The Hallowed Ones

by Laura Bickle

  She tucked the makeup into my pocket. I protested.

  “It’s yours,” she said simply. “I have no need of it.”

  “Thank you,” I said, almost afraid to touch my now-perfect face. I couldn’t resist plucking the compact out of my pocket for another look. I felt powerful, in some strange fashion.

  “Be careful,” she said, severely.

  I nodded. “I will.”

  Ginger went back to her crocheting as I put my bonnet on, mindful not to disturb the braid. As I grabbed my Ausbund and left, I heard her counting: “. . . seventeen, eighteen . . . oh, crap.” She went back to the beginning to count the stitches in the row. “One, two, three . . .”

  ***

  I stepped outside, feeling the warmth of the setting sun on my made-up face. The wind rustled through the grass as I walked down the dirt lane from our house to the field. I made sure to keep to the brightest areas, where the sun drove my shadow long behind me.

  In the distance, I made out other dark spots on the horizon. A group of girls hung together like a gaggle of geese, with a handful of young men racing to catch up to them. A courting buggy bumped down a dirt road between the fields, carrying a couple to the white schoolhouse perched in the middle of a meadow. The site for the schoolhouse had been chosen because it was pretty much the geographic center of the community. No child had to walk or ride farther to the school than any other.

  Young people were streaming into the building. I had gone to school there until I finished eighth grade, when education for Plain children stopped. The only requirements to be a teacher was that one be good with children and have completed the eighth grade herself. I had considered becoming a teacher, but I strongly suspected that the Elders deemed me too rebellious to teach children. I had asked on more than one occasion, and the answer was always that I should stay close to my parents and redouble my study of the Ausbund.

  Inside the schoolhouse was a large room, big enough to accommodate all the students in the community. The teacher would give assignments to different grades and provide attention to each group in turns. For school, wooden desks would be assembled on the floor in neat rows, facing the blackboard.

  But for the Singing, the desks were shoved to the back of the room and long wooden benches placed against the east and west walls in rows. The boys sat on one side of the classroom and the girls on the other, facing them. The room was already beginning to get crowded, as jockeying began for the front benches, where one could see and be seen the best by the opposite sex.

  Ginger’s makeup had an effect, I noticed. One boy tripped over a bench looking at me. I looked away and covered my smile with my hand.

  I took a seat in the back of the girls’ section next to Hannah’s younger sister, Leah, halfheartedly placing my Ausbund on my lap. I smiled at Leah.

  “You look really pretty,” she said. “Are you doing something different with your hair?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I glanced at the sparkle on her earlobes. She was wearing earrings. They didn’t look to be pierced, which would be a major rebellion. But this was the place for small ones, like the little rhinestone daisies that shivered when her head turned.

  “I like your earrings,” I told her.

  Leah lifted her hand self-consciously to her ears and blushed. “Thanks.” She returned my smile before flicking a flirtatious glance at a boy leaning on the wall near the window.

  My gaze roved over the throng as they began to take their seats. I knew everyone here in some fashion or another. There was no thrill of meeting anyone new at the Singing, unless someone’s distant relative had come to visit. The thrill, instead, was making eyes at your neighbor without adult supervision.

  Hannah rushed inside in a flurry of skirts. Her face was flushed, and I saw that her hair had begun to creep free of its pins. She sat down beside me, her fingers pressed to the smile on her lips.

  “I saw that you and Sam were baptized today . . .” I began.

  “We’re getting married,” she blurted, grabbing my hands.

  I was struck speechless. I knew that this would happen too, but not so soon. Plain engagements required no rings. Engagements were kept very private, until a month or two before the actual wedding, when they were announced to the larger community.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” She glowed.

  “I’m happy for you both,” I said sincerely. I hugged her.

  “You will be my attendant, ja?” she asked, eyes shining. Plain weddings usually had only one or two, dressed like the bride in a new blue or violet dress made for the occasion.

  I could not say no. Hannah was my dear friend. “Of course.”

