Sophie Littlefield - Aftertime

“I’m-um, you can call me Cass.” It was happening again, as it had at the communal bath at the school-the kindness of other women, the offer of friendship. But Cass didn’t have the energy to engage.

“Don’t mind Monica,” Adele said. “She’s got a good heart, she’s just not used to following directions.”

“I’m spoiled,” Monica shrugged. “Only child, what can I say?”

“Monica’s going to do great things here, if she doesn’t get herself thrown out first,” Adele said firmly.

“Adele’s the only one who hasn’t given up on me yet,” Monica said. “I guess I’m the problem child around here.”

“You just need to apply yourself a little,” Adele said, and Cass saw a woman who needed a child to mother-a woman who once had children of her own to dote on, and was lost without them.

“Are there children here? Babies, little kids?”

She had to know. Just had to know if Ruthie had made it safely. She had failed her little girl, but Bobby had saved her, Elaine had nursed her, and someone else had brought her here. Cass had failed, but Ruthie had survived so much already. If she was being raised here, in the Order, that would be all right. As long as they were keeping her safe.

There was a pause, Adele’s face draining of life and looking, suddenly, much older. When she spoke, her voice was soft and shredded as a tissue that had gone through the wash.

“The innocents have their own quarters. We don’t see them much, after the baptisms.”

“I’ve never seen any since I got here,” Monica said, licking the back of a spoon. “And that’s fine with me because I think it would freak me out. They don’t let them talk. Can you imagine? My nieces and nephews never stopped talking.”

“That’s just for the ceremony,” Adele murmured, but the energy had gone out of her words. “It’s all symbolic, the way they prepare them. It’s to make them all uniform so they’re like blank slates, ready to accept the doctrine. Monica…I’m sure they let them just be kids, when they’re in their own quarters.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Monica shrugged. “I’m just saying, it’s pretty freaky that they-”

“You don’t know, ” Adele snapped. “And it’s best not to speculate. It’s not your place.”

Despite her sharp tone, Cass saw tears welling in her eyes. There was a silence, as Monica ducked her chin in regret. “I’m sorry, Adele,” she said softly, covering the older woman’s hand with hers.

Adele sighed and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “It’s all right, sugar. But you don’t need to worry about it. The children are being cared for so the rest of us can focus on our own spiritual growth. I mean, really, it’s better, it’s easier this way. Without the distractions.”

Cass knew when someone was lying to herself-that was a skill every recovering addict had in spades-and Adele was working hard to believe she didn’t want to be around children. Monica was part of that work, allowing Adele to mother someone while pretending she was indifferent to the youngest members of the Order.

Cass could do that, too. She could convince herself she didn’t need to see Ruthie, to hold her, if only she knew that she was being cared for. Cass didn’t deserve any more, not after she’d been so careless. She just needed to know her baby was safe.

“So this isn’t too bad, right?” Adele asked, clearing her throat and forcing a smile. “I mean, for Aftertime.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cass said, though she’d barely touched her food, a stir-fry of kaysev leaves with a few grains of barley and herbs and bits of jackrabbit meat. “I’m just…I’m not that hungry. I guess all the excitement, and all-”

Monica rolled her eyes. “I know, more excitement than a person can stand. Deacon Lily gave you the grand tour, right? Only I bet they didn’t show you any of the stuff they don’t want you to see.”

“Monica,” Adele scolded her. “You’ve got to stop being so disrespectful. You’re going to get us all in trouble again.”

Monica managed an apologetic smile, showing a tiny gap between her front teeth. “I’m sorry, Adele. I really am. Only I don’t understand why no one ever stands up to them.”

“It’s not everyone, ” Adele said, shaking her head in exasperation. “Honey, you need to understand that every organization has its bad apples. But you still have to show some respect.”

“Cass, it was so ridiculous. No one has a sense of humor around here.”

“What happened?”

“I forgot how this one prayer ended and I kind of made up my own verse in chapel. Mother Cora was not amused, and my ladies here all had to attend extra prayers because of me.” Monica inclined her head toward the women at the other end of the table. “They’re still kind of mad. That’s why we’re all alone at the bad girl end of the table.”

“Well, honey, we missed tea,” Adele said, patting her arm. “Can’t get between the ladies and an afternoon snack, even if it is dandelion tea and rabbit salad sandwiches.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“You need to take it more seriously,” a woman two seats down said. Cass hadn’t realized she’d been listening. “Next time it’s gonna be a reckoning. You’ve already had what, like three warnings?”

“Two,” Monica mumbled.

“Okay, two,” the woman said. “Third one’s a reckoning.”

“What’s a reckoning?” Cass asked.

“Don’t listen to them,” Monica protested. “All I ever do is say what everyone is already thinking. There’s no way they’d call a reckoning without more to pin on me than that.”

“But what’s-”

“Hush,” the woman down the table hissed, as a deacon in deep lavender walked slowly past their table. Conversation died down until she was safely out of hearing range.

“Damn spy,” Monica muttered. “Like to see where that’s in the Bible. Especially when they’re up there preaching faith, it would be nice if they had a little faith in-”

This time it was a different woman who interrupted. “Come on, Monica, can we please get through one single meal without you getting us in trouble?”

“Why’re you even here if you’re not a believer?” another added. All the other neophytes were turned toward them now.

“I am a believer,” Monica protested hotly. “I’d put my faith up against anyone else’s any day. I just don’t believe in this crazy shit that masquerades as, as real faith.”

But she kept quiet until the meal was finished and servers had cleared the dishes. Cass answered Adele’s questions with a mixture of the truth-her job at the QikGo, her love of plants and landscaping-and lies and omissions. Lily had been right-the food helped, and by the time they filed out of the darkened stadium, their way lit only by the stars and the strings of tiny lights, her head had cleared, and the terrifying memories had receded back into the recesses of her mind.

BUT IN THE MORNING SHE AWOKE FROM THE dream of Ruthie again. Ruthie pressed beneath her, the snuffling wailing of the Beaters coming closer, her own screams ringing in her ears-she jerked awake in a twist of sheets sour with her own sweat, salt riming her eyelashes so that she knew she’d cried in her sleep.

For a moment she didn’t remember where she was. The light in the neophyte dorm was ashy, filtered through burlap tacked along the top of the enclosure, which had been constructed from a length of the stadium’s concrete corridor.

Only the neophytes were kept locked in. Lily, who had escorted her to the dorm after dinner, explained that once they became acolytes they would join the others, groups of women sharing quarters created from what had been restaurants and club rooms and offices and even-for the ordained-the skyboxes. They would be allowed to keep clothes and personal possessions-books, keepsakes, toiletries-in their rooms. But for now everything was common property.