“Yes,” says Vanessa, although she’s not sure. Nobody has ever asked her that before.
Mrs. Adam hugs her. “Thank you, Vanessa. You’ve eased my mind. Clyde keeps saying it’s just society, how people react. And I know, I know women want sons, who wouldn’t? Some have only sons. I don’t know what those fathers do. I’m sure I’ll find out eventually. And being young is never pleasant. I think there’s a better childhood here than back—than out there. Loving parents. A strong community. But it’s good to hear. It’s very good to hear.” She pulls back and stares raptly into Vanessa’s face, her eyes almost manic in their intensity.
Vanessa is beginning to think that Mrs. Adam is a little bit crazy. But she hugs her back anyway. “I’m sorry,” she says into Mrs. Adam’s lank, mouse-colored hair, even though she’s not exactly sure what she’s sorry for.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Caitlin
At night, Caitlin has trouble finding a comfortable place to rest. The summer bruises are fading but still sore, and the autumn bruises—finger-sized, handprints, straight-out blows—are blossoming like rotten ivy across her body. She knows Father doesn’t really beat her, he’s just getting rid of all the tension that built up over the summer, but she wishes he’d let her sleep more. Mother gives him a double serving of pungent mash-wine every night at dinner, and Caitlin knows she’s trying to make him slumber through the night. A small part of her glows at this exhibition of love.
She’s dozing off after an exhausting evening when she hears tapping on her window. Jerking awake, Caitlin thinks for a moment that it’s spring, almost summer, and Rosie is tossing pebbles at her window. She blinks, and it’s autumn again and she has no clue why anyone outside would want her, but the thought of Father waking fills her with panic. Rushing to the window, Caitlin opens it quietly. There’s Rosie, perched on her roof.
Caitlin scoots down toward her across the dry, flaking shingle. “Rosie. What is it?”
“We’re all supposed to meet at the church.”
Caitlin stares at her, trying to decide if she’s dreaming. She looks upward to a clear, cold sky striped with alabaster stars.
“Well?” says Rosie. “Do you want to go together?”
“Why would we go to the church?” asks Caitlin carefully, as if Rosie is raving.
Rosie shrugs. “Linda told me about it. Janey wants us all there at midnight.”
“Who’s us?”
“The girls. The older ones, anyway.”
“Why?”
“Do I look like Mary? I don’t know why Janey does what she does.”
“Well, I don’t have a clock in my room. The only one is downstairs.”
Rosie rolls her eyes. “Go watch it, then. I’ll watch mine too. I’ll wait for you a little before midnight.”
“Do you know what time it is now?”
“About eleven.”
“Okay,” says Caitlin slowly. “Are you playing a trick on me?”
Rosie’s face darkens. “That would be a stupid trick!” Caitlin can’t tell if Rosie is offended at being accused of lying or of playing an inferior prank.
“Well, I’ll try to get downstairs. If Mother or Father wakes up, I won’t be able to go.”
“I was scared your father was in there with you. He’s so scary. Lots of girls won’t be able to go. Make sure he doesn’t come to your room and find you missing.”
“How do I do that?” Caitlin asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t know everything. Why don’t you just sit there and count out fifty minutes by seconds.”
And so Caitlin goes back into her bedroom, kneels on her scratchy bed, and does just that. She counts too fast; when she creeps downstairs to look at the clock, it’s only eleven thirty-five. She sits, nervously staring at the clock, watching the hand slowly creep toward midnight, worried that Father forgot to wind it and she’ll miss the whole thing. Eventually she can’t take it anymore, and she rushes outside. Rosie is waiting in the cold, shifting her weight from foot to foot on the frosty ground. It’s a full moon, and Caitlin can see the outline of Rosie’s thin body through her illuminated nightgown.
“You’re late,” says Rosie. “We have to hurry.” She reaches out and grabs Caitlin’s hand. Surprised and pleased by the strong hand gripping hers, Caitlin starts running with Rosie beside her. Their panting breath fogs, and Caitlin giggles at how cold her feet are on the stiff mud and wet, shining grass. Rosie remembered shoes, but they’re too big, and she keeps losing one and then rushing back to claim it.
They hear other footsteps and slow down to see three girls jogging toward them.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Natalie Saul hisses. “I heard Janey wants us in the church.”
“I don’t know,” says Rosie, and Caitlin shrugs in agreement.
“This is all a trick,” says Linda Gideon as they hurry along together. “There’s going to be a bunch of boys there, and they’re going to laugh at us.”
“I don’t think so,” says Alma Joseph. “Janey would find out and beat them up.”
When they arrive at the church, there’s a small group of girls gathered around the entrance who hail the newcomers with relief, hoping vainly for further intelligence.
“I’m not going into that dark church,” says Letty firmly.
“Me either,” says Rosie. “Something might be in there.”
“What if there’s something waiting to eat us?” pipes up Joanne Balthazar, who’s only five. Her sister brought her along.
“We’re not going into the dark,” says Rosie decisively. “We can wait here for a while and then leave if nothing happens.”
“My toes feel like they’re going to fall off,” says Violet Balthazar.
“We can throw them down the stairs for the monster,” giggles Letty, and the rest of the group laughs nervously.
“Look,” says Ophelia Adam, pointing, but they all see it at the same time. There’s a faint tawny glow coming from inside the church, illuminating the windows and seeping out through the door.
“There’s somebody in there,” says Linda.
“Or something,” replies Natalie. The glow grows brighter. There are more girls gathered around the doorway now.
“Someone’s lighting candles,” says Nina Joseph. “I can see them through that window.”
Rosie pokes Caitlin in the side. “You go first.” Caitlin shakes her head rapidly, backing up a little in case Rosie decides to push her down the stairs.
“I’ll go,” says Vanessa Adam, looking annoyed. Playing with the end of her braid, she peers into the doorway and then takes a few hesitant steps down. “It’s all right. It’s Mary and Janey,” she calls back. “Nina’s right. They’re lighting candles.”
Confident that Janey and Mary wouldn’t be lighting candles if they were fighting a monster, the girls tumble down the steps and into the church. Empty and shadowed, it looks cavernous compared to its familiar state, replete with worshippers and dim daylight. The orange glow of the candles lends light to the room, if not warmth. Mary is sitting calmly next to the altar, her shimmering dark hair loose around her shoulders. At her feet is Janey, looking impatient and twisting her fingers together.