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.