by Anna Carey
Page 42
I let out a deep breath. “I’d like to address the people of The New America for the first time. I’m here for good, as their Princess. I’d like them to at least know who I am. ” I didn’t look at the King. I didn’t acknowledge Charles. Instead, I kept my eyes on Reginald as I handed him the piece of paper.
“I suppose that’s all right,” the King said, his voice a little uncertain. “As long as there’s nothing objectionable in it, Reginald. ”
Reginald pinched the sheet between his fingers, his eyes moving down the paper. His brows furrowed at some lines and relaxed at others. I swallowed hard, my chest seizing in panic. He couldn’t know, I told myself, he wouldn’t be able to tell. And yet the memory of that night at Marjorie and Otis’s house returned. I saw Marjorie’s trembling hands holding the radio, her questions, so urgent, as Otis threw the extra plates beneath the sink. Which code did you use? I heard her ask, then the sound of that first fatal shot.
Reginald pressed his lips together in thought. “Are you sure you want to print this?” His dark eyes met mine. The King circled around us, looking over his shoulder to review the content.
I breathed out, trying to slow the pounding in my chest. “I am,” I said finally.
Reginald smiled and passed the paper to the King. “It’s lovely,” he declared. He bowed slightly to show his respect. “The people will be delighted to read this in tomorrow’s paper. ”
thirty-six
THE GOLDEN GENERATION WAS BEING HELD IN A COMPOUND northeast of the main road, a closed-in section of the City that had once been called a country club. Its great lawns had been converted to gardens and the large ponds were used as reservoirs. Massive stone buildings now housed the children’s bedrooms, dining hall, and school. We pulled up the long, curved driveway. Soldiers stood along the perimeter, their rifles in hand.
“Princess Genevieve!” A voice called out behind me as I started toward the glass doors. “Princess, over here please!” Reginald’s photographer got out of the car behind us, a camera in her hand. She clicked it incessantly, catching me as I ascended each step, the King trailing just a few feet behind.
I couldn’t manage a smile. Instead I stared into the lens, thinking of Pip and Ruby and Arden. This visit had been my suggestion. I wanted to see where the children stayed, to meet them, to know the conditions of their everyday life. A big piece would run in the following day’s paper about the former student turned Princess—the girl who understood the volunteers more than anyone else. I had planned to give Reginald another quote, another message for the dissidents. And yet now that the day was here and the stone building was right before me, it was difficult to take even one step.
“I think you’ll be pleased,” the King said to me when we reached the doors. Reginald followed behind us, along with three armed soldiers. “The sacrifices made by those girls have not gone in vain. The children are being raised properly. ”
I tried to smile, but a queasy, unsettled feeling rocked my insides. It had been three days since my address ran in the paper. People had written in praising my words and expressing enthusiasm about my upcoming union with Charles. As each letter was delivered to the Palace, the King softened a bit more. His laugh was heard more throughout the halls. His words were kinder, more enthused, as he relaxed into his lie. Caleb was still in custody. I was going to marry Charles. All was right in his world.
“We’ve been expecting you, Princess,” a woman in a white shift dress said. She was only a few years younger than the Teachers at School, her thin skin like crepe paper. A tiny New American crest was pinned to her collar. “I’m Margaret, the head of the center. ”
“Thank you for having us,” I said. “I spent my whole life at one of those Schools. I needed to come here to see this for myself. ” I stepped inside the marble hall, its walls echoing with the sounds of small children. In the foyer, a three-foot-high bouquet sat on a giant round table, its blooms exploding out in all directions, filling the air with the scent of lilies.
She pressed her palms together as she walked me to a door on the back wall. “We’ve worked hard these last years to ensure the children are well taken care of, provided with the best doctors. We make sure they receive proper exercise and eat a balanced diet. ”
The King and Reginald hovered behind me as I looked into the wide hall. Reginald withdrew his notebook from his suit pocket and jotted something down. Small children were huddled together on the floor, pushing around plastic cars and stacking blocks in short towers. In the corner a woman Margaret’s age sat with a little girl whose face was swollen and tear-streaked, rubbing her back while she cried.
“This is our largest playroom,” Margaret said. “It used to be one of the reception rooms. We keep the children here during the day in the hopes that citizens will come by and have a look. With a little luck many of these children will be adopted in the coming months. ” A girl with golden pigtails waddled over, her bottom thick from her diaper. She peered up at us with big sea-green eyes.
“This is Maya,” Margaret offered. “She’s two and a half. ”
I looked into her face, at her small, sweet nose and her flushed chubby cheeks. I touched her hand, and her tiny fingers curled around mine, her smile revealing two front teeth. “She’s precious, isn’t she?” Margaret asked. Behind us I heard the click of the camera.
As I stared into her eyes I could think only of Sophia in that awful room, her gaze meeting mine as I peered through the dirt-caked window. I thought of the girl who had cried out, her wrists straining against the leather, until the doctor had silenced her with a needle. Every one of these children had come from a girl just like my friends. Maybe Maya’s mother had sat beside me in the School dining hall. She might have been one of the girls Pip and I had admired, taller than the rest, her glossy ponytail swinging back and forth as she strode by, a tray in her hands.
“We’re hopeful that even those who aren’t adopted will grow up happy and healthy, feeling as though they were always loved,” Margaret continued. She strode over to a side door and unlocked it.
We started down a stone path, winding through a field of corn being farmed by a group of workers, to a building beyond the reservoir. “These children will become responsible citizens of The New America. They’ll love this country and know the place they had in ensuring its future,” the King added. “With every child born we grow in numbers. We become less vulnerable. We’re closer to being the powerful nation we once were. ”
We climbed the stone steps and Margaret unlocked a second door, emptying us into another large room. Nurses wound through dozens of plastic beds. The babies were swaddled in tight blankets. Only their round, pink faces were visible. “These are our most recent arrivals,” Margaret added. A staff member walked up and down the rows, cradling an infant in a dark blue blanket. “Would you like to hold one, Princess?”
“Yes,” Reginald answered for me. “It would be nice to have a shot for the paper. ”
Margaret pushed into the room and maneuvered through the beds, choosing a sleeping baby bundled in a red blanket. She scooped her up and delivered her into my arms. My throat tightened just looking at the tiny creature, who had undoubtedly been shipped in on some truck, traveling for miles to this cold room, to wait for someone to want her.
