Escape from Eden (8 page)

“Nothing,” I said, backing away one step. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” Before she shut the door, I saw a flash of pink in the trash can. Peony pink. The special shirt Sister had made Aliyah to attend Circle was stuffed in the garbage.

“You’re not going to get any information,” Juanita said from her bunk. Her tone was flat, eyes focused just beyond my head at the wall, unable—or unwilling—to meet my eyes.

Bridgette shot up, the sheet whipping back away from her. “She won’t talk about it,” she said. “We don’t talk about it.”

She motioned to Dina, who was silently crawling from her bed, less sanctimonious than her bunk mate in the morning. Both Bridgette and Dina had attended their first Prayer Circle a few months ago, but had only been back twice since. Prayer Circle for many of the Flock was a two or three times a week event.

Bridgette thrust her chin forward as she swung her feet over the edge of her top bunk. “Prayer Circle is a sacred rite in the Reverend’s church. We offer our silence as a sacrifice to the sanctity of the event.”

I glared at Bridgette. Her tone, her attitude, along with how Aliyah was acting, gnawed at me. “Is it hot up there?” I asked Bridgette.

“On my bunk?” she asked.

“On your cross.”

Bridgette gasped. “Mia! You are so nasty these days. You’re lucky I don’t report your attitude to Thaddeus.”

I shot a worried look at the bathroom door. Maybe I wanted to face Thaddeus again and ask some real questions–about the cookies, about the little town just over the ridge, about the mysterious Prayer Circle.

“Go ahead, Bridgette. Tell him whatever you want,” I said, and turned to my bunk.

Bridgette slipped down off her bed, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. I heard the rustle of sheets being flipped aside. “You didn’t do him justice, you know,” she said.

I turned back. She held out my sketchbook like an offering, open to the page where I’d drawn Gabriel. The breath slowly left my lungs.

“You went through my things?” I breathed.

“Your things?” Bridgette’s eyes sharpened on mine. “There is no yours or mine in Edenton.” She swung the book to face her and held it up to eye level. She cocked her head to the side. “Your drawing of the new boy isn’t as pretty as he is,” she said. “God blessed him physically, but the Lord sure didn’t give you the talent to translate his beauty to the page.” She began flipping through the sketchbook.

“Give it back,” I said, moving toward her.

Bridgette tsked. “Mia, you better not be seen with the new boy. You know you’ll get punished for seeking out his company. This drawing is pretty damning evidence that you’re coveting him.”

“Give it to me, now!” I yelled.

“Let’s see.” She twisted away, putting the corner of her bunk between us. “Oh, there’s writing in this, too. It’s like a little diary. Looks like you’re a little bit of a daddy’s girl.” She read in a sing-song voice. “‘Things Papa used to say: Doubt everything, find your own light … Knowledge is freedom … Faith is not wanting to know what’s true.’” She gasped, placing her hand theatrically over her heart. “Mia, these quotes are sacrilegious!”

“They’re not.” The heaviness of everyone’s gaze was on me. I glanced around. “They’re just things I remember him saying when I was little,” I said to the girls.

“They are sacrilegious!” Bridgette said to everyone, waving a hand around the room. “Faith is not hiding from the truth. Faith is confidence and trust in Our Maker. Doubt is the temptation of the devil.” She slammed the book closed and pointed it at me. “This whole book is awful! You shouldn’t even have it!”

“It’s all I have left!” I yelled.

Bridgette dropped her arm to her side, my sketchbook in her hand tapping against her leg. “Left of what?”

“My life before Edenton,” I snapped.

Aliyah, who had been standing in the bathroom doorway with her hand on the knob, slipped inside the bathroom and I saw her reflection cowering behind the door. Dina stood strong at Bridgette’s side. Juanita, though, still sat on her bunk, eyes on me, looking like I’d punched her in the gut. I’d said something terribly wrong.

“There is nothing before Edenton,” Bridgette said. “Edenton is our one true home. It’s where we are meant to be.” She looked down at the book in her hand. “I’m going right to Thaddeus about this. This book should be burned.”

I envisioned my sketchbook, along with my fading memories of Papa, being tossed into the fire like those rigid rat carcasses. My sight went angry red. I lunged forward, trying to swipe the book away from Bridgette, but Dina darted in front of her. Dina was small, strong enough, but smaller than me and I easily batted her aside. All I could see was my sketchbook clasped in Bridgette’s hand, as if I were looking down a long tunnel at it.

