“I have to take these off,” I said to Nicole. “They’re men’s garments.”
“No, they’re not,” she said. “Those are girls’ jeans. They’re cut differently, and look at the little silver Cupids. Definitely girls’.”
“They’d never believe that in Gilead,” I said. “I’d be flogged or worse.”
“Gilead,” said Nicole, “is not where we’re going. We’ve got two minutes to join our buddy outside. So suck it up.”
“Pardon?” Sometimes I could not make out what my sister was saying.
She laughed a little. “It means ‘be brave,’ ” she said.
We are going to a place where she will understand the language, I thought. And I will not.
—
The man had a battered pickup. The three of us squashed into the front seat. It was beginning to drizzle.
“Thank you for all you are doing for us,” I said. The man grunted.
“I get paid,” he said. “For putting my neck in the noose. I’m too old for this.”
The driver must have been drinking while we were changing our clothes: I could smell the alcohol. I remembered that smell from the dinner parties Commander Kyle would have when I was young. Rosa and Vera used to finish up what was left in the glasses sometimes. Zilla, not as much.
Now that I was about to leave Gilead forever, I was feeling homesick for Zilla and Rosa and Vera, and for my former home, and for Tabitha. In those early times I was not motherless, but now I felt that I was. Aunt Lydia had been a mother of sorts, although a harsh one, and I would not see her again. Aunt Lydia had told Nicole and me that our real mother was alive and waiting for us in Canada, but I wondered if I would die on the way there. If so, I would never meet her at all in this life. Right then she was only a torn-up picture. She was an absence, a gap inside me.
Despite the alcohol, the man drove well and quickly. The road was winding, and slick because of the drizzle. The miles went by; the moon had risen above the clouds, silvering the black outlines of the treetops. There was the occasional house, either dark or with only a few lights on. I made a conscious effort to quell my anxieties; then I fell asleep.
I dreamed of Becka. She was there beside me in the front of the truck. I couldn’t see her, though I knew she was there. I said to her in the dream, “So you came with us after all. I’m so happy.” But she didn’t answer.
Transcript of Witness Testimony 369B
The night slid by in silence. Agnes was asleep, and the guy driving was not what you’d call talkative. I guess he thought of us as cargo to be delivered, and who ever talked to the cargo?
After a while we turned down a narrow side road; water glinted ahead. We pulled in beside what looked like a private dock. There was a motorboat with someone sitting in it.
“Wake her up,” the driver said. “Take your stuff, there’s your boat.”
I poked Agnes in the ribs and she started awake.
“Rise and shine,” I said.
“What time is it?”
“Boat time. Let’s go.”
“Have a good trip,” said our driver. Agnes started thanking him some more, but he cut her off. He tossed our new backpacks out of the truck and was gone before we were halfway to the boat. I was using my flashlight so we could see the path.
“Turn out the light,” the person in the boat called softly. It was a man, wearing a waterproof with the hood up, but the voice sounded young. “You can see okay. Take it slow. Sit on the middle seat.”
“Is this the ocean?” Agnes asked.
He laughed. “Not yet,” he said. “This is the Penobscot River. You’ll get to the ocean soon enough.”
The motor was electric and very quiet. The boat went right down the middle of the river; there was a crescent moon, and the water was reflecting it.
“Look,” Agnes whispered. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful! It’s like a trail of light!” At that moment I felt older than her. We were almost outside Gilead now, and the rules were changing. She was going to a new place where she wouldn’t know how things were done, but I was going home.
“We’re right out in the open. What if anyone sees us?” I asked the man. “What if they tell them? The Eyes?”
“People around here don’t talk to the Eyes,” he said. “We don’t like snoops.”
“Are you a smuggler?” I said, remembering what Ada had told me. My sister nudged me: bad manners again. You avoided blunt questions in Gilead.
He laughed. “Borders—lines on a map. Things move across, people too. I’m just the delivery boy.”
The river got wider and wider. The mist was rising; the shores were vague.
“There she is,” the man said finally. I could see a darker shadow, out on the water. “The Nellie J. Banks . Your ticket to paradise.”
XXIII
Wall

The Ardua Hall Holograph
Aunt Vidala was discovered lying behind my statue in a comatose condition by elderly Aunt Clover and two of her septuagenarian gardeners. The conclusion the paramedics came to was that she’d had a stroke, a diagnosis confirmed by our doctors. Rumour sped round Ardua Hall, sad shakes of the head were exchanged, and prayers for Aunt Vidala’s recovery were promised. A broken Pearl Girls necklace was found in the vicinity: someone must have lost it at some point, a wasteful oversight. I will issue a memorandum about vigilance in regard to those material objects it is our duty to safeguard. Pearls do not grow on trees, I will say, even artificial ones; nor should they be cast before swine. Not that there are any swine at Ardua Hall, I will add coyly.
I paid Aunt Vidala a visit in the Intensive Care Unit. She was lying on her back with her eyes closed and a tube going into her nose and another one going into her arm. “How is our dear Aunt Vidala?” I asked the nursing Aunt on duty.
“I have been praying for her,” said Aunt Something. I can never remember the names of the nurses: it is their fate. “She’s in a coma: that may aid the healing process. There may be some paralysis. They’re afraid her speech might be affected.”
“If she recovers,” I said.
“When she recovers,” the nurse said reproachfully. “We don’t like to voice anything negative within the hearing of our patients. They may appear to be asleep, but frequently they are fully aware.”
I sat beside Vidala until the nurse had gone. Then I made a rapid inspection of the pharmaceutical aids available. Should I up the anaesthetic? Tamper with the tube feeding into her arm? Pinch off her oxygen supply? I did none of these. I believe in effort, but not in unnecessary effort: Aunt Vidala was most likely negotiating her exit from this world all on her own. Before leaving the Intensive Care Unit, I pocketed a small vial of morphine, foresight being a cardinal virtue.
—
While we were taking our lunchtime places in the Refectory, Aunt Helena commented on the absence of Aunt Victoria and Aunt Immortelle. “I believe they are fasting,” I said. “I glimpsed them in the Hildegard Library Reading Room yesterday, studying their Bibles. They are hoping for guidance during their upcoming mission.”
“Commendable,” said Aunt Helena. She continued her discreet head-counting. “Where is our new convert, Jade?”
“Perhaps she is ill,” I said. “A female complaint.”
“I will go and see,” said Aunt Helena. “Perhaps she needs a hot water bottle. Doorway C, is it?”
“How kind of you,” I said. “Yes. I believe hers is the garret room on the third floor.” I hoped Nicole had left her elopement note in a prominent location.
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