Ten
A gorgeous night. Brisk. Clear sky. The stars, as promised in OLE brochures, were so prevalent as to form a haze overhead, and down on Earth, lanterns strung across the footbridges made pretty reflections in the steady-flowing Little Tennessee. The residents of Ruby City numbered in the several hundred, and they settled along the banks of the river on blankets and in fold-up chairs, unpacking plates and glasses from baskets, looking, to Edie, utterly familiar—like every group you’d ever seen gathered for Wall Day fireworks or a street festival in the artsy part of the city. There were a few bonfires. A plank stage where a bluegrass trio played. The only thing missing was a hayride for the kids.
And kids, come to think of it. The youngest people in attendance were in their mid-teens, at least. Maybe the children were being watched somewhere away from the adult fun. Maybe their parents didn’t trust the hostages around them.
Edie mentioned their absence to Jesse, and he shrugged. “Didn’t notice,” he said.
“But now that it’s been pointed out to you?”
He shrugged again. “That’s the least of my concern, if I’m going to be honest, babe.”
There had been a few moments earlier today, after Andy and Randall left the OLE group alone in the Town Hall, when the ten hostages had tried to make a plan. To think. Wes Feingold kept saying that: We’ve got to think! Thinking didn’t seem to be this bunch’s long suit. Edie herself was just so goddamn tired. She wanted to lie down. Her head ached. Her feet and back. Two men holding guns were posted outside the only door. What was the point?
“This thing at the river tonight,” Wes said. “Maybe some of us could slip off. Get help.”
Jesse said, “Well, if you’re volunteering, go right ahead.”
Wes shook his head, mouth pursed with disgust. “Screw you, man.”
Anastasia, lying on her hip with her palm tucked under the weight of her head, spoke without opening her eyes. “You’re an idiot, Jesse. Have you paid any attention? Wes is the one they want. How long do you think the rest of us will last here if he takes off?”
Jesse surled up. “I was making a joke.”
“You’re a joke,” Tia said. It was the first time, since the kidnapping, that Edie had heard their other OLE guide speak. She had wondered about Tia and her intentions—wondered if she was really as innocent in all of this as she seemed to be, or if she’d been installed among the rest as a spy, and would report their every word back to Andy. But Edie didn’t think the look of wounded shock on Tia’s face last night could be manufactured, nor the fury in her eyes each time Andy piped up with one of his snide speeches. “Shut the fuck up for once. I’ve been wanting to say that to you for three weeks now. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
Jesse recoiled in shock, and the corners of Wes’s mouth twitched.
Edie, irritated at them all, grabbed her pack and staked out a spot as far from the others as she could find. She lay on the plank floor, facing a window, letting the sun warm her face. Before she could decide to do it, she was sleeping.
Now—rested, full of food—she could recognize how stupid they had been to indulge in bickering and even sleeping when so much was at stake. There was a new set of armed guards tonight, fresh-faced in clean uniforms, but they were young and bright-eyed, like the ones who’d been tending those flowers earlier in the day, and their watch over the hostages was characterized by that same lighthearted half-attention. They wore their guns on their backs as they ate pulled pork off plates. They filled their glasses with cloudy beer from a cask, laughed uproariously at one another’s stories. It wouldn’t be hard to escape their notice, but to what end? Run into the woods—no water, no Stamp, no sense of direction? It would be a suicide mission.
There was a sensation—an impression?—that Edie had been mulling over since awakening in early evening, as the sun was setting. Something nagging at her. She had pretended to keep sleeping so she could think more about it. Isolate it. Make sense of it. And finally it occurred to her: admiration. Admiration for June. She’d shaken her head roughly, as if she could jar the feeling loose that way, but it didn’t budge. Despite herself, she admired the small woman who commanded the guns pointing at them. She was fascinated by her.
Which was to say, despite her fears about what the people of Ruby City intended for her and the rest of her fellow hostages, and despite her suspicion that they’d squandered their one chance at staging an escape, she found herself being lulled: by the festive mood among the Ruby City residents, by the beauty of the evening. By the plate of food she held: shreds of juicy smoked pork, some kind of salad with pickled beets and a bitter green, grilled slices of squash, fry bread. The bluegrass trio—men on standing bass and fiddle, a woman on banjo—played with spirit, and Edie had to make a conscious effort to stop her foot from tapping along with the beat.
Jesse also seemed to be charmed—or perhaps he’d decided that enthusiasm was the way to ingratiate himself with his captors. He slurped down pints of the molasses-tasting beer until his face flushed red, then joined the trio onstage with his ukulele. The crowd met this imposition of his with good nature, clapping a little, and the pretty young woman on banjo moved over to give him room. They played a couple of songs, up-tempo numbers, Jesse picking along in the background. Then they took a break. The four drew together to confer. When they pulled back from their conference, Jesse had assumed the lead singer’s spot center stage, and the fiddler sketched out a jaunty four-note intro before the other instruments joined in.
Jesse sang, “I’ve got this feeling and I don’t want to hide it.”
Edie glanced furtively around, pink with embarrassment, and caught Wes Feingold’s eye. His expression was kind; it was a relief to be spared his judgment of Jesse, to not have to do the work of withstanding it on her lover’s behalf. Wes lifted his hand, waved a little. Raised his eyebrows. Edie nodded a little and beckoned him over.
He sat on the blanket beside her, legs crossed. He held a plate mounded precariously with a monster portion of beet salad, nothing else. Noticing her glance, he grinned and shrugged.
“I’m paying penance for lunch,” he said. “Eighteen hours and a long hike and all my principles went out the window. I’m supposed to be vegan.”
“On the bright side,” said Edie, “if you’re calm enough to worry about your diet, that probably means that we’ve made it past the primal terror portion of the day.”
“For now, anyway,” Wes said.
“I mean, look at Jesse. He’s already found an adoring audience.”
Wes peered at her in the dark.
“That’s me teasing,” Edie said.