by Sarina Bowen
Some of the daughters were afraid to go down there, because they didn’t like the idea that someone could come along and close up those doors.
But I was the kind of kid who always took a dare. So I didn’t mind being sent to that cellar to get things that the other little girls were too chicken to fetch. I liked playing the role of the brave girl.
Besides—thirteen people lived in that house. It was as crowded as a bus station. Even if somebody had locked me into the root cellar as a prank, I could have made enough racket that passersby would hear me even before my flashlight went out.
When I was small, I asked one of my uncles why the potatoes and carrots didn’t spoil so long as we kept them in a hole in the ground. “Because the germs are too cold to eat the potato before we can,” he said.
Thirteen people eat a lot of food. As time went on, I learned how to estimate the number of potatoes in the barrel with just a glance. I learned how to stretch a pot of soup by adding water and—this is crucial—more salt.
I learned how to stretch a single pound of ground beef into a triple-sized noodle casserole. And I learned not to report on the sad state of our vegetable inventory if my stepfather looked tired or crabby.
When I was sixteen, though, I did something unforgivable. I got caught kissing a boy. You may be tempted to laugh, but it was a big deal. The boy in question was excommunicated, which is a fancy way of saying that they whipped him, taped his wrists together, and threw him off of the back of a truck.
I got the whip, too. But they don’t throw away the girls. They only punish them. In my case, I was put on “probation” for six months. The timeline was to make sure that I wasn’t pregnant. It didn’t matter if I said that was impossible.
Nobody spoke to me for six months. I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen to make the noodle casseroles. I wasn’t allowed to serve the men their annual steak dinner.
I was useless, really. So I asked my stepfather if there was a job I could work that was off the compound property. And because he likes money more than anything, he actually said yes. He set me up with a job at a chain pharmacy. And I was ecstatic although I was never meant to see any of the money.
Even when my months of punishment were up, the other women still didn’t speak to me. It’s like they just forgot how. And none of the men wanted to marry me, because they thought I was “ruined.” Like a potato that nobody had stored correctly in the cellar.
The one role I never lost, though, was going down into the root cellar. For six months straight I think the only thing my mother said to me was “bring up another five pounds of carrots and taters.”
I always did as she asked. Even though I missed being someone who wasn’t shunned. I’d gone from being that brave girl to being that foolish one.
Eventually I figured out how to keep some of the money from my job. And that’s when I learned that money and secrets keep just as well underground as root vegetables. I saved my cash. Then I ran away and saved myself.
My own bravery feeds me better than my family ever did.
Thirty-Four
Dylan
It always happens this way. Every fall I drag my ass through the anniversary of my father’s death. I inevitably feel relief at having survived another October.
And then the holidays come around and sock me right in the gut.
Tonight, after arriving home, I’m supposed to help my mother put up the Christmas tree. That’s a job I used to do with my father. Everyone liked to hang ornaments, but just dad and I would cut down the tree and string the lights. Because I was the Shipley kid who loved Christmas most.
Not so much anymore. The next three weeks could be long ones. I’m bracing myself.
On the other hand, there’s a light snow falling as I drive the final few miles toward home. It’s sticking to the grasses at the side of the highway. Tomorrow, when I get up early for the milking, the distant mountaintops will probably be white. Even my damaged little heart isn’t immune to all this beauty.
Or the beauty drowsing beside me in the truck. Chastity pulled an all-nighter to prep for her Spanish exam, which she finished about fifteen minutes before getting into my truck for the trip home.
I hate to wake her up. She looks so peaceful. On the other hand, this might be the last time we’re alone together for a long time. So after I exit the highway, I reach over and lay my hand over hers, giving it a gentle stroke.
“I’m awake,” she slurs.
“Uh-huh.” I have to chuckle.
“Sorry,” she says, lifting her head off the window and giving it a shake. “I’m terrible company.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I like being the guy she trusts to get her home safely. “You are a genuine college student now. Passing out after the last exam is a rite of passage.”
She lets out a tired groan. “I can’t imagine taking five courses next semester. How is that going to work?”
I don’t have a solution for that, so I just squeeze her hand.
“Dylan,” Chastity asks. “Can I give you your present before I get out of the truck?”
“Sure.” Who am I to turn down a present?
“You can’t open it until Christmas.”
“Why not?” I demand. “I gave you yours early.”
“That was a necessity,” she argues. “Mine can wait.”
“Maybe you’d better hang onto it, then,” I say, slowing the truck down as we reach the winding country roads. “I’m not known for my patience. You can bring it over on Christmas Eve and slip it to me.” I make it sound nice and sleazy, because teasing Chastity is one of my favorite hobbies.
It’s going to be weird pretending to be just friends for three whole weeks. I’m hoping she decides to give up on that charade after a few days of sexual frustration.
“Speaking of your impatience…” She clears her throat.
I wait. But she doesn’t finish. “What? Tell me already. Crap. That sounded really impatient, right?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “But your impatience is one of your best attributes. It’s part of what makes you fun.”