  I listened as she talked of being married before winter and building a house on her parent’s property in spring, after the ground thawed. I nodded as she clutched my hands and chattered excitedly.

  It felt as if she was living a life I was meant to live and had rejected. The world was moving on, without me.

  My breath snagged in my throat when I saw a familiar lanky frame leaning on crutches. Elijah. His crutches thumped awkwardly on the scarred wooden floor. He wobbled a bit at the threshold.

  Our eyes locked. He stared at me, startled, taking in my transformed appearance. I felt a sting of satisfaction at that. A grin spread across his face. I remembered that look. He seemed like the old Elijah then. Maybe things hadn’t changed that much.

  I made to rise to greet him.

  But then I saw that he wasn’t alone. Ruth was beside him, clucking over him and taking his crutches as he settled down on a bench in the first row.

  Perhaps her solicitude was because she missed Joseph.

  But if she missed Joseph as much as her tears had shown at church this morning, she had no business being at the Singing, a small voice in my head growled.

  I sat back down, nodding stiffly at Elijah.

  He nodded back, but his eyes didn’t move from my face.

  The rustle of paper sounded in the schoolhouse like the flapping of bird wings. The youths brought their prayer books to their laps and turned to the page that one of the girls was marking on the blackboard. I primly flipped to the correct page and began to sing when the others started.

  We sang without any musical accompaniment, without harmonizing. Our music does not sound like Outside music. We’re told that it has something of a singsong quality to Outside ears, that the Hochdeutsch is impossible to understand. But it is beautiful to experience. Everyone singing the same song at the same time—you can feel the vibration in your throat and in the air. It’s like being part of something much larger, part of a perfectly tuned whole. The song buzzes through your lungs, through you and the person next to you. It is the closest I’ve ever felt to God speaking to me or moving within me.

  I was facing west, with the sun in my eyes. As it sank lower and lower on the horizon, the light grew more orange and luminous. I could see Elijah, his shadow driven before him, deep in the glare. As the peacefulness of the music settled into me, I wanted to believe that there was still some hope for us.

  Ruth sat two rows ahead of me, twirling a tendril of blond hair around her finger. As she sang, I saw her lift her eyes to Elijah.

  Perhaps she was too accustomed to male attention.

  Perhaps he was encouraging her.

  Perhaps she saw in Elijah what she missed in Joseph.

  Whatever the reason, I wanted to see no more of it.

  I slammed my Ausbund shut. Hannah turned to me, alarmed. But before she could ask me what was wrong, I stood up and strode briskly down the aisle and out through the open door, into the waning orange light. I could barely breathe as I fled down the steps, like something was stuck in my throat. I couldn’t tell what flavor it was; it tasted salty like tears, but it was sharp as broken glass.

  “Katie!” a familiar voice called from the door.

  I plunged into the tassels of golden grass as tall as my thigh, stirred by a wind that was picking up from the west.

/>   “Katie, wait.”

  I stopped, half turned, clutching the Ausbund to my chest. My skirt flapped around me like a boneless garment on a clothesline, and my bonnet strings streamed before me. I watched Elijah try to stump down the steps with his crutches. Ruth was not with him. I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand as he approached.

  “What is it you want from me?” he asked when he reached me. My shadow fell on him, and I could see bewilderment in his eyes.

  “Apparently you’re getting what you want from Ruth,” I said icily.

  That stung him more than any slap. He actually flinched, looked me full in the face. “You’ve made it very clear that you won’t.”

  “I never said that.”

  “What do you want? You want me to get down on my knees and beg? I’ll do that, if it meant you’d say yes to me.” He loosened his grip on his crutches, moved to kneel on the grass.

  I dropped my Ausbund, grabbed his shoulders to keep him from prostrating himself like that before me. “No . . . don’t . . .”

  “Then, what is it?” There was hope and resentment and hurt in his eyes. “I’ve always loved you. I know that you love me. I don’t understand what else you need. What else are you looking for?”

