Rise An Eve Novel

twenty-four



BENNY AND SILAS HIT THE WATER FIRST, DIVING UNDER, MOVING as naturally as fish. The seconds ticked away as I stood there scanning the lake, waiting for them to resurface. When they finally appeared, they were several yards out, pushing each other as they played.

“How’d they do that?” Bette asked. She carefully stepped out of her shoes, letting her feet sink into the sand. “They just disappeared.”

Sarah splashed in easily, not stopping until the water came up to her knees. As she ventured further, her movements were less certain, her eyes locked on the rippling surface. “This is the hard part,” she called to Beatrice, who was standing behind me on shore, Clara beside her. “I can’t see my feet. This is where I start to lose it.”

Their voices were somewhere outside me. I’d promised the girls that before they left I would teach them how to swim. I still remembered how Caleb had taught me, the first rush of the water as I went under, how it held me, my feet barely touching the sandy bottom. I’d read that when you missed someone you became them, that you did things to fill the space they’d left so you wouldn’t feel so alone. Standing here at the lake, months after he died, I knew it didn’t work. Doing these things—the same things he used to—only made me miss him more.

I walked into the water, oddly comforted by how cold it was. My feet stung for a moment, the feeling waking me. As the rest of the girls started in, I turned, gesturing for Pip and Ruby to join us. They sat on a tree trunk just up the shore, a basket between them, picking the stems out of wild berries.

“Headmistress Burns would not approve,” Ruby said, the faintest hint of a smile appearing on her lips. She combed a few strands of hair away from her face. “It’s too dangerous to swim. Haven’t you heard of those who drowned before the plague?” She imitated Headmistress Burns’s gravelly voice.

It was the closest thing to a joke I’d heard in days. I would’ve laughed, but Pip was beside her, her steps unsteady. She walked slowly, the exhaustion taking hold. When I’d told Beatrice I was staying, she hadn’t argued as I had believed she would. She seemed to agree that Pip needed rest, that it was best for her to be here until she gave birth—something we’d navigate together, as best we could, with the small amount of information Beatrice had given me. With Califia still nearly three hundred miles off, it was possible we’d get stranded somewhere along the way. If she wanted to stay, who was I to force her to go?

They came down to the water’s edge, watching the girls as they stood in their shorts and T-shirts, some already shivering from the cold. “The first step is to go under,” I said, moving in, closer to Bette and Kit. “Like this.” I pinched my nose and let my legs give out, plunging beneath the surface, the rush of water sounding in my ears. I opened my eyes, watching the bubbles rise to the surface as I exhaled. When the breath throbbed in my lungs, my heartbeat in my ears, I finally came up for air. Only Sarah had gone under, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks.

Bette was watching Benny and Silas, who swam farther out, floating on their backs, their puffed bellies rising above the surface of the water. “Not too far,” I yelled, signaling to the birch tree that had fallen into the lake—the marker the boys had once used to keep them close to the beach. Benny lifted his head, as if he heard me, then disappeared again, flipping back below the water.

“I’ll watch them. Don’t worry,” Beatrice said, dropping three tattered shirts in the shallows. She pounded the fabric against the rocks, cleaning them as a few more girls went under. Bette stopped at her neck, wincing as she slowly slipped into the lake.

I pulled the wet sweater away from my body, but it still clung to me. Instead I sunk down, submerging myself up to my chest, letting the lake hide me. I looked out again at Benny and Silas, who were spitting mouthfuls of water at each other. Beatrice kept her eyes on them, as she said she would, making sure they didn’t go too far. “You’re designed to float. Just flip onto your back,” I said, moving to Sarah. She laid down and I adjusted her shoulders, helped her legs so she was in a perfect T. “Now fill your lungs. Keep your arms out, and keep looking up.” I removed my hand from under her back and she dipped down an inch or so but remained on the surface. Her face broke into a smile.

Clara weaved through the girls, helping them float. “See?” she said. “People drown when they panic. Just try to relax—you can always float.” She moved to Bette, pressing her hand on her back. I watched her, wondering how long it would be until we saw each other again, if she’d come back once she was settled in Califia. She’d spent the past two days acclimating the girls to the horses, teaching them the basics of riding. We used the rope we had to create makeshift stirrups, tying one end around the horse’s shoulder and letting the other hang over its back, the loop just big enough for one foot to slip through. All the supplies had been jarred, the duffels packed and waiting for the morning’s trip. By this time tomorrow, Ruby, Pip, and I would be alone.

I tried not to think about it, instead focusing on what was right in front of me—the afternoon, this lesson. That was the only way it felt manageable.

“How did you do that?” Sarah stood, moving her arms out in front of her. “Show me how you were swimming in the tunnel.”

“You have to go under,” I said, glancing around. Most of the other girls were still easing themselves into the water, barely able to stay afloat. “You’ll want to push off the bottom, moving out and forward. Then you use your arms and legs at the same time, almost like a frog.”

