The Chosen One

  I close my mouth to the confession. She doesn’t need this information now. I’ll tell her later, when her baby’s here, maybe after the blessing. Maybe when I am sick with my own pregnancy. The thought makes my stomach turn over. I don’t want anything else to eat.

  Carolina bounces on the bed. Her blond hair swings in its braid. Beads of sweat dot her forehead.

  “Don’t bounce, baby,” I say, trying to make my guilt go away by being especially nice to Mother. “You make Mother’s tummy ache.”

  Our mother nods in thanks. She eats a bit. Shares some more.

  Carolina stops her bouncing and says, “Fan Mother harder, Laura. It’s hot.”

  “I’m fanning fast as I can,” Laura says. She smiles. I can see she’s worried.

  All around us, the hot desert air moves from Laura’s fanning and the big fan propped in the corner. If we only had air-conditioning like the Prophet and Apostles do, Mother would be able to be pregnant in comfort.

  The Prophet.

  Is Father still with him?

  Thank goodness there’s a swamp cooler plugged into the kitchen window or I swear we’d all go up in a ball of smoke.

  “It’s hot as hell in here,” says Margaret. Then she smiles.

  “Margaret,” Mother says, her tone disapproving. “Your language is not fitting to that of The Chosen Ones.”

  Margaret, her face crinkled, keeps smiling. I bet she likes it that she can say a naughty word. “It’s straight from the Bible,” she says.

  Laura fans Mother Sarah harder and says, “Tell us about when you were little.”

  So our mother tells us about Bible study, when times were easier because sin didn’t cover the world the way it does now. When The Chosen Ones were allowed out of the Compound more. How she used to go to the next town and eat Fudgsicles with all her brothers and sisters, before the chain-link fence, before, when Prophet Childs’s father was our leader.

  We’re all quiet, thinking about those Fudgsicles. At least I’m thinking about them. And thinking how Father wasn’t so old when Mother married him.

  “You were lucky to live then,” Margaret says, her voice a sigh almost. “And I’m sorry I said hell.” There’s that grin again.

  Mother eyes Margaret and says, “You’re forgiven.” Then she breathes out. “I certainly was lucky.”

  AT LAST I LEAVE the Compound the way I always have, slow like I always do, so no one will think any more of this walk than any other I’ve taken over the last I don’t know how many years.

  Are they watching me now that I’ve been Chosen? Will they follow me?

  My whole walk, all the way into the middle of nowhere, I keep checking behind me. I keep looking.

  When I can’t see the Compound behind me, when I’m sure no one follows, I run, stopping when I grow out of breath. Down the two miles of road, to that dot of trees that makes just about the only shade out here not on Compound property. There’s the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels.

  Parked right there.

  “Hey,” I say to Patrick when he opens the van doors. He’s in his seat, just waiting.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Kyra.” He nods. Adjusts that ball cap of his.

  I want to tell him everything. I want him to know what’s happening at home. That I’ve been Chosen. But I can’t. The words get caught right in my throat and refuse to come out. Instead, I plunk down Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, turning it back in.

  “I loved it,” I say, just getting the words out. “It was great.” There’s a rock in my throat. When I’m married will I ever be able to come here again? Will I still get books? Still read?

  Patrick smiles and says, “My sisters love that book, too. It’s a series, you know.”

  I make my way to the rear of the van and drop to my knees. I can’t even look at the titles, I’m so sad. Why did I think coming here would help me? Being here only makes me ache at the thought of never coming back.

  “Looking for anything specific?” Patrick says from his seat.

  I shrug, not even sure if he’s looking at me. “Not really,” I say. “Just hoping for something . . .” Just hoping . . . just hoping for what? I don’t know why, but somehow, all the sudden, it feels like I could get away in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels.

  In a far corner is a rack that has newspapers hanging from it, like quilts made of words. Newspapers from all over the state. And the states surrounding our state and even a New York paper. A New York paper right here.

