The Reformation of Marli Meade

by Tracy Hewitt Meyer

  “You are full of questions.”

  “So answer them.”

  “Nothing happened, really. I was just hanging out with some guys who’d gotten in trouble for selling meth at lunch.”

  “What’s meth?”

  “Wow, you are sheltered.”

  I ignored his dig. There was no denying the truth anyway.

  “It’s a drug. Methamphetamines. Nasty thing. Don’t ever try it.”

  “I didn’t even know what it was.”

  “Good point.”

  “Did you sell it, too, or just your friends?”

  Nate stopped outside the entrance to the library. With a huff, he shoved a hand through his hair. “Look. My brother sells it. Some of my friends worked for him. I didn’t sell it myself but guilt by association and all that.”

  I did know a little about drugs. Posters lined the walls of the school and police officers came to lecture at least twice a year, but I really had no true grasp of what he was talking about.

  “How does changing schools help if your brother still sells it?”

  “You’re smarter than my PO, obviously. But hey, you’re here and I kinda like hanging out with you, so I’m glad I changed schools.”

  Was that a blush that spread across his cheeks? It was definitely one that spread across mine.

  I pushed my hair back from my face as I headed toward the door. When Nate didn’t follow, I stopped. “Are you coming in?”

  Nate stared down the sidewalk. “Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  His eyes darted around like he had taken on my worry about being caught.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze settled in the distance. “I’ll be right there.”

  I reached out but did not touch him. “Nate, what’s wrong?”

  His hands curled into fists. “I see my brother, Jude. I’ll meet you inside.”

  “Where?” I lifted on my toes. I’d never seen a drug dealer before—not that I knew of, at least.

  “Marli.” His eyes were pleading and apprehensive.

  The guy coming toward us was tall and thin to the point of sickly. His head was covered in a red bandana, long greasy strands of hair spilling out from underneath. A cigarette was in one hand, a phone in the other. When he spotted Nate, he paused. Then he took a long puff off the cigarette and started forward, eyes focused on his younger brother like a hawk focused on its prey.

  I wanted to run. I wanted to stay. Unfortunately, before I could decide what to do, this ugly shell of a man was standing before us.

  NATE!” THE NAME burst from Jude’s lips like a cannon. He closed the last few feet between us, his gait jerky and awkward like his muscles weren’t sure how to work in unison.

  “Marli, please go inside.” Nate’s expression sharpened.

  He didn’t have to ask me again, but before my feet made it to the library door, I felt Jude’s eyes land on my back and I looked over my shoulder. It was like knowing a serial killer was following you, and you turned right before he took an ax to your head. Not that I’d seen many horror movies but I had a good imagination.

  There was a darkness to him and the way he looked at me that made me cringe and want to cower. Then take a bath. When his lips curled into an ugly sneer, I yanked open the door. As I passed inside, I could hear him ask, “Who’s your pretty little friend?”

  “What do you want, Jude?” Nate responded.

  The door to the library was made of glass, and I stood on the inside of it, peering out. If I leaned forward and put my ear to the cool surface, I could hear their conversation.

  “I’m looking for a friend of yours.”

  Nate’s fingers curled into fists. “Why?”

  “He owes me money.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “I think it is. I can’t find him and you…” He pointed a finger in Nate’s face. “You need to find him for me.”

  “No. I don’t go to Bloodwood anymore.”

  Jude’s eyes flickered and jumped like they couldn’t remain still. His hands shook, the cigarette burning long ash that was close to falling off.

  “I should ask your friend in there.” Jude glanced toward me. “Maybe she would know? Though she looks like one of those snake girls from the mountain.”

  Nate stepped between the door and his brother, using his body to block Jude’s view. “Back off.”

  Jude launched into a taunting fit of laughter. “Give me a few minutes. I could show her what she’s missing being up on that mountain. Make it worth her while.”

  I had a pretty good idea about the meaning behind his words. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize he was dangerous and to know, with all certainty, I did not want him to show me what I was “missing.”

  Jude was only an inch taller than Nate but there was something about him, something mean and grotesque—not only in his appearance but how he acted. He leaned into Nate’s face, whispered something I couldn’t hear then gave him a sharp poke in the chest. Nate smacked his hand away and lifted his fist.

  Jude stepped back, throwing up his hands in surrender, and I retreated farther into the library. I passed the front desk and waved to the nearly blind librarian, Miss Nelson, who was hunched over a thick novel held inches from her face. Her eyes were huge behind bottle-thick glasses, making her look more like a child’s puppet than a real woman.

  I threw my backpack down on a square table in the secluded back room, a room only I used. It felt like a home away from home I’d spent so much time here. A large window overlooked the base of the mountain, and if I peered hard enough, I could see the little white church hovering at the top of the world, the ever-present mist swirling around it like hallowed ghostly guards. The church stared down at me as if even this far away I could not escape its invasive eye. I sat in the seat farthest from it.

  Nate strolled in and pulled out a chair.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yep. Fine.”

  “So that was your brother?”

  He nodded.

  “Seems…intense.”

  Nate shrugged.

