The Prophet Calls

by Melanie Sumrow

  “Amy,” I say, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t know what that means.

  The branches overhead blur and twist against the white sky. Someone calls my name. It sounds like my brother. “Tanner,” I call. I reach out, but my fingers find only air and snow.

  “Can you hear me?” the same voice says as he spins into my vision. Dark hair. Freckles. Green eyes.

  “Channing,” I say and then try to move. But Amy’s body weighs me down. “She needs—warmth.”

  “Don’t worry.” He lifts her off me and disappears into the thicket with my sister limp in his arms.

  15.

  The smell of vegetable stew fills the whole house. Channing helps me sit in the hard dining room chair and rushes away. My wet hair sticks to my face. I’m shivering uncontrollably, but my eyes remain fixed on Amy. It’s been at least twenty minutes since Channing carried her to the dining room table, and she’s still unconscious.

  Channing returns from another room and throws a pile of blankets over my shoulders.

  Mother has already removed Amy’s glasses and changed her into dry clothes. She now slips a warm water bottle under the blankets, tucking it against my sister’s armpit.

  “Is she going to be all right?” I ask, but Mother doesn’t answer. She looks into Baby Bill’s Pack ’n Play, making sure he’s still content with his toys, and then returns to Amy.

  “Here, drink this,” Channing says, carefully handing me a steaming cup of honeyed tea.

  I take the warm cup and wrap my shaky fingers around it, trying not to slosh. I breathe in the steam and start melting the ice in my lungs.

  “Can I help with something?” Channing asks Mother.

  Still, no answer. Mother hurries to the kitchen to retrieve a towel from the oven.

  “Is she angry at us?” he whispers.

  I sip the tea, avoiding his question. When she’s worried, Mother doesn’t talk. Which only makes me worry more. I take another sip, allowing the warmth to slowly slide down my throat, and try not to panic.

  Mother returns with the heated towel and wraps it around my sister’s head before gently lowering her onto the pillow. Amy’s chest rises and falls with short, shallow breaths.

  Channing rocks from side to side, as if hoping for an assignment.

  “She’s not warming up fast enough.” Mother bites her knuckle as she surveys Amy, then glances at me, then looks at Amy again. “I really think she needs a doctor.”

  “I’ll get Uncle Hyram,” Channing says and runs from the room, seeming grateful to have something to do.

  Mother paces alongside the table. “What on earth were you girls thinking?”

  I flinch between shivers.

  She shakes her head, as if trying to think of another remedy. She lifts the towel enough to stroke Amy’s matted hair.

  Pearline and one of her daughters come into the dining room with dishes and silverware in hand. “We need to set the table for dinner,” Pearline says, eyeing my sister on the table.

  “Now?” Mother asks.

  Pearline nods. “I’ll get one of the boys to carry her upstairs.”

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Mother says. “That may hurt her even more.”

  Pearline slams the plates on the table. Her daughter drops the silverware with a clatter, as if anticipating an explosion.

  I gently slide off the chair, so I can stand next to Mother. My legs shake.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Uncle Hyram says, popping a biscuit into his mouth as he strides into the room. He chews it like a cow chews its cud.

  “She won’t get off the table,” Pearline says, her tone sharp.

  “That’s because she can’t wake up,” I add, though it comes out less forceful than I’d like.

  Mother gives me a look of warning. I take a long drink, hiding behind the teacup.

  “Amy was unconscious when I found them,” Channing explains.

  “I’m so sorry to ask,” Mother says as she fusses with the blankets, tucking them under Amy’s sides, “but I think she needs a doctor. Can we take her into town?”

  Uncle Hyram scoffs, spewing crumbs. “That seems a bit rash to me.”

  Pearline nods in agreement. I clench my jaw.

  “But I can’t get her warm,” Mother says, her voice quivering.

  Uncle Hyram brushes the crumbs from his shirt. “I don’t know what you’re accustomed to there in Watchful.” He crinkles his nose in judgment. “But here in Waiting, we rely on God to heal us.”