I took a deep breath and slipped under. The world felt far away, the girls’ voices blending into one. I caught sight of Clara’s legs as she stepped around Kit, trying to help her stay afloat. Sarah’s skin looked whiter beneath the surface. She cupped the lake in her hands.

When the screaming started, it was hard to recognize at first. The panicked yells came from somewhere beyond me. As I broke the surface, Beatrice’s voice filled the air, squeezing all the breath from my body. “Let me through,” she called, pushing past some of the girls.

I scanned the water’s edge for Benny and Silas. They weren’t where I’d last seen them. Sometimes they perched on a rock several yards out, but they weren’t there. It took me awhile before I noticed them, by the opposite shore, clinging to the remnants of the broken dock. They stared back at me, as confused as I was but perfectly safe.

It was then that I saw what Beatrice had seen. She pushed past a few of the girls until she got to Pip, who was submerged in the water. She’d fallen back in the shallows, her hair floating up around her head. Her eyes were unfocused. Beatrice reached down, tucking her hands beneath Pip’s arms, trying to pull her toward the shore. As she turned, calling to me, I noticed her clothes were stained. A cloud of blood had spread out in the water. It surrounded them, coloring everything red.

I swam as fast as I could, not stopping until I was there, Pip’s hand resting in my own. The skin beneath her nails was a dull gray. “Stay awake,” I said, squeezing the blood back into her fingers, as if that could revive her. “You have to stay awake.”

Ruby rushed forward, grabbing her side, trying to hoist her up. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” I looked into the dark water, unable to see our feet. Pip was bleeding so much. It was everywhere, running down her legs, clouding the water around us. By the time we got her to the beach she’d lost consciousness, her body heavy and limp.

The girls ran from the lake, huddling around us, so close I could hear each one of their choked breaths. “Take them inside,” I called to Clara, as a few of them began to cry.

“Is she dying?” Sarah asked. Clara pulled her up the shore, hurrying the rest of the girls along. Her question became my own. I knelt beside Pip, pressing my fingers against her cheek, feeling the coolness of her skin. Her face had no color in it. Her arms were beaded with pale pink water.

The blood kept coming, pooling black beneath her. It seeped into the sand. As Beatrice leaned over, breathing breath into her body, I smoothed back her hair. I kept doing that, gently touching the soft curls around her forehead, as if that simple gesture could keep her alive.


THE NEXT MORNING I PICKED THE PEBBLES OUT OF THE DIRT, collecting them methodically, careful not to miss any. After I dropped the last one in the bowl, I just sat there, staring at the freshly turned earth. The trees moved above, shifting, giving in to the wind. I found myself making lists of things to do and then carrying them out. Had I cleared the ground of any remnants of the funeral? Did I have the last of the flowers the girls had placed down? Was the dirt level, the grave hidden enough so no one would notice it? These small details were the only things that calmed me.

The grave had been dug past three feet. Beatrice knew the measurement from the burials during the plague—too deep for anyone to notice or disturb the remains. We’d picked the white birch by the edge of the forest, burying her there, just beyond the roots, so I’d always know the place. I’d been the one to prepare her body, washing the dirt and blood from her skin, untangling her hair. I’d wrapped her in one of the blankets from the dugout, a soft gray quilt, the pink embroidering intact. Ruby said something to honor her. It had felt wrong not to, even though we all kept lapsing into silence. The hours had rushed past me, the small, quiet funeral. Her death. I couldn’t keep pace. I picked a stray flower petal off the ground and crushed it between my fingers, satisfied when it broke apart.

Beatrice believed she’d been sick for some time, that she was bleeding internally. The blood had come on fast. It had sunk into the sand, staining the beach. I could still see it now, though Clara had tried to wash it away. A dark spot spread out by the edge of the water, the rocks a reddish black.

I felt different than I had when Caleb died. The pain didn’t rip through me. I didn’t cry once during the ceremony. I just sat there, listening to Ruby’s words somewhere outside me, feeling completely removed, as if I were floating somewhere above the group. I kept tracing things back as far as I could. I went to the day I’d visited her at School, wondering if it would have made a difference if she’d escaped then. When was it that she grew so sick? How had I missed what was happening? She’d complained of exhaustion, but nothing more.

Somewhere behind me a twig snapped. I turned to see Clara stepping through the trees. “It’s time, Eve,” she said. “The horses are ready. If we leave now, we could set up camp before the sun goes down.”

The ground in front of me was patted down, the pebbles that lined the grave now collected in a neat pile. I moved some of the undergrowth over the soil. Clara stooped down to help. We both spread out the dry leaves and twigs, shifting them around until all the fresh earth was covered. As we started back up the hill, I turned back one last time, looking at that spot below the birch tree. All signs of the funeral, and Pip, were gone.