The Line Between

by Tosca Lee

  “Why are you dressed up?” Jaclyn asked, arms crossed.

  “I’ve got a meeting with the Elders,” Mom said, tugging her denim skirt down until the hem covered her knees.

  Ara, who had shown up with a little basket of brown eggs for our breakfast, stood silently by, a doll made out of a handkerchief in her hands. It bothered me a little, that it had no face.

  “Better?” Mom asked, glancing at her.

  Ara nodded.

  “That looks dorky,” Jaclyn said.

  Mom untucked her blouse, hiding the waistband hugging her hips. “There. Now, listen to your new friends while I’m gone. This place has rules and we don’t want to do anything wrong. You won’t let Wynter get into trouble, will you, Ara?”

  Ara shook her head.

  Mom kissed us both and left as Jaclyn’s new friends arrived.

  The minute she did, Ara sat down on my bed near the nightstand I had set up to display my most treasured possessions: my Fancy Nancy and Amelia Bedelia books propped up by my pink piggy bank and a soup bowl from the kitchen containing my barrettes and hair ties in a happy riot of color. Leaning over the bowl, Ara reached in and started examining them, one at a time.

  “You want me to put one in your hair?” I offered. Hers was braided the same way it had been yesterday, tied by a rubber band too tough for the fine strands falling down around her face like a halo. I plucked the pink butterfly from her palm. “How ’bout this?”

  Ara shook her head.

  “This one?” I asked, choosing another.

  She shook her head again.

  I went through them all. She refused each one.

  “Okay . . .” I said, feeling slightly rebuffed at my offer of friendship. “Wanna read a book?”

  She peered curiously at my piggy bank. But when I picked it up and suggested we dump it out and count the coins in it, she pulled away.

  “Let’s go to the Banquet Table,” she said, reaching for my hand. “Haven made ice cream.”

  I didn’t know what the Banquet Table was but thought ice cream sounded good. I followed her downstairs, where one of the older girls was showing Jaclyn how to hold a guitar.

  “Stay out of trouble,” my sister mumbled, barely looking at me.

  Outside, we skipped all the way up the garden path toward the chapel. I’d already decided that this place was a cross between a farm and what I imagined church camp to be like, with long houses Ara called “barrows” and a church in the middle. I pointed to a large metal building in the distance.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Where they package the seed orders,” Ara said. “Children aren’t allowed. Come on.”

  The Banquet Table turned out to be a big building filled with long tables and a giant stone fireplace. Ara took me straight into the kitchen where a lady with an accent smiled and wiped her hands on her apron before introducing herself like I was someone important.

  “You two take a seat,” she said, glancing around as though it were a secret. We went out and sat across from each other, Ara’s faceless doll staring up at the ceiling as Haven brought out two little dishes of tan-colored ice cream and spoons.

  I picked up the spoon and hesitated. I’d never seen ice cream that color.

  “It’s pumpkin,” Haven said, beaming. “Well, go on.”

  I thought it tasted weird—Jaclyn definitely wouldn’t like it—but decided it was delicious because I was eating it with my new best friend.

  “There’s kittens in the barn,” Ara said when I finally finished. “Want to see them?”

  I did, very much, having never had a pet in my life.

  On the way there we passed yet another long barrow where a mom was singing with a group of little kids on the front porch. As I watched, she looked up and put her hands together like she was praying. I glanced at Ara for an explanation and noticed her doing it, too. But she was facing the other way.

  Then I noticed the man walking past us. He was tall, with curly dark hair. His long shirtsleeves were rolled to the elbow and he carried a laptop under one arm. When he saw me he stopped, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  “Well, you must be Wynter,” he said, leaning down. I nodded. “Did you have some ice cream?”

  I nodded again.

  He glanced around as though to make sure no one was listening. “Say, did you leave any for me?”

  I grinned and shook my head.

  He chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. “Smart girl.” He gestured me closer. When I leaned in, he cupped his hand to my ear. “Be sure Ara shows you the rope swing, okay?”

