Secret Sisters

by Joy Callaway

  “It’s only one night. I’d give twenty if it’d mean the board would grant us permission,” Mary said, rattling me from the memory.

  I stared through the new lime green growth stretching nearly to our faces to the arch, as though if I concentrated hard enough, the Iotas would finally show up.

  “Still. If we’re forced to do this again, Katherine and Lily can do it,” I said.

  Mary snorted.

  “Lily can barely keep her eyes open past nine o’clock, as you know, and Katherine is always sneaking off to meet her father’s drivers. If they never come, we’ll let James recount it. He’s got a lawyer’s mind; he’ll not forget the details.”

  I didn’t agree, but didn’t bother arguing with her. I’d heard enough about initiation to know that it was complex, that the pledges might not be privy to everything. I leaned my head against the stone and shut my eyes.

  “Both of us can’t sleep,” Mary said, jostling me. The chapel clock began to ring, bellowing the Westminster chime through the silent night, followed by four tolls.

  “Come with me,” I said. I’d had enough waiting. “We’re going to the Iota house. If they haven’t come yet, we’ll see them leave, and if we’ve missed them, then at least we’ll know.”

  I pushed through the hedge of boxwoods, but Mary remained seated, eyeing me as though I’d gone mad.

  “And if we run into them crossing campus? Or if one of the faculty sees us?” Her brow rose, and her lips pressed together as though I’d just suggested we dance naked across the quad.

  “We’ll walk along the wall—in the shadows. If we see them coming, we’ll hide. No one else will be traipsing across campus, trust me.”

  “Very well,” she conceded. Sweeping a bit of brush from her black sleeves, she wrapped her skirt in front of her and followed me.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t wait at James’s dormitory?” Mary whispered, as we stalked under the arch.

  “Why are you so nervous?” I asked. It was strange to see her uneasy. Mary had the most gumption of all of us, except perhaps Katherine, though I classified the latter’s dealings as something else entirely. Perhaps foolishness.

  “I’m not,” she said. “I don’t want to miss them. That’s all.”

  If initiation was actually taking place, no one would know it. The lack of wood smoke on the air told me that there wasn’t a fire blazing at the Iota house—or anywhere else on campus for that matter—indicating that everyone had abandoned the tending to sleep. I cast a glance across the quad to the north, toward the small hill cloaking Everett Hall in a haze of white-gray fog, wishing for the warmth of my bed, but we couldn’t go back.

  We reached the Iota house and Mary groaned. It was dark, every window a blank canvas of black against white clapboard.

  “Let’s go home,” I said. “We’ve wasted enough time.” I started to turn back, but Mary paced past me around the side of the house.

  “Beth,” she whispered. She gestured to me and then pointed at the ground, where light spilled onto the lawn from a tiny window in the foundation. Mary squatted down next to it and spun away as quickly, pressing herself against the siding.

  “Look.”

  I stooped down on the other side of the window and peered through. A row of silver-hooded figures knelt on the floor in front of a man dressed in gold. He donned a yellow headdress lined with orange and gold thread—a poor depiction of the Iota’s lion. Two candles blazed from crude sconces on either side of the room, lighting the dirt floor.

  The man began to walk and at once I knew it was Grant. The confident stride and broad shoulders could belong to no one else. He was talking, though I couldn’t hear a word through the window. Suddenly, he pushed the hooded headdress back from his face, letting it fall in a heap at his nape. I gasped. He looked angry—so angry that it had swollen the veins in his neck, on his face. His hair was saturated with sweat, and he lifted a hand to his forehead, wiping at the beads of moisture. He turned again, pacing back in front of the pledges. Something was horribly wrong. Where were the other brothers? Where was Will?

  “Can you hear what he’s saying?” Mary whispered. I’d forgotten she was there.

  “No. But he’s furious about something.” I scanned the hooded men, trying to discern which was James.