  Mother nods. “Yes, of course, but—”

  “If it’s God’s will, she’ll get better.” Then he turns to Channing with a cryptic smile. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  Channing looks startled. “Uh, yes, sir.”

  “Then get to it. Don’t want you undoing all the work you’ve done because of these girls.”

  These girls?

  With a quick nod, Channing escapes to the living room and then outside. The front door slams shut.

  Maybe Tanner’s right: Maybe we all should get out of here. “Mother?” I ask, willing her to stand her ground and protect Amy.

  But Mother wipes a tear from her cheek and nods. “Of course, you’re right.”

  Uncle Hyram lifts his chin.

  My shivering has stopped, but suddenly I feel even worse. Especially when I see him coming toward us. I drop the teacup to the floor. It shatters.

  Dirk marches into the dining room. My shoulders tighten. What is he still doing here?

  “Good,” Uncle Hyram says, clapping his hands together. “Looks like I’m no longer needed.” He points to the floor. “And you, clean that up,” he says to me before disappearing into the kitchen.

  Pearline turns to Dirk, nodding toward my sister. “Take her upstairs.”

  “I’ll do it,” I say, throwing off my blankets as I slip between him and Amy.

  Dirk laughs. “You?” He has a smirk on his ugly face. I can smell his rotten breath.

  “Gentry, get out of the way,” Mother chides. “Go to your room now, and I’ll clean this mess.”

  I blink back tears. “But, Mother.” I want to tell her she can’t let Dirk touch Amy. Not when he’s the one who’s always trying to hurt her. He shouldn’t be allowed to touch any of us.

  “I’m so sorry for her behavior,” Mother apologizes to Dirk, which makes my stomach turn. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately.”

  “Move,” he orders.

  My fingernails dig into my hands. I refuse to move.

  “Did you give the rabbit the carrot?”

  Mother and I both turn at the same time. Amy’s eyes are suddenly bright.

  “Why am I on the table?” she asks, pulling the towel from her head.

  I release the breath I’d been holding.

  Mother laughs as she lifts Amy to a seated position on the table, giving her a giant hug. “Oh, my sweet girl. My sweet, sweet girl.”

  “What’s wrong?” Amy asks.

  Relieved tears wet my cheeks. Mother keeps one arm around my sister and opens her other arm to me. I fall into her embrace. Baby Bill throws a toy over his Pack ’n Play. Mother laughs and squeezes me. She wipes away my tears. And then her own. “Thank God,” she says, and I nod.

  Dirk stomps away, seething.

  I don’t care. This is my family. Right here in my arms. What’s left of us, anyway. And I think Tanner’s right: We have to leave Waiting before we completely come undone.

  ***

  A few days later, in the early-morning hours before dawn, Amy’s still too weak to get out of bed, so I navigate the slippery bridge alone. Clouds cover the moon and stars; the sky is a blanket of black. With my arms outstretched, fat snowflakes fall and stick to my jacket. The light from my flashlight bounces against the ice that has formed again along the river, but there’s still no sign of Amy’s rabbit.

  The light beam moves with me across the thick snow, sweeping the wide field and exposing the falling flakes. Behind the barn and beyond th
e open field, the trees’ branches sag from the weight of the snow. Flurries blow against the cattle gate that blocks the narrow road through the woods and stick to the metal, making the gate look like it has a frosty beard. Several inches drift against the tires of Channing’s parked truck and cover the hood. The curving tracks Amy and I spotted when we first arrived are now gone, concealed by a blanket of sparkling white.

  My legs sink as I attempt to run toward the barn. When I finally reach it, I heave open the door to the warmth and smell of animals.

  Channing looks up from his work. “Hey.”

  “Hi,” I say, stomping the snow from my boots. “Can I come in?”

  “Be my guest,” he says, and returns to milking one of the cows.

  I slide the door shut and remove my coat, shaking it out before hanging it on the hook next to Channing’s.

