Grace refused to say anything. She was entirely intent on shifting into third.
“Where are we going to go?” Jory peered out the window at each of the darkened houses, hoping to see jack-o’-lanterns and kids in ghoulish costumes running by.
“Well,” said Grip, pitching his voice girlishly high and pretending to flip his hair behind his back, “I hear there’s a really superior spook house out at Dave VanManen’s. Evidently Dave’s dad is letting him use their barn and everything and it’s going to be really fun and cool and majorly scary.”
Grace turned around and gave Jory a dark look. “Jory, we cannot go to the ACA party.”
“Why not?” Jory asked.
Grace said nothing.
Jory leaned forward. “What if we just went for a little bit? Just long enough to say hi to people.”
Grace continued saying nothing.
Jory leaned back. “It was just a thought.”
“Hey,” said Grip. “We could go out to Hope House. You know, that great big old blue house on Chicken Dinner Road.”
“The hippie house?” Jory leaned forward again. “The one with the painted eye on the front?”
“You know those people?” There was a note of dismay in Grace’s voice.
“Sure. A little bit.” Grip grinned at Grace. “Hippies like ice cream too.” He turned and glanced back at Jory. “What do you say, Miss Penelope—shall we take a little look-see?”
“Are you sure this is the kind of place we should be going?” Jory could almost hear Grace raising her eyebrows.
“Oh, I think it’s pretty safe. Besides, you’ll be with me, right?”
“I want to go,” said Jory. “Anyway, I think I do. It’s Halloween,” she said.
“That’s the spirit.” Grip made a wide left-hand turn and headed down a slightly bumpy dirt-packed road. “It’s down here on the right somewhere. I remember it being past the old water tower a little ways.”
The ice cream truck bounced along down the long dirt road and Jory was forced to hold on to the headband’s peacock feather that she had pilfered from a box in Henry’s basement. They drove along for maybe a mile or two as the dirt road got progressively narrower and less navigable, with Jory bumping her head on the truck’s ceiling every little bit.
“Okay,” said Grip. “That’s it up there.” He pointed out the windshield to the right.
“Oh,” said Jory. “Look. They’re having a bonfire. Or something.” She shivered slightly.
Grip pulled the truck into some kind of a long, weedy driveway that was overhung by several large, drooping willow trees. He stopped the truck next to an old school bus painted a swirling lilac purple. The bus had a small-shingled roof affixed to the top of it, and a large ropy hammock was strung between the bus’s bumper and one of the willow trees.
“Whoa,” said Jory, getting out of the truck. She wasted only a moment’s notice on the purple bus. The hippie house itself was several shades of blue and had a huge kohl-lined eye painted directly above its front door. “Look—it has an eye just like our house,” Jory said.
“Our house has an eye?” Grace stumbled over something in the grass and Grip grabbed her arm to steady her.
“It’s the third eye,” Grip said. “A symbol of enlightenment or wisdom.”
“More Buddhism, I suppose.” Grace readjusted her dress front.
Several large glowing metal stars hung down from the porch’s overhang. Jory went up the porch steps and gazed reverently at the stars.
“They’re punched tin, I think,” said Grip. He lifted one by its bottom point. “See? With lit candles inside.”
“Oh,” said Jory, pointing at the house’s front window. Hanging just inside it was a large metal moon: bronze colored and crescent shaped and holding a large golden candle in its horn. “This is so beautiful!”
“Should we even be here?” said Grace, glancing back at Grip. “It’s not like we were invited or anything.”
“Oh, please,” Jory begged. “I just want to see what everything looks like.”
Just then a man with a long dark braid who was wearing white overalls came out of the semidarkness. “Hey there,” he said, looking not at all surprised to see them. “Everybody’s around back. Come on through.” He walked up the porch steps and opened the front door. Jory noticed that the door had a knocker in the very middle of it shaped like an owl. The owl’s eyes moved back and forth when she lifted its perch. Inside, the house smelled like some kind of thickly perfumed smoke and there were several people, all of them long-haired and barefoot, sitting or lying on mattresslike things spread across the floor. “Hey,” these people all said to them and nodded in a lazy unconcerned way. Everywhere there were intricately woven red rugs and long draping curtains that seemed to melt down right into the floor. They walked through an entryway of hanging red beads that clicked and clacked together when Jory passed between them. Red and yellow candles burned on every surface, and Jory had a momentary glimpse of the ceiling that seemed to be covered with faintly glowing golden stars. “Oh,” Jory said in response to each new sight. “Oh, wow.”
The overalls-wearing man held the back door open for them. Grip took hold of Grace’s and Jory’s hands and walked them around the side of the house and then down a curving path of large flat stones placed in the ground. Sad and soft guitar music drifted toward them, and up ahead a group of people stood around an enormous metal barrel or drum that had a fire burning inside. There were faces carved in the large metal drum like those on a jack-o’-lantern, except here there were different faces making different expressions all around the circumference of the drum. Faces that grimaced and grinned and howled as the flames behind them flickered and danced. A man across from them was strumming a guitar and singing something, but Jory couldn’t make out any of the words. Whatever he was saying got caught up with the fire’s sparks and drifted up into the sky. Some of the people in the circle were swaying and moving languidly in time to the music, although others seemed to be moving in time with something only they could hear.