  “He’s the one on the far right,” Mary said, gesturing to the man closest to me.

  “How do you—”

  “On your feet!” Grant’s roar rocketed through the glass and I jumped, swiveling around to face the window. The row of men stumbled to their feet and Grant disappeared. I watched James shift his shoulders and toss his head back in an attempt to free himself from the hood, but he was unsuccessful.

  “Their hands are tied,” Mary whispered.

  Grant reappeared, carrying two stone jugs emblazoned with the same wing emblem I’d seen on the bottles Katherine had stored in our chapter room, and set them down in front of the pledges.

  “What’s he doing with the rye?” I asked, half to myself.

  “Why do you seem so alarmed?” Mary asked. She looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “It’s rye, Beth. It’s meant to be consumed. And, it’s a celebration.”

  “That’s not it. Grant . . . he’s fuming, Mary, and I didn’t get to him today. I don’t know—”

  I stopped short as Grant walked down the line, flinging back the hood of each pledge. He whispered something as he did and they each immediately dropped to the ground, holding themselves up on their hands. He got to James last, but instead of flattening like the others, James rose. Grant untied his hands and pushed him forward.

  Mary chuckled.

  “He loathes every moment of this.” She leaned back against the house, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away as Grant pried the cork from one of the jugs and gestured to James. James lifted the jug to his lips, and Grant’s hands came out of his pockets, fingers escaping his fist one by one as he counted. When he ran out of fingers, Grant abandoned James to pace in front of the other pledges.

  “He’s going to be piss drunk by the time Grant lets him stop,” Mary said.

  She wasn’t ruffled, but I watched, horrified. Clearly the board’s examination of Iota Gamma hadn’t included a ritual such as this. It had been a minute and a half and it didn’t look like Grant would allow James to stop drinking anytime soon. Suddenly, Grant spun away from the other pledges and yanked the jug from James’s lips. Rye sloshed down the front of James’s cloak, plastering the fabric to his chest.

  “Get down!” Grant yelled. James shrugged and knelt down, holding himself up on his hands like the rest of the pledges. I watched the faces of the other men. Some were laughing, while sweat rolled down the faces of others, gathering in small puddles on the dirt floor.

  Grant’s lips began to move again, and I leaned closer to the window, hoping to catch his words.

  “Iota Gamma is an organization based on brotherhood and loyalty.”

  I waited for him to tell another pledge to take his place at the rye jug, but he didn’t. “Pledge Sanderson. Get up and have another drink.” James’s blond hair shifted as he lifted his gaze from the floor. He glared at Grant and said something I couldn’t hear.

  “He despises that man entirely,” Mary said. “He’d strike him right now if it didn’t mean he’d break his promise to Katherine. He’s too loyal for his own good, I swear it.”

  “I said, I’m not thirsty!” James’s voice shot through the window and I looked down in time to see Grant grasp the back of his cloak and pull him up.

  “Drink it.” I couldn’t hear Grant, but could read his lips as he lifted the jug to James’s mouth. I thought James was about to refuse, until he snatched it from Grant and tipped it to his lips.

  “As I was saying,” Grant yelled, his voice coming through the window clearly, “the men of Iota Gamma are loyal, thinking of their brothers’ well-being before their own.” All of the pledges’ arms were shaking. “One of you has already compromised that bond. One of you has forced
me to deal with a devil that I’d already defeated, a man who now has the capacity to ruin my legacy.”

  Grant’s voice boomed as he paced in front of the pledges. James stopped drinking. He lowered the jug slowly.

  “I haven’t any idea why you’re accusing me, but at least have the nerve to say my name,” James shouted. He took a step back and hurled the jug against the wall. The stoneware shattered and bits ricocheted toward the pledges, who stumbled to their feet. As Grant lunged for James, his eyes were ablaze with a fury I’d never seen. James tried to get away, but couldn’t on unsteady legs, and Grant caught the front of his cloak, yanking him toward his own chest. Mary stood, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the window, waiting for Grant to punch him. Instead, he jerked James toward the door that led up from the cellar.

