Authors: Hillary Jordan
What little sanity Hannah retained she owed to Kayla, whose spirits were less wilted by the grim climate of the center. She joked about everything: the food, their clothing, their red skin, Bridget and especially the Henleys, whom she’d nicknamed Moral and Harpy. Kayla made up bawdy limericks about them, saving them up for when Hannah was feeling low and delivering them in an atrocious Irish accent:
There once was a reverend called Moral.
With his wife he had only one quarrel.
Though he’d nightly beseech her,
His pleas could not reach her;
This Harpy refused to go oral.
Hannah was unused to such obscenities, but once her initial discomfiture wore off, she found herself laughing every bit as hard as Kayla. Where the Henleys were concerned, the nastier the better.
But toward the end of Hannah’s first month at the center, Kayla’s mood darkened, and she turned restless and short-tempered. Hannah asked her several times what was the matter, but she wouldn’t say. Finally, she confessed that she hadn’t heard from her boyfriend in some time.
“The first month I was here, TJ sent me letters every few days. And now, nothing for two weeks. I’m worried something’s happened to him.”
“What did his last letter say?” Hannah asked.
“Just that he hadn’t found us an apartment yet, but he was looking hard.”
“I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon.”
But Kayla heard nothing, and she became more and more agitated. A week later, on a Monday, she took Hannah aside after breakfast.
“I’ve decided,” Kayla said. “If I haven’t heard from him by Friday, I’m leaving. This just isn’t like him. Something must be wrong.”
A wave of despair swelled and broke inside of Hannah. How could she endure it here, without a friend? “There could be other reasons he hasn’t written,” she said.
“Like what?”
Hating herself a little but unable to stop herself, Hannah said, “What if he’s just … changed his mind and doesn’t have the guts to tell you?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Kayla said, with an emphatic shake of her head. “If he hasn’t written, it’s because he can’t.”
“What if you’re wrong? Where will you go?”
“I’m not wrong,” Kayla said. But she no longer sounded quite so certain.
There was no letter from TJ that day or the next. Hannah’s anxiety, both for her friend and for herself, was acute, and she slept poorly both nights. Wednesday crawled by. Reverend Henley was the featured guest at enlightenment that day, and for three stultifying hours he led a “discussion” of God’s view of abortion, during which not even the enlightener could get a word in edgewise. By suppertime Hannah felt glazed with fatigue. She and Kayla were at different tables, but they managed to sit next to each other during chapel. Kayla was so fidgety, she earned a glare from Reverend Henley, and Hannah knew she was impatient to get back to the dormitory and see whether TJ had written. They walked there together in silence. There was no letter waiting on Kayla’s night-stand. Her shoulders drooped.
“There’s still one more day,” Hannah said.
“No.” Kayla’s head came up, and she jerked it in the direction of the hallway. Her mouth was a flat, determined line. Hannah followed her to the sewing room and closed the door behind them.
“I’m not waiting till Friday,” Kayla said. “First thing tomorrow, I’m going.” Hannah couldn’t speak; it felt like there was a stone lodged in her throat.
Kayla took Hannah’s hand. “Look, why don’t you come with me? We could help each other.”
Hannah considered it; in fact, she’d been mulling it over all week. But how would she live? And what would she tell her father? He’d be so disappointed in her for squandering this gift of a sanctuary, this chance at redemption. And her mother, what would she think? For the first time Hannah acknowledged the hope she’d held on to, that if she spent six months in this place—if she proved how truly penitent she was—she’d be forgiven, not just by God, but also by her mother. Slender as that hope was, she knew that if she left now, it would vanish.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand. You’re just having too much fun here.” Kayla’s smile was strained and her eyes anxious.
“You’ll find him.”
“What if I Don’t? I don’t think I can make it on my own.”
“You have to, or they win, remember?”
Kayla nodded, and Hannah gave her a quick, hard hug.
“Here, before I forget.” Kayla pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “This is my number.”
As Hannah took it, she thought of Billy Sikes and his hideous offer, and her eyes welled with tears. Who could have predicted, on that day six weeks ago, that she would have a real friend, someone who could look at her and see something besides a contemptible criminal?
