The Prophet Calls

by Melanie Sumrow

  “So you can talk.”

  Her neck flushes red. “Turn it back on.”

  I shake my head. “Not until you tell me why you’re mad at me.”

  Amy crosses her arms over her chest, covering the pink flowers Mother needlepointed onto her nightgown.

  “I’m the one who’s being punished here,” I say softly. “I don’t know why you’re so mad.” Though, I really do. It’s my fault we’ll never see Tanner again.

  Amy pushes her fingers under her glasses and sniffles, making me feel like the jerk I am.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, regretting how fiercely I’d lashed out at her. “I really am.”

  Her hands drop to her lap. She levels me with a glare through smudged glasses. “You lied to me,” she says.

  “I did not,” I say, suddenly defensive again. I’d given her a lot of good reasons to be mad at me, but lying certainly wasn’t one of them.

  “Uh-huh,” Amy says, sounding a little out of breath now. “You left.”

  I shake my head, not understanding.

  “You said you’d never leave me.” She sucks in a long breath. “Never. Ever. That’s what you said.”

  Then, I get it: She thought I’d abandoned her. Suddenly I can’t breathe too great, either.

  “When Uncle Max said you’d left, I thought—he was lying,” she says, her face turning the color of her neck.

  I slowly approach her.

  “I told—him you would never do that.”

  I was wrong: I’m worse than a jerk. While I was having fun with Tanner, Amy was defending me to the Vulture. I carefully place my palm between her shoulder blades, attempting to calm her. “You stuck up for me?” I ask.

  Amy shrugs away from my touch. “Yeah.” She gulps a breath. “Won’t do that again.”

  I drop to the bed, sitting next to her. The edge of the mattress sags beneath our combined weight. When her breathing becomes steadier, I continue, “I’m so sorry.”

  She gives me a sideways glance.

  “All this time, I thought you were mad at me because of Tanner.”

  “I am,” she says, her voice tight.

  I smile slightly. “You should be.”

  Amy gives a firm nod.

  I sigh. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just so excited to play in the festival.” I hesitate for a second and then reach for her hand. “I’d understand if you want to be mad at me forever.”

  Though my sister doesn’t look at me, her warm fingers squeeze mine, pushing out some of the sadness.

  The bolt on our door clicks. We both startle; I release her hand. Father opens the door for Meryl. His green eyes zero in on mine, and the anger and sadness fill me all over again. How could he? How could he stand there and let Uncle Max throw Tanner out of Watchful?

  I turn away from him with a huff. The mattress creaks.

  “You don’t have any right to be upset with me,” he says, which only makes me angrier.

  I jump from the bed. “No right? At least I tried to talk Uncle Max into letting Tanner stay.”

  Father shakes his head. “There was no point.”

  Every muscle tightens. “How do you know that? You didn’t even try!”

  “Careful,” Meryl says. “He’s your priesthood head.”

  “Says the perfect daughter,” I say, glaring at her. “You’re just jealous of Tanner and me. You always have been.”

  “Gentry,” Father barks. “There are things you do not understand.”

  My hands clench, defensive. “I understand plenty. Tanner’s my brother and you let him go.” I snap my fingers. “Just like that, and you’re not even upset that he’s gone.”

  “Quiet.” Father says it so loud, it’s frightening. Amy clutches her pillow to her chest. He jabs his finger toward me. “These feelings are of the devil. You must focus on your family.”

  Meryl wipes her eyes, and suddenly I feel bad all over again. I shouldn’t have yelled at her, either.

  “If I had said more,” Father says, “I’d be going against the Prophet.” He swallows hard. “And then, I’d risk losing you, too.” He gestures around the room and outside the door. “All of you.”

  “Why would you lose us?” I ask, suddenly nervous.

  “It’s none of your concern,” he says, brushing away my question as usual. “You must keep sweet and focus on abolishing the evil inside.” He takes a calming breath and then approaches, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. Ordinarily, I’d welcome the rare show of affection from him, but I’m still angry and confused. I twist away.

  Father returns to the doorway. “I only pray that someday you’ll have the maturity to understand why I did what I did.”