  Mary and I plastered ourselves against the house. My heart was pounding. If he turned our way, we’d be found.

  “Come on, man,” James said. I heard the steady stride of Grant’s feet followed by the soft rake of something dragging across the dirt path. Seconds later, I saw what it was. The moonlight fell on the two of them, illuminating Grant’s pinched features and knuckles still clenched to the front of James’s cloak, dragging him along. James jerked to the right in an attempt to free himself, but could only muster the weak wobble of a drunk man.

  “Where are they going?” Mary whispered. “Is this ordinary? Perhaps he’s taking him as his little brother?”

  I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t want to alarm her, but even having no idea of the Iotas’ initiation rituals, I knew something was wrong. They disappeared into the canopy of trees below the house and I skirted around Mary, following them.

  By the time we made our way to the foot of the forest, they were gone. Reaching my hand out, I stopped Mary and listened. An owl hooted in the distance, followed by the low hum of a male voice coming from my left. I clutched Mary’s hand and turned away from the path to the stable.

  “The lake,” I whispered. Beyond the basin of water at the bottom of the hill, there was nothing to my left except the woods.

  “The lake? Why?”

  I shook my head to silence her. I didn’t know. I clutched my skirt, pitching it to my ankles. The silk was cool against my palm, but my hands were sweating.

  “You’re uneasy, Beth. What’s wrong?” Mary said as her hand squeezed mine and she stopped me, green eyes luminous in the stream of moonlight coming through the trees.

  “Grant’s angry. If it’s about the rye . . .”

  “Do you think he’ll hurt James?”

  She started running before I had a chance to answer.

  “Surely not, but . . .” My words were lost to her. She quickened our pace, eyes fixed on the darkness in front of us as she practically dragged me down the rest of the hill.

  “No.” I heard Grant’s voice thunder over us and we froze behind a grove of evergreens. I took a breath to calm, inhaling pine and spring.

  “There they are,” Mary said.

  We could see two silhouettes standing on the bank of the lake. James pushed against Grant’s chest, but couldn’t break free.

  “I said, that’s enough!” Grant shouted. “You’ll admit what you’ve done this instant or you’ll be finished. You’ll not disgrace me, and you’ll certainly not disgrace Iota Gamma.”

  I relaxed. Grant was only being harsh because was trying to make a point. All of the fury was surely feigned for effect. Mary’s shoulders jerked as Grant pushed James into the shallow water at the bank. James shook his head and laughed. He walked back up the muddy beach, but Grant caught the edge of his coat, pulling him back into the water.

  “I’ve learned enough about you recently to know you’re a man who enjoys deals,” James slurred. I knew he was speaking of me, of Grant’s arrangement with President Wilson. As though his words had ignited a fire, Grant lunged forward, hands closing in a fist around the hood of James’s cloak.

  “You’re wrong. Why would you do this to me?” Grant shouted. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  James swayed unsteadily in the knee-deep water.

  “You’ve clearly gone insane. I haven’t done anything to you,” James said. Grant rocked back and punched James in the stomach. James’s guttural groan sliced through me, and I clutched my own stomach in reflex.

  “I’m going to stop this,” I said. I took a step forward, but Mary caught my arm.

  “It’s only a fight,” she whispered. “James will never forgive me if I send my sister swooping in to save him . . . or if I save him myself.”

  “Is that so?” Grant asked. He leaned over James’s slumped figure, Grant’s curls hanging haphazardly across his face. James didn’t say anything, but lifted his arm to Grant, undoubtedly hoping to ward off any more blows.

  “You’re a liar,” Grant said. “You entered into this brotherhood under false pretenses, to make a fool of me. Iota Gamma is sacred. My legacy is sacred.”

