The out-of-tune piano stopped briefly, transitioning, before the first notes of Eden’s National Anthem started to play. Everyone sang along, but Evalene could only lip-synch the words, her mouth too dry to sing a note.
As Evalene moved forward on her own, all eyes followed her progress down the long aisle towards the front of the room. The short walkway seemed to go on forever. All her excitement leading up to this day hadn’t prepared her for the weight of it. Her entire future would be decided in the next two hours. She was at the mercy of God and His priests. She felt her breathing grow shallow as her chest tightened.
Reaching the steps that led to the stage, Evalene felt the room spin. Father Alfred’s pudgy hands twitched like he was ready to catch her. Evalene gave him a quick, nervous smile to reassure him before climbing the steps and carefully kneeling at the altar in the position of humility. She would stay in this posture until the last portion of the ceremony.
Everything passed in a blur.
The long history of Eden, over before she remembered to start blinking again. The call and response between Father Alfred and the audience barely registered in the corner of her mind. She felt her back beginning to sweat and tried to focus on making her breathing less erratic.
The personal testimony to her Value and Worth, given by her Father, caught her attention. Though no one quite knew how much this influenced their given Number, if at all, it was traditionally the longest portion of the ceremony. Evalene glanced at her father out of the side of her eye, where he stood at the podium. He was talking about her mother? He hadn't spoken of his wife once since she'd died.
Her breath caught.
But he only mentioned Pearl Vandereth to bring up her high Number, a Six, and then moved on. Evalene sighed. Her father focused on Evalene’s skills in basic school, her talent and creativity and ability to learn quickly. Her passion for reading. She knew Lola was the source of his information. Even so, Evalene glowed with pride.
Finally, they reached the last portion of the service.
The real reason they were all here.
Walking ceremoniously with Father Alfred, Evalene entered the room built into the front of the chapel, which held a mirror, two chairs, a needle and a small pot of black ink on a table. Another member of the clergy sat in the first chair. He held the needle ready. Evalene sat in the chair that tilted, and lay back.
The priest with the tattoo needle had thin graying hair and a blank expression. A pair of spectacles rested on the tip of his nose. As he brought the needle to her neck, he pulled a second pair of lenses off the top of his head, resting them on the bridge of his nose. He peered through both frames, utterly focused. Evalene didn’t dare laugh.
She lay still, tense, waiting for the sharp pain of the needle on her neck.
It wasn't bad. After the first poke, she relaxed a little, although she still had to fight the urge to pull away.
Though she watched his face intently, he gave no hint what he etched onto the left side of her neck. She wiggled her fingers nervously. Wished she could see the mirror from where she sat. She listened to the soloist on the other side of the door, singing on stage while they were out of sight, an overdone song about the glory of Eden and the Number One.
Finally, it was done.
Her neck tingled.
The tattoo artist wiped a bit of blood away with a napkin. Some of the black ink smeared onto it as well. He didn't say a word, just nodded towards the mirror, bowed to Father Alfred, and exited the room.
Father Alfred's face was oddly pale.
Evalene opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger to his lips, and she stopped. He cleared his throat. “Take a moment to compose yourself, and then you must come out and present your Number.” He emphasized must, like he was worried she wouldn't come out.
Evalene squinted at him in confusion, but nodded.
“You have two minutes, child,” he said, and reached out as if to touch her shoulder, but then stopped short of actually touching her. He left without another word. Evalene slowly turned toward the mirror, afraid now, for some reason.
Her clear blue eyes stared back at her. Brown curls gracing the delicate white dress, at first glance picture perfect. She saw herself bite her lower lip, the color draining out of her face and neck until she nearly matched the ceremonial dress. She sank to the ground, unable to stand. Her whole body started shaking. Her hands reached up to touch the wet tears streaming down her face as it crumpled into a tight, painful, silent cry.
She rocked herself back and forth as the clock ticked by the seconds so fast. Too fast. How had this happened? Somehow she found the strength in her shaking hands to reach toward the table with all the colored ribbons. She picked up the appropriate color ribbon, pulling her hair back with shaking fingers, nearly dropping it. She tied her hair back behind her neck, to make sure her Number showed. Because that was what she would have to do now.
Evalene felt like she'd been snapped into a million pieces, but she clenched her fist. She would not cry in front of them! It had to be a mistake.
But there were no mistakes...
Stop.
Father would know what to do. Father – she had to go out now. She stood, still shaking, and wiped the flow of tears.
Wiped them again.
She touched the mark on the left side of her neck, watching herself in the mirror. Tilting her neck as far as she could while still able to see the mirror, she stared.
Small, black numbers stared back at her.
Her Number.
29.
3
So Many Questions
E VALENE’S FINGERS KEPT INCHING up to the left side of her neck. Her new Number. She felt numb. A bandage blocked her fingers where it covered her new tattoo, though only allowed today while it healed.
She stood in the foyer of the Vandereth’s large home, barely blinking, watching the swirl of activity around her.
