IGMS Issue 9 (26 page)

"You are not alone," Mother Holton said.

The sacrifice gnawed at her for a month. Abigail Holton sobbed at night when no one could see or hear. She found herself oversleeping and unable to focus on her studies. When Enoch Bentley's letter found her, snuck in through an elaborate network of Daughters' errands, it reached her at her lowest point. She'd been scolded twice already that week and had just realized she was late with her bleeding. She opened his letter, read it, and discovered there were even darker basements beneath the lowest places of her heart. Like the voices, Enoch Bentley's letter started with promises of love and home, then became angry and cajoling.

The full weight of the sacrifice didn't strike her until later in the day. When she suddenly burst into tears in the middle of dinner, she found herself in front of Mother Cassel's desk as snowflakes fell outside the window behind, shining silver in the moonlight.

"I do not think you need the Tander oil just yet," Mother Cassel said after Abigail told her story. "You are under tremendous strain. Wait a few more days and then see me if you've not started."

Abigail Holton sniffed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her cassock. "Will I need to be reclaimed, Mother?"

Mother Cassel laughed. "Good lords, no, child." She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "If they made such a way as to reclaim the heart from love, we'd all be better off dead."

"I do not love Enoch Bentley," she said.

Mother Cassel chuckled again. "You do not know that you do today. But someday you will, and it will help you know that you've chosen well." She leaned forward in her chair. "You
were
making a sacrifice, weren't you?"

Stunned, she nodded slowly. "How did you know?"

"The Addenda speaks of it. It is a common theme among certain of the Settler's Daughters."

Abigail swallowed. "What does that mean?"

Mother Cassel smiled. "Nothing to worry on tonight, child." She sat back in her chair. "But it speaks highly of you, that you can be sure."

That night, Abigail carefully folded Enoch's letter and hid it away beneath her mattress. From then forward, she read it every night until it faded so badly that she could not read it, holding it in her hands until it finally fell apart.

But even long after that, she lay awake nights and recited it from memory until it simply became some small part of the other voices she remembered.

Mother Holton sipped her tea and looked out on autumn. She sat wrapped in the quilt, but near the window so she could see the ducks on the pond. There was a knock at the door and she turned toward it. "Yes?"

Esther Hopewell stepped into the room. "Hello, Mother," she said.

"Hello, Esther Hopewell." She hated that she could no longer call her daughter. "Sister McDougall tells me that you are leaving us."

Esther Hopewell nodded. "I am, Mother."

"What will you do, child?"

The girl shook her head. "I do not know. I will find work in the city. Maybe I will meet a nice boy and bear him a daughter."

Mother Holton nodded. "Maybe you will." Her reclamation had gone well, but Mother Holton had assumed it would. She'd finally understood what she'd known about this girl, but she was certain that the girl did not know it yet. She would know it later, when the irony of this sacrifice would make her laugh for years to come. But for now, Esther Hopewell was simply a strong young woman who had once been a Settler's Daughter before the voices changed her life.

I came by the voices and she leaves by them
, Mother Holton thought. She raised her hand for the Matriarchal Blessing. "Go ye in grace and peace, Esther Hopewell. Be fruitful and Settle the land."

"Thank you, Mother," she said. She curtsied and then left.

Sister Abernathy came in shortly after, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl and a piece of bread. She helped Mother Holton into bed and then placed the tray on her lap. "I've done that looking into you asked of me, Mother," she said.

Mother Holton lifted the spoon to her mouth, tasting the sweet corn chowder. She couldn't remember any 'looking into' that she'd needed recently. But she'd learned not to show it, to simply nod and wait.

"He died six years ago," Sister Abernathy continued. "I talked with his daughter when I was in South Hold last week. He left many children and grandchildren behind." She laughed. "There were Bentley's all over the place."

Mother Holton nodded. She vaguely remembered hearing that he'd gone south with the earlier expeditions, more years ago than she could count. "He lived a full life then," she said in a quiet voice.

Sister Abernathy leaned forward. "Who was he, Mother?"

"Someone I wanted to have a happy life," she said. "And it sounds like he did."

She finished her corn chowder, soaking the bread in what little remained to soften it for the teeth she still had. When she was done, Sister Abernathy took the tray away just as the linen girl entered with her stack of heated quilts.