  I grinned and nodded.

  He straightened, and Ara put her hands together again. And because Ara did it, I did it, too.

  “Who’s that?” I asked when he was gone.

  “That’s Magnus,” she whispered.

  • • •

  OUR THIRD MORNING at the Enclave we went to church even though it wasn’t Sunday, which Jaclyn said was weird. But she liked her new friends, all of whom were homeschooled, and she had already learned to play a few chords on the guitar—a thing for which she was treated like some kind of genius, though I didn’t think it looked so hard.

  That day was the second time I saw Magnus, who I now understood was the preacher, except they didn’t call him that. He read from the Bible about the Garden of Eden and talked about how special everyone here was, how bad the world was, and some other things I didn’t understand.

  What I did understand was that he looked strong. Like a baseball player, I thought. Like someone who knew how to fold perfect paper airplanes and have a job. Who smiled and talked to me like he was glad I was here. Like a man who wouldn’t make Mom cry.

  When he was finished he said our names and we stood up and everyone nearby hugged us.

  We started going to morning service, which was led by a different man each day except on Sabbath Wednesday. None of them had eyes that sparkled like Magnus’s—but by then Jaclyn had a crush on one of the boys and he attended service, so she wasn’t any help convincing Mom to let us stay home. Jaclyn had become instantly popular, which she had never been back in Chicago. So had I. In fact, I had so many friends who came to our house after children’s session to play or take turns braiding my hair like theirs that we could barely all sit on my bed at once.

  We spent the last days of summer playing with the kittens, eating raw rhubarb straight from the garden and peaches right off the trees. I forgot about the cartoons I loved so much as I learned prayers and the songs that everyone clapped to at service, and never once missed the noise of the train that clacked by our apartment. Though I did miss pepperoni pizza—a confession that caused Ara to wrinkle her nose and, I suspect, prompted the lesson in children’s session the next morning about why we should never allow death to enter our bodies or eat the grains of the fallen world. How the eggs and wheat allowed to guests were forbidden to God’s Select.

  My cheeks burned as the teacher read a volume of the Testament written by Magnus himself about eating the flesh of animals. Humiliated tears welled in my eyes until Ara and the teacher both hugged me and said how very good it was that I was learning to live the way God intended.

  And I did want it, more than anything. Because there had been no safe walls in Chicago except those that kept the monsters inside.

  A month after our arrival at the Enclave, Mom cleaned and tidied the house all morning, saying we were going to have a visitor. And I thought it must be someone really special since everyone else just showed up whenever they wanted.

  I hoped it was Magnus and said so.

  “It’s his wife, Kestral,” Mom said, fussing with the braid she, too, had begun to wear. But I was strangely disappointed to learn Magnus was married.

  When Kestral showed up, I was surprised to recognize her as the woman I had seen singing in service onstage. Every time I thought she looked like an angel. From her white skirt and blouse to her blond hair, I thought she was magical. She moved like a pri
ncess, as though she had never worried about anything in her life—a look I had never seen in my mom until recently.

  “Sylvia,” Kestral said, kissing Mom on the cheek. “Girls.” She smiled, her blue eyes shining. “I have something very exciting to talk to you about.”

  She slipped out of her shoes and came to sit down on the sofa, holding Mom’s hand.

  “I’m so happy. Do you know why?” she asked, looking from Jaclyn to me. “Because here at New Earth we are a very special family. And we want you to be part of our family. We want you to stay!”

  Jaclyn sat up straight and looked at Mom, who held a finger to her lips so Kestral could finish.

  “This is a very special decision. Because if you say yes, the girls you play with will be your sisters. Would you like that?”

  “And you’d be like our mom, too?” Jaclyn asked.

  Kestral laughed. “Something like that. Or a big sister.”

  But all I heard was that if Kestral would be like another mom to us, then Magnus would be like our dad.