My sketchbook.

The one thing I had that kept me sane. The one thing that I could confide in without judgment. The one thing that was truly mine.

In someone else’s hands.

In Bridgette’s hands.

And she was going to hand it over to Thaddeus. To the Reverend.

I wasn’t going to lose it without a fight. I curled my hand into a fist and swung. It connected with Bridgette’s cheek. She tumbled back, hand clasping for the bedpost as she fell. She cried out in pain. The sketchbook toppled to the floor, pages fluttering open. She grabbed the side of her face, eyes wide with shock.

“How dare you!” she yelled at me.

I scrambled down on my knees and gathered up the sketchbook, clutching it to my chest. Glancing up, I saw Juanita’s confused expression. She looked at me as if she wasn’t sure who I was. A stranger. She reached down a hand to help me to my feet.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

Dina sat next to Bridgette on the bed, stroking Bridgette’s hair back away from her face and inspecting her cheek. A red mark flamed on Bridgette’s skin.

I should have regretted hitting her, but the solid feel of my sketchbook in my hands again erased the regret.

“I’m going to Thaddeus,” Bridgette said, struggling to her feet.

“No,” said Juanita.

We swung our surprised gazes at her. She stood in the center of the room, her eyes narrowed on me. A sense of calm emanated from her, her breathing steady and deep.

“What do you mean, no?” Bridgette said. “She broke a rule. Obviously she’s had that diary here since she came to Edenton. Snuck it in somehow. Mia can’t be allowed to keep it.”

Juanita didn’t look at Bridgette as she spoke, she kept her focus on me with a look of curiosity mingled with disappointment. “She’s not going to keep it,” Juanita said. “She’s going to burn it herself.”

A slow smile crept over Bridgette’s face. “That will make up for you hitting me, too.”

“What?” I asked, clutching the book closer. “No, I can’t do that—”

“You will, Mia,” Juanita said. “You have to. You keep that and she’s going right to Thaddeus.”

Bridgette stood, brushing Dina away like a pesky bug. “We’d all go to Thaddeus about this. Not only me.”

“I wouldn’t.” The meek voice came from behind the bathroom door. Aliyah peeked her head around the corner and met my eyes. “I would never say anything, Mia.”

“You’re a fool, Aliyah,” Bridgette said. “Willing to put your friendship before the Reverend’s rules.”

“I’m not a fool!” Aliyah exploded. “Don’t ever call me that!”

Bridgette’s jaw dropped. “We’ll chalk up your attitude to exhaustion. Prayer Circle takes a lot out of you, doesn’t it Aliyah?”

Aliyah cringed back into the bathroom and nodded.

I looked up at Juanita. “I can’t burn this, Juanita. Please.”

“I’ll help you do it,” she said. “Get dressed and we’ll take care of it before breakfast service.”

“But Thaddeus should know,” Bridgette whined.

Juanita placed her hand out toward me, asking for the sketchbook. “He doesn’t need to know about this, Bridgette,” she said as I handed her the sketchbook. “We’re getting rid of it, no harm done.” She snagged her apron off the hook on the wall and wrapped the book in it. “And besides, Mia isn’t the only one hiding something around here, is she?”

Bridgette scowled, clutching at her neck, where beneath her nightshirt she wore a silver dog-tag style necklace engraved with Romans 13:13. “This necklace was sanctioned by the Reverend,” she said.

“I wasn’t talking about that, Bridgette.” And Juanita left it at that.

By the time we got to the heap, the sky was lightening in the east, a pale dusty gray. Juanita, her mass of curls pulled away from her face in a tie, held my sketchbook inside her apron under one arm. Her hands were shoved into her uniform dress’s pockets.

We stood at the edge of a smoldering mound of trash, tiny wisps of smoke curling up and away, as if trying to escape the rotting stink of the heap. Lights were still on, even as the morning brightened, casting stark shadows in the piles around us.

Juanita pulled my sketchbook from under her arm and stared at the black cover. “How long have you had this?” she asked.

“I’ve always had it, Juanita,” I said. “I smuggled it into Edenton when I came.”

“I don’t understand what you need it for.”

“It’s where I draw, write. It’s where I put my thoughts and memories. It reminds me of who I am.”

“Who you were,” she corrected.

