Laura Bickle - The Hallowed Ones

My voice echoed in my ears, full of tears and rage. It felt useless, against the black wall of the Elders. But at least I had spoken the truth.

The Bishop looked from Alex to me, nodded to the Elder holding the rifle. “Take them both Outside.”

“No.” My father stood between him and me. This was the first note of defiance I’d ever seen in him. “My daughter is a victim.”

“Your daughter has let an Outsider inside. He is likely the one to blame for all the other—”

“No!” I shouted. “He didn’t do it. It was the vampires. Ask the Hexenmeister.”

My mother flinched. The Bishop cast a murderous gaze on me. “She goes with him. She is now under the Bann. ”

“She may be too trusting,” my father said. “She’s been abused, and we will take care of her.”

“She is still under the Bann. ”

“You cannot do that,” my father protested. “You can throw the Outsider beyond the gate. He is not one of us. But you cannot place an unbaptized person under the Bann. ”

The Bishop’s pale eyes narrowed.

“You cannot,” my father said, his voice shaking in anger. I saw in that moment how truly strong he was. “It’s against the Ordnung. She has not formally accepted the church. If you place her under the Bann, you must place every child in this settlement with a pair of blue jeans in his closet or a radio in her dresser under the Bann. The Ordnung cannot be suspended in times of crisis. The Ordnung is law, and we will continue to follow it.”

A heavy silence hung over the yard. I’d never seen anyone challenge the Elders, argue with them on a point of law. My father was correct. He’d called the Bishop out on his selective interpretation of the Ordnung.

But what remained to be seen was whether or not the Bishop would acquiesce. Whether he would try to save face or fight.

After a long moment, the Bishop grudgingly nodded in my direction. “Get her under control. We will decide about her later.”

Another Elder entered the yard leading the white horse on a bridle.

My heart sank to see the horse captured. They must have found him at Herr Stoltz’s house with the black mare. And they must have known that he did not belong to any of us. Or else Herr Stoltz had been forced to tell them.

The Bishop nodded at the horse. “Tie the Englisher to the horse. Turn them loose beyond the gate.”

“No!” I shouted, remembering the single bloody boot I’d found in the horse’s saddle. “That’s certain death. The vampires will devour him. You’re a murderer, just the same as if you shot him the day you found him!”

My mother clapped her hand over my mouth. Elijah grabbed my wrists, and they began to pull me back into my house.

I kicked and fought against them, biting my mother on the hand. I saw the Elders turn and march Alex away before the door slammed and cut me off from the world.

My mother dragged me down to the spring room. She cried when she saw the blood on the inside of my thigh, scrubbed me so hard that I ached. I would not look at her. No matter how hard she tried to wash the sin away, I was a defiled woman. Her hopes for me, the future that she wanted so desperately for her child, was ruined.

She watched me dress. As she did so, I heard another crying jag begin. I stole that moment to steal the Himmelsbrief away from my dirty dress and hide it in the pocket of my clean apron. I waited expectantly for her to wash her face, blow her nose, and send me upstairs to my room. When I got up there, Ginger was still sitting upright in her nightgown, staring at the wall. I noticed that the beds had been stripped and Sarah’s things had been taken from the room. Only a Bible and a copy of the Ausbund lay on my naked bed.

As soon as the door shut behind me, I heard a key turn in the lock.

I snarled in frustration and collapsed on the bed.

I felt Ginger’s vacant gaze upon me. “Sounds like you pissed them off.”

“ Ja. I really pissed them off.”

She slowly reached beside her for her basket of yarn and offered me a ball. “Would you like to start a project of your own?”

I started to bite off a snide remark, but then I looked at the thick yarn she was winding around her fingers. My eyes flicked to the window.

Ginger lifted an eyebrow.

I flattened my mouth and reached for the yarn.

I was a fast hooker.

Well, at least, that was what my mother said about my crochet skills.

I worked on the yarn all day, using up all the balls of wool in Ginger’s basket and unraveling part of her afghan. The yarn was stretchy, and I tried to make stitches that were tight and inflexible. Looking out the window, I gauged the distance between the lintel and the ground to be about twenty-four feet.

When I heard footsteps on the stairs, I jammed my project under the bed and grabbed my Ausbund. I succeeded in getting it open on my lap when my mother came in with lunch for us.

She looked at me, teared up, and left the dishes on the bed. When the door was shut and locked, I heard her crying.

I gave my food to Ginger and continued crocheting. I tightened my stitches angrily while the tears fell. I was angry for having endangered Alex with my selfishness. I was angry at Elijah for being rigid and possessive. I was angry at the Elders for their abuses of power. I was angry that the Hexenmeister was imprisoned, that our last hope for survival was under lock and key.

But, most of all, I was angry that they had killed Alex. The image of the blood-smeared white horse was burned into my memory. I knew that after the sun set, it would be his blood pouring from his shoe in the stirrup onto the ground. Tears splashed onto my work, but I didn’t stop. I continued even though my fingers ached and the needle was blistering hot in my hand.

I had enough of this world. I knew what lay Outside, but I would not stay here.

I was fast, but the sun was faster. As I worked, it moved across the sky, moving toward the horizon. Part of me hoped that I could complete my work before the moon rose, that I could find Alex and save him. But I was forced to put my half-finished escape plan away when the sun disappeared and the stars came out. There simply was not enough light left to work by.

I lay on my bed, listening to the clank of pots and pans downstairs and the crickets outside. Despair fell on me, and tears ran from the corners of my eyes into my ears. I rubbed at them. I knew that the vampires were coming out now, probably treating Alex’s remains like those of the dead cattle.

We were all soon to be dead cattle.

A knock sounded at the door. I lifted my head to see who it was, lowered it again.

Elijah. Elijah the rat. He came in bearing the golden light of a lantern and a tray of food. My mother came after him to take Ginger downstairs, leaving me alone with the last person on earth I wanted to talk to.

I stared up at the ceiling. The shadows on it moved as he set the lantern down on the nightstand. The bed squeaked as he sat down beside me. I edged away from him; I wanted no part of my leg touching his.

“Katie . . .” he began.

I said nothing. I laced my fingers behind my head tightly. Or else I was going to strangle him.

“Katie, this is for your own good.”

I turned my bright, angry gaze upon him. “And who are you to judge that?” I propped myself up on one arm, jammed my finger into his chest. “Who are you to judge me?”

“What you did is—”

“You are not God. The Elders are not God. The Bishop is not God. You may want to play as if you are him, in your own screwed-up shrinking little world, but you have no jurisdiction over me.”