And there it is again—that little rush of happiness that I often have. Because Chastity gets me.
“So I did something,” she says. “And it might lead to even more fun. The impatient kind.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Is this some kind of Chastity way of trying to talk about sex?”
“Yep,” she says. “Well, birth control. That’s even harder to talk about than sex. Because unlike sex, it’s not very sexy. But I got some. Birth control, that is. It’s an implant, and I got it a week ago, which means it’s already working.”
“Oh, awesome!” This is the best news ever. “Way to go.” I don’t spend a lot of time worrying about pregnancies. But it’s nice to know that I don’t have to.
“It’s super-effective,” she says. “So that also means that you could… You know.”
“What?” I ask, because I’m taking care to watch my traction. A thin layer of new snow is the worst kind to drive on.
“Be impatient,” she says. “And impulsive. With me.”
I give Chastity a quick glance and note that her cheeks are pink. And then it sinks in what she’s trying to say. So I apply the brake and stop the truck, right there on the dirt road. “I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me you want to go bare?” My dick is stiffening inside my jeans even as I say these words.
“Only if you want to,” she says, her color deepening. “It was just a thought. We don’t have to.”
“Sweet baby Jesus.” I tip my head back on the headrest. “And you decided to say this now? Before a three-week abstinence fest? Do you secretly hate me?”
Chastity lets out a nervous laugh. “No. I was trying to be brave about it and discuss it with you ahead of time. Like rational adults.”
“Uh-huh.” I put my hand between my legs, pressing the heel of my hand against my boner. “Except you mistook me for a rational adult. Right now I just want to rip off your clothes and do you. B
ut I have to cut down a Christmas tree instead. Fuck my life.”
Chastity laughs. Then puts her palm on my thigh, which solves nothing. “Sorry. Rookie mistake.”
I cover her hand with mine. “I—” love you anyway. I stop myself just in time. “It’s okay,” I say instead. “I’m half teasing. But waiting for second semester just got, uh, harder.”
From the other end of the road, a car appears, so I let my foot off the brake.
“Sorry,” she says again, humor in her voice. “But you still have to think it over. Because it’s only something we can do if we’re, uh, only doing each other.”
Since I’m edging over to the roadside to let my neighbor pass, I don’t react right away. First, I wave at Mr. Connors and then turn to glance at Chastity. “Hang on. Let’s just be clear about one thing. I’m not sleeping with anyone else. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Okay. Good.”
I stop the truck again. “Did you seriously think I would?”
“No?” She looks uncomfortable. “But you have a lot of high school, um, friends who visit you during the holidays. And you never said…” She clears her throat. And then she falls silent.
“Okay, fair.” I sit still, my foot on the brake. Here it is—the moment I most dread. The big talk. I have a way of fucking these up. “I know I’m not good at planning my life or making promises. But I’m not going to hop in bed with a high school hookup over break, Chass. We’re too—” I choose my words carefully. “—close for that. I think our thing is our thing and just our thing until it isn’t our thing anymore.”
Chastity flinches.
“Okay, yep. That was the worst sentence ever composed in the English language. No wonder women get frustrated with me.”
“No—” She holds up a hand. “It’s honest. I’m not trying to force you into some big decision right now.”
“I know you’re not,” I say quickly. But I’m still fucking this up. The truth is that I want us to be exclusive. And I care more for Chastity than I ever did about a hookup. Or anyone else for that matter. I care about her a lot.
I don’t, however, say that. I could, but I don’t. Because that would open up a lot more discussion that I don’t feel ready to have.
“Okay,” she says softly. “So it’s just you and me for now. And you’ll let me know if that changes, right?” After she asks this question, she looks out the window, and I can’t see her face.
The subtext is pretty clear—she doesn’t plan on being the one who calls us off.
I reach over and take her hand, because I’m better at the physical stuff than I am at talking. I don’t know what to say to make this moment any less awkward. “Gonna be a long couple of weeks. Maybe we can sneak away at some point.”
“To where?”
She makes a good point. It’s not like we can go spread a blanket under the stars somewhere and spend time together. “We’ll think of something,” I mutter. It’s not just the sex, either. My family is going to drive me crazy. They always do. I’m going to need a little dose of Chastity’s quiet calm and happy smile just to keep me level. “Kiss me,” I order.
“Right here?” She looks over her shoulder, probably wondering if I’m blocking the road for someone who wants to get by.
“It’s either right now or in Leah and Isaac’s driveway.”
“Oh. Good point.” She unlatches her seatbelt, and I put the truck in park.
I reach over and slide her body across the seat, which makes her smile. But I take my kisses very seriously. She feels good in my arms. I lean in and take her mouth with mine, and her body softens against me.
It’s always like this. So good. Maybe it’s the heavy talk, or her little announcement about letting my box of condoms expire, but I do not want to stop kissing her. I tilt my head and take what I want from her. She wraps her arms around me and gives it right back.
Until a car approaches. We break apart at the sound of tires on gravel. Unsatisfied, but out of options, I put the truck in gear and maneuver out of the way.
