by Anna Carey
Page 43
It was true that the building was much different than I’d imagined. Cleaner, brighter, happier. Each floor was filled with staff members who spoke to the children in whispered words, who gently patted their bottoms to keep them from crying. But I couldn’t look at any of it—at the beds and plastic pacifiers and the knit blankets—without thinking of my friends.
“Over here, Princess,” Reginald’s photographer called out. “Smile. ”
I looked into the lens and remembered the message, a quiet comfort. The dissidents had sent word in the paper the day after they’d run my piece, writing a reply under the familiar name Mona Mash. It was a long, flowery letter, a gushing account of the parade through one woman’s eyes. She spoke of her excitement for the royal wedding, speculating on the best places to stand for the procession. It had taken me an entire day to figure out its meaning. Carefully recopying the letters nearly fifty different ways, I’d finally discovered the encrypted message: We have a contact in the prison. A plan is in place that should secure his release. One tunnel complete.
“Look how lovely you are,” the King cooed as I held the baby in my arms. The photographer kept snapping photos, catching the morning light that streamed through the blinds. The little girl’s face was calm. She cracked open her gray eyes, her lips puckering slightly. I didn’t feel the stirrings of motherhood or some warm gushiness inside my chest. I could only think of the future before me, what would happen in the next week. It was only a matter of time, I kept telling myself. An end was coming.
Margaret took the baby from my arms and set her back down on the bed. “I’d love to show you one more thing,” she said, starting out the door.
We followed her up the stairs, the King resting his hand on my shoulder. “These children will have real lives inside the City. Even the ones who aren’t adopted fare better than any child could beyond the wall. They’re raised here, given a proper education,” he said softly. “They’re taken care of. Their mothers’ sacrifices have been honored. ”
“I can see that now,” I lied, the words catching in my throat. “It all makes so much sense. ” Margaret strode out into the second floor. Reginald, his camerawoman, and the two soldiers followed behind her. For a moment the King and I were alone in the doorway.
He turned to me and rested his hand on my shoulder. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you,” he said, lowering his head to meet my eyes. “But I appreciate the effort you’re making. I think you’ll really enjoy life here, with Charles. Adjusting will just take time. ”
“It’s getting easier,” I said, not looking him in the eye. It was the first thing I had said that contained some bit of truth. Since discovering the message in the paper, things felt lighter. I could see an exit from this world and I was moving toward it, steadily, day by day. I had one more message to post in the paper, a response to my visit to the center, which would contain the seedling of a plan. If Harper and Curtis could help release Caleb, I’d meet him the morning of the wedding. With the City in such upheaval, we’d have the best chances of escape.
Beatrice had given me her word that she’d help. She would leave the bridal suite for an extended period of time, unlocking the door to the east stairwell to allow me access. I’d spent days watching Clara, waiting for her to divulge my secrets to Charles or the King. After seeing no signs of betrayal, I’d solicited her help. She would divert the soldier stationed outside my room so I could escape undetected. I tried not to be offended by how elated she was that I would be leaving the City forever.
The King kept his hand on my shoulder as we walked down the hall. “These are our adoption offices,” Margaret said. She knocked on one of the doors and a middle-aged woman in a navy suit answered. They exchanged a few words and the woman stepped back, letting us inside. A couple sat in front of a desk. They were a little older than Beatrice, their hair showing the first signs of gray. They both stood when they saw the King and me, the man bowing, the woman curtsying.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Sherman,” Margaret said, gesturing to the couple. “They’re starting a family. ”
“Congratulations,” I said, looking into their faces. The woman’s eyes were pink and watery. The man clutched a cap in his hand, curling the thin cotton brim.
“They’re adopting two children,” Margaret went on. “We’ve been in the process for a month now, and today is the day they’re bringing them home. ”
“Two little girls—twins. ” Mrs. Sherman smiled, but her face looked pained, her forehead wrinkled in worry. “It’s really a dream for us. ” Her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.
“I was envisioning couples like you when I started the program,” the King said. “People who wanted a second chance at life after the plague. This program was designed to grow The New America while allowing people to again experience the joy of having a family. We wish you luck. ”
“That means a lot,” the man said softly, before kissing his wife on the forehead. He didn’t wear a uniform, which made me think he was a member of the middle class. Some worked in the offices in the Venetian, others ran businesses in the Palace mall or the apartment buildings on the main strip. His clothes were gently worn, the hems repaired, a tiny hole visible in the elbow of his shirt.
Margaret stepped aside, leading us back into the hall, the door clicking shut. When we were a few steps away, she turned.
“It’s hard,” she said, her voice low. “Mrs. Sherman lost her entire family in the plague—a husband and two children, one only sixteen months old. Mr. Sherman lost his wife. Now that time has passed and they’re established in the City, remarried, they want to start a family. But it opens old wounds, you know. ”
The King was quiet. “Of course,” he said after a long pause. “We can all understand that. ”
We descended the stairs in silence, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the cold walls. When we returned to the main foyer we said good-bye to Margaret, the camera clicking as I shook her hand. We left Reginald at the front entrance, scribbling in his notebook. I thought of that baby, her sweet face, the way she had opened her eyes and looked at me for a brief moment. After I left the City there’d be no going back. The King would be after me, and Caleb and I would be forever on the run. I couldn’t return to the Schools. I would never find my way back to Pip or Arden. They’d be trapped in that building, their children shipped off to this sterile center. I saw Ruby’s face again, eyes glassy as she leaned on the fence.
I had to get word to them now, before I left.
I started down the steps, enveloped by the day’s heat. The sun burned my eyes, seeming brighter, harsher even, as it reflected off the sandstone building. “Father,” I said, conscious of the title that I had avoided for so long. The King raised his head. The cars pulled up the circular driveway. Soldiers lined up to escort us out. “I’d like to visit my old School, if just to see the younger girls there. I want to go back one last time. ”
Reginald and his team loaded themselves into the second car while the soldiers stood in the street, waiting for us. “I don’t know if that’s practical. You have the wedding to prepare for, and it might bring up—”