The moment they’d arrived back at the estate, the staff had been informed, and the entire household had leapt into action. They worked to remove her from her old bedroom – her old life – faster than she’d ever seen them move before, as if this in-between stage where her old life touched the new was not to be tolerated.
Her father disappeared into his study after only a few words to the staff. Lola had tearily listened to the news before clapping her hands over her mouth and stumbling out of the room. Evalene hoped her reaction wouldn’t be seen as treasonous.
Daeva, the family’s housekeeper, hesitated only a moment before she began hollering orders. Evalene watched from the front entryway, looking up the grand staircase that stretched as wide as a dozen people all the way to the second floor, where the servants gathered in a large circle in the foyer at the top of the stairs, waiting for instructions.
The large master bedrooms were down the second-floor hallway to the right. Where her room had been. The servants’ rooms were down the hallway to the left, where Evalene expected to be placed.
But as she listened to their harsh whispers float down the stairs, she made out the words “no room” and “attic.” Her forehead wrinkled in concern. There were spiders in the attic. She hated it up there. Frowning she kept her mouth shut. It didn’t matter what she wanted.
Evalene touched the bandage again, flinching. The tape along the edges made her skin itch, and she was dying to rip it off, while at the same time wishing it would stay on forever so no one would see what was underneath.
But soon everyone would know if they didn’t already.
She winced as she thought of the announcement cards, prepped to go out to friends and family. They didn’t have much left in the way of family, just some distant relatives on the other side of Eden. But even if her father threw all the cards away, the family would find out eventually. Everyone would.
Numbly, Evalene watched the servants scurry back and forth from her old room to the attic, disappearing up the stairs to the third floor. A tiny door on the third floor led to a dark, narrow
staircase, barely wide enough to carry anything larger than a chair. This led to the attic. Evalene hadn’t been to the attic in years, and could barely picture it besides remembering it was packed full of odds and ends. There would barely be enough room for a bed and amenities.
Swallowing hard, Evalene finally moved to the grand staircase through air as thick and heavy as water. Breathing hard, she climbed to the top, wanting to yell at them to stop. Her mind screamed, Don’t touch that! Leave it be!
Instead she pulled back from the chaos surrounding the master bedrooms, leaning against the hallway leading to the servant’s rooms. She tried to be invisible, unnoticed. It wasn’t hard. The servants, desperately focused on getting this awful task completed, looked as shell-shocked as Evalene felt.
Daeva hadn’t seen her yet, her back to Evalene as she concentrated on directing traffic, saying yes or no to different items. She didn’t say yes to much.
“There’s a trundle bed already in the attic,” Evalene overheard Fleur say to the housekeeper.
“That will do.” Daeva replied.
Evalene watched what they carried up from where she stood to the side. A wash stand. One of her larger mirrors. Daeva sent the mirror back. Only a hand mirror made it up the stairs. The housekeeper didn’t do any of the work, just stood with her hands on her hips, swiveling back and forth to monitor each item’s progress.
Daeva turned and saw Evalene, pursing her lips and frowning for a long moment, looking ready to make Evalene join the work. But then someone asked a question, followed by another, and thankfully Daeva seemed to forget about her.
Stepping backwards, Evalene moved further down the dark servant’s hallway, hiding behind a heavy floor-length curtain. A tiny dresser went up the stairs next. From her hiding place, Evalene couldn’t tell what clothes were in there, if any.
All her old clothes would have to be thrown out. She felt only a small flutter of sadness at the removal of her childhood clothing, multi-colored to indicate a child pre-Numbering. She’d had years to detach herself from those.
But her brand-new clothes, all lovely, fashionable styles in a dozen different shades of blue, a gift from her father, were much harder to think about the servants removing. Glassy eyed, Evalene shook her head, blinking to clear her vision.
Everything she wore was now required to be a shade of brown. The Number One had created a strict policy on this many years ago. His reasoning, that a person’s Number class needed to be easily distinguishable if the Number system were to work, had always made sense to Evalene before. His policy was quite simple:
“Prepared at the direction and request of the Number Review Organization: Statute 146.38: Attire for Semi-restricted and restricted areas.
Blue – 1-10 (Party Member Eligible)
Black – 11 (Regulators)
White – 12 (Clergy)
Red – 13-16 (Merchants/Traders)
Gray – 17-23 (High Level Employee)
Brown – 24-30 (Low Level Employee)
The color classes had never bothered Evalene before. After all, the higher classes followed them more loosely, allowed to wear hints of other colors as long as their own was most prevalent. They weren’t even required to display their tattoo, and as a result most found stylish ways to cover it up. These were just a few of a million little exceptions to the rules that Evalene had taken for granted.
She sank down to sit on the floor behind the curtain, hugging her knees. Why was she thinking about such a stupid insignificant thing as the colors she would wear? From her hiding place, she watched as they emptied the last few belongings out of her old room, carrying them through the door to other parts of the house. Every personal belonging or gift, every childhood memento such as her books or drawings she’d done–
Evalene jumped up and ran towards the assembly line, suddenly worried they would throw away the few items she had left from her mother. Frantic, she clenched and unclenched her fists, looking around for Lola, for a friend in one of the servants, someone she could ask for help.