Jory watched as a girl across from the burning drum moved slowly around in a circle, her hair and arms swinging out behind her. As she twirled, her long-fringed skirt flared out like the unfurling trumpet of a flower—an Easter lily or a morning glory. The twirling girl swirled and swirled faster and faster and finally fell to the ground as if she had suddenly lost all of her bones. No one in the circle made any move toward the girl or even looked her way.
“This is too strange.” Grace tugged on Grip’s hand. “These people are doing some kind of heathen worship thing.”
“Nah,” said Grip. “I think they’re just trying to have some fun.”
The long-haired man with the guitar walked slowly around the circle singing. He slowed and stopped next to Grip and gave him a long, strange look that Jory couldn’t decipher. She could, however, make out the words to his song—it was something about stardust and getting back to the garden. Or a garden. Something like that.
The guitar man had now made his way around to Jory. “Before the snake,” he sang, “before the serpent stung.” He stopped and smiled at her and then began singing again.
“We were animals and birds
As unknowing as the stars
And we lived from day to day
In that golden bower called Love
Girl, don’t let the forest fool you
Don’t let the tree seduce you
That apple will undo you
If you give in to its charms.”
The guitar man pressed something into Jory’s hand and moved on again, singing another song. Jory opened her hand—it was a small square piece of waxed paper with tiny orange stars all over it. She put the paper in her pocket.
“Let’s go,” said Grace. “These people are worshipping something other than God.”
“I think they thin
k they are worshipping God,” Grip said. “But sure, okay, all right.” He gazed back at the guitar man.
“Come on,” Grace said. “I mean it.”
Jory was so entranced that she hardly even protested as she was dragged away from the bonfire circle and headed back through the wet grass the way they had come. She gazed around her as they walked on up a little hill and then down. She didn’t remember there being a hill before, but it was dark, so maybe there had been one. “Oh, look,” said Jory, suddenly pulling on Grace’s hand. “It’s like the one we had when we were little—only a million times bigger!”
Off to the left was a huge canvas teepee of sorts, large enough to hold at least a dozen people, and lit up from inside. It rose up into the darkness like a sort of glowing pyramid. “Oh, please, can’t we just look?” Jory tugged at Grace’s hand. “I just want to see what it’s like to sit inside. Please?”
Grace said nothing, but allowed herself to be steered in the direction of the teepee. At the front of the tented structure a small flap of canvas had been folded back and stitched in place. Jory bent down and crept through the entryway and she pulled Grace in after her. Grip had to kneel down in order to squeeze through.
Inside the teepee, Jory felt suddenly horribly shy. Several long-haired girls and bearded, long-haired men wearing a variety of strange and exotic clothing—most of it fringed and beaded and embroidered—were sitting cross-legged on colored woven rugs around a small fire.
“Hi.” A girl next to Grace grinned at the three of them. She had on a long white nightgown and her face was painted or tattooed so that she had three black teardrops falling from the corner of one eye. Her hair was long and crinkly and copper colored and hung all the way down her back. “I’m Annelise,” she said. “Welcome.”
Annelise! thought Jory. What a beautiful name. If she could change her name, that is what she would change it to.
“I’m Grace. And this is my sister Jory and . . . our friend Grip.”
Annelise held out her hand and Jory touched it briefly. It was like holding hands with a moth. Jory realized that in comparison to this girl, she, Jory, looked like she was wearing a costume, which of course she was. But this girl lived like this. All of these people did—they weren’t dressed up for a holiday. Their clothes were worn in and dirty, and their hair was too. This was what they looked like every day.
The other people in the teepee nodded and went on staring at the fire and smoking. Grace and Jory and Grip all sat down on the floor. Jory stared up at the top of the teepee. There was a small circular opening where the tent poles converged and Jory could see a few stars in the night sky shining through. The smoke from the fire drifted up toward the opening in an almost straight line. It was somewhat hazy inside the teepee and the air smelled faintly like fresh cow manure or maybe a run-over skunk. Jory could now see that Annelise was wearing a sort of crown. A flat crown of small metal circles linked around her head.
“Where did you get your crown?” said Jory, trying not to blush.
Annelise put her hand to her head. “Angel made it,” she said. “He does all our metalwork. He has a shop out behind the barn.” She stared directly at Jory and Jory saw that Annelise’s eyes were two different colors: one was brown and the other was some lightish color, like blue or maybe green. “He’s making me a crib for the baby too. It’s going to have fish carved into it. Beautiful fish with silver scales. You know, for Pisces and everything.”
Grace turned to Annelise. “You’re pregnant,” she said, her voice catching.
Annelise put her hand on her belly. “Four months to go. Angel says it’s going to be a boy.” She smiled. “He did the thread-and-needle test three times.”
“Angel is the baby’s father?” Grace’s eyes were bright.
“Maybe,” said Annelise, and she laughed. She looked around the circle of people and some of them laughed too. “I don’t know who the father is. It could be anyone.” She smiled happily at them and shrugged. “That’s the way we do things here. We share.”