  I wring my hands, trying to defrost my fingers, while walking over to the place my violin stays hidden between stacked bales of hay. “I never got a chance to thank you,” I say, plucking a piece of hay that’s sticking out from the top bale.

  “For what?” he asks as he milks. Short sprays hit the inside of the bucket at his feet.

  “For saving my sister.”

  “I didn’t save her. You did,” he says without stopping. “I only carried her inside.”

  I fidget with the piece of hay for a second and then toss it to the ground. “Thanks for helping, then.”

  Channing nods with a soft smile. “You’re welcome, then,” he says, and shifts before standing.

  My cheeks flush. I bend over to grab my violin case, and once my fingers find the handle, my body buzzes with a familiar excitement.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he asks as he carries a full bucket across the barn with two hands.

  I place my case on a waist-high stack of bales. “Sure.”

  Careful not to spill, he pours the thick milk into an aluminum churn. “Were you scared out there on the ice?”

  His question surprises me. I think about it for a half second and nod. “Sure, but there wasn’t really much time to think about it.”

  “Yeah, but weren’t you worried the devil would pull you in, too?” he asks matter-of-factly.

  I laugh, thinking he’s teasing me, and grab my violin by the neck before tucking it between my arm and body.

  “I’m serious. You know how the Prophet teaches the devil controls the water.”

  My smile falls. That’s why Mother made us stop fishing together, at least that’s the reason she gave me. I shrug. “All I knew was that I had to get to my sister.”

  “So, you weren’t afraid of the devil?”

  I shake my head. “I guess not. Why?”

  He runs a hand across his mouth. “I just don’t understand how someone who’s not afraid of the devil can be so afraid of the dark.”

  I tense and yank my bow from the case. “I’m not afraid of the dark,” I say, louder than necessary, and jab my bow through the air, pointing to the barn door. “Obviously, I walked over here in the dark, didn’t I?”

  “Okay, okay.” Channing puts his hands up, as if surrendering. “But what about that thing in the closet when you first got here? You were really upset. I mean, really upset.”

  My mouth goes dry as I try to figure out how to answer. Part of me wants to tell him. But that part’s not keeping sweet. If I continue to keep sweet like I’m supposed to, I’ll keep it all locked inside forever.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, his voice falling with disappointment as he returns to the cow pen. “I just thought we were friends and that maybe you trusted me.”

  “I do trust you,” I say.

  He looks at me like he’s expecting me to say more.

  I bite my lip.

  “It’s fine,” he says. He moves his short wooden stool beside the second cow. “You were really brave, that’s all, and it doesn’t make sense to me.”

  I squeeze my violin tight against my body. “You know those government raid drills we used to have at Watchful Academy?”

  He sits on the stool, preparing to milk the other cow, and nods. “Weren’t we four or five the last time?”

  “Six,” I say, my voice quivering a little. I clear my throat. “I was in the bathroom when Uncle Max made the announcement through the speakers, but since there are no speakers in the bathroom—”

  “You didn’t hear it,” Channing says, finishing my thought.

  I nod.

  He presses his hands against his thighs. “Okay?”

  I take a breath, trying to steady my voice. “When I returned to my classroom, no one was there. So I ran and checked my older sisters’ classrooms. They weren’t there, either.”

  Channing starts milking the second cow. “We were probably all hiding behind the hidden panels in the basement by then.”

  “But I didn’t know that,” I say. All of a sudden, my heart’s racing like I’m running through the school again. “I called for my sisters. My brothers. Even Uncle Max. But the panels were soundproof, and I couldn’t hear anyone.”

  Channing stops milking for a second, seeming to put it all together with a nod. “And you couldn’t hear us.”

  “Right,” I say. “I ran through the entire school looking, but couldn’t find anyone.” My hands are shaking, so I lay my bow on the hay. “I was scared and crying. I didn’t know what was going on.” My shoulders tighten. “That’s when Dirk Whittier found me.” I move my violin in front of my body like a shield.

  Channing’s expression darkens.

  I force myself to keep talking. “He told me it was the apocalypse and that my family had moved on to the next world without me.”