  Several moments passed as he watched me. It was like his gaze released a net, and that net reached out toward me, covering me with a hold I did not understand. And even though I looked around the room—at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, at the scuffed tile of the white floor, at the scratched and dull surface of the table—I knew his gaze never wavered.

  “You don’t look like the other people from the mountain.”

  My cheeks warmed. It was another running joke among the locals—more fodder for the incest plotline—that the people of the mountain shared the same features, and the same genes.

  “My mom had red hair.”

  “But your eyes are lighter too.”

  My lids fluttered nervously as I glanced at him.

  “Did you notice Josiah and his family share the same traits?”

  I tilted my head. “Maybe. I mean, I guess I’m so used to black hair and black eyes I don’t even notice it anymore. I notice people’s features who aren’t from the mountain.” Like your hazel eyes…

  “But they aren’t from your mountain.”

  “We don’t hold the license for those features,” I said, aggravation prickling at my nerves. I was so tired of being told how different we were.

  Nate threw up his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is I like your looks. You’re different and different is good.”

  Unsure of what to do with this guy in front of me, I did what I always did in the library. I opened my backpack and pulled out a notebook. “Do you have homework?”

  “Nope. Don’t think so.”

  “Are you actually going to class? Because I do go and they assign a lot of work.”

  “I might tomorrow. I prefer life experience to book learning anyway.”

  “But that won’t get you to graduation.”

  With a flirty twitch of his lip, he leaned forwa
rd. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

  I moved in until we were inches apart, until I could feel the warmth of his breath wash over my face. I inhaled and leaned in farther still. “What is it?”

  “I don’t need to study.”

  “Really? You don’t even do homework?”

  “I might if it’s important or worth a lot. But, you know, I ace tests and that’s what counts.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I might have lived a sheltered life but I was no dummy. That being said, I still needed to do homework and study for tests. A genius, I wasn’t.

  He laughed and his breath smelled like mint. “Not really, but I can hold my own against most.”

  “Wow.” I glanced at my books in a new light, as if they reflected my ignorance and not my intellect.

  “So, anyway. You asked me a bunch of questions earlier. I have a couple for you.”

  “That sounds scary.”

  “Not at all. Had you ever met Josiah?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, let me tell ya. The guy never speaks. I wonder if there is something wrong with him, like he’s autistic or has a speech problem. Or something.”

  “Really?”

  “Actually, that’s not true. I think deep down he’s probably pretty smart. But it’s like he’s scared all the time. Even when it’s just the two of us, he never says a word. Maybe he’s afraid of me but I’m pretty harmless.” The smile he flashed made him seem anything but.

  “Maybe he is scared all the time.” If his church was anything like mine, and I suspected it was or this engagement would have never been arranged, Josiah had good reason to fear the trouble his voice could get him into. I thought of the ugly bruise on my arm from Edna’s most recent painful pinch, not to mention the one that was fading from my cheek.

  “Maybe.”

  I sighed and opened my planner. “Why do you care so much?”

  “About what?”

  “The Stones. This wedding.” What I didn’t dare ask was, why did he care about me? That was presuming he did.

  He picked a splinter out of the table’s damaged wood and held the small piece before his face. “Just worried about you. That’s all.”

  My face did not betray the thrill his statement gave me, but it also left me confused. Was he toying with me? Was he actually taking part in some bet placed by Chad to see who could dupe the mountain girl into thinking she was pretty, into thinking someone could actually care about her?

  I felt a sudden wave of anger. That must be it. “Why?” I asked.

  Nate stared at me for several moments and I wished I could read his mind.

  “You know,” he started, “I’m not entirely sure. But I like you. I’d like to get to know you better. I hate the fact that you seemed trapped in something you can’t get out of.”

  “But you’re wasting your time. You can’t get to know me better.”

  “Why not? I am now.”

  I slapped my hands on the table, images of Mary’s tear-stained face in my head. “You can’t come here again. It’s crazy!”

  “Why?”

  The expression I shot him must’ve been all the explanation he needed. He threw his hands up. “I get it. Let’s just take it one day at a time. I’d never do anything to get you in trouble. I don’t have many friends and…I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I like being around you.”

  I wanted to push him into further explanation, wanted him to fall upon his knees and declare his undying admiration, yearned for him to tell me he’d never worried or cared about anyone so much in his life, but found I couldn’t. It was too forward, not to mention delusional—we’d only just met. Instead of pressing him further, I settled on something else. “I wish I was eighteen. Then I could just walk away.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to just walk away from the marriage? The church? Your family and all that?”

  Did I? Yes. I did not want to get married. The idea was ridiculous as well as repulsive. But the church life was all I knew. With Charles and Edna watching my every move…the close-knit congregation. Could I leave it all behind?

  Then I thought about the little tomb of a church that swallowed me alive several times a week; Charles’s and Edna’s disapproving glares; the complete and total lack of a voice.

  “Yes.” I met his gaze head-on and did not look away. “I could walk away.”

  “I see.” He picked at another splinter. “You know, all the Stones talk about is this wedding.”