  I’ve read the newspapers when they have blown free from the garbage pile near the Temple and snagged on the fencing. They’re always yellowed and crisp, like the wind and sun has made them tougher.

  But here in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels, the newspapers smell of ink. They are new and soft almost.

  “We’ve got company,” Patrick says all the sudden.

  “What?”

  “Hide,” he says. “And don’t look up. You’re not here.”

  My blood turns cold, makes me feel all watery. How is that possible, to feel frozen and as unsteady as water at the same time? I’m not sure I could look out that window if I wanted to.

  I slip behind the newspapers. Tuck my dress in close and wait, my heart slamming in my chest so hard I worry maybe whoever is out there might hear.

  There’s a tap on the door. I hear Patrick swing it open, then heavy footsteps. The bus tips a little. Whoever this is, is a big person.

  “Need to see your license.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Brother Felix! Oh no! I close my eyes, feeling like a baby. Like if I can’t see Brother Felix—one of The Chosen and our local sheriff and a member of the God Squad—Brother Felix might not see me.

  There’s silence. Blood pounds in my ears. Then,

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I break here because it’s the middle of my day, middle of my route,” Patrick says, his voice low and calm. “I rest in the shade of trees.”

  Again there’s quiet. In my mind I can see those eyes of Brother Felix, Sheriff Felix, the way he squints and makes you feel like you’ve done something wrong when you haven’t even had the chance. His squinting is not a thing like Mother Sarah’s. Not a thing like Laura’s. His squinting scares me.

  “You might not want to be here too long,” he says.

  “Won’t be,” Patrick says. And then, “Am I on private property?”

  I keep my eyes closed.

  “Close to,” Brother Felix says.

  There’s a pause.

  “Watch it,” Brother Felix says.

  “I’ll watch it,” Patrick says.

  The newspaper ink smells so strong I feel sick to my stomach. It’s like I have caught Mother’s illness, the way I feel weak.

  “You come here, you stop here, you don’t talk to no one. If I see you talking to someone, I’ll arrest you. If it looks like you might talk to someone, I’ll arrest you. If I think you’re talking to someone, I’ll arrest you.”

  “I understand,” Patrick says.

  If this keeps up much longer, I’ll have to figure out how to throw up in my own mouth without making a sound.

  Brother Felix moves and the van shifts like we’ve dropped off a load. The doors shut. There’s the sound of a car driving away. I keep still until Patrick says, “You can come out now, Kyra.”

  My legs won’t quite hold me, so I crawl from my hiding place.

  “You okay?” Patrick hasn’t moved from his seat. He’s barely turned around. He catches a glance at my face. “Don’t worry, Kyra,” he says. “You can keep looking for something to check out.”

  Maybe I should tell him the truth. That I’m not allowed to read anything but the Bible. Maybe I should tell him that Sheriff Felix and all the God Squad are mean ol’ things. Maybe I should say what kind of trouble we can both get into.

  But the books mean too much. There’s a chance. There is a chance that I’ll get back here. And anyway, I do have a few more weeks before I
’m married. So all I say is, “Thanks, Patrick.” And when my legs can hold me, and a good amount of time goes past, I get out of the van, Anne of Green Gables hidden in my dress.

  “You know, Kyra,” Patrick says. He looks at me down the steps. “If you ever need a ride into town, I can give you one.”

  “Okay,” I say after a moment.

  Another person who has said he will help me.

  I walk away first this time. Go at least a mile. Never look behind me. It’s not that long before Patrick and the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels drive by. I don’t even look at him. Just hope I’ll figure this one out.

  And remember.

  ONE LATE AFTERNOON I read three Dr. Seuss books from the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels while sitting on the gritty floor of the van. It’s like I’m thirsty and can’t get enough to drink.

  Early on, Patrick told me I could read if I wanted. He’d stop. Take a break here. Eat a late lunch. Rest in the shade of the trees while I chose something to read.

  “Spend fifteen or twenty extra minutes,” Patrick had said. “Look around. Enjoy.”