  My muscles are in a million knots. “How much longer are you going to keep me in here?”

  “Until you realize you cannot go against the Prophet,” he says and then shuts the door. The lock clicks.

  I turn to Meryl. She’s still wiping her eyes. I sigh my frustration. I’ve made a real mess of things. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.” She pulls two slices of bread from the pockets of her dress. “Here,” she says.

  I glance at the locked door, knowing I’m not supposed to eat. Knowing she knows I’m not supposed to eat. She places the bread in my hand. Immediately, my mouth waters.

  Why would the perfect daughter sneak me food? I shouldn’t eat it, but I’m too hungry to resist. I take a bite of Mother Lenora’s bread. Nutty and delicious.

  “I’ll try to sneak you more in the morning,” Meryl says, her voice quiet.

  I stop chewing. “Why would you do that?” I ask through the crumbs.

  “Because I agree with you,” she whispers. “Father should’ve done more.” She glances between Amy and me. “But, if either of you repeat that, I’ll deny it.” She turns to the chest of drawers we all share and opens the top drawer to retrieve her nightgown. “Just tell me one thing.”

  I shove the second piece of bread into my mouth and nod.

  “Were you scared?”

  “To play in the festival?” I ask through a mouthful of bread.

  She wads her gown between her hands. “No, I mean were you scared out there?”

  “I was at first,” I admit. But then, I think of Talia and her mom. The crowd cheering for us. Even Rockstar, Talia’s dog. They weren’t anything like I expected. “Then, it was the most wonderful thing ever. Nobody was there to tell me how to think or feel. For the first time, I got to decide.” I stop, realizing it all probably sounds silly to her.

  Without a word, Meryl nods and then turns toward the wall to put on her nightgown.

  ***

  Unfamiliar shouts outside our bedroom door awaken me to the darkness. Heavy stomps approach. Beside me, Amy doesn’t move. I sit upright in bed as the door bursts open, splitting the wood along the doorframe.

  Meryl screams from her bed. Someone flips on the light. It’s two men, dressed in black: the God Squad.

  Adrenaline shoots through my body. I yank the sheet to my chest. Amy remains still.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, but they don’t answer. It’s Buckley with his bright red face and one other goon. He starts opening drawers, pulling out clothes, and throwing them on the floor.

  Amy jerks the blanket over her head and trembles, making the whole mattress shake.

  “Father,” I call, my bare feet hitting the carpet as I try to remember what night it is. Yes, it’s his night to stay in Mother’s room next door. “Mother.”

  Within seconds, Father appears in the doorway with his red hair sticking out in all directions and a shadow of stubble across his cheeks. His tired eyes go wide when he sees the men. “What’s going on here?”

  “Off the bed,” Buckley grunts at Amy. She doesn’t move. “Off,” he says, poking the lump on our bed with his black stick.

  Father steps inside our room. “Let her at least wake up.”

  Amy reaches for her glasses on the nightstand. Buckley raises his stick, as if prepa
ring to break her arm.

  I hold out my hands to stop him. “She needs her glasses to see.”

  His glare flicks to the nightstand, where my sister’s thick glasses sit, and then returns to me. For a second, I think he’s going to strike me instead.

  “I’ll check over here,” the other man says as he opens the accordion doors to our closet.

  Buckley lowers his stick, and in one motion, Amy snatches her glasses, scoots across the mattress toward me, and stands. She stumbles into my arms, whimpering against my chest.

  Buckley wastes no time in flipping our mattress, trapping Meryl against the wall. There’s nothing but dust bunnies between the box springs and mattress.

  Father smooths his hair against his head. “Is there something we can help you find?”

  Mother’s ashen face appears behind his. She’s wearing a half-tied robe over her gown. “It’s the middle of the night.” Baby Bill’s crying in her arms. “Can this not wait until sunrise?”

  Buckley squats, the fabric of his slacks growing tight like sausage casings around his heavy thighs. He slides his hand under the box springs. Amy buries her face in my shoulder.

  “Found it,” the other one says, pulling my violin case from our closet.

  My heart jumps to my throat. Amy squeaks like I’ve squeezed her too hard.

  Buckley rises.

