If I Fall (3 page)

The Radical hears my scream and releases Mother, having found a new target.
Me.
Dela and I turn to run, but we are weighed down by our dresses and cannot catch our breath. Corsets were not made for running. He catches Dela’s foot, dragging her back, and I slam my heel down on his hand. His yell fills the night, melding in perfect harmony with the chaos around us.

I help Dela to her feet and we run for the long grass just ahead. At the edge of the lengthy stalks, we look back. Fire paints the sky in an angry orange and black shadowy figures run amuck. I watch as a Radical lashes out with a knife and a man falls beneath the blow. I wince, turning away. I see Father, at last, caught in the grasp of a Radical. I begin to run forward, hoping to aid him, when I hear Mother call.

“No, Elvira!”

I turn and there she is. “We must help him!” I argue.

“No. You must flee. Take Dela. Run to the beach and don’t turn back. Now, go! Go!” Her face shows her fear, but it shows something else, too. Something I cannot quite place.

“But, Mother, what about you and Father? We’re not leaving you!”

“You’ll do as I say. Now, run to the beach. Then, to the docks. There is a ship there—the RMS
Celtic
—leaving for America. You are to board it and not wait for your father and me. We will make sure you are not followed.”

“But Mother—”

“Elvira,” she warns.

“Those passenger ships are for refugees. We are forbidden!”

“You’ll find a way. You always do,” she says, too sweetly for the way I’ve talked to her. “Now, my dear Elvira, be brave for your sister and do as I say.” Suddenly, I know what it is I could not place before.
Hope.
Hope that maybe Dela and I will escape. “We will meet again in New York.”

A tear slides down my cheek and I nod. She bends down to Dela’s level, placing a tender finger under her chin. “You be brave for your sister, too, now, you hear?”

She nods solemnly.

“I love you both dearly. Do be safe.” She places a kiss on both our cheeks and pushes us towards the field. “Go on, now,” she yells. “Go!”

Without a second glance, I turn and my feet are moving beneath me, Dela’s hand gripped tightly in my own. We push through the long stalks. The swishing of our skirts against the grass and our heavy breathing drowns out the cries behind us. I stare mournfully at the white circle in the sky, its shadows and whorls guiding me towards the beach. I lock eyes with the man in the moon, my new friend, my only friend.

Everyone else is lost.

3
RETURNING

The porcelain face with the hollow eyes and lips as red as blood crunches beneath my foot. Only half a pale face, half a demure smile, half a rosy cheek. The rest of the cracked pieces lie scattered among the ashes. In Dela’s hand, the fabric of the doll’s dress, torn and tattered.

Everything so unbelievably torn and tattered. All destroyed. This was a bad idea. This was a very, very bad idea. Why return to the ghosts of your memories?

Soot and ash fall from the sky like an angel’s wing feathers. Cast from heaven, they rain down upon those still living, upon us. Their gray bodies cling to the grass blades like dew. I can almost pretend that the feathery ashes resting upon Dela’s golden strands are snowflakes. Except, rather than reflect the light like snow, the ashes engulf it, darkening the world as well as my mood.

I stand rooted where I am, unable to go any further outside the grass stalks we escaped through the previous night. Fear of what I might find beneath the ashes swallows me the same way they swallow light. Dela runs ahead. I follow her with my eyes.

The images of her running through these streets the previous summer—her feet bare, her hair loose, my fuming mother close behind—plays side-by-side with the present scene. How drastically that scene has changed. From sprouting flowers, hot cobblestone streets, and cloudless skies to nothing but endless gray. The inequity of it all makes my throat throb and my eyes swim. We knew it was only a matter of time. We knew they would come. But knowing never seems to make it any less sudden.

“El!” Dela’s voice filters through the wall of dust. Her small form has grown much further away and I can barely make it out through the filmy air. “El! Come quick!”

Terror drills into my skull, making my teeth vibrate.
What did she find? Surely not a body. Please, not anyone we know. Please, let it be a stranger.
I instantly regret having thought it. Only a terrible, monstrous person would not think a stranger’s life is just as important … and yet, that same thought continues to ring in my ears. Not even the guilt can drown it out.

I race towards her voice, my boots leaving footprints in the ash behind me. Slowly, her form becomes more distinct until I am right beside her, panting with fear and exhaustion. Dela looks to me. Tears well in her eyes and I see the sympathy floundering in the crystal droplets.

With a hiccupping gasp, I realize where we are standing. If it were last afternoon, I would be standing next to my butterfly bush, but the miniature purple flowers of yesterday have dissipated into nothingness. A charred skeleton of lifeless branches the only sign it ever existed. Beneath my feet would have been my white rock-roses. They had just started blooming, their little white buds just beginning to form … but the fire destroyed them before they were given the chance to blossom. The fire destroyed everything.

I move through the blackened land that was once my thriving garden. The scorched leaves crackle like fire under the weight of my footsteps. I feel Dela follow me, but neither of us speaks. Our silence says it all. There are no words to describe how I feel. The utter loss is like a nail driven into my chest—piercing my heart and exiting out through my back. I see the nail inside me and yet cannot believe it. Too numb to comprehend.

Dela stands just behind me, and I hear her muttering to herself. I catch the words “ashes to ashes” and reach behind me. Somehow my hand finds hers, pulling her towards me. With our arms wrapped around one another, we peer up at the very sight I had been avoiding.

