go, and I don't even care. Josephine's waiting for me outside, tapping her foot. Her eyes widen when Sam comes out hand in hand with me. I consider explaining that I changed in the bathroom, but she doesn't say a word so I leave it alone. Sam's in his uniform and I'm wearing the deep blue silk ball gown Josephine had made for me. The bright golden embroidery is embellished in places with sparkling rubies.

  Josephine's hand flies to her face when she sees me. “Oh, you look striking, Ruby. This color perfectly matches your eyes and your hair, just like I knew it would. I'm so glad I had it commissioned the day after we found you again. They only finished it two days ago you know, on the day your father—” She cuts off and swallows slowly. Watching how sad she gets when she thinks about David Solomon's death hurts me, but I still can't regret it.

  I force a smile. My mom cares about these things, so I should try to care too. “It's a great dress Mom, really. Thanks. Now if you'd only thought to sew in a pocket for hiding the answers to Bible trivia, it might be helpful as well as ornamental.”

  Josephine's hands flutter around my face, finally settling near the crown of my head, smoothing my always twirly and fluffy hair back. “This is the first time most of your subjects here in Galveston will see your face. I wish we'd had time to put your hair up, but this will have to do. At least the curls are unique and lovely. Nearly ten thousand people have come to watch tonight, and many of them are visiting from the far-flung Ports. You father built the Assembly Hall specifically so his people could all come to his Sunday sermons in three simple sessions, but our population has grown so fast that it now takes ten or more sessions to accommodate everyone. He only held the full ten sessions it took for everyone to attend on special holidays.”

  There's no way I'll ever teach a Sunday sermon. Absolutely no way, but I don't mention that to Mom. Again, what’s the point?

  Sam holds my hand as we walk down the steps to the front drive. No black van today, not for this. A shiny white limousine waits for us. A guard I don't know holds the door open, and Sam helps me c
limb inside, arranging my skirts with a half grin.

  I hate dresses and the puffier they are, the more I hate them. At least I'm not wearing a blasted tiara. Not yet, anyway.

  Sam sits on my right side for the drive to the Assembly Hall and Adam sits on my left. I miss the constant jabber from Wesley and I wonder where he is. He should be back by now. I glance out the window repeatedly, but there's no sign of him yet. My foot taps on the floorboard of the car until Sam rests his hand on my knee.

  “He'll do it,” Sam whispers.

  I breathe in and out. I hope he's right or my ashes will soon be blowing on the wind, dooming all the Marked kids to death.

  The limousine pulls around the back of a huge sandstone building. Adam speaks into an earpiece and ushers me out. Sam doesn't hold my hand on the way in because boyfriend Sam is gone. Luckily, I recognize this Sam too. Tactical Sam scans the crowds as we enter the Assembly hall. He monitors the exits and listens to conversations. When I climb the steps and step out onto the raised dais, the crowd falls silent. The seven Port Heads are already seated at two tables, angled out toward the crowd with a podium between. I step away from Sam and toward the podium. When I glance back at Josephine, she's beaming at me.

  I wish I had her faith.

  Or any faith at all, really.

  I think about my dad. I do have faith in two things thanks to him: science and people. I haven't seen Wesley but I believe he'll come. I know exactly what things fire will burn and what it won't. Thanks to Dad's teaching I have faith my plan will work. I glance at the back hall. I meant to simply announce my intention to request a Trial by Fire immediately, but I can't, not yet. I need to buy Wesley more time. As long as I make my request before the completion of the test, it should be fine. I think.

  I walk slowly toward the podium in what I hope is a stately manner. Really I'm trying not to trip over my absurdly puffy skirts while walking in the obscenely tall shoes that came with the dress. I reach the podium and rest my hands on the angled, wooden top, which I can reach thanks to the shoes. “I'm happy for the opportunity to meet all of you today, but saddened by the circumstances that brought us here.” That's true enough, even if I’m not sad for the reasons they think.

  The audience cheers so loudly I grab the podium for support to keep from stumbling. I wasn't sure what to expect. I'm a young girl they've never before seen. In spite of what Josephine said, I worried they'd boo me off the stage.

  A throat clears in a microphone and I glance at the tables to the right and left of me, unsure who's drawing attention to themselves and why.

  “Welcome, young Ruby Solomon,” Sawyer Blevins says. “And welcome to all of you fine citizens who have gathered to witness this Trial of Faith our beloved King asked us to conduct to ensure his daughter was prepared for the grave duty he has entrusted into her care.”

  “Yes, welcome to all of you,” Rosa Alvarez says. “Many of you have traveled from quite a sizable distance to be present on this auspicious day. The Port Heads take the request of our former monarch quite seriously. World Peace Now has thrived in terrifying times because we've hearkened to the counsel of a loving God, a God who was forced to take action because the world had rotted, but He sought to preserve a righteous people. We have been that righteous branch, and now we must ensure our leader is the most virtuous among us and hearkens unto God’s will.”

  I school my face to neutrality to cover my disgust. She's implying that all the people who died from Tercera were rotten and deserved to die. Can she possibly believe that's true?

  “We've prepared ten questions each,” Quentin Clarke says. “We hope you'll all consider during this test whether you can answer these questions yourselves. All of us can stand to spend a little more time learning God's ways. And I'm sure we'll all remember and be conscious of the fact that darling Ruby spent only days with her father before he was taken from her. In light of that, I'll start by asking her the first question. Mine are more questions of faith than of trivia so that we can all see where her heart lies.”