  “Time. Time is what I want.”

  “We don’t have any more time!” He shouted at me over the wind that ripped through the grass, lashing against our legs with a sound like rain on a metal roof.

  I cupped his face in my hands, kissed him as we’d kissed so many times before. I hoped to convince ourselves that I was still me, that he was still who he’d always been. But Elijah's lips were immobile under mine. I stepped back, seeing the smear of my lipstick on his mouth.

  The light dimmed out of his eyes, like water draining from my hands. He touched my cheek with cold fingers.

  “Makeup.”

  “What?” I said incredulously. Whatever spell Ginger had woven didn’t seem to work on him.

  “It’s a sign of vanity.” His voice was flat. “You should wash your face.”

  I turned and fled from him. I ran as hard as I could, my fists pumping the air, wanting that burn to drive out the wet knot of grief in my lungs. I knew that he wouldn’t follow me. Even if he wasn’t hobbled on crutches, he would not pursue me. Not this time.

  I’d lost him. I’d lost him forever.

  Elijah had been a constant in my life, like the North Star. I couldn’t comprehend the sense of aloneness, that part of my sky gone dark. The world—not just the world Outside, but my world—was falling apart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I ran until I couldn’t run anymore, until my hands fell to my knees and I gasped for air. I had reached the shadow of the kennel barn. I’d automatically come here when I was younger and was upset by some petty conflict at school or when I fought with my sister. It was my sanctuary. But not anymore. I’d even given my sanctuary away to the Outsider. I truly had nothing left.

  I wrenched open the barn door with a savage creak of metal on wood. I was angry, spoiling for a fight. I was ready to take it out on the only person nearby whom I could be terrible to with impunity. I did not announce myself to him, but the dogs knew my scent, came to me, licked my hands.

  I listened to the structure creak and sigh as darkness fell and the wood cooled. The shade was cold on my damp face. There was no other sign of life, just me and the dogs.

  Part of me, the selfish evil part of me that Elijah loathed, wished that the Outsider had died. I could dig a grave for him in a few hours, be done with my guilt. My sin of defying the Elders would be erased, as if nothing had ever happened.

  I heard a rustle and assumed it was Alex stirring.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and lowered my head. I concentrated all my power on steadying my voice. “Just me.”

  I did not go back to him immediately. I scrubbed my sleeve across my face, knelt beside Sunny to rub her sides. I could feel puppies moving within her. Any day now. Sniffling, I lit a lantern and hung it on a hook beside the door. I went to check their water. The levels were low, so I began to top them off with a bucket I kept in the barn. The dogs nosed past me and began to slurp, splashing water against my knee. I did what I knew how to do, tried to focus on work, hoping that would drive out the despondency and hurt and fear.

  “Katie.”

  I glanced up, tears dripping down my nose.

  Alex stood in the straw, watching me. I was startled to see him vertical, clean, and dressed like a Plain man, in dark britches, a white shirt that was a little short for his long arms, and suspenders. He was taller than I’d thought, though he stood with a slight slouch with his hands in his pockets. His face was clean-shaven, and his freshly washed hair was the color of straw. I did not know how long he’d stood there, watching me snivel.

  I smeared the tears off my chin with my knuckles, turned back to fussing with the dog bowls. I didn’t want the Englisher to see me cry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I clanged the food bowls together, filled them with scoops from an open dog food bag. “I’m fine.”

  “No. No, you’re not.”

  I couldn’t look at him. “I am fine.” I began shaking out the dog blankets. They would be due for a washing soon . . .

  He came up beside me and caught my elbow. “Hey. What happened?”

  I bit my lip. I could feel the tears prickling hot behind my eyes, and I couldn’t trust myself to speak again. My hands shook, and I let the blanket fall.

  “Did somebody hurt you? Did the vampires—?”

  His eyes were bright with such sympathy that I couldn’t stand it. I shook my head, covered my face with my hands, and sobbed.