  Channing lifts the full bucket as he stands. “And you believed him?” A single line of milk dribbles down the side of the bucket.

  “He’s the Prophet’s son. Plus, he was eleven and much bigger than me,” I say, defensive. “I was only six. What was I supposed to believe?”

  He nods. “Sorry. Go on.” Channing pours the milk into the churn.

  I snatch my bow, letting it dangle against my skirt. “I was scared. I thought I’d been left behind.” I rock between my feet. “Dirk told me he was sent by the Prophet to come back for me. But first, he had to check the rest of the school for government agents.” Tears sting the backs of my eyes. “I told him I hadn’t seen any, but he insisted I needed to hide. He said if I didn’t, the government agents would find me and torture me.”

  Channing looks up from his work. He doesn’t blink.

  I wipe away a tear. “And then, Dirk took my hand.”

  Channing bristles, dropping the bucket. He knows we’re taught boys are snakes, never to be touched.

  I swallow hard. “He led me to Uncle Max’s office. There’s another secret panel that leads to a small cubbyhole in there.”

  One of the horses brays, making us both jump.

  Channing kneads his lips and then whispers, “What did he do?”

  I shake my head. “Dirk told me to get in and stay quiet. That my heavenly life depended on it.”

  Channing clasps his hands on top of his head and begins to pace.

  “Dirk left me there. And I was too scared to make any noise. I thought everyone else went on to the celestial kingdom, and I’d never see my family again.”

  His hands drop to his sides as he stops moving. “I’m so sorry. I wish I knew.”

  I shrug. “Apparently, after the drill, Uncle Max worked the whole rest of the day with me hidden behind him. He didn’t even know I was there.”

  “How long were you locked in the dark?”

  I hug my violin. “Almost ten hours.”

  Channing shakes his head.

  “My family didn’t notice I was gone until dinnertime,” I say, my voice weakening. I start plucking the strings on my violin and tune them with the pegs. “Anyway, that’s why I don’t really enjoy getting locked in tight, dark spaces.”

  “Did Dirk ever get into trouble?”

  I let o
ut a sharp laugh. “What do you think?”

  “What a jerk,” Channing says and then snaps his fingers. “Hey, Dirk the Jerk. What do you think?”

  I smile. “I think you’re a little late on that one. Everybody’s been calling him that since kindergarten.”

  Channing smiles, tapping a finger against the side of his head. “Thought it sounded familiar,” he says and then points to my violin. “How about a request?”

  “It depends,” I say, tucking my violin under my chin.

  He retrieves the dropped bucket. “On what?”

  “On whether I know it or not.”

  “You’ll know this one,” he says, confident. “‘Go, Ye Messengers of Glory.’”

  I place my bow on the string, remembering the hymn is in a minor key. I play the simple tune with bold strokes, emphasizing the syncopated rhythm. By the second measure, I can hear Channing lightly singing beneath the rich timbre of my violin. He continues his work around the barn—shoveling grain and watering the horses.

  I close my eyes as I play, and the hymn takes me back to so many prayer services in the meetinghouse when my family was still together. My brothers and sisters elbowing one another in their seats. Our mothers shushing us. Father sneaking me a smile. I soon finish the fourth stanza and lower my violin, a little sad it’s over.

  My eyes open. Channing looks a little sad, too. “It’s my mother’s favorite.” He stops shoveling and wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

  I return my violin to its case and tuck it between the bales. “You’ll get to see her again soon, right?”

  He nods, half-hearted. “That’s what Uncle Hyram keeps telling me.”

  “Then you will,” I say with a hopeful smile. “You seem pretty reformed to me.”

  Channing laughs. “Gee, thanks.” And then his smile fades. “Look, I know neither one of us really wants to be here in Waiting.” He takes a step closer. My heart flutters. “But I’m really glad we’re together.” His gaze slips to the hay-covered ground. Even with his hair falling across his face, I can see he’s blushing underneath it.

  Butterflies flit across my stomach. We’re close enough that if I stretch my arm, I could touch his hand.