It was either the answer to a prayer Liesel had been very bad at making, or it was a punishment for asking in the first place.
Chapter 4
E
verything was going to be okay. That’s what Liesel had told her over and over, but Sunny didn’t believe it, not for a second. Nothing would ever be okay again. How could it be?
Happy and Peace were sleeping, both of them curled up tight like kittens on the huge bed that was way too soft. Sitting on it was like sinking into…what, Sunny didn’t know, just that compared to hers in Sanctuary this bed squished too much. Bliss was snuggled against Sunny, still sucking every once in a while though she’d fallen asleep a while ago. Sunny didn’t have the heart to take her off the breast. She sat in a rocker in the corner with a thick knitted blanket over both of them, but her feet stuck out. Her toes were cold. She didn’t want to squirm around to tuck them beneath her in case she woke the baby, but the soft pajama pants Liesel had given her weren’t long enough to tuck around her feet the way her nightgown had been. The material clung to her legs, between them, pressing against her bare flesh. It made her too aware of herself, just the way Papa had always said it would, which was why women in the family never wore pants.
The kids slept restlessly but hard. Exhausted. Sunny was tired, too, but couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this had been a dream. She’d close her eyes and wake to flashing lights and the constant mumble of John Second’s voice over the speakers. Or Papa’s. Why hadn’t John Second been the one talking? Why had he used Papa’s recorded voice to bring them all to the chapel?
Before Papa had died but after he’d gotten sick, he’d often used the recording instead of his own voice. It had been easy to tell the difference because the voice over the speakers calling them to the chapel for the drills was strong and vibrant, full of confidence and authority. The voice of the man who greeted them from his wheelchair when they got there was whisper-thin, raspy and shattered by coughs.
Tears burned behind her lids; she closed her eyes tight to keep them from slipping out. No crying, even without anyone to see and make a report. Crying was weakness and would blemish her vessel from the inside. Bliss protested with a small squeak when Sunny’s arms tightened around her, and Sunny relaxed her grip so as not to wake her daughter.
What now? What could the four of them do here in this house with a man she’d never known as her father, and his wife, who stared at Sunny’s children with eyes so hungry it was like she wanted to gobble them up. What could Sunny do anywhere? She had just a little money, no clothes except what they’d been wearing and the few items her mom had packed for them. Worse than that, it had been years since she’d been beyond the fences of Sanctuary.
At fourteen she’d been assigned to go outside and sell literature. She’d been awful at picking out potential seekers from the crowds. Even worse at asking people for money in exchange for the pamphlets that encouraged them to adopt Papa’s teachings. She’d been punished many times for not meeting her quota. The punishments had been worth being released from having to sell. She didn’t really like being on the outside, where women dressed so immodestly and everyone stared at her. There was temptation at every turn. She’d always much preferred staying in Sanctuary, taking care of the children or cleaning. Anything was better than standing on street corners or lingering in shopping malls, trying to entice people not only to take the pamphlets, but also to actually pay a dollar for them. Sunny had come home too many times with nothing but crumpled pamphlets that had been shoved back into her fists by people who laughed or sneered at her when she asked them to pay for what they’d taken out of pity, never real interest.
Once, she’d tossed all the pamphlets in the garbage and lied, saying she’d given them all away but that nobody had paid. She’d been put in the silent room for that. John Second himself had come to stand over her, watching as she ate from a dog bowl. He’d been the one to explain to her how important it was that the world have the chance to learn about Papa’s message—but also how important it was that they pay for the privilege.
“People cherish what they pay for, Sunshine,” John Second had told her. “It’s only a dollar to them and to us, but believe me, when they pay for something, they take better care of it. No matter how little it is. And where do you think we get the money to pay for the food you and your mother eat? You don’t want your mother to starve, do you? Tell me now that you understand how important it is for people to pay for the pamphlets, and that you’ll work harder next time, so we never have to have this conversation again.”
Since John Second had never been required to canvas the streets or solicit, and since he’d never watched people with pity in their eyes give her a dollar or sometimes even more, then immediately toss the pamphlet in the trash without even glancing at it, Sunny thought he didn’t know what he was talking about.
But still, she’d been the one hoping for a bucket so she didn’t wet herself, and he’d been the one handing it to her.
John Second played at being kind, but even though his mouth smiled his eyes hardly ever did. When Papa had meted out punishments, it was always with a sad smile because he said disciplining his children hurt him as much as it did them, and that he did it out of love. So that they’d be prepared when the time came to leave their vessels and go through the gates. He didn’t want anyone left behind.
