“After my father let her out, my mother tried to run away. She and the man even made it all the way to the city. Until Brother Paul organized a half dozen Clearhaven brutes and hunted them down. They let the man stay in the city, but they brought my mother back. I saw them pull up in Brother Paul’s shiny white car with her in the back seat. My mother’s bruises still hadn’t healed and the look on her face was...”
A pang caught in Jessamina’s throat. She clenched her shoulders. Jessamina sucked her breath in through her teeth, anything to keep from tearing up. Hanna didn’t know whether to offer her hand, how the gesture would be received, whether it would calm Jessamina or silence her.
“Afterward, my mother looked like a defeated thing,” Jessamina said. “She refused to talk about what happened. Then, three days later, I found her lying on the floor of the downstairs bathroom, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She’d ingested some kind of poison.”
Hanna covered her mouth. “Did she kill herself?”
Jessamina locked eyes with her. “Don’t you understand? She never would have done that. My mother might have been terrified. She might have been depressed, but she hadn’t given up hope. My father did this. Brother Paul did this.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure!” she yelled and baby Sayler started to cry. Jessamina rubbed his hair and rocked him in her arms. She whispered in his ear before standing up.
Hanna stood up, as well. A warmth pressed under her skin where a minute ago there’d been none. All this time, she’d thought Jessamina’s cruel stares and nasty remarks were because Jessamina was inherently spiteful, unfeeling to the point of callousness, whereas, deep down, Jessamina had been grief-stricken from the moment she walked through Jotham’s door. Hanna took a step to leave and then she turned back. Jessamina was holding the baby as close as possible, clinging to the one thing she had left in this world.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Hanna said. She thought for a moment. “It could have been like this all along—the two of us talking.”
Jessamina shook her head. “No, it couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“You think you’re better than me.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. You think because you’re beautiful and I’m not that the world owes you something, that you’re worth more than the rest of us put together.”
“You are beautiful,” Hanna said.
“Don’t insult me. We both know that isn’t true.”
Hanna grasped for words. She tried to bring Jessamina’s eyes to hers, to find some way to tell her how truly sorry she was, how she loved her own mother more than anything and how she’d be devastated if anything ever happened to Kara. But Jessamina wouldn’t look her way. She might never look at Hanna again without disdain in her eyes and Hanna had precious little time left—only hours—before her wedding. She stepped toward the door and was halfway out when Jessamina spoke again.
“Edwin has a lot of money invested in this. Brother Paul, that father of the boy you took off with—they all have a lot invested. After the other night when you tried to leave with Emily, I’m surprised you’re not dead already. You heard what happened to that Grierson woman.”
“I thought that was only a rumor,” Hanna said.
“She didn’t do it to herself.”
“But—”
“It’s true. Be careful or don’t be careful. Just know, if you’re not—you’ll be the one dead on the bathroom floor. You’ll be the one dangling from the rafters with a noose around your neck.”
32
It was midafternoon when she found her mother sitting in the front alcove, drinking tea. The room was cold and three dry logs sat in the fireplace. Hanna knelt down at the hearth and placed strips of kindling and crumpled paper around the sides. She struck a match and squeezed the bellows, the oxygen feeding the flame. Along the wall, the panel wood had warped further, the cracks had widened and the discoloration spread. Rain had seeped through the roof, Hanna and Charliss’s handiwork proving unsuccessful.
Hanna sat down on the sofa and rested her head against Kara’s shoulder. Her mother smelled like soap and her sweater was soft as though it had just been washed. Kara lifted her cup to her mouth and Hanna saw the frayed edges of her fingers where her mother had scraped her thumbnails until she’d drawn blood. She wrapped her arm around Kara’s stomach.
“Tell me the story again,” Hanna said. “I need to hear it.”
Kara set her tea down on the side table. Her hand settled on the dulling bruise across her cheek. “I can’t.”
From the other room, Katherine’s voice sounded. She called to Hanna and then they heard the patter of little feet.
“I never told you a story. I told you the truth,” Kara said. “What you choose to do with the truth is up to you.”