  “And one day”—Kestral gave that beatific smile of hers—“if we are obedient to the Testament of our Interpreter, Magnus, we will all be together forever.”

  “In Heaven?” I asked.

  “In the new Earth, which is what Heaven will be.”

  “But aren’t we already in New Earth?” Jaclyn said, looking confused. I was, too. Because I’d seen the sign outside the gate when we got here.

  “That’s a very good question! And the answer is that we call our home New Earth because we know that it is coming. Girls, this sick and ruined world is ending very soon and only a select number of people will get to live in the new one. Do you understand?”

  No. I didn’t. But as I watched Kestral’s fingers tighten around Mom’s and the hope brimming in Mom’s eyes, I understood enough.

  “I want to stay,” Jaclyn said. “Mom, can we?”

  Kestral raised a finger. “One thing you need to know about our family,” she said soberly, “is that we choose to lay down things of the old world that might keep us from entering that new place. We don’t do it because of rules—I don’t like rules, do you?”

  We shook our heads.

  “We do it because we want to be ready. Because on the day that this world ends, it will be too late. So you see why this is such an important decision. The most important one you’ll ever make in your life.”

  “I want to stay, too,” I whispered.

  “All right,” Kestral said as Mom wiped her eyes with a smile on her face. “I need you to show me you no longer want to be a part of the dying world.”

  “How?” Jaclyn said.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Kestral said, reaching out to take me by the hand.

  We all went up together to the bedroom with the blinking eye where Kestral walked to the closet and lifted one of Jaclyn’s Star Wars T-shirts from the shelf.

  “Jaclyn, we don’t wear clothes that glorify worldly entertainment,” Kestral said. “Nor do we wear clothing that is immodest or tempts our brothers. Nor do we dress like a man. We’re honored to be women and for our brothers to treat us with respect. See how pretty your mother looks?”

  That’s when I realized Mom had quit wearing her denim skirt that she had to tug down to her hips to cover her knees. Or her jeans. I didn’t know where she got the skirt she was wearing now, but I thought she looked a little like Kestral in it.

  “If you want to be part of our family,” Kestral said, “you can take all these things out to the salvage pile yourself . . . or you can give them to your mother to take there for you.”

  Jaclyn lowered her head and walked into the closet and slowly started pulling things from the shelves.

  I couldn’t believe it. Jackie loved Star Wars—had been obsessed with it as long as I could remember. But a moment later she somberly handed over an armful of clothes that amounted to nearly everything she had brought in her duffle.

  Kestral leaned over and kissed Jaclyn on the forehead. “Bless you for choosing the way of life,” she said.

  They went through all of Jaclyn’s belongings. Her sixth-grade yearbook, which she no longer needed because she had new friends who were real family now. A girl wouldn’t keep a picture of an old boyfriend around once she got married, would she? It had to go. Her headphones and iPod, because we were called to make holy music. Her tennis shoes, because they weren’t feminine.

  “For all of these things, you’ll receive so much more,” Kestral said as Mom got out a trash bin and helped pile the things in.

  When it was my turn, Kestral looked at my nightstand. “Wynter, how does Fancy Nancy fit into our heavenly family?”

  “It doesn’t?” I guessed.

  No, Kestral said, because dresses and jewelry did not make us beautiful. And wasn’t that a nice thought?

  I wasn’t so sure, but I handed over the book and Amelia Bedelia as well, because I figured there was something wrong with it, too.

  “And this,” Kestral said, pointing to my piggy bank. “Do you know what this is?”

  I frowned. “My piggy bank.”

  “That’s what the world wants you to think. But the world is an evil place that lies to children.”

  “My mom gave it to me.”

  “And to moms,” Kestral said with a glance at Mom.

  “If it isn’t a piggy bank, what is it?” Jaclyn said.

  “Magnus has taught us that this is an altar. But not to God. To Mammon, the false god of greed.”

  My books, clothes, hair things, and shoes had filled a second trash bin by the time I carried my piggy bank outside to smash it with a hammer Kestral gave me from the kitchen.