Except that Papa himself would be left behind. Somehow, his children had failed him. They hadn’t meditated enough, hadn’t been good enough to the earth, had let temptation lead them astray. Had not listened hard enough with their hearts. Something, anyway, because instead of leaving his vessel voluntarily when the time came for all of them to leave, Papa had simply died, leaving his two true sons to hold the family together.
Except they hadn’t. They’d fought. They’d broken it apart.
There’d been loud voices, shouting, she remembered that. Some of the family had left to go with Josiah when John Second threw him out. She remembered that, too. How John Second had shouted, told them all they’d suffer when the time came to leave and they had to stay behind with all the blemished. There’d been days and days of lockdown, being forced to sit in the dark while she tried to keep her children from crying too loudly so they wouldn’t attract John Second’s attention.
Of course her mother had stayed behind. John Second had been the man to take her from being blemished to a daughter of the family. Sunny’s mom had liked to say that before she met John Second, she’d wasted her life trying to get things, and when she found him she’d been given everything.
When Josiah had come around to everyone asking and even then begging them all to reconsider, to come along with him to the outside world, he’d lingered extra long with Sunny’s mother. But she hadn’t gone along, and so neither had Sunny and her children. Josiah had taken fewer than half the family with him, and John Second had declared that anyone who spoke of Josiah would be punished more severely than a switching or going without food or being sent to the silent room.
Nobody had dared find out what punishment could be worse than the ones they already had, and so nobody spoke of Josiah at all. It was as if he’d never existed, not even in the texts that told the story of how Papa and his one true wife had come to form the family. John Second had taken them all away and burned them, replaced them with new versions of the texts the way he’d replaced Papa.
But Sunny’s mother had kept one of the original books. She’d never said why. If John Second had discovered it, certainly he’d have punished her even worse than anyone else. Sunny had found it once while putting away laundry and shown it to her mother, thinking it had been a mistake.
“It’s not good to forget things just because we don’t like the way they were,” her mother had said. “You can make a report on me if you feel you must, I won’t blame you. But I kept that book because it’s important, for me anyway, to remember that things change and not always for the better.”
Her mother had been talking about the man she loved, Sunny thought as she sat and rocked with Bliss. In the bed across from her, her two other children still slept. They wouldn’t be woken tonight by flashing lights, alarms, John Second’s or even Papa’s voice.
At least for tonight, there was that.
Chapter 5
L
iesel woke with a start to find a small face peering into hers. Instinctively, she batted at the blankets weighting her and cried out. The little girl who’d been looking at her so intently stumbled back and began to cry.
“Oh…honey…Peace,” Liesel said. That was the little girl’s name. Everything came flooding back to her, and she managed to sit up in the bed while her head still whirled. “Shh, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She’d slept too deeply, hadn’t noticed Christopher getting up. Usually Liesel was up before Christopher, even on the weekends because she liked to get up and run, and he preferred to stay in bed. Caught between the sobbing child and her husband’s strangely empty side of the bed, Liesel twisted until she’d made a mess of the sheets.
“Peace,” she repeated, unsure what to say or do. “Hush.”
Amazingly, the little girl did. Her eyes were still bright with tears welling up and sliding over those perfect, plump cheeks, but her small mouth closed up tight. She blinked rapidly.
Liesel swung her legs over the side of the bed and held out a gentle, careful hand. She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even seven o’clock in the morning. Where was Christopher?
“Where’s your mommy?”
“Sleeping.” The word came out with an adorable lack of anything resembling an
L,
closer to something you’d do with a broom than in a bed.
Liesel smiled. “She probably really needed it. And your brother? Is he sleeping, too?”
Peace nodded, then whispered, “I hungry.”
Liesel’s fingers inched closer to the toddler’s. She thought Peace must be about two, no older than two and a half. Liesel was pretty impressed such a little girl would leave the safety of her mother’s side to trek around through an unfamiliar house to find a stranger. She must really be starving.
Small, warm fingers linked with Liesel’s, and she was even more impressed. And touched. To be trusted by a child had always seemed such an honor to her. She grinned.
“C’mon. Let’s see if we can find you something to eat, okay?” And find Christopher while they were at it.
Peace nodded. To Liesel’s surprise, she held up her arms to be lifted. Liesel did, hefting the child’s weight onto her hip. She was so tiny, almost frail. Not much like Becka’s daughter, Annabelle, who’d come into the world like a can of solid-pack pumpkin and hadn’t changed much since. Sturdy legs, sturdy bum and belly. Lifting Peace, by contrast, was like lifting air.
The faint odor of urine drifted up, but the tiny bottom beneath the long nightgown wasn’t squishy with an overflowing diaper. As she headed down the hall toward the stairs, Liesel flipped up the nightgown’s edge to check. Bare skin beneath.