They tucked her in and left her to nap, but instead of sleeping, she laid awake and remembered that night long ago; the night she'd given herself to Enoch Bentley in order to understand what she was giving up to serve the Settler's Daughters, to give her life to the mystery of the voices in the quiet halls of the First Home Temple. Words came back to her, a voice that spoke promises of love and home, and for the first time in years, she found herself reciting Enoch Bentley's letter. She was surprised that she still remembered most of the words, and she spoke them now quietly as if they were a prayer of great power. She moved slowly through the first half, telling herself that it was to savor the beauty of them.
Lie to yourself, old woman, see what it will get you.
She recited the first half slowly so that she would be asleep before the voice changed. She did not want to hear the angry voices tonight -- not the voices that had driven her to Temple so long ago. And certainly not the voice of Enoch Bentley that had given her calling a value beyond a young girl's fervor. She closed her eyes and smelled the fresh-plowed earth.

In her dreams that night, Abigail Holton raised corn and babies. Beneath it all was a whispering she could just barely discern.

God-voices assuring her she would never be alone.

To tell the truth, I really didn't know exactly what a beeper was or how they worked until the day I found one. I'd seen them in old movies. They're called
pagers
now, and they do all sorts of fancy stuff. But back then, they were just called beepers, and most of them didn't do much at all. If someone had asked me how they worked, I wouldn't really have been able to give a good answer. It wasn't something I paid much attention to.

I wouldn't even have found it if it hadn't beeped when I walked by. At the time, I believed it was a coincidence. I was on my way home from school. I was late. Mr. Atkins had made me stay after to work on an essay. I'd already written it once, but he told me I didn't put enough effort into it and he wanted me to try again. So I got out later than the rest of the kids. I'll bet a couple hundred kids walked right past the beeper before I did. It was lying on the ground next to the sidewalk, just a block away from the school. But it blended into the dirt pretty well, so it wasn't surprising that nobody noticed it. As I said, I would have walked right by if it hadn't beeped.

But it did beep. I stopped when I heard the sound. I really didn't know what I was hearing, but it seemed familiar. I searched around, then finally found the beeper. It was a small box, about half the size of a deck of cards, and there was one of those little windows on one side like they have on calculators.

It stopped beeping as soon as I picked it up. There wasn't any message in the window.

I stood there for a minute, holding the beeper and wondering what to do with it. The right thing would be to try to find the owner. I had no idea how to do that. I thought about just putting it back where I'd found it. I actually started to bend down and place it back on the ground.

As I reached toward the spot where it had been, it beeped again. Just one short beep. I stood up checked and the display window. There was still nothing showing.

I figured I'd bring it with me and ask my folks what to do after they came home from work. So I put the beeper in my shirt pocket and walked the rest of the way to our apartment.

My friend Max was waiting for me on the front steps. "I thought you'd never get here."

"Look what I found." I showed him the beeper.

"Cool," Max said.

It beeped again. This time there was a number in the window. "Let's call it," I said. "Maybe we can find out who this belongs to."

We went inside and I dialed the number. After four rings, I heard the click of an answering machine. "I can't come to the phone right now," the voice said. "Please leave a message when you hear the tone."

I hesitated, not knowing what to say. Finally, I hung up without saying anything.

"Well?" Max asked.

I told him about the message. The beeper beeped again. I dialed the new number. It was another answering machine. This time, the message said, "Need a new roof? You've called the right place. Leave your number and we'll get back to you."

I hung up again. "This is weird," I told Max. "I think the number is supposed to be someone who's just called the beeper. Right? But nobody is home at these places."

Max shrugged. The beeper beeped. I looked at the number.
Why not
, I thought. I dialed again. No surprise -- another recording. "To leave a message for John, press one. To leave a message for Karen, press two."

I hung up. The beeper beeped. The next call told us, "Be back soon -- leave a message if you want."

"I think it's broken," I said. "It's probably just putting up any number."

"Yeah," Max said. "Maybe it got wet."

The beeper beeped. I dialed almost before I realized what I was doing. Sure enough, another message, "Buried under a ton of work? We can help you with secretaries and other office personnel. Leave your number and we'll get back to you."