“Well, I’m only seventeen,” Rhys replied.
“There’s no shame in being a late bloomer.”
She either had the best deadpan I’d ever seen or no sense of humor whatsoever.
As we turned down a narrow wooded path, Beth pointed things out, like where to find the best boysenberries, where to dig up arrowheads, how to make birdcalls, anything and everything that sprung into her head, which was a lot. “Up there, on top of Dead Man’s Hill”—she pointed to a simple shingled structure—“that’s the schoolhouse.”
“Dead Man’s Hill?” Rhys asked. “Why do they call it that? It’s not even that steep.”
“Oh, some people, when they get old, they just go up there and sit. And die,” she added with a sweet lilt to her voice as she spun around, making her yellow sundress billow.
My brother looked at me with wide eyes.
As we neared the end of the path, the enormous stone mansion came back into view. With its arched doorways, heavy leaded-glass windows, and grand entryway lined with brass lanterns hung from iron stands, it looked like something straight out of a gothic novel.
“The meeting house,” Beth announced.
With each step, my throat got a little tighter and my heart picked up speed. What if this didn’t work? Fooling Beth was one thing, but what if they figured out we didn’t really want to “come home”? What would they do to us?
Beth opened the heavy double doors and led us up a set of stairs to a long hallway.
“Boys on the right side, girls on the left,” she said as she steered me toward a tapestry curtain.
Rhys stepped in front of her. “She’s not going anywhere without me.”
“Okeydokey,” Beth chirped, and without a second thought she took his arm. “Rooster in the henhouse,” she called out as she opened the panel and led us into an enormous parlor full of half-naked women.
12
TRADITION
ASSAULTED BY A GANG of warm, soft bodies, Rhys and I were quickly separated by a flurry of hugs, tears of joy, and bursts of exaltation. Before I even knew what was happening I was corralled behind a flimsy screen.
“Well, she’s a Larkin, all right.” A sprightly woman with dark brown spiral curls came in close to study my face. “Just look at those eyes.”
“No need to be shy,” a burly woman said as she stripped off my blood-smeared blouse. “Can’t go to your wreathing ceremony looking like that.”
“We’re happy you’re home.” A woman glanced up at me shyly through light blond eyelashes as she crushed a soft gold substance in a pestle with gardenia-and-orange-blossom-scented oil. “You must be so proud of your mother and father.”
“Off we go.” Someone peeled off my camisole.
“Wait . . . ,” I sputtered as I clasped my arms around my bare chest.
Two younger girls crept behind the screen, giggling like hyenas as they pried off my boots and socks.
“Okay, if you can just hold on a min—”
“This is a happy day indeed.” A small birdlike woman with brown frizzy hair reached in and ripped the bandage off my collarbone.
“Hey!” I yelled, but they weren’t paying any attention to me.
“Is it really her?” A young girl approached, a spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks, trying to see around the ample rumps surrounding me.
“Ooh, look at this fancy clasp,” another woman said as she unbuttoned my skirt.
“What the fuck?” I screamed as my skirt dropped around my ankles.
The room went deathly silent. They all looked at me in shock—like I’d just given them a universal slap.
I peeked my head around the screen to find Rhys biting the inside of his cheek, desperately trying not to laugh. I was on my own.
I stood there in my underwear, covering up the best I could with my hands, trying to figure out what to do next, when Beth sidled up to me with a tense smile. “It’s part of the ceremony, Ash. Tradition,” she whispered.
Why was she helping me? Did she know what Rhys and I were up to? She was a seer, which meant she could see the future. Granted, she was a broken seer, but it seemed like I should keep an eye on her anyway.
“What she means is she’s excited,” Beth announced to the crowd. “Right, Ash?” She nudged me in the ribs. “That’s the word they use for excitement where she comes from.”
“Yeah.” I managed a shaky smile. “I’m . . . excited.”
All the tension disappeared from Beth’s face, and the women picked up right where they left off.
Stripped of all my clothes, I was bullied into a copper tub full of warm water and rose petals. Not the roses you’d find in a cheesy honeymoon suite. These were real roses—wild roses—the kind that gave off the scent of some forgotten time.
I didn’t even like changing clothes for gym. Being bathed by a creepy cult was not on my favorite-things-to-do list.
The same woman who removed my bandage reached forward to untie the ribbon from my neck; I seized her hand. “The ribbon stays.”