“Peace, do you need a diaper?”
The little girl simply stared.
Liesel paused in the guest-room doorway. The door was ajar, but it also creaked like most of the others in this house. She could see just inside to the bed, where a huddled lump and shock of blond hair showed her Happy was still asleep, at least. From this angle she couldn’t quite see if Sunny was still in bed, but since the only sounds in the room were the soft, in-and-out sighs of breathing, she figured the girl probably still was. Which meant that unless she wanted to wake them, no diaper.
Ah, well. She’d have to make do. In the kitchen, she settled Peace on one of the bar stools at the counter and poured her a plastic cup of milk. “What kind of cereal do you like?”
Peace stared, then pulled the cup closer to her. She sipped it cautiously, then drank back a gulp that had her sputtering. Liesel grabbed a clean dish towel and wiped Peace’s face, then tucked it around the little girl’s neck as a bib. Peace ignored the entire process while she concentrated on drinking the milk as fast as she could.
“I have Froot Loops and Cap’n Crunch,” Liesel said as she looked in the pantry. “Those are Christopher’s cereals. Christopher, your…”
Grandpa? Pappy? Pop-Pop? What on earth were these kids going to call him? At just past forty, Liesel’s husband wasn’t old enough to be a grandfather. She sagged against the wire shelves in the pantry for a second. Yesterday had been like some sort of TV-movie drama, the sort she watched on the rare days she stayed home sick. Today it hit her even harder.
Liesel drew in a shuddering breath and looked over her shoulder. Peace was still busy with the milk. Some of it had spilled. Liesel pulled the plastic container of Froot Loops from its place on the shelf and poured some into a bowl. She added milk, found a spoon. She pushed the bowl in front of the little girl.
“Here, honey. Try that.”
Annabelle would’ve dived into that bowl like a starving wildebeest, but Peace first pressed her hands together and bent her head. She waited a second or two, then looked at Liesel with a question clear in those bright blue eyes, so much like Christopher’s that Liesel was too distracted to realize Peace was waiting for something from her.
“Bwessing?”
It took Liesel a second to interpret. “Oh. Blessing… You want to pray?”
Peace nodded, solemn.
Liesel’s parents were nonpracticing Jews who made much of their cultural heritage but hadn’t done much beyond the bagels and lox. Christopher’s family were Christians of various Protestant varieties, with a few far-flung Mennonites in the mix. She and Christopher didn’t put up a tree or light a menorah, but they exchanged gifts on Christmas Day, and if they weren’t traveling to New Jersey to spend the holiday with his mother and sister, Liesel usually made a turkey.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said a blessing over anything, or even if she ever had.
“Um…” Liesel’s teeth caught her lower lip, and she forced herself to keep from giving in to the bad habit of biting it. “God is great, God is good, let us thank him for this food?”
Peace’s brow furrowed. Her tiny rosebud mouth pursed. “That not what we say.”
Liesel didn’t mean to laugh at the little girl’s disdain, but a chuckle slipped out. “Okay. Why don’t you tell me what you usually say?”
Peace sighed, very put out. “Fank you for de winds dat blow, fank you for de seeds dat grow, fank you for de earth to plow, fank you for de love you show.”
Then, using the daintiest of touches to pinch one neon-colored circle between her thumb and forefinger, Peace lifted it from the bowl, smelled it, let her tongue come out to taste it. She looked up at Liesel with wide eyes, then put it in her mouth as cautious as she’d been with the milk. Happy had done something similar the night before, been so careful with the chocolate milk before he drank. Apparently, the food suited, because Peace lifted the spoon and started eating.
“Careful, honey.” It was useless to tell a little kid not to spill, Liesel knew that much. As soon as you said it, that’s just what they did.
Peace ate with the spoon as daintily as she’d done with her fingers. Liesel leaned with her elbows on the island to watch her. The perusal didn’t seem to bother Peace at all. She hummed under her breath as she ate and ignored Liesel.
The girl had the same downy blond hair as her brother and several shades lighter than their mother’s, though her tangled mess of curls wasn’t quite as long. Soft, though, under Liesel’s palm when she stroked it. So soft.
Liesel hadn’t ever imagined she’d be the sort of woman to get the baby bug. In fact, when Becka had started “breeding”—her term for it, not Liesel’s—Liesel had been a little appalled at how easily her best and oldest friend slipped into the role of mother. They’d become wives around the same time and that change hadn’t made much of a difference in their friendship, but that first baby had come between them in a big way.