  And I said, “Okay. Thanks.” But I never stay more than ten minutes. A whisper in my head tells me not to. And I trust that voice. Get in, get out, get home and hide the book in my tree if the weather’s good.

  But this afternoon, I took a few minutes more than usual. I read these books we used to have in our home. Seeing those books makes my stomach feel flat. Seeing these books brought back the memory of smoke. And before that, sitting with Father on the living-room floor, his arms around all us girls, Mother right there, too, reading together.

  “I read Fox in Socks nearly every night to my boy, Nathan,” Patrick said, interrupting my memory. He sipped from a cup that said Big Gulp in white letters.

  I pulled Hop on Pop from the shelf and remembered Prophet Childs and the Day of Cleansing. This was the first of many cleansings, but of course, I didn’t know it then. The memory floods right through me. That smell of smoke.

  “Bring your books,” Prophet Childs had said.

  A fire big as a barn burned in the parking lot of the Temple. I could feel the heat from a distance. Sparks flew in the air and winked out in the night.

  “Bring the demon’s word here. Burn it all,” the Prophet said.

  And everyone did. They brought picture books and teen books. Magazines and newspapers. Novels and even the Reader’s Digest.

  “Bring words from the Infidel,” Prophet Childs said. “And I will bring you truth. I will lead you to Heaven.”

  Father and all the mothers from my family brought our stuff, too. Fathers and mothers from other families. Children. Teenagers. Me. We threw the books. The fire ate them up in moments.

  Laura was five when this happened. She threw in all her Dr. Seuss books. And cried the whole time. Me, I was dancing and singing with The Chosen Ones, but Laura, she cried.

  Seeing her crying, I felt like I was doing something wrong.

  I went to Laura, took her hand, and held back the worn copy of Hop on Pop. I had learned to read from this book. So had she.

  “We’ll hide this,” I said. Smoke filled the air. Cries of joy. The voice of the Prophet.

  But Father saw us.

  “Burn it,” he said.

  I held the book behind me. “Let her keep just this one,” I said.

  Father knelt in front of us. “These are the Devil’s words,” he said. “You heard what the Prophet said. We must obey.”

  “Just this one,” I said. I put my arms around his neck, whispered in his ear. “Just this one for Laura. She loves it.”

  I remember I was as hot on the inside as I felt on the outside.

  “Just this one,” Laura said, draping her arms around Father’s neck, too. “Please.”

  Father hesitated. Then he shook his head.

  “Throw it,” he said to Laura.

  And crying, she did.

  “Good for you,” Father said. He pulled Laura close. “God will bless you,” he said. “God sees what you have done,” he said. “I’ll let the Prophet know your heart,” he said.

  Father looked at me. Looked at the fire. He seemed so sad. “Kyra,” he said, “you must be obedient.”

  I remembered all this, the fire hot on my face, the laughter of The Chosen Ones as they danced around the flames, Laura’s tears. I remembered all this in the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels van and that afternoon I borrowed Amazing Gracie from Patrick and left Fox in Socks for his little boy Nathan.

  WALKING UP TO THE COMPOUND, I see everything in a new way. I’ve never been truly afraid here, and today, I am. I wonder who knows where I’ve been. I wonder who knows the pronouncement. I wonder if Father is back.

  In slow motion, I walk on toward my home. From outside the fence I can see men working the land. Can see some of the different families’ clotheslines, hanging sheets and quilts, dresses and pants, baby things.

  The Temple with the Eye watching me, it is a grand building in the light of the afternoon. As I pass through the gates, I see three men in dark suits, even in this heat, sunglasses on as they step from the darkness of the Temple into the afternoon. The God Squad. They’re here to protect. The Prophet. Us. The grounds. But seeing them, I’m struck with fear.

  “Joshua,” I say. I want to run, but I make myself walk in through the gates and on toward home. Like I always do. Amazing Gracie sweaty against my belly.

  This isn’t the first time that the God Squad has seen me coming home. Brother Simmons used to greet me when I was little and sometimes gave me a red licorice when I came back.

