I close my eyes. If I leave tonight and we're successful for the first time ever in actually escaping from somewhere, I can't return. If I walk away from these people, with the seven Port Heads here to spin my actions as a betrayal, well, that's it. If I do leave, Sawyer and Rosa made it quite clear how they feel. They'll eliminate every Marked kid from here to Canada, and I think they have the means to do it, whatever Rafe thinks.
I glance from Sam to Wesley and back again.
“You know her,” Sam says.
I do. Blood relative or not, I know Rhonda better than anyone else except maybe Job. I know her well enough to know what she would tell me to do if she was standing right here next to me.
“Ruby.” She'd shake her head. “Don't be emotional and don't be an idiot. My life weighed against the certain death of a hundred thousand children? Don't end their extra lease on life before it's begun.”
Tears well up in my eyes, and I shake my head to clear the image of ghost Rhonda. I can't handle the thought of her really being gone. I need her sass and her verve and her confidence. I need Rhonda to be alive and well.
“But Job and Uncle Dan and Aunt Anne.”
Sam's eyes are sad.
Wesley looks at the floor.
It doesn't matter how often I say their names aloud. It doesn't matter if this decision is agony. It doesn't matter, because if I do this and Rafe doesn't budge, they'll never forgive me. I know that because I'll never forgive myself.
Even so, I'm going to stay right here, and do something I never wanted, something I still don't want. I'm going to be crowned Queen of friggin’ Sheba to try and save Rafe's ungrateful and unworthy neck. And if he follows through on his threat, I may have to wring it myself.
6
Friday and Saturday are both boring. No Port Heads come to yell at me, and none try to assassinate me. I almost wish someone would, if only to give me something to think about other than Rhonda and Rafe's impending deadline.
I suck at cards compared to Wesley, so by Friday afternoon I refuse to play another single hand. Why bother losing at anything else?
Adam tries to help keep me company. It turns out he plays a pretty mean game of Would You Rather. While Sam works with Josephine on last minute details of my coronation, I learn that Wesley would rather be alone for the rest of his life than be surrounded by annoying people. Adam would rather know how he's going to die, instead of when.
“Would you rather,” I ask, “have the general public think you're wonderful while your family knows you're a terrible person, or have the general public hate you, but your family be proud, because you treat them right?”
Wesley furrows his brow. “This one's easy. Obviously—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” I say. “It's Adam's turn.”
Adam bites his lip. “Well, it's not much of a question, really. In one scenario I'm a good person, and in one I'm not, right? I think regardless of who thinks you're good, you should want to be a good person at heart.”
I shake my head. “The question doesn't address whether you're actually good or not. You could be good or bad in either scenario. You're you. The question is, which set of people's opinions do you value? The general public? Or your family and close friends?”
Adam shakes his head. “Let's assume I am a good person, then—”
“It's not about truth, Adam. Focus here for a moment. It's about whose opinion matters to you. Which is it? Family or the world at large?”
He shrugs. “I don't have much family. My parents are both dead, and I don't have any friends. I guess the general public.”
My heart wilts a little bit. “No family and no friends?”
He shrugs. “My mom and I were really close, but she died of cancer two years ago. I enlisted right after that.”
I close my eyes. “I'm sorry, Adam. I haven't known you long but for what it's worth, I consider you a friend.”
He beams at me. “Then maybe I'll pick friends instead of the public.”
“Oh come on,” Wesley says. “This handsome, muscled dude flirts with you all day, but the second I say anything about kissing or relationships—”
Adam splutters. “I would never flirt with Her Royal Highness.”
“Woe is me,” Wesley says. “I have no friends and no family, which is why I focus on intrinsic goodness, and perfecting my six pack abs. Since I inevitably have time left over, I better work on making my biceps the size of cantaloupes. My perfect hair and Adonis-like facial features can't quite drown out the sorrow of my life.” Wesley snorts. “All you need is a puppy and an orphan child you're raising on your own, and you'd be ready to go trolling on the beach.”
Adam turns toward me. “I have no idea what he's talking about most of the time. Trolls? There aren't any trolls, and if there were, they'd certainly not be walking anywhere near a beach.”
Wesley slaps his forehead. “I was saying that you flirt with Ruby all day long, but if I even so much as think about telling her she looks amazing in those jeans and that t-shirt, which you do by the way, Rubes, then—”
Sam clears his throat.
“See?” Wesley sighs. “Lover Boy shows up to scowl at me and flex his muscles and generally stomp around.”
Adam smirks. “I think Lover Boy knows I have no intention of ever wooing Her Royal Highness.”
“Wooing?” Sam asks. “And can I just say how happy I am that Wesley's stupid nickname for me is catching on?” He places his hand on the glass, and for Sam I stand up and walk over to place my hand against it.
“I miss you.” I whisper, “Especially at night.”
Wesley covers his ears. “La, la, la. Come on you two, knock it off.”
Adam smirks. “I'll go fetch dinner trays. Do you plan to stay and eat?” he asks Sam.
Sam shakes his head. “I can't. I'm due at the Assembly hall in a few minutes for a last run through on security and protocols. I swung by to make sure Ruby's okay.”