Dexter had been a cranky kid, now grown to a cranky teen, who took after his dad in looks. Becka had been smitten at once, talking endlessly about the color of poo and sleep training and dozens of other things Liesel hadn’t given a damn about, but pretended to because she loved her friend. There’d been times in their friendship when one or the other of them had fallen hard for a guy who’d stolen most of their attention, but this was way worse than that. Liesel had never felt she needed to compete with a boyfriend, because no matter what happened it had always been sisters before misters.
There’d been no competing with Dexter.
So, sort of like the time Liesel had taken up with the teammate of a minor-league baseball player Becka was dating, not because she was into sports or even the guy, but because it meant more time with her friend, Liesel took up…babies.
She grew to appreciate, and in fact, love, the sweet smell of a baby’s head. The weight of an infant sleeping bonelessly in her arms. The sheer joy of being the one to elicit a tiny baby giggle.
As Becka kept breeding, Liesel’s baby envy grew. By the time Annabelle was born, Liesel had decided she was ready to become a mother herself. Maybe not to four kids, that was a little too much, but at least two. Two sweet and perfect children with Christopher’s eyes and her hair. His sense of humor and her creative streak.
Only it hadn’t happened. She’d gone off the Pill, taken her prenatal vitamins, kept track of her ovulation. Nothing. They’d been at a baby impasse for a few years, and now…
This.
Peace finished the cereal and now tipped the bowl to her mouth to slurp at the milk. “More?”
“More? Really?” It had been a pretty big bowl for such a little girl, but who knew what she’d been used to eating? Liesel poured another half bowl of cereal and added milk.
Peace didn’t go through the ritual of the blessing or smelling and tasting the food before she ate it. This time, she dug right in. She crunched happily, still tunelessly humming and kicking her bare toes against the island.
“Honey, I’m just going to go look for Christopher. Are you okay here?”
Peace crunched away, not looking bothered at all at being left alone. Liesel hesitated, but it wasn’t as though Peace was an infant. Besides, she wasn’t going to go far. Even if the little girl fell off the stool, Liesel would be close enough to get to her in half a minute.
“Okay,” Liesel said. “I’ll be right back.”
She found her husband where she’d expected to, feet up and reclining in the battered easy chair that had been his dad’s. All the other furniture they’d had before they got married had been replaced over the years, but Christopher refused to let go of this chair.
Liesel understood the sentiment. She held on to things, too. Ticket stubs, postcards, matchbooks. It wasn’t that she hated the chair, even though it
was
the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. What boggled her mind was how he could fall asleep in that dilapidated, uncomfortable relic while watching television, which was what he did a couple times a week. Usually she woke him before she went upstairs, and sometimes she stumbled down to the den with bleary eyes to shake him awake enough to spend the rest of a too-short night in bed, but last night he must’ve gotten out of bed after she fell asleep and come down here.
She found him with his eyes closed and mouth open, the TV tuned to some sports station showing something obscure, like curling. In the early-morning light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows they’d paid extra to put in, his face looked slack and disturbingly old. His hair was shaggier than he usually wore it, and Liesel caught a glimpse of silver in the blond. Liesel had never met Christopher’s father, who’d died young, just fifty, of a heart attack brought on by too many cigarettes and cheeseburgers. She’d seen pictures though, and her husband looked a lot like his dad.
For an instant, she froze. Fifty used to seem so old, but Christopher was only ten years away from that. Fewer years than they’d been married. He took care of himself better than his dad ever had. Didn’t smoke, worked out regularly, and aside from his addiction to cheese curls, didn’t indulge in fast food. There was no reason for Liesel to think she’d end up a young widow, but all at once it was all she could do to stop herself from running across the room and shaking him awake just to make sure he was still alive.
“Christopher,” she said in a low voice instead of shouting it the way she’d felt the sudden impulse to.
He startled awake in a way that would’ve been comical if this were a normal day. The recliner rocked as he flailed. Then he scrubbed at his face, letting out a sigh, and leaned forward to put his feet flat on the floor.
“Jesus,” he said. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost eight.”
“In the morning?” He looked disgusted and added a garbled sound of distaste as he stretched and winced.
His question didn’t require an answer other than “duh,” so she kept quiet. Christopher looked up at her, then past her. He sighed.
“Where are they?”
“Peace is in the kitchen. She woke me up a little while ago. She was hungry, so I’m giving her some breakfast. I guess Sunshine and Happy are still sleeping, the baby, too.”
Christopher sighed again and got up, his back snap, crackle, popping as he twisted it. His neck the same way. He had a monthly appointment with their chiropractor, courtesy of that recliner.
He blinked and used the heel of one hand to press against his eyes. “I need a shower.”
“Christopher,” Liesel said quietly and stopped, not sure of what she meant to say, just knowing there were a lot of words waiting to be spoken and not all of them nice.