  He’s been gone a long time.

  When Mother Sarah was young, there was no problem moving around outside our community. But in the last few years, with a Day of Cleansing that happens every few months, things are different.

  I’ve always walked like this, since I was little, with others walking with me, until a few years ago when I walked alone.

  But now.

  Now it’s dangerous for people to notice.

  Joshua has seen me walking toward Patrick and the Ironton County Mobile Library on Wheels, even if he doesn’t know that’s where I’ve gone. He’s told me he’s watched me walking for years.

  Does that mean other people have seen, too?

  Have they seen me go?

  I’ve been leaving the Compound forever, since I could almost walk.

  With Mother Sarah and Father first.

  With Emily.

  Then with Laura.

  Then alone.

  Walking past the fence.

  Walking down the red dirt road. A washboard road.

  Walking to nowhere, then turning around and coming back.

  Are they so used to me walking the distance,

  outside our fences,

  where somehow the air smells different,

  are they so used to my walking

  that they don’t notice anything more?

  My heart thumps as I walk past the God Squad. Brother Adamson nods at me, then turns away. I let out a slow breath of air. Squinch my eyes at the light. Walk when I want to run. First to my tree to hide my book in the leafy branches. And then home.

  Where my father waits for me.

  II

  As soon as I see his face, as soon as I see Mother’s face, I know that Father’s request has been denied. They sit together on the sofa. None of my sisters are near. They must be at another Mother’s house.

  I fall on my knees at Father’s feet. “I can’t do it,” I say. “Father, I can’t.”

  He says nothing, just places his hands on my head. He smooths my hair. I hear my mother begin to cry.

  And just like that, there’s a knock at the door.

  “Please don’t make me.” I crawl up on the sofa next to him. He wraps his arms around my shoulders. Kisses my forehead. Mother answers the door.

  It’s Uncle Hyrum. He is dressed in blue jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. The shirt is buttoned all the way to the top. “
Two things,” he says before any of us says a word, holding up his fingers to prove it. “I’m here for two things.”

  I think I’ve stopped breathing, but I listen.

  “Number one. Sister Kyra. I would like to have you over to dinner. A date so we can get to know each other better. Tomorrow evening.”

  He doesn’t even wait for me to answer.

  A date?

  “And number two, where is the baby from last night?”

  Father stands now, loosening his arm from around my shoulders.

  “Mariah?” Father says.

  “Screaming like that,” Uncle Hyrum says. “And in front of the Prophet. It was too much, Richard. Too much.”

  “She’s not even a year old,” Mother Sarah says.

  Uncle Hyrum looks at my mother like he could slap her. “Don’t speak, Sister Sarah, unless I’ve spoken to you first.”

  Mother says nothing. Looks away from my uncle.

  “Get the baby, Sister Kyra. And her mother. You may leave, Sister Sarah.”

  “Why?” I say.

  He doesn’t answer me, but Father says, “Go.”

  And I go.

  Mother Claire, mean as she can be, turns white when I tell her Uncle Hyrum wants Mariah. And her.

  “Oh no,” she says. “Oh no.”

  Mariah is asleep on a blanket in the corner, a small fan turned on her.

  “She wouldn’t stop screaming after you left last night,” Mother Sarah says. She bends over, her big belly in her way, and lifts Mariah. “Come here, baby,” she says, her voice gentle.

  “What do you mean?” I say.

  “I just couldn’t calm her,” Mother Claire says. Her face has gone red now. “No one could. She wanted you.”

  We leave Mother Claire’s trailer. I wish I could feel a bit of pride in Mariah’s wanting only me, but this cannot end up good. Not as scared as Mother Claire is.

  Mariah has settled back into sleep on her mother’s shoulder.

  We go into my home, where Father and Uncle Hyrum stand side by side. I’m not sure where Mother Sarah has gone.

  “I saw more than I could bear,” he tells Father. “More than I can bear,” he says to Mother Claire and me and sleeping Mariah.