Katherine rounded the corner with two little ones. “There you are! It’s time to get ready,” she said cheerfully. “We wouldn’t want to keep your fiancé waiting.”
Hanna sat up and met her mother’s gaze. She’d expected Kara to be distraught, but the lines on Kara’s face revealed not a hint of emotion. Her mother looked hollow somehow, like she wasn’t the person she used to be. Days ago, Hanna had witnessed Emily’s longing and frustration firsthand. She’d heard Emily’s voice tremble inconsolably when she saw Hanna in her wedding gown, how desperately the girl wanted to be a blushing bride. Her wedding’s effect on Kara had proven far worse. For years, Kara had known what was coming and yet nothing had prepared her for the realization that the time was upon them and that she was powerless to stop it.
Hanna looked down the hall. “Is Emily going to help?”
Katherine shook her head. “She doesn’t feel comfortable, dear. She’s next door, getting dressed at the neighbor’s.”
Hanna nodded like she understood, but deep down she didn’t understand. She didn’t just want Emily to be with her today; Hanna needed her to be there. She hadn’t realized it until now, but Emily had made Hanna’s life in Jotham’s house bearable. Hanna had found purpose in protecting Emily. In helping Emily stand. In helping the girl get dressed each morning. And Hanna loved everything about her sister. She loved Emily’s soft laugh; the way Emily’s hair dangled in curls over her eyes; how she’d clung to Hanna’s arm when she was little; the way they used to hold each other close at night, their blanket a shield, their bunk bed a fortress so secure even the wickedest of evildoers could never reach them. It wasn’t the same world for Hanna without her sister. It wouldn’t be the same world going forward.
One of the little ones took Hanna’s hand. Kara held onto her other side. For so long, all Hanna’s worries—however tangible, however terrifying—could be assuaged because she still had time. There was still a week until her wedding. Then there were days. Now only hours remained. Time had turned out to be a shadow and Hanna had no light left to shine on it.
“Let’s get ready,” she said.
* * *
“It doesn’t fit.”
“I assure you, it does fit.”
Katherine and Belinda were attempting to adjust the buttons at the back of Hanna’s dress. Nothing in the garment’s design had changed since the last time Hanna had tried it on. She hadn’t suddenly gained ten pounds. And yet, the dress wouldn’t rise over Hanna’s hips. Hanna slipped her legs out and sat on a stool in the master bedroom, where her mother added fresh blue starlets to her hair. Kara had spent the last hour braiding Hanna’s long blond locks and tucking the braids inside a delicate twist at the back of her head.
Katherine held the dress up to Belinda. “Perhaps you made the buttons too tight.”
Belinda, in turn, ran her thumb along the stitches. “That’s how Hanna wanted them.”
“It seems like you tightened them again after she took it off.”
/>
“I secured them. I did not tighten them,” Belinda said.
Eventually, after much discussion, Belinda allowed Katherine to adjust the dress. She brought out her sewing kit and made several minor alterations. Hanna slipped into the white gown and this time it matched her frame. She stood on a footstool in front of the full-length mirror as Katherine inspected the buttons across her back one by one.
“Do you remember what’s going to happen tonight, what happens first?” Katherine asked.
Hanna nodded. It had been explained to her many times. Tradition dictated her wedding night would follow a set course of events. At sunset, Hanna and her parents would travel to Brother Paul’s house, where Brother Paul would offer Hanna a sip of wine from a bridal cup blessed by the Creator. Once it was fully dark, a procession of cars would caravan to the old tower cathedral. There, Hanna would meet and pray with Edwin alone in the same bridal room where she’d climbed through the window just days ago, the bridal room where she’d stolen a private moment with Daniel. Guests would light candles and file in to observe the service. There would be no reception as the newlyweds were expected to go straight home and consummate the marriage as soon as the ceremony was over.
“Are the alterations complete?” Belinda said.
Katherine had her favorite crochet hook in hand and was pulling at a loose string at Hanna’s back. Seconds later, Hanna’s sister-mother stood up with a look of accomplishment on her face. “There,” she said.
