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.