My gut clenched. I didn’t like to think of the younger me as the better, freer, happier me. Weren’t things supposed to improve as you got older? You grow into yourself, understand who you are?

She turned away and walked toward the recycling bins. Grabbing a cardboard cereal box, she tossed it onto the smoldering pile. Flames began to lick up the sides, black smoke swirling into the air. She handed me the sketchbook.

I glanced again at the flames. They ate away at the box. The thought of my sketchbook eaten by fire made me weak with disgust.

“Hide it,” Juanita said, watching the flames.

“What?”

“Hide your book. Hide it someplace Bridgette and Dina won’t find it.” Her brown eyes met mine. Sadness edged her gaze. “I know you wonder about your father. I wonder about mine, too. The only difference is that I never knew my dad. But if I did, I would never forget him and I would do everything I could to hold on to those memories. Octavio—” Her voice hitched. “Octavio and I used to talk about what our fathers were like. He never met his either. His father died right after he was born.” She looked up into the pinking sky. “Anyway, they’re together now.”

After a moment of watching the golden clouds move across the sky, she turned away and walked toward the entrance to the heap. Then she stopped and turned around. “Bridgette is right about Gabriel. If the Reverend knew you were interested in him, you’d get in a lot of trouble.”

“I know.”

“You’re not betrothed to anyone anymore, true.” She said the words without pause. “But Gabriel may already have been chosen for someone else.”

I nodded. “I understand, Juanita.”

“Good. I’ll cover for you at breakfast prep. Go hide your book now.”

“Thank you,” I called to her.

The relief lasted until I arrived at the kitchen twenty minutes later. Bridgette glared at me as I pushed my way through the door and hustled over to my station. When no one was looking, I slipped my chef’s knife from my apron pocket and placed it quietly on the magnetic strip.

Bridgette narrowed her eyes at me but didn’t say a word.

“Mia,” Agatha snapped. “You’re on dining hall duty. Go set up.”

“But what about the fruit?” I asked, nodding my head toward the box of mangos on the counter.

“Mia,” she spoke through clenched teeth.

Pushing the box aside, I left, shoving my way through the kitchen doors with too much force. They swung back, one banging against the wall. I heard Agatha’s frustrated sigh and saw her peeking through the service counter window at me. She slammed the window’s sliding door closed with a sneer. The sound resonated through the vast dining hall.

With an answering sigh, I lifted a stack of clean plates and placed them on the end of the service line. The muscles in my arms ached from climbing the ridge. I rubbed my bicep and leaned over to grab another stack when I heard his voice.

“Hey, Ricci,” Gabriel whispered.

He stood on the other side of the open window, hair mussed and falling into his eyes, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. The dawning sunlight picked out the gold in his hair. It wasn’t nearly as dark as I’d thought.

I rushed over to the window. “What are you doing here?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder for signs of Agatha.

“Tonight,” he said.

I met his gaze. In the morning light, his eyes were startling, the color deep and … different in each. One was slightly greener, the other slightly bluer. The difference was subtle, but it was there. It was almost a perfect gradient of color from the green left eye to the blue right one.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” His voice broke my thoughts.

I blinked at him. “Huh?”

“Why are you—never mind. It’s tonight.”

“What is, exactly?”

“Tonight, Ricci, you and I are going to a little place I know on the beach.”

My legs were spattered in mud. With every step, the clammy denim chafed my skin. I followed Gabriel through the crunching fallen leaves and limbs on the jungle floor. Surprisingly, the brush was thinner than I’d expected, as if it had once been cleared and recently reclaimed by the jungle. There was only enough dappled moonlight to make out shapes as we trudged toward the sparkling lights of the strange little beach town.

“Stop,” he whispered, clamping his hand on my shoulder and pulling me to his side. His arm curled around my waist and he positioned us behind a tree. “Don’t move,” he said in my ear. It was barely a whisper.

Fear coursed through me. The softness of his breath sent shivers down my spine. I scanned the darkness, but then I realized his body was pressed against mine, the firmness of his arm coiled around my lower back holding me close. I had to remind myself to breathe.

A figure appeared in the distance, moving between the trees. A man. He walked idly, as if bored. My heart pounded heavily and, with our chests pressed together, I knew Gabriel could feel it. My teeth began chattering. Gabriel brought his index finger up against my mouth. A spear of light illuminated his face and he mouthed, “Ssssh,” lips pursing.