  “My daughter’s violin?” Father asks. “Why would you want her violin?”

  “We’re under orders to search the house. Get your wives and children outside.” The man uses my violin case to point to the door and clumsily knocks it against the wall.

  “Careful,” I say.

  Buckley aims his stick at me. “We’re searching for the devil’s things.” By now, my other brothers and sisters are outside our bedroom door. Kate’s and Kel’s eyes fill with fear. We’re all hiding something forbidden: an old comic book; a cartoon movie; a favorite CD. Even Meryl has a plastic heart bracelet she sometimes wears hidden under her sleeve.

  Mother Lenora shoves Kel and Kate aside. She’s dressed. Her hair’s done in a perfect braid. As if she’s been awake for hours.

  Mother’s eyes narrow. “Did you know they were coming and fail to tell the rest of us, Lenora?”

  “Come, children,” Mother Lenora orders, completely ignoring my mother’s question.

  My brothers and sisters start moving, trailed by a yawning Mother Dee in her pale nightgown. Her hand rests on her rounded belly as she walks away. Within seconds, their bare feet thud down the stairs.

  “Conway?” Mother says, her voice unsure. Baby Bill squirms and suckles her fingers.

  “It’s all right,” Father says. “Go with the others. I’ll figure this out.” He gestures us outside. “You too, girls. Downstairs.”

  But I’m not leaving. Not without my violin. I shake my head in response.

  Father’s jaw tightens.

  A pale hand grasps his shoulder from behind. Father spins around, as if ready to fight.

  “Conway,” Uncle Max says in a disarming voice. The Vulture’s dressed in his black suit and looks freshly shaven.

  He really shouldn’t be here. The God Squad shouldn’t be here. No man is supposed to see us like this with our hair down and in our nightgowns. No man but Father has ever been inside our room.

  Yet Father steps aside.

  The Vulture smooths his suit as he lifts his shoulders with authority and enters our bedroom. He clears his throat. “The Prophet calls.”

  “Thanks be to God,” Meryl and Amy uniformly say like a pair of robots.

  Uncle Max seems to realize Meryl is hidden behind the tossed mattress. His lips twist into a smile. “Thanks, indeed. The Prophet has had a revelation: We need to purge the evil threatening our community.”

  “I don’t understand,” Father says.

  The Vulture looks down his nose at my father. “And that’s precisely the problem here, Conway. The Prophet sees his people taking on the evil spirit of the outside world through forbidden books, movies.” Uncle Max turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Music.”

  My arms fall slack, away from Amy. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You dare disrespect me?” he says between clenched teeth.

  “That’s three more days in your room, young lady,” Father barks.

  My gaze whips around to his red face. Whose side is he on?

  Uncle Max clucks his tongue. “Conway, you’re losing control here. This girl clearly needs stronger discipline.”

  Father grips the broken doorframe.

  “The Prophet has tolerated this music, because you said it makes Hannah more docile.”

  Docile?

  “But things are clearly out of hand.” He opens his pasty hand and then snatches it shut. “Give them a crumb, and they’ll take the loaf.”

  “I don’t want the loaf,” I argue, even though I know I shouldn’t say anything. Music’s the only thing I’m allowed that lets me be me. Now he wants to take it away? I desperately eye my violin case in the man’s hand. “What about the hymns we sing?” I ask, hoping to sound more confident than I feel. “That’s music.”

  “True,” Amy says, and then hums “Love One Another.”

  Even though I’m flattered she’s defending me, I wish she wouldn’t. I don’t want to get her into trouble, too.

  Uncle Max’s face warps, like he’s tasted something sour. I can feel Buckley and the other goon watching, as if waiting for the order to attack. Amy keeps humming.

  “Stop,” Father says.

  I nudge her, and the music stops. She looks hurt.

  The Vulture’s expression tightens. “Are you telling me you defied the Prophet in order to play our sacred hymns at this festival?”

  I press my lips together. He knows that’s not what I mean.

  Uncle Max lets out a dry laugh. “Admit it. You left to play the devil’s music.”

  “Bluegrass isn’t the devil’s music,” I argue. “It’s just—”

  “What?” he prods. “What is it?”

