“Let’s get started,” he said, and clapped his hands twice.
Frida had expected her brother to say a few words about the Land’s philosophy, about how this was a significant moment in their history as a community. They hadn’t accepted any new members since he and the others had arrived a few years back, and that had to be on everyone’s minds. It wasn’t until Micah didn’t say any of this that Frida realized she’d been composing a speech for her brother in her head these last couple of days. She had imagined him describing Cal’s gifts as a farmer and carpenter and critical thinker. He would go on and on about Frida’s bread, about how well liked she was. He might say something about family. Frida is my sister, he would say, and leave it at that because everyone would understand how meaningful that was.
Instead he held up his hand and said, “I’m confident that everyone has already made up their minds.” He paused, and Frida imagined everyone behind her nodding. “So here we go. If you’re in favor of Frida and Calvin moving to the Land permanently, to participate in our community, please move to the northeastern corner of the room.” He pointed to the back-left corner of the Church. To Frida and Cal he said, “Please remain seated, guys.” And then he jumped off the stage, presumably to make his own vote.
“Don’t they want to debate it?” Frida whispered to Cal. “They don’t have questions or anything?” She felt so ignorant. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask these questions earlier.
“A few took private meetings with Micah and Peter,” Cal said, “to voice their concerns.” His eyes remained on the stage, but Frida could tell he was listening closely, trying to discern the migration patterns of those in the pews behind them. “August’s been lobbying for us the past two days.”
Cal was obviously confident they had everyone’s support, and after a few moments Frida felt him relax against her into the pew.
“You’re acting as if there’s a screen in front of us,” she said. “Like we’re at the movies.”
He smiled. “Pass the popcorn.”
He must have pushed the baby out of his mind. That, or he truly believed that once they were accepted here they could not be forced out.
From the corner of her eye, Frida could see that the people in the pew to their left were moving across the room. She turned her head, expecting seriousness on everyone’s face, but Peter was absently running his tongue over his teeth as he passed the last pews, and Fatima had gotten distracted by her thumbnail; she almost bumped into August, who was just ahead of her. Anika was smiling, for once.
She could tell Cal didn’t want to look at the gathered group until everyone had finished voting and that he expected her to do the same. She didn’t care. She turned to watch the people crowd into the far back corner. They were a disheveled and unlikely bunch, huddled together as they were around the campfire. She’d been to it every night since the first time. Yesterday she’d brought cinnamon buns to pass around, and Sailor, a rare visitor to the festivities as far as she could tell, had joked, “Buttering us up for the Vote, lady?” before taking two. Everyone laughed, including Frida, but it had also made her uneasy. He was right. She had been deliberately campaigning, befriending anyone who looked her way. As if she were running for prom queen.
More and more people had clotted into the northeast corner, and after a few minutes it appeared as though everyone had moved out of their pews. Only Frida and Cal remained seated.
This was good, she told herself. She and Cal had been accepted. They were wanted.
But even as relief passed over her, so did its inverse, its shadow. It was the same shame she’d felt flush with at the campfire. She just wanted them to like her, and there was something selfish about that, especially when they didn’t know about the baby. The baby was important; it was necessary information.
Tell them.
Was it crazy to imagine her baby, passing on this message? It was as if Frida had picked up a bottle that had washed onto shore. She had unfurled the scroll to find these instructions. Tell them.
“They need to know,” Frida said to Cal.
“They will,” he said. He was still facing straight ahead. She remembered what he’d said a few nights before. Wait and watch. He actually thought Micah would figure it out for them.
But would he?
“No,” Frida said. “Now.”
She felt herself standing. Cal’s hand had grasped her own, he was trying to yank her back to the pew like a current pulling her underwater, but she shook him off.
“Micah,” she said. Too quietly at first. The collective volume of the room had risen suddenly. Everyone had begun to talk to their neighbors; they were excited, Frida supposed, by the official change, by the obvious outcome of the Vote. The Land was growing! They could not be contained!
“Frida,” Cal said. “Please.”
She didn’t look down at him.