“Don’t you start now, you’ll get me going too,” Kayla said. “You’ll have to memorize it before you leave or write it somewhere on yourself, because they won’t let you take anything with you. I want you to promise me you’ll call me as soon as you get out.”
“I will.” Hannah put the number in her pocket, and they hugged again, longer this time. The physical contact was almost unbearably sweet. Hannah’s parents had always been unsparing with hugs and kisses, and she and Becca had often crawled into one another’s beds for comfort. And then there’d been Aidan, whose touch had felt like a homecoming. How she missed it, missed all of them.
Kayla pulled away first. “You take care of yourself, hear? Don’t let this place get to you.”
The door opened suddenly, startling them, and Mrs. Henley stuck her head in. “Oh, here you are, Hannah,” she said, with unconvincing surprise. She fingered her cross, and Hannah suddenly apprehended that the walkers’ crosses must be transmitters. She wondered uneasily if they were also microphones and then decided not. If they were, she and Kayla would have been kicked out a long time ago.
“We just got a large donation of fabric,” Mrs. Henley said. “I’m moving you to sewing service beginning tomorrow. You’ll be making dresses for the center.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Reflection time is not for idle gossip,” Mrs. Henley said, with a reproving frown. “I’d suggest you both go and study your Bible.”
T
HAT NIGHT
H
ANNAH
dreamed of falling, lurching awake again and again. When she got up in the morning, groggy and late, Kayla was already gone, her bed left unmade in a last, small act of defiance. The sight of the empty bed suffused Hannah with despair. She washed up hurriedly, distracted. Her fingers were clumsy, and by the time she got her hair to stay up, she was the only one left in the bathroom. She arrived in the dining hall just as Mrs. Henley was finishing the prayer of thanksgiving. Wonderful. Now, not only would Hannah get no breakfast, but she’d also have to sit at the woman’s table.
“I have an announcement to make,” said Mrs. Henley, when Hannah was seated. “Walker Kayla willfully stepped off the path this morning, and Reverend Henley had to cast her out.”
The petty lie ignited a sudden, disproportionate fury in Hannah. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let the slur against her friend’s character stand. “That’s odd,” she said.
Mrs. Henley paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “And why is that?”
Hannah looked away, pretending to be chagrined. “Oh, I must be mistaken.”
“About what?”
Hannah answered with a small shake of her head.
“About what are you mistaken, Walker?”
“Well, it’s just, I could have sworn I heard Kayla say last night that she was
planning
on leaving this morning.”
The table went still. Hannah’s eyes swept around it, saw ten dumbfounded faces and one livid one. Mrs. Henley set her fork down.
“Are you questioning my word?”
Her words were like rocks dropped into water. Within seconds, the silence that rippled out from them had encompassed the entire dining hall.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” Hannah said, wide-eyed. “I know that you of all people would
never
say something that wasn’t true. Obviously I misheard Walker Kayla.”
“Obviously you did,” said Mrs. Henley. “If I were you, I’d listen with more care in the future. Spreading false rumors is a grave step off the path.”
Hannah bowed her head, hiding a small, satisfied smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
She went to the morning service hungry and exhausted. The sermon was even duller than usual, and she nodded off, waking to the thunderous voice of Reverend Henley.
“Hannah Payne! Wake up!” He scowled down at her from the pulpit, his face crimson with outrage. “On your knees, Walker!” She slid to the floor. “You have followed Satan’s way instead of God’s, just as Jezebel did when she cut off the prophets of the Lord. You have disrespected me, and you have disrespected and insulted God in His very own house. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
At some point, Hannah stopped listening to his ranting. She was thinking about shame, her constant companion since the abortion. What had carrying all that guilt and self-loathing accomplished? Nothing, except to sap her confidence and enfeeble her. And she couldn’t afford to be weak, not if she wanted to survive.
No more,
she resolved. She was done with shame.
She remained kneeling until Reverend Henley finally ran out of steam, concluded the service and made a huffy exit from the chapel. As the women began to file out, Mrs. Henley came over to her.