Hanna stood before the mirror, a bride at last. The girl staring back at her looked different from the one who’d modeled her wedding dress for Paedyn the other day. It had still felt like she was playing dress up then, like Hanna was trying on a borrowed disguise. Hanna turned her neck and saw the wonderful job Kara had done with her hair. Not a single stray strand had escaped the braids and the twist at the back was subdued, not gaudy in the least. The tiny flowers looked like blue stars afloat in a yellow sky. Hanna ran her hand across the rhinestones along her hip. She felt the delicate fabric against her arms. What she was wearing was no longer a disguise. Hanna was a bride about to be married. It was impossible to deny it any longer.
Through the window, the sunlight grew faint in the sky. Hanna was due at Brother Paul’s house soon.
“Are you ready?” Kara asked.
Hanna glanced around the room, at her mother, at her sister-mothers, at the wreckage of stray threads and orphaned buttons abandoned on the bed.
“I’m ready,” she said.
The family assembled in the foyer to watch Hanna walk down the stairs. The children were wearing their best clothes, the boys sporting suspenders and the girls in dresses, some of the younger ones with hand-me-down cardigans wrapped over their shoulders.
Emily had returned from the neighbor’s house and her hair was pulled up in a bun, a single pink gerbera daisy over her ear. Hanna had never seen her sister look so pretty. Hanna tried to make eye contact with her, but Emily shied away. She had her hands clasped together and was standing as straight as she could. Every few seconds, Emily would cast a timid glance upward and Hanna longed to ask her what she could do to change things, if there were any words she could say. But the others were there, surrounding them, staring at Hanna in her dress. She stepped downstairs and embraced the little ones carefully, so as to keep her hair from falling out of its pins. Charliss approached with his dark hair combed to one side. He was wearing a bow tie and Hanna could have sworn he’d grown two inches in the past month. A hint of perspiration glinted off his forehead.
“You look more nervous than me,” Hanna said.
Charliss smiled bashfully and Hanna thought how greatly she would miss him, not just when she went to live in Edwin’s house but after Jotham pushed him out into the world. A brother so close in age could have been so many things—an antagonist, a tormentor, a blight on the other children’s happiness if he so chose. Charliss was none of these. He didn’t yell like Jotham. He wasn’t hard—in his speech, in his manner—like Belinda. Months from now, when Hanna found herself at Edwin’s house scrubbing a kitchen pan or toiling in the laundry room or performing some other mundane task, she would think back to Charliss, the way his wide, innocent eyes peeked out from under his covers at night, how she wanted nothing more than to hold him close and keep him safe. She put her lips to his cheek and kissed him softly just as Katherine ushered everyone into the living room for a family photograph.
The fireplace was unlit, but the air was warm with so many bodies crowded into one room. Hanna’s sister-mothers spent several minutes debating whether there was enough light to catch everyone’s faces in a single photo. “I’ll go get another lamp,” Katherine said, and bustled into the other room before returning with two lamps and an oil lantern (“just in case”).
One of the neighbor’s wives had been waiting patiently in the kitchen with a camera slung around her neck and she steered the family into a line. Hanna stood near the center, rocking uneasily on her heels, with Kara by her side and little Ahmre at her feet.
“Where’s Jotham?” the photographer said.
In all the upheaval, in the children’s excitement and her own nervous state, Hanna hadn’t noticed Jotham was absent. He entered the living room now wearing his brown suit. By some minor miracle, he’d managed to fasten his vest in place. A folded blue handkerchief jutted out of Jotham’s pocket and he’d recently shaved his face. It was the first time in years Hanna was seeing him sober after five o’clock. He approached Hanna and extended his elbow.
Hanna hesitated. She looked at his arm like it was a poisonous thing: a stiff, violent appendage she had no interest in touching. Hanna glanced at the photographer, at her sisters’ smiling faces, at Kara and Emily both with their hair up, and realized this wasn’t the time to start a battle. The war had already been fought. Victors had been chosen and Hanna—despite every conceivable effort—had lost. She slipped her hand around Jotham’s arm, took a deep breath and steadied herself.