  The blood drained from my face like it had been sucked out with a vacuum. “That’s all they talk about?”

  “Yeah. Josiah doesn’t, of course. He doesn’t say anything. But his parents? Forget it. If it was up to them, you’d be married tomorrow. The mother seems especially eager.”

  “Please don’t say that. I thought she didn’t like me. And after laughing in church, I’m surprised they didn’t call it off.”

  He fixed his gaze on me and I did not like what I saw there. “She worries you’ll be too difficult if they wait too long to have the wedding—probably because you laughed in church.”

  “They want to move the date sooner?” Breath stalled in my lungs.

  How could they talk about my life and my future without a single input from me? Because I didn’t matter. What I wanted didn’t matter.

  They were using me and this marriage for some reason. But why? Why now? I had never done a wrong thing in my life. Other than laughing in church, I had been the model daughter, always doing exactly what was expected of me. Always.

  Nate swiped at imaginary crumbs on the table.

  “How soon?” I managed.

  “This summer.”

  Tears spilled from my lids, unexpected and fast flowing. This summer? I just turned sixteen. Summer was only a month and a half away.

  “Hey…” Nate grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and slid it over my cheek, trying to dry my tears. It didn’t matter, though. They were replaced so fast there was no hope of catching them all. I could fill a small spring with the moisture flowing down my face.

  “Don’t cry.”

  “It’s just so unfair,” I whispered. “I have no say. I mean nothing. I am nothing.”

  “Don’t say that. You are so much more than what they think you are, or what the people at school think you are. Don’t forget that.”

  “It’s not true. I’m not. I am nothing but a puppet who has no voice and now, no future.” I sniffed, reaching for another tissue.

  “Listen, I’m sure the wedding won’t be moved up to this summer. No one would do that. There’s no way they’ll marry you off at sixteen. It just looks…bad.”

  I struggled to stop the tears but there was just no off button today.

  “Is it normal that girls get married so young in your church?”

  “No, not really. It used to be common. I mean, my mom married my dad when she was sixteen, but over the years things have changed. A little bit, at least. And I thought this young marriage thing had changed, too.”

  “Why do you think your dad is doing this? Does he like Josiah’s family that much?”

  “I didn’t know he even knew them. Honestly, though, I don’t really know my father. He rarely talks, other than when he’s preaching. He lets Edna run things, me included. I don’t know how he met Josiah’s family or what made him decide this was a good idea.” My shoulders slumped.

  “It’s hard to believe. We’re far past medieval times and this seems way too medieval.”

  Medieval it might seem, but reality was what it was. I was engaged to be married. I was only sixteen. And there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

  The air in the room became heavy, weighed down with the doom of a teenage future that threatened to crumble to dust on the wind. Even Nate’s hand in mine couldn’t make me feel better.

  JOSIAH CLEARED HIS throat, a sound that was quickly becoming one of the most annoying I’d ever heard. “So…
um…you’re a sophomore?”

  Several feet separated us as we followed the congregation toward a narrow river. Today was Easter Sunday and Charles was performing baptisms in the shallow water.

  “Yes.”

  The air was thick with spring humidity, filling my lungs with sticky moisture. Insects fluttered around my face, in my hair, buzzed near my ears. It didn’t matter how many times I swatted them away, they returned, persistent and undaunted.

  “You’re a senior?” I strove for politeness even though I couldn’t care less about the answer. I looked around for Nate but didn’t see him.

  “Yes. Equivalent of.”

  Several more steps passed as our conversation struggled to take off, like a cold truck engine in the dead of winter.

  “Were you born in this area?” The one question I wanted to ask was where Nate was.

  “Yeah.” Another yard passed. “You?”

  More steps. “Yes.”

  Ahead rested the meager cemetery, nestled behind the church like an afterthought. Oak and maple trees cast long, permanent shadows over the gray tombstones, their roots protruding from the ground like arms of the dead trying to escape their earthly dwelling.

  There was an aged and rusted black iron fence that had long ago been shoved into the ground as a marker for the holy resting place. The oldest gravestones dated back to the mid-1800s when the first settlers built the Church on the Mountain. These were smaller than the newer ones, crumbling and weather-beaten, unpolished and raw, like they’d been dug up from the earth and plopped down on the ground’s surface. There was evidence of names carved into the stones, but after years, anything legible had been worn away.

  Toward the front gate rested the newer stones. These were not shiny like the gravestones in the town’s cemetery, but rough, in keeping with the original stones. The names on these newer stones were chiseled with a hammer and pick, leaving the letters and numbers misshapen and crooked but readable.

  I preferred the old stones to the new, wondering why the nameless people had traveled from Europe to settle on such an isolated, haunted mountaintop. I also pretended that one of these older stones was my mother’s even though it wasn’t possible. The newer stones dated back to well before she died, so there should be one with the name Sarah Sheehan Meade carved in the porous surface, but there wasn’t. And since no one would tell me where her grave was, despite the numerous times I had asked over the years, I let myself believe it was here in the back of this lonely little cemetery. At least it gave me a focal point at which to direct the silent conversations I had with her.