“I don’t know what to think, Hannah,” she said. “First the business at breakfast, and now here you are falling asleep during services. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Reverend Henley thinks this is your first step off the path, but you and I know better, don’t we?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
That’s it then. I’m out.
“I think we need to have another chat. Shall we say Saturday at three in my parlor?” Mrs. Henley’s eyes mined Hannah’s. Plucking, plucking. Dining on her fear.
Hannah made herself nod her head.
“Excellent!” Mrs. Henley said. “I’ll make us some lemon bars.”
W
HEN
H
ANNAH ENTERED
the enlightenment room a few minutes later, the stool was back in the center of the circle, and poor, mad Anne-Marie was sitting on it, fixated as usual on her doll. Today she was pretending to feed it, making airplane approach sounds as she swooped an imaginary spoon toward its mouth.
“That’s
my good boy!” she exclaimed after each bite.
The enlightener stood and joined her in the center. “This is Walker Cafferty’s last day among us,” he announced. “Today she’ll be leaving and going out into the world.”
Hannah couldn’t help but feel relief. Looking around the room at the other women’s faces, she could tell she wasn’t the only one.
“Anne-Marie Cafferty,” the enlightener said, “for six months you have walked the path of penitence, atonement, truth and humility. You have been enlightened as to the evil of the sin you committed, and you have repented. Walkers, let us now pray in silence for this woman, that she may continue on the path and one day find salvation.”
Hannah hadn’t prayed in days, but she did so now:
Please God, if You’re there, if You’re listening, look out for her.
“Mmm! Yummy carrots!” Anne-Marie said. “Just one more bite and Mama will give you some applesauce.”
“Like all walkers,” the enlightener said to Anne-Marie, “you must leave this place the same way you came in, with nothing but yourself.” Hannah’s head jerked up, in time to see Anne-Mari’s hand pause in mid-swoop.
The enlightener extended his hand. “Give me the doll.”
She ignored him, putting it facedown against her shoulder. “Burp for Mama now.”
“Give me the doll, Walker,” he repeated.
Anne-Marie’s face puckered. “No,” she said. “No, no, no. You’re scaring the baby. Don’t cry, sweetheart, Mama’s here, and she’s not going to let anything happen to you.”
The enlightener took hold of the doll’s arm and pulled. Anne-Marie’s expression turned feral. Wresting it away from him, she leapt up from her chair and ran for the door. He headed her off, grabbing the doll again. She fought him like a wild thing, pulling in the opposite direction.
“Nooooo!” she screamed. “You can’t have him!”
There was a tearing sound, and the doll’s legs came off in the enlightene’s hand. White wads of stuffing hung from the leg holes. Anne-Marie stared at it in horror, then crumpled to the floor and began to keen—strangled, guttural cries like the mewling of a dying animal. They were the most terrible sounds Hannah had ever heard. Helplessly, she started to cry. They were all crying now, all except the enlightener, who was looking down, grimly triumphant, at Anne-Marie.
He pointed an accusing finger at her. His eyes swept around the circle.
“That
is how God feels when you abort one of His beloved children.”
Graphic, murderous fantasies such as Hannah had never had in her life rioted in her head. She pictured him being tortured, dismembered like Anne-Marie’s doll by a frenzied mob of female Chromes; drowning in a giant vat of formaldehyde; being burned alive, crucified, stabbed, shot. Suddenly she was on her feet.
“What kind of monster are you, to treat her like that?” she cried. “Do you honestly think God would approve of what you just did, do you think He’s up in Heaven right now saying ‘Good job, way to torture that poor woman’?”
His long legs carried him across the room so swiftly Hannah didn’t even have time to flinch. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and shook her so hard her head snapped back. “Brazen harlot! How dare you speak to me that way?”
She looked into his eyes. “I hope you burn in your own idea of hell, you sick, sadistic son of a bitch.”
The back of his hand crashed into the side of her face, knocking her to the floor. Someone screamed. The room spun crazily. The enlightener was roaring at her, but it was just noise. What Hannah heard most distinctly was the loud, stubborn thumping of her own heart. It reminded her that she was alive, that she was herself. She got to all fours and rested there until the room steadied a little, then lurched to her feet and out the door.