“I'm taking good care of her,” Adam says. “She's perfectly safe.”
Wesley rolls his eyes. “He doesn't mean physically, Mr. Literal.”
I think about the time. Dinner. Which means close to sunset. Rafe's deadline on Saturday night. My knees give out and I fall back onto the edge of my bed. Rafe might be shooting Rhonda right this minute.
I could have stopped it and I chose not to.
I close my eyes, but I don't sleep. Not then, not after dinner, not all night. Every time I drift off, Job or Aunt Anne or Uncle Dan take turns pulling guns on me, or roasting me over a spit, or slapping my face.
Wesley's eyes are bright and clear when the physician comes to examine us. At least it's not Dr. Flores. I couldn't deal with her shiny, immaculate beauty, not today. I've already been to the bathroom and seen the terrible dark circles under my eyes, and I’m well aware of the state of my unwashed hair.
Luckily, in spite of my ghastly appearance, the physician pronounces our survival a miracle. I’ve been cleared.
Sam's already wearing a black tuxedo when he pulls me in for a hug outside the quarantine room door. Adam's standing behind Sam and to the left wearing a fancy uniform, full of stripes and medals. He may not have been a guard for too long, after all he barely looks older than me, but he's earned plenty of accolades. After Sam releases me, I reach over and squeeze Adam's hand. “I hope you'll stand near me for the ceremony.”
Adam beams.
“Why do you like that guy?” Sam asks when we walk down the hallway a few paces. “He's a terrible suck up. If I have to hear him call you Your Royal Highness one more time . . .”
“Is it the Royal that bothers you?” I ask, looking at him from more than a foot away, “Or the Highness?” I wink.
He leans down and kisses me quickly. “You look tired.”
“Just what every princess wants to hear on her coronation day.”
He frowns. “You know what I mean. Couldn't you sleep? Or were you up late talking with Wesley?” Sam glances behind him and Wesley throws him two thumbs up.
“My lack of sleep had nothing to do with Wesley. Does he have rings under his eyes?”
Sam squeezes my hand. “I'm sorry.”
When we reach the white non-palace, swarms of ladies descend. Within a few moments, they've shoved me into the shower, dried me off afterward—which was unspeakably awkward— before they applied makeup, and my hair’s been twisted up into a complicated, curly mass of tendrils on top of my head. Tiny, sparkly, red beads are threaded throughout next, which takes even longer than I worried it would.
When I hear a knock at the door to my anteroom, they're busy stuffing me into an ivory sheath dress. Again, tiny rubies have been sewn into the bodice, this time into the shapes of delicate flowers. I have almost no curves naturally, but when I glance in the mirror they've suddenly appeared. This dress might have been worth the million and one fittings.
When the door opens, Josephine gasps. “Darling, you look absolutely stunning.”
I flinch. “Maybe don’t say darling anymore?”
She frowns like she never realized it was creepy. “I’ll try to remember, but sometimes I might forget. Like when I see you and you look more beautiful than I ever imagined something could.” Her hand flies to her heart and she inhales and exhales slowly.
“It's like you think I'm getting married or something.”
Josephine cups my face with her hand. “One day, dar—” she cuts off, and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she smiles at me. “It’s a hard habit to break, but I will.”
“Thanks, and I’m in no rush on the marriage thing, you know.”
She nods. “I figured, but one day it will happen, and that’ll be a happy day for me. For now, you're doing something even bigger in its own way. You're pledging before God to care for His people. You're promising those people that you'll make sure our community stays safe and things will run smoothly. This matters.”
I don’t bother telling her all people should be God’s people, or that I don’t want to make any pledges of any kind. I don’t say a word about any of it on the ride over to the Assembly Hall. It feels like I never talk to my mom about anything of substance, but we’d hardly have time for a fruitful conversation here.
When the van pulls to a stop, I close my eyes and breathe in and out a few times slowly. The enormous building looks exactly the same on the outside, but when we walk inside it’s barely recognizable. Gone are the podium and tables, replaced with baskets and bins of roses. Lilies and birds of paradise spill from vases, and tumbling wisteria flows over the edges of nearly every inch of the formerly bare stage. I thought I wouldn't care about the flowers, but I spent way too many years in charge of our greenhouse not to be a little filled with awe. Some of the flowers I’ve only ever seen in picture books.
Unfortunately, when I really look around the white lilies remind me of an arrangement that we took with us after my father died. We didn’t stay for his funeral, which I now know was because we were on the run, but that arrangement bumped and jounced along in the car with us for hundreds of miles. It makes me wonder whether Rhonda will need a funeral service. And then I think about whether anyone will bring flowers to that.
My throat closes up, and I can barely breathe.
Luckily the ceremony begins, so I don't need to speak to anyone. For most of the time I stand as still as the hothouse flowers. When my mom walks toward me with a heavy-looking golden tiara resting on a pillow, I start, my eyes blinking, adrenaline pumping through my veins. This is about to happen. I repeat the words they give to me, a pledge to uphold the word of God and establish His order among His people. Then everyone in the room bows and mutters a different oath back to me in unison. To serve, protect and obey.