“What do you mean?” Grace looked from Annelise to Grip. “Oh,” she said, her voice dropping and falling away.
“Well, um,” said Grip, “that’s to be admired, I suppose. In principle. How are y’all’s crops this year and everything?”
“But aren’t you worried?” Grace interrupted. She leaned forward toward Annelise. “Aren’t you worried about what God will think?”
“What? Oh,” said Annelise. “Are you one of those? Is that why your hair’s all shaved off?”
Jory closed her eyes and wished herself somewhere else. Anywhere else.
“We’ve had Moonies out here before, but someone usually finds them and carts them back, just like that.” She snapped her fingers.
Grace’s horror was undisguised. “Sun Myung Moon is a false messiah. He created a cult that turns people away from the real truth of God.”
“So, what then? Are you a Jesus Freak?”
“Well,” said Grace. “Yes, I guess maybe I am. If that means loving Christ with all your heart and soul and mind and body.”
Annelise nodded. “My mom was a Holy Roller. She drove everybody around her fucking nuts. Especially my dad. He took off with a woman from the post office the first chance he got.” She smiled with complete equanimity. “We don’t believe in organized religion here. Every major war since the beginning of time has been caused by religion, you know. It’s a terribly divisive force—plus it represses women. Makes them wear habits and veils and denies their sexuality. Totally Dark Ages stuff.”
“But Christ loves you.” Grace was practically whispering now. “Even if you don’t believe. Even if you are living in terrible sin, he’s still willing to save you.”
“Okay,” said Grip, tugging at Grace’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s go. Sorry,” he said, looking back at Annelise. “It was really nice meeting you.” Grip pulled Grace up to her feet and then pushed Jory and Grace back out of the teepee’s opening. Suddenly they were outside again in the bitter night air. They started struggling back up the small hill, walking and bumping along together in the dark.
“She’s totally misguided,” said Grace. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying! Christ was a huge advocate of women. He loved the two Marys. And Martha. He wants women to be their own best, true selves. He doesn’t want to restrict them or keep them from experiencing true joy.”
“Okay, okay,” said Grip.
“Yes, he wants obedience, and sometimes that means sacrifice and giving up certain things—not doing everything in the world you might want to do. But that sacrifice leads to perfect peace. And joy. And eternal life.” Grace stumbled on something and nearly fell, but Grip caught her by the elbow. “And don’t apologize for me.” She pulled her arm away from him. “If you don’t like what I’m saying, then leave, but don’t drag me away like I’m some crazy relative of yours that you’re ashamed of.”
“We’re on their property,” Grip said quietly.
“Yes,” said Grace, “thanks to you.” She stopped still in the grass. “I don’t even know you,” she said.
“Grace,” said Jory.
“I don’t,” said Grace. “And neither do you, Jory.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t you have any family? Or any friends? Like ones your own age?”
Grip said nothing.
“And where do you even live?”
“Stop it,” said Jory. “Just stop it!”
The three of them stood in the dark, breathing heavily.
“Let’s go,” said Grip. “You can hate me all the way home, all right?”
No one said anything in the truck until they pulled into the driveway in front of Henry’s house and Grip had turned off the ignition.
“I’m sorry that I got so angry,” said Grace. Her voice was small and quiet even in the enclosed space of the truck. “I don’t like being patronized.”
“No
one does,” Grip said.
“My faith is very, very important to me.”
“That’s fine,” said Grip. “That’s good and great, but not everyone is going to feel like you do, and believe it or not, not everyone has to.”
Jory sat in the back of the truck feeling as small and unnoticed as when she hid in Frances’s closet and listened in on her parents’ arguments.
“I have a calling,” said Grace. “And I can’t ignore that responsibility just because it’s awkward or someone isn’t going to like what I say.”
Grip took off his ice cream man hat and folded it in two. “Then I guess you’ll have to get used to people saying things back to you. And telling you things you don’t want to hear.”
“I guess so.”
“I guess so.”
“Okay, then. Fine,” said Grace. She opened the truck’s door and got out. “Come on, Jory.”
“I’ll be in in a minute.” They both watched as Grace climbed the stairs to the house and went inside and shut the door. They watched as she turned on a single light.
Jory slid up and over into the front seat.
“Well, happy Halloween.” Grip tugged at the feather in Jory’s headband.
Jory snatched the headband off and held it in her lap. “She spoils everything.”
“No, she doesn’t. It just seems like that right now.”
“Right now and always.”
Grip laughed. “Her intentions are good.” He turned sideways in his seat. “She’s a very honorable person.”
“You don’t think I’m an honorable person?”
“No.” He laughed again. “You’re more like me.”
“Well, thanks a lot, I guess.”
“I just mean that you’re more human. You do more of what you want to all the time. You don’t struggle so much.”
“I struggle,” said Jory.
“Not like that,” he said, gesturing back toward the house. “That’s a hard road. That takes a weird form of guts.” He shook his head.
“I have guts,” said Jory, knowing immediately how untrue this was.
The Girl Who Slept with God: A Novel Page 26