No one would meet her eye. None would risk Daeva witnessing their sympathy. Once an informant, always an informant. And there could always be a first time for any of the others.
Thankfully Daeva had departed to the kitchen. Evalene wouldn’t have asked her for aid under any circumstances, much less now.
Touching her bandage again, Evalene was grateful that Father Alfred had allowed her this one temporary breach of etiquette, even if only for the night.
Evalene thought of her mother. The last four years had dimmed the memory of her; she couldn’t quite picture her smile anymore. She tried to imagine how Pearl would’ve reacted to this day. But that made Evalene think of her father, who was still noticeably absent. A small part of her remembered the hour following the Numbering Ceremony, and understood.
While everyone in the audience who had come to celebrate slunk out of the church in small, whispering groups or pairs, pretending not to see her family’s disgrace, Evalene and her father had been sent to the Priest’s office for a stern discussion. “You will never speak to a higher Number unless spoken to first,” he began, staring at Evalene. She shut her mouth.
“You will not touch a higher Number without permission, or hold conversations outside the frame of your work. You will be permitted to stay on as a lower-level employee in the Vandereth household, if your father so wishes. However, if he terminates your employment at any time, he is within his full rights to do so, and you will need to find work elsewhere.”
Evalene had listened obediently, overwhelmed, standing to the side while her father sat in the chair across from the priest. “If any rules are broken, any other Number is within their full rights to report you, which will result in severe punishment.” Thorough and painstaking, the lengthy list of directives took over an hour.
As they left the church, Evalene had immediately felt the distance between her and her father, already a wide chasm since her mother’s death, now growing rapidly larger. But she hadn’t expected Lola to leave her too. The elderly woman had always been there for her. Until today.
Yet here Evalene stood, alone in the busy hallway as the staff flowed around her, abandoning her.
Returning to her hiding place, Evalene huddled in the corner, knees pulled in, back pressed against the wall, resting her head on her arms. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. Pulling the heavy curtain around so it covered her completely, she held a fist to her mouth, fighting tears.
The noises in the hallway began to die down. As the bustle slowed and the last few items were moved, the voices moved away to other tasks.
After a while, Evalene stood. How much time had passed? The hallway lights remained on, but the entire floor was empty. It was late. Everyone had gone to bed.
As she walked down the empty hallway and reached the doorway of her old room to view the changes, she couldn’t quite swallow past the lump in her throat. It might as well have been a stranger’s room. Though the dark room still held her old furniture, not a hint of its previous owner remained. Not a single picture, ornament, or decoration. Her favorite childhood blanket, made by her mother, was gone.
She felt afraid to stand this close to her old room, already feeling the weight of her Number. It settled onto her shoulders and chest, making it hard to breathe. She was not a high Number. She was one of the lowest. A 29. Her mind fought against the thought, her years of training for a high-class Number struggling to accept it. But it was true.
She felt tears threatening again, and desperately turned towards the stairs. Taking them two at a time, she reached the third floor and pulled open the little door leading to the attic. Climbing the narrow wooden steps to her new room on the fourth floor, she resisted the urge to cry.
Evalene burst into the tiny attic and swung the door closed behind her. Turning around she gasped at the sight of Lola sitting on the bed. Through blurry vision, she saw Lola held the blanket her mother had made. Evalene ran towards her, falling into the tiny woman’s
outstretched arms.
“Why did this happen?” Evalene couldn’t help asking. Fear caught in her throat at the traitorous words, not to mention Lola was a higher Number now – everyone was – and yet Evalene had spoken first. But Lola wasn’t an informant. She just couldn’t be.
Lola held her tight, breaking the rules as well. “Shhh, shhh,” she said, rocking Evalene in comfort, just like she always had when Evalene was young and nightmares came. “It’ll be alright,” she said over and over. “You’ll be alright.”
Evalene’s eyes were swollen and ached from held-back tears. She stared at the shoulder of Lola’s scratchy brown dress. Both their legs hung off the little bed, Evalene’s still wrapped in her Numbering day dress, white for purity and the religious ceremony, and Lola’s in her creased skirt, brown for the service class. Evalene sat up finally, rubbing her eyes, and meeting Lola’s cloudy brown ones, she whispered, “Lola, what do I do now?”
Rubbing Evalene’s arms gently, Lola sighed. Evalene thought she saw her eyes water, but then her nanny smiled at her. She searched for the right words. “Miss Evie, my mama always told me you can choose your real Number for yourself.”
Evalene’s eyes grew huge. “I thought that was up to God?”
Lola patted her hand and her eyes crinkled, disappearing into her cheeks as she smiled for real this time. “Sometimes I wonder if God would rather not get the credit for things like this.” Evalene was perplexed. That sounded like something a true believer would say. Complete heresy. The Number One said God chose everyone’s Number, and to disagree was intolerable, traitorous, direct opposition of the Number system.
“But,” Evalene risked whispering, glancing around for an eavesdropping television out of habit, though of course, her new room didn’t have one, “if God didn’t choose my Number, then who did?”
Evalene's Number: The Number Series Page 2