  My heart stopped. I’d initially assumed that his anger had something to do with the rye. It hadn’t crossed my mind that he could have found out about our plan.

  “Did you tell someone?” Mary’s voice came beside me, soft but firm.

  “No,” I whispered, “of course I wouldn’t.”

  Her eyebrows rose.

  “Not this time,” I promised her.

  “How long has he employed you? How long have you associated with vapid scum like him?” Grant was yelling now, the edges of his voice frayed with strain.

  James straightened, and in one swift movement pulled the cloak from his body.

  “Who . . . are you . . . talking about?” Clearly still recovering from the blow to his stomach, James’s question was breathy. “I don’t want any part of . . . of this despicable fraternity.”

  He pushed the rumpled cloak into Grant’s hands and Grant balled it up and flung it into the lake.

  “Don’t act as though you haven’t a clue. You’ll tell me about your association with Anthony Helms.”

  My breath caught. Professor Helms. Suddenly everything Katherine had recounted about the revenue agent—his comment about regaining his life, his interest in Grant’s name—made sense. He must have been the one to stop Katherine’s driver.

  “No. James wouldn’t,” Mary said. Her fingers went limp around mine.

  “He didn’t. Professor Helms . . . he must’ve been the one to stop Big Jim. He must’ve either taken a job as a revenue agent or been following Grant and the pledges, looking for a way to blackmail him for ruining his career,” I said.

  James swayed.

  “The professor? I’ve never laid eyes on—”

  Grant pushed him further into the water. At once, the glistening deep seemed to engulf him. The shoulders of his white linen shirt disappeared, and James’s head bobbed just above the surface.

  “I’ve stepped in a hole,” James gargled. “I’m telling you, Richardson, I’ve never seen the man.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Grant lurched into the water himself.

  “As I said before, Richardson,” James said, panting. “You seem like a man who enjoys engaging a deal, so how about this? I’ll race you to the other side and back.” He stepped out of the hole and stood next to Grant, his chest heaving. “If I win, you’ll believe me that I had no idea, and if you’re caught you’ll let the board believe the same. If I lose, I’ll accept the blame for this, even though I didn’t—”

  “As you should,” Grant said, his voice like ice. “And will. I’ve been a trained swimmer since I was a child.” He removed his jacket, flinging it on the bank.

  I stepped forward, thinking I’d stop them once again, but Mary grasped my arm.

  “Let them work it out,” she whispered.

  “Training means nothing,” James slurred. “I want this more. I will not have my name slandered. I’ll be waiting for you at the bank, Richardson.”

  Grant had no chance to respond before James pushed into the lake. He lifted an arm and slapped it into the wa
ter, then another before Grant dove in. Grant seemed to glide, his strong stroke surpassing James’s limp, choppy movements with ease. I couldn’t understand why he’d ever challenge Grant while he was so intoxicated, but perhaps that was the reason he’d done it at all.

  “You’re wrong about all of this,” James called out, suddenly pausing, his head dipping up.

  “I’m not,” Grant yelled back, stopping in the middle of the lake in turn. “I received a warning from the man delivering the rye yesterday, a man who asked after you.”

  “Of course he did. I ordered it,” James’s voice echoed.

  Both men were treading water, neither swimming for victory. It was a strange occurrence when pride was on the line, though I was almost sure that Grant’s position so far ahead of James was the only reason he’d paused.

  “James isn’t one to take it. Mr. Richardson should watch his words. James is going to mutilate him when he sobers up,” Mary said.

  “This morning I received an unwelcome visit from Professor Helms,” Grant called, his words broken by breaths. “He stopped me on my way to campus. Must have been hiding somewhere. He said that he couldn’t resist delivering the warning personally—that unless I have him reinstated as a professor, he’ll have me arrested for distribution. Seventy-five gallons is more than enough to convince a court that I’m a distributor. He said that even if I get rid of the rye, he has an order slip with my name on it. Now, how would he get that?”