It’s only three miles or so to Leah and Isaac’s place. I get there way too soon.
“When am I going to see you?” I ask as I pull into their driveway.
“Tomorrow, right? Christmas Eve? Rickie will come over and amuse you, too.”
“Fine. It will have to do.”
She gives me a sad little smile and opens the door on her side.
I wait for her to collect her stuff out of the backseat, and when she walks away, I give her an awkward little wave.
It isn’t enough. But I guess it will have to do.
Thirty-Five
Chastity
I’m too tired to be very sociable that evening. I go to bed even before Maeve does. And then I sleep late, which is rare for me.
When I finally go downstairs, Leah is trying to grate cheese and play with Maeve at the same time.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. “What can I do to help?”
“You can sit across from me and eat breakfast,” Leah says cheerfully. “Coffee?”
“Sure. Thanks.” I cross the kitchen to the pot, pour myself a cup, and then slide a slice of bread into the toaster. “Maeve? What shall we do today while Mama makes her potato tart?” This dish is legendary at holiday parties, because Leah uses fancy cheese and crispy duck confit. No potato has ever tasted so good.
“Clubhouse?” Maeve suggests.
“Sure,” I agree.
“First, Chastity eats,” Leah tells her daughter. “And I have some things to discuss with her. So why don’t you watch your video early today?”
“Yay!” The little girl gets up off the kitchen floor. “Right now?”
“Right now,” Leah agrees.
She disappears faster than you can say bribery.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask Leah, taking a stool across the counter from her. “Does this have to do with your sugar mama?” That’s what we’re calling the rancher Leah met last week in Chicago. Apparently the meeting went great.
“Yes it does.” Leah sets down her cheese grater and wipes her hands on her apron. “I know you just finished a really hard semester. But I need to tell you things are moving fast. Juni wants us to open a shelter. And she’ll provide the land.”
“A shelter? Like, for homeless people?”
“Exactly like that. Juni lost a daughter to a cult in Utah. She was recruited at college, of all places. She was there a year before she died of sepsis. The poor girl suffered a compound fracture in her leg, and the cult didn’t believe in medical care.”
“Ew!” I cry. “That sounds…” I shudder.
“She says she’ll never get over it. And she and her husband have been working hard ever since to steer women away from the place where it happened. They feel like they could make sense of their daughter’s death if they help shelter other women who need to get away. We could do so much good, Chastity!”
“Wow. So…” I’m trying to wrap my head around this. “Your foundation won’t just provide money. But you’ll have some kind of dormitory?”
“Yes. On a working ranch.”
“A ranch,” I say slowly. That’s not what we call a farm in Vermont. “And this would be…?”
“In Wyoming,” Leah says gently. “Near Laramie. That’s where Juni’s properties are.”
“You’re going to Wyoming?” I squeak. And I say it the same way you’d say hell. It’s literally the last place I ever want to go. “Like, you’d move there?”
“Well, either in the spring or late summer,” Leah says. “I know that sounds soon. But I think this could be really good for all of us. Chass, the university is right in Laramie. You could take classes at whatever pace feels right to you. And you could help make a difference at the same time.”
The toast turns to sawdust in my mouth. I have to take a sip of coffee just to choke it down.
And Leah is watching me with worry in her eyes. “I can see that you’re s
hocked.”
Shocked doesn’t even cover it. “I didn’t think you’d move. What about your farm? You worked so hard for this place.”
She bobs her head in a nod, as if that’s just an afterthought. “But we can sell it. The house isn’t worth much, but farmland is. Especially since the place is certified organic now.”
I take another sip of my coffee and try not to feel sick. “I don’t know, Leah. It sounds great, but…”
No, it doesn’t sound great at all. I mean, saving people from a life of ignorance and sexual slavery is just about the highest calling there is. But I don’t want to go anywhere near Wyoming. Not this summer. Not ever.
“I’m sure it’s a shock,” she says, reaching across the counter to cover my hand. “But it will be a little while until we really know the timing. There are two neighbors who could buy the place.”
“Neighbors,” I say stupidly.
“Of course. That’s who cares most about what happens on this hilltop. Connors would need the farm in the springtime. Isaac won’t plant anything if we’re selling to him. Connors would graze beef cattle on the property.”
My gaze goes involuntarily toward the window, where I try to picture strange cows in the meadow outside.
“But Griffin Shipley might be interested,” Leah continues. “He cares less about the growing season, because he’s too strapped for help to plant more acreage next year. He and Dylan need to have a come-to-Jesus conversation about Dylan’s plans.”
At the mention of Dylan’s name, all the hair stands up on my arms. “Does Griff want to buy this place?”
“Theoretically,” Leah says. “But only if he can figure out how to incorporate our acreage into his. He wouldn’t be in a hurry. We could stay the summer if Griffin is our buyer.”
“I want to stay the summer,” I say quickly.
“It could happen,” Leah says gently. “Let’s just see. There’s no need to panic. You’ll have time to get used to this idea. I’m sure you’ll realize what a gift we’ve been given.”