  My heart swells a little at his words and I wonder whether I might actually pass this test. Wouldn’t that be something? Quentin, at least, doesn’t seem to be trying to wrest control out of my hands.

  “After Port Head Clarke begins, we'll each ask a question in turn, one at a time, circulating ten times, for a total of seventy questions,” Sawyer Blevins says. “Per her father's edict she may not miss more than thirty questions, or she will be ineligible to rule. Are you all ready to begin?”

  The Port Heads nod and Sawyer turns toward me. “Your Royal Highness?”

  I lean toward the microphone. “Yes.”

  Quentin Clarke shuffles a paper in front of him. “First I'd like to ask you what approach you plan to take when you’re inevitably confronted with a difficult decision to make for the people of World Peace Now.”

  I rock back on my heels. How will anyone decide whether my answer’s right? “Um, well, first I'd ask the advisors close to me what they think. Obviously that would include religious advisors like the Port Heads. Then I'd think about it for myself and maybe consult the Bible, if there are applicable parts. Then I'll really ponder it and ask God if he thinks it's right. I'm not expert on that yet but I think He can let me know when I'm on the right path.”

  Quentin smiles. “I find that to be an acceptable answer.

  I beam.

  Rosa Alvarez says, “My questions deal with the last part of your reply, Your Royal Highness. Prayer. Specifically, my first question is a simple one. Please recite the Lord's prayer.” Rosa smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

  The audience boos, and I don't understand why.

  “Well, it sounds like the Lord's prayer is a specific prayer, and I'm sorry to say I haven't memorized any prayers in particular. But I imagine if the Lord was praying, he'd pray for his people. So maybe something like “Dear God please help your people to do what's right and be good like you. And thank you for what you've done.”

  Rosa sighs and shakes her head. “I'm sorry Your Royal Highness, but that's not the Lord's prayer, which is actually more of an instruction for us on how to pray.”

  The audience boos again, and my hands begin to shake. Where's Wesley? I glance at Sam but he shakes his head.

  “My question,” Terry Williams says, “is how many days did it take for God to create the earth?

  I lean too close to the microphone and my words boom into the room. “Oh I know this one.” I pull back from the microphone. “Sorry about that. I guess I have as much experience with speaking to a lot of people with a microphone as I do governing.” The audience chuckles. “But it's seven, I think. It took a week. First light and dark, then water and land and animals and plants, and then stars or something like that. Right?”

  Terry frowns. “Almost. It was six days.” The audience boos again.

  I sigh. The people already hate me because I'm an idiot. “Because he rested on the last day, which is why we have Sunday. Whoops. I'm sorry. I really did know that.”

  Dolores Peabody asks the next question. “My questions will have to do with the order of the Bible and its creation. What are the two separate books in the Bible called, and how are they different?”

  “Oh good,” I say. “A two part question. The simple one part questions were a little too easy for me I thought.” The audience laughs and I grin. “Well, I think there's the old bible and the new bible, and the old one is from Jewish people? And the new one is from. . . Jesus? Maybe?”

  Dolores presses her lips together. “Old and New Testament, but I'll give it to you.” The audience cheers again and I realize they might be supporting me and booing the Port Heads. I did not expect that. “And how do they differ?”

  Didn't I already answer that part? “Well, I think the older one is from Jewish people like I said, and it's like their stories of how things sucked before Jesus came. And the new one is about when Jesus came? So the Jews didn't like that one because when he came, they didn't think it was reall
y him or something.”

  The audience cheers and Dolores shrugs. “I suppose that's close enough.”

  Steve Young says, “My questions relate to timing. When was Jesus born?”

  “He reset the clocks. He was born at zero. That's why BC means Before Christ. I used to think AD meant After Death, but that would leave like thirty years of dead space in between so I found out it’s actually it's Latin. It means anno domino, or something like that.”

  Steve grins. “Anno domini, which literally means 'in the year of the Lord.' I'll give you credit for it.” The audience hoots and hollers this time.

  Jose Fuerte clears his throat. “Your father gave me a second chance when I didn't have any hope so my questions will be about Christ's lessons on forgiveness.”

  “Oh good,” I say. “Does that mean if I fail this test I'll get another go at it? Maybe in a week or two, after I've had time to study?”

  The audience goes wild.

  “Uh,” Jose looks around. “Well, no. Actually your father made provision only for the one test.”

  “But he didn't specify a time you had to administer it, did he?” I cock one eyebrow.

  Sawyer Blevins leans toward his microphone. “He didn't but we all agreed it needed to take place before the coronation, which I'm sure you can understand.”

  The audience boos, but I bow my head. “I'd be agreeable to postponing the coronation, but of course I understand that you're only trying to do what's best for the people.”

  “Exactly. We’re doing this for the people.”

  The crowd boos.

  Dolores frowns and taps the microphone. “Please ask your question, Jose.”

  “My first question is,” Jose says, “in Matthew 18, how many times does the Lord tell Peter to forgive?”

  I scrunch my nose. “A whole lot?”

  Rosa speaks into the microphone. “Unfortunately, that's incorrect. It's a very specific verse. It states Peter must forgive seventy times seven times.”

  I whistle. “Wow, I only get to miss thirty questions, even though you're supposed to forgive four hundred and ninety times?”