The family, all nineteen of them, faced the camera.
“Smile!” the photographer shouted.
* * *
Jotham drove Hanna and Kara in his truck. The three of them sat together in the front seat with Kara in the middle and the ruffles of Hanna’s dress pressing against the passenger’s side door. Kara had Hanna’s headdress in her lap and hadn’t spoken since they left the house. Jotham drove without saying a word. He shifted his back brace in the driver’s seat and grunted as he changed gears. Otherwise, he remained silent.
The farther Jotham’s truck bounded down the roadway, the more Hanna found it difficult to breathe. Twice she’d almost unrolled her window to allow some fresh air inside but couldn’t raise her shaking hand to complete the task. Her pulse beat like a drum. Goose bumps riddled her flesh. She glanced over at Kara to see whether her mother sensed her tension, only Jotham made eye contact with her instead. He flashed a quick grin—a surprising, uncharacteristic upturn of his lips—and Hanna wondered what could possibly be going through his head, whether he could sense the nerves blazing like a bonfire inside her or whether he’d managed (in some inexplicable yet completely intentional way) to push the past few days out of his mind. Had he really forgotten Hanna’s rebellion, how he had beaten his crippled daughter, the girls’ desperate, unsuccessful attempt to flee?
Outside, the sun had fully set and Hanna gazed at the first few stars in the night sky, at their brightness, their distance. Jotham’s profile still loomed on the periphery of her vision and each time she glimpsed it, a sharp twinge resonated inside her: repulsion mixed with loathing and a measure of distrust. Hanna watched her mother’s face instead. She focused on Kara’s long, slender eyelashes and her fine cheekbones. Slowly, gradually, everything in Hanna’s line of vision turned pink and pristine. Her mother’s flesh, the vehicle’s dashboard, the darkened woods outside glowed with auras—like in the moments following Hanna’s fall from
the rooftop, only amplified a hundredfold. Hanna felt outside herself and inside herself at the same time, her mounting sense of dread abated momentarily by the spectral hues: corals and currants, gleaming lilacs and deep magentas. She imagined a silver-white raven swooping and diving in the air, following the truck as it plodded down the semi-paved roads. Hanna watched from the bird’s-eye view. She floated high above.
Kara took Hanna’s hand and all Hanna wanted to do was apologize: apologize for ever doubting her, for not listening when Kara needed her to, for taking so long to admit the truth. The brave version of Hanna might have abandoned her. The world might have been closing in, and, within hours, a baby would likely be planted like a seed inside her, but Hanna still had her mother. She still had Kara’s words. Her story. Hanna ran her hands along her white dress. She whispered under her breath, “I fell from the sky.”
Kara looked over. “What was that?”
“Nothing.” Hanna paused, then said, “I love you.”
Kara gripped Hanna’s hand tighter.
“I love you too.”
* * *
Brother Paul’s enormous estate made Edwin’s magnificent home look ordinary in comparison. Hanna had only seen the front of his house from the end of its long, winding driveway, and it was another thing entirely to enter through the front door. A massive stuffed tiger, like a fantastical drawing in a picture book, guarded the lobby with wide, cream-colored fangs; its eyes glassy and gray as Kara led Hanna through the hallway and into the atrium, where Brother Paul’s wives had gathered. Dozens of eyes fell on Hanna. Whispers abounded. Thankfully, Makala—Brother Paul’s cruelest consort—was nowhere to be seen.
The women greeted Hanna one after another. One of Brother Paul’s older wives examined the wreath atop Hanna’s head. She placed her hands on Hanna’s temples and squeezed the dried daffodil petals. The woman complimented the stitching on Hanna’s dress and asked who had done Hanna’s hair. “Where did she learn to braid with such finesse?” she said. Hanna didn’t respond. She stared blankly into the woman’s eyes, wondering how she could make small talk at a time like this.
Hanna Who Fell from the Sky Page 26