Before us lie the remains of the only home I have ever known. The roof has caved in under the heat, the top floor buckling and collapsing like a wooden avalanche of broken memories. Only the front entry wall still stands. Torn from one of its hinges, the front door hangs open in defeat. The fire’s trail coats the wood in black, only the top of the door remotely resembling what once was. The glass window has exploded just like that of my bedroom. A few broken pieces still cling to the frame, refusing to yield. I can see the glass dust glittering upon the ground, and almost find it beautiful in a strange way.

“We should go.” Dela speaks so quietly that I am not sure I heard her until she opens her mouth a second time. “We did not come back to mourn over what once was and what will never be again.”

Her words are like a slap in the face. And although I know she is only trying to cope, a tiny flicker of anger ignites inside me. I am not yet ready to admit my whole world is changing. To accept that I will never live in this destroyed home again, that I will never again tend to this once beautiful garden, is simply too much to undertake in one day.

Pursing my lips, I nod my head in agreement nonetheless. Without a word, Dela retreats from the devastation. As though peering through another person’s eyes, I take one more look at the fire’s sorrowing success before following my sister out of the backyard and the burnt remnants of my garden.

I stand in the middle of the room, afraid to touch anything. I can hear Dela rummaging in the chest to my left. She is not at all shy about going through another’s things, and her lack of decorum worries me. I instantly chide myself. I am beginning to sound just like my marriage-obsessed mother.
A woman’s sole purpose is to find a husband, not to whittle away her time soiling her gloves in a garden!
she often told me.

But my gardening was never any competition with Dela’s adventurousness.
You will never marry if you do not learn some propriety, Dela Marie Hamilton!
Mother would scream at Dela’s back as she ran out the door towards the ocean, her dress slinging through the mud as she went. I smile at the memory.

“Ew! Look here, El. It’s a pair of Daniel Thompson’s knickers!” I turn my head just in time to see Dela’s face contort into a form of playful disgust. She tosses them at me and I shriek. By now, we are both giggling uncontrollably, the pent up anguish of the recent events finding a short release. “I do hope this was not Daniel’s only pair,” Dela jokes, but the past tense of the statement makes our momentary joy instantly dissipate.

We thought maybe the Thompsons had escaped since their house is tucked back in the woods on the very edge of town, but there is no way to know for sure. Unsettled, I lean back against the small bed as Dela finds the clothes we need. We agreed that we would be less conspicuous as boys. Being one of us is bad enough, but being a girl is even worse.

“All right,” she says, attempting to stand with her arms full of clothing. “I think I have the essentials. Should we check the kitchen one last time?”

I shake my head. “There is no use. If there was food, we would have found it already. Beside, we don’t want to miss the ship. It will be a long walk.”

Dela’s lips pucker in disappointment. “I suppose you are right.”

I smile sadly at her, wishing I could give another answer. Relieving her of the clothes, I walk out of the room and down the steps into the parlor. I give the room one more brief inspection, making sure everything is in its place. I nearly laugh aloud at the absurdity of it. The last thing the Thompsons will worry about is two girls breaking into their house and stealing a few articles of clothing. They are Marked, and just like us, they have much bigger problems than theft.

Besides, if they ever do return, they will be returning to a ghost town. Only one other person was left breathing, and she is standing right next to me. Everyone else is either gone or dead. The only building free from harm is the one we currently stand in. All others have been reduced to ash and rubble. The Radicals destroyed my beautiful little village and everyone inside it, and then simply walked away. I know because I watched them do it. I watched them take the dead’s carriages and flee the scene of their crimes. Knowing for sure they had all fled is the only reason I agreed to return.

The anger and pain hits me like a sudden upsurge. Dela lays a warm hand against my arm, a reassuring touch. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
Forget it all for now
, I tell myself.
Let the images from last night and today vanish—at least until we make it onto the ship.

With this new goal in mind, I walk out of the house and within ten steps, I am standing in the ashy silt once again. Focused on keeping my promise to my mother, I do not think about the ash’s origins—about the people, buildings, and memories that create the silky deposit.

No, instead, I am walking through snow. The pieces of debris floating through the air are flower petals caught on the breeze. And everyone is just playing hide-and-go-seek; we, of course, are the seekers. Yes, everything is not as bad as it seems.

At least, that’s what I pretend.

4
SNEAKING

The horn’s dismal cry cuts through the crowd, and my head snaps up.

“Dela, do hurry!” I yell.

“I’m almost done,” she grumbles. “There.” She steps out from behind the trash bin and smiles. “How do I look?”

“Like a boy,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Perfect.” She shoots me a girlish grin and steps by me. Her trouser hems drag on the ground, and she tries desperately to hold them up.
It is a shame we hadn’t found knickerbockers. They would have been a much better fit,
I think.

Unfortunately, Daniel Thompson was about two times the size of my dainty sister. The blazer is far too long, but it serves its purpose. I tighten my tie and lower my bowler hat. I pat my chest, wondering if it is evident I am not a man.

I follow Dela out onto the cobblestone street, leaving our dresses in the alley. We will not need them where we are going. Makeshift shops rise up on either side of us. Colorful fabrics and glittering jewelry cascade over the sides of some fronts, creating a waterfall of glorious teals and fuchsias, emeralds and silvers. The sweet scent of fresh baked goods mixes with the salt-filled air. Hawkers stand outside. Their commanding voices permeate the small space as they try desperately to make a sale.