After they all rise, I'm supposed to walk to the front of the stage and say a few words. Josephine said I'm supposed to reassure them that I'll lead them wisely and under the direction of Providence.
My feet move but when I reach the microphone stand at the front of the stage, all my ideas of what to say have fled. I look slowly from one end of the room to the other. The assembly hall usually holds nearly ten thousand chairs, but for today, the chairs were removed and there are more than twice as many people, all standing. Many of the faces swimming before my eyes are tear streaked. Most of those are female.
A female monarch and a young one at that.
Every face turns toward me with longing and hope. They may not be my people, but they aren't villains, either. These people aren't David Solomon or Sawyer Blevins. These faces in front of me want to do what's right. They need guidance in finding the right path, but they’re looking for it. Inexplicably and undeservedly, they're looking to me for that guidance. I won't preach Sunday sermons, but I'd be a fool to miss the chance to tell them the few things I do know.
“Thank you, every one of you, for coming today and honoring me with your presence. Even with the removal of the chairs, it's my understanding that only a small fraction of the residents of Galveston were able to attend. And even if all of the Galveston Island residents could be here, there would be many, many more citizens from seven other Ports and many other settlements who are still unable to attend. I owe the same duty to each of them that I do to you, a duty of care, a duty of equality. A duty of faith. I want you to know that I don't take that duty lightly.”
I lift the crown from my head and turn it around until I'm looking at it, the jewels sparkling in my hands from the lights directed at the stage.
“This crown shouldn't be mine. I’m not better than any of you.”
The crowd gasps.
“A crown on my head makes it look like I'm somehow more important than you. It makes it seem like you're honoring me for some reason when really, my only job is to keep all of you safe, well fed, happy and healthy. And doesn't each of us have a duty to make the world a better place for ourselves, for our families, for our neighbors and for our children? We should aim to leave them a legacy of which we can be proud. My goal today and every day is to clean up the mess we made, or the mess our parents made. I want to leave something better than this for our children, something cleaner, and something brighter. A world where we don’t huddle behind closed walls, where we don’t see everyone different from us as a threat to be eliminated. I think if you'll all trust me, if you'll all follow your excellent hearts, we can march toward a more Godly community every day, one small step at a time.”
I place the crown back on my head.
“If you happen to run into me on the street, or see me here on Sunday and I'm not wearing this crown or any other, because I hope I never am, I want you to know why. It isn't that I don't respect what you've fought to establish here. It’s not that I’m not grateful for the respect and trust you’ve shown me. It's that I don't want to be different or better than any of you. I want us to all be pulling forward together. Sometimes you need one person in the front, directing the efforts to make that happen. It helps keep everyone going the same way, but it doesn't mean I'm better or that God loves me more. The same is true for our brothers and sisters living in Baton Rouge and in every Marked settlement. It's also true of the people living in Unmarked cities, towns and settlements. We're all human and we're all valuable to God. If you'll help me, we can set things straight again. A few days ago I indicated that I felt my father made a mistake.”
I glance behind me at the Port Heads. I make eye contact with Sawyer, and with Rosa, smiling broadly. I turn back to the assembled citizens.
“I want you to know that David Solomon was not perfect. I am not perfect. I'll make mistakes, just like you do. If we didn't make mistakes, we wouldn't need God to forgive us. But we all do need that. The important thing is that when we make mistakes, we own up to them. I promise I'll admit when I'm wrong and I hope you'll all forgive me. If you will, if we all pull the same direction, I doubt there's much we can't do. Together we're stronger. United we're enough. Equal, one and all.”
I take the crown back off and hand it back to Josephine. Then I lean toward the microphone.
The crowd cheers wildly, and I walk off stage. Instead of heading for the limousine out back, I slip past Sam and Adam and a few other guards and walk toward the front. People reach out their hands for me, touching my hip, my thigh, my hands, my arms, and my shoulders. Others step back, or bow, or crouch down low.
I lift them up, one at a time. I look them in the eyes.
I spend over an hour meeting the people of Galveston, because I need to see the faces of people I'm using to help the Marked. I need to make sure they’re behind me, and right now, while Rhonda may have been sacrificed, I need images in my mind of people who won't load up guns and drive to Baton Rouge. Identities of people who will care and serve instead of hate and kill. I need to believe that if Rhonda did die, as I fear she may have, that death means something.
I'm exhausted after the Coronation, but there's too much to get done for me to take a break. Once we reach Josephine's white-columned home, I walk to the stupid Garden Room, which has become our informal conference room of sorts. Wesley, Sam, Josephine and Adam trail me.
I wave everyone else out of the room, including maids, guards and butlers. Once they're all gone, I take a seat. “Sit everyone, please.”
Sam sits to my right and Wesley to my left. Adam and my mom take the seats on either side of them.
“Why are we here?” Wesley asks.
I force a smile. “Funny you should ask, because Wes, I need a favor. A big one.”
He points at me. “You want to leave me here, don't you?”
I shrug. “You're the only one who has experience as a ruler. None of the rest of us know what to do.”
Wesley barks a laugh. “You're kidding, right? I've never led so much as a book club. Your mom, on the other hand, has ruled for over a decade.”
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 55