  He put his arms around me while I cried against his chest. His shirt smelled like soap and sweet straw and dog. Familiar. He didn’t say anything, just held me until my tears faded to hiccups. I grimaced when I saw that a smudge of pink makeup had smeared his white shirt.

  His hands rested lightly on my shoulders. “What happened?”

  I released a short, bitter bark of laughter. The end of the world had happened, and I was bawling over a boy. Maybe, but that boy had been a very large part of my very small world. “It wasn’t vampires.”

  His brow creased. “What, then?”

  I drew back, and his hands fell. “I don’t think you’d understand.”

  He folded his empty arms across his chest. “Try me. I’ve got nothing but time.”

  I blew out my breath. “The man I . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say “love.” “The man I’m expected to marry got baptized this morning.”

  “Okay.” He looked at me blankly. “That’s normal in your culture, right? You come of age, and you get baptized in the church?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “A lot of places don’t do it that way, you know. They baptize babies.”

  “So I’ve heard. But here you have to choose to join the church of your own free will.”

  “And . . . he joined the church?”

  “When you join the Amish church, you are required to follow their edicts. It is putting an end to Rumspringa, to all earthly desires.” My vision blurred.

  “It put an end to your relationship.”

  “Ja. At least, it must change form.” I rubbed my eyes. “It’s stupid, I know.”

  “What’s stupid?”

  “Being . . . being jealous of God.”

  He shook his head and laughed. “No, it’s not stupid. Religion is a big deal for couples. You guys have to be on the same page.”

  I sighed. “We always . . . we always dreamed of Rumspringa together. Our parents dreamed of us married. Now Rumspringa is impossible. And . . .” My hands fell open and I took a quavering breath. “It seems he has found a more suitable girl. Ruth is . . .”

  “A more suitable girl?” Alex laughed softly. “What does that mean? More pious, more obedient?”

  I nodded, staring down at the floor. That was it, exactly.

  “Look, I, uh . . . don’t
know the guy. But he sounds like a jackass.”

  My gaze flickered up, and I cracked a smile. No one had ever called Elijah anything like that. “He has his moments.”

  “I mean . . . c’mon. Is he that threatened by a woman who thinks for herself?”

  I’d never been called a “woman.” I expected to be a “woman” after Rumspringa and marriage. I still thought of myself as in that in-between liminal stage: too old to be a girl, but without the responsibilities of adulthood.

  “If he’s looking for a . . . a mouse, I’m sure that there are plenty of them about. But you’re not a mouse. You’re intelligent, brave as hell, and you’re cute.”

  I blinked at him. “I’m not any of those things. I’m supposed to be obedient. Yielding.”

  Alex shrugged, as if it were a matter of objective fact. “Well, you are those things. I’m no expert in relationships, but . . .” A shadow flickered across his face, and I supposed that he was remembering Cassia. “As cheesy as it sounds, if it was meant to be, he’ll come back.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “You’re invoking Gelassenheit?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.” A lopsided smile crossed his face. It was then I noticed that it was speckled in tiny cuts: two on his jaw, one on his cheek.

  “What happened to your face?” I asked.

  His hand flitted to his chin, and his smile turned sheepish. “I, uh, kinda suck with that straight razor you gave me.”

  I smiled. “You’ll learn.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So . . . would you like some applesauce? I still have some left.”

  “Ja. I would like some applesauce.”

  I carefully took the lantern from its hook and followed Alex back to his nook in the barn. It looked as if he’d been restless there. His blanket was folded in a corner, food in another, comic books stacked in a third, and soap and clothes in the fourth. I felt a pang of sadness for him. These were the four corners of Alex’s world. And I mourned for how small mine was becoming.

  He sat down, unscrewed the cap on the jar of applesauce, and handed it to me with the spoon I’d left him.

  “Thank you,” I said. I dipped the spoon into the sauce and tasted the cinnamon apple mixture. It soothed me, stopped the hollow rumbling in my stomach. After a few bites, I handed it back to him. He tucked into the jar with the same spoon clinking against the glass.