  “Music. Same as our hymns.”

  “And you’re qualified to make that determination?” He nears, hovering over me with those probing eyes. “The Prophet speaks to you?”

  Buckley slaps his stick against his palm.

  I flinch and glance at Father, but he only shakes his head. I wish he’d say something as my priesthood head. Or even better, as my father. But he stands motionless, like he did with Tanner, letting the Vulture peck away at me until there’s nothing left.

  Suddenly, the mattress drops away from the wall and returns to our bed frame. Meryl must’ve pushed it. I’d forgotten she was even there.

  The distraction breaks Uncle Max’s cold glare; the God Squad jumps to attention.

  “What if she promises not to play?” Meryl asks, clutching her quilt to her chest. She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Wouldn’t it take more discipline if her violin’s still here to tempt her? Wouldn’t that be the more faithful response?”

  Wait, is she doing what I think she is? Is she actually trying to help me?

  Uncle Max smiles, slipping into my sister’s snare.

  Meryl lowers her gaze. The Prophet teaches a woman’s hair is sacred. We never cut it, so we can use it to wash our husband’s feet in heaven. And Meryl’s hair is the most beautiful in Watchful. It falls in a long golden cascade over her shoulder and down past her waist.

  “Conway,” the Vulture says. “Your daughter may be on to something.”

  Father suddenly looks uneasy. For a second, I could swear Meryl smiles behind her hair. But that notion fades as quickly as it appears.

  The Vulture turns to the goon with my violin case and flaps his arm at him. “Leave it.”

  Amy claps her hands.

  “Thank you, Uncle Max,” I say, putting my hand over hers, trying to conceal her enthusiasm.

  The man places my case on our messy bed.

  Uncle Max is still looking at Meryl. “You will report to me immediately if she tr
ies to play this instrument?”

  “I’ll report it,” Father says.

  Meryl looks up shyly and nods.

  The Vulture’s thin lips curl into a smile. “I will check with you weekly to make sure she’s abiding by her punishment.”

  Uncle Max snaps his fingers at the God Squad. “You overlooked something,” he says as he nears Meryl.

  Buckley’s bloodshot eyes dart around the room.

  Meryl’s cheeks go pale. And then I see: Her plastic bracelet peeks from beneath her sleeve. It’s too late for her to cover it.

  The Vulture seems to notice the bracelet, but then he turns toward the God Squad. “The record player must go,” Uncle Max orders, ripping the plug from the wall.

  What?

  “But that’s mine!” Amy cries.

  “Yes, and you can thank your sister for its absence,” he says, wrapping the cord around the player.

  My stomach churns as he passes off Amy’s prized possession.

  The Vulture wipes his long fingers on a white handkerchief, leaving lines of dust on the cloth. “If we hadn’t had this little chat about the violin,” he says with a cruel grin, “I never would have seen your record player.”

  8.

  I haven’t heard from Tanner. It’s been three months since Uncle Max kicked him out of Watchful, and even longer since he forced our friend Channing into hiding. And now our house is too quiet.

  There are plenty of us left, but Tanner’s absence has left a gaping hole in our family. There’s no more laughter. No more pranks. No music.

  Mother says I should keep sweet and forget about my brother, but that only makes the gap between us feel wider. That, plus the fact that I haven’t played my violin since the festival.

  On top of it all, Uncle Max hasn’t stopped checking up on me. The Vulture has swooped in every week for the official report from Meryl. It’s always the same: No, my sister hasn’t played her violin. Yet his visits seem to last longer and longer. He even stayed for dinner last week when Meryl cooked.

  Thank goodness I didn’t have to sit at the same table, but I could overhear him cawing the Prophet’s revelation that something evil looms over God’s chosen—a sign that the end of the world is near.

  The Prophet wants us to be prepared. So now, Uncle Max insists the girls join the boys for survival class. I stand next to Kel on the outer edge of a cluster of kids my age. The dry November chill seeps through my cardigan, through my dress, and into my skin. I rub my arms to keep warm, but don’t dare move closer to the fire. Not with Dirk there, cooking worms in a frying pan over the fire he built from scraps of wood.