“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling my throat constrict.
Outside something sounded in the distance. Everyone froze. Through the chorus of birds and wind, I heard something foreign, something terrifying: the steady roar of an automobile engine.
Marjorie went to the window, pulling back a fingerful of curtain. “They’re already here.”
“Who?” Lark asked, biting her lip nervously.
Otis opened a cabinet above the counter, feeling around behind some glass jars. He pulled down a handgun and tucked it into the belt of his pants. “The troops.”
Marjorie ran to the sink, pulling three of the five soaking dishes out and throwing them, with a clatter, into a lower cabinet. She plunged her fingers in the soapy water, searching for the extra forks and knives, but Otis pushed her away. “Don’t—” he directed. “Just go.”
Her arms were soaked to the elbows, white suds clinging to her skin. “Follow me,” she finally said, starting down the stairs. Lark reached for the tail of Marjorie’s shirt, her cheeks now wet with tears.
“What did you say?” Arden asked. She grabbed my hand as we raced down the stairs. “What did you say in the message?”
The engine grew louder as the troops approached the house. Tires crunched across the yard. I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t tell her that I had relayed, in great detail, who I was and where I was. I couldn’t tell her I’d snuck up into the living room at night and risked all of our lives.
In the basement, Marjorie threw open the cabinet’s wood doors. “Help me,” she pleaded, sweeping the cans off the shelf in one great motion. They fell to the cement floor, their corners dented.
Arden yanked the shelf out and Lark and I ran inside the secret room. Arden came in fast behind us.
“Don’t say a word,” Marjorie whispered as she re-stacked the cans on the shelf.
Upstairs, the front door banged open and male voices, deep and gruff, demanded something.
“Hurry,” Lark cried, her fingers tapping on the wood shelf. “Please Marjorie, hurry.”
Marjorie bent over and collected the cans in her arms, putting them back onto the shelf. Her wrinkled hands moved slowly, revealing her age. “I’m going as fast as I can,” she said, her voice quaking. “I’m going.” She wiped at her face. I realized, then, she was crying. Thin streams ran along the lines of her face.
The voices grew louder. The sound of boots crashed overhead, sending tiny pieces of plaster raining down on us.
“Just my wife,” Otis said, then more footsteps. Marjorie was cradling the last of the cans when the soldiers, clad in green and brown, appeared on the stairs. Arden squeezed my hand, pulling me deeper into the room.
I pressed my other hand against Lark’s trembling mouth, trying to silence her. The glass doors of the pantry fell closed. Through the spaces in the stacked cans we could make out parts of the room. We stood there, in the shadows, watching as the men came down the stairs.
In an instant, Marjorie straightened—her face stiffened and her hands relaxed by her sides. “What can I do for you this time, gentlemen? Lieutenant Calverton,” she said, acknowledging the older soldier, who had a crooked nose and hair streaked with silver. Beside him, a slender man with pale skin kept his hand on his gun. “Sergeant Richards. You’ve come to harass us again?”
They stood at the bottom of the steps, both clean-shaven, their faces taut and shiny. “Enough games, Marjorie,” Calverton said. “We know you’re hiding a girl named Eve here. She’s the property of the King.”
Arden pulled me closer. My legs were wobbly beneath me, but Arden gripped my side, holding me up. “We’re doing no such thing,” Otis said. “When will you leave us alone? We’re just trying to survive, like everyone else.”
Richards worked his way through the cardboard boxes, ripping them open and peering inside. He stomped through the cellar, opening a door beneath the staircase, patting down the tattered couch, and rapping on the walls behind a pile of old machines. “Do we have to go through this every time?” Marjorie asked, crossing her arms.
Otis came down the last steps on his bad leg. He leaned against the wall, his arm clutched to his side, concealing the gun beneath his elbow. “You won’t find anything,” he said, his breaths short.
“Something tells me you’re lying,” Calverton said. Then he pointed to the cupboard doors. My heart kept on, its steady rhythm reminding me that for now, I was still alive. Arden pushed me down behind the bunk beds, then pulled Lark close. We huddled together, slowing our breaths to quiet them, as the younger soldier opened the doors.
From behind the bars of the bunks I could see his legs. I could hear the cans clinking together on the top shelf. He moved down, over the second shelf, sliding against the wood. Then the cans covering the passageway moved. Lark whimpered as light poured into the narrow room. I looked up, my eyes locking with the soldier’s.