  Now I understood why Ara had never wanted to wear my barrettes or play with my things. And even though I knew it was a small price to pay to see Mom happy, I couldn’t stop my lower lip from trembling as I turned over the coins to Kestral to be given to the Important Work.

  Afterward, Kestral knelt down and took our hands. “It’s never easy to cut worldly ties in our journey to be worthy,” she said, brushing the tears off my cheeks. “But the good news is that it will never be this hard again. Your new sisters will bring you fresh clothes and new toys. Because we share everything we have, you never have to feel jealous of anyone ever again—especially those living in destruction. But more than that, and above everything else . . . it means you’re home.”

  At that, Jaclyn started crying uncontrollably. I was embarrassed for her and then for myself. But even then I sensed Jaclyn was coming from a place I was not old enough to understand.

  Kestral got up and clasped Jaclyn tight, her cheek against my sister’s hair. “Everything is going to be perfect. And one day, so will you. Thank you,” she said, though I didn’t know what she was thanking us for.

  Kestral let me keep the tissues, saying that when they were gone I’d have a nice clean handkerchief to keep in my pocket. Which meant I’d be carrying my boogers in there as well, though I didn’t say so. If it kept us safe and Jaclyn from crying those horrible, broken tears, I could do that, too.

  That night we said our prayers on the upstairs landing beneath the picture of Jesus and the man I now knew to be Magnus.

  Three weeks later, we moved into the barrows. The guest cottage was needed to house a new family. When they showed up—a mom and dad and three boys—the ice cream, which had gone away after our decision, resurfaced again for a few days. But only for the kids who went to play with them, which is why I welcomed the youngest boy with open arms.

  That fall, Jaclyn was relocated to the young women’s dormitory and I to the girls’. Mom moved to a barrow for single women that everyone called the Factory. We weren’t allowed to visit.

  Which is why I didn’t know when Mom got sick.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  The meadowlark is still singing as my soles crunch against the gravel. The wildflowers look the same as they did ten minutes ago or on any of my rare excursions into Ames while I was still p
rotected by the invisible bubble of my salvation. The sun is shining, promising temperatures in the seventies. By all accounts, it’s a beautiful day.

  Of course it is. The world is filled with deceptive beauty.

  Magnus’s words.

  But the only beautiful thing I know is trapped behind those walls.

  I stop and turn as the gate begins to grind shut. Watch as that nondescript wall cuts off my view of the parking lot and the admin building behind it, traveling across the assembled brethren like an iron curtain. Until there’s just Magnus, his back to me as he walks up the drive to put an arm around Jaclyn, my sister.

  His wife.

  Others come to embrace them both and someone starts up a hymn as they head up the hill to lunch.

  The gate rumbles shut with the finality of a vault. I stare at it for a long minute. Wait for the earth to swallow me. Lightning to fry me from the inside.

  My stomach grumbles. The meadowlark sings.

  I start down the drive toward the road where a woman is getting out of that car. As I get closer, I falter and then break into a run, the plastic bag crinkling with every beat against my thigh.

  Mom’s former best friend, Julie, grabs me into a hug. “Got you,” she says. “I got you.”

  I shudder a sob I didn’t know I had in me. It sounds like a strangling person trying to breathe.

  “. . . told your mom she was making a huge mistake,” she whispers fiercely against my hair. “Argued with her the whole time she was driving to that crazy place . . .” She holds me away from her and looks me up and down. “Never mind. You’re safe now. God, you look so much like her. Are you all right?”

  I nod numbly.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she says, hustling me toward the car with a glance over her shoulder. “I don’t trust those people not to change their minds. Can’t believe your sister—no, sit up front. Are you hungry? You look hungry.”

  I get in and realize there’s a teenage girl slouched behind the driver’s seat in a tank top and shorts, tapping at her phone. She’s wearing a big pair of headphones over a sloppy grass-green ponytail. When she glances up, she tugs them down to her neck.