Aftertime

because I think it would freak me out. They don’t let them talk. Can you imagine? My nieces and nephews never stopped talking.”

“That’s just for the ceremony,” Adele murmured, but the energy had gone out of her words. “It’s all symbolic, the way they prepare them. It’s to make them all uniform so they’re like blank slates, ready to accept the doctrine. Monica…I’m sure they let them just be kids, when they’re in their own quarters.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Monica shrugged. “I’m just saying, it’s pretty freaky that they-”

“You don’t know,” Adele snapped. “And it’s best not to speculate. It’s not your place.”

Despite her sharp tone, Cass saw tears welling in her eyes. There was a silence, as Monica ducked her chin in regret. “I’m sorry, Adele,” she said softly, covering the older woman’s hand with hers.

Adele sighed and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “It’s all right, sugar. But you don’t need to worry about it. The children are being cared for so the rest of us can focus on our own spiritual growth. I mean, really, it’s better, it’s easier this way. Without the distractions.”

Cass knew when someone was lying to herself-that was a skill every recovering addict had in spades-and Adele was working hard to believe she didn’t want to be around children. Monica was part of that work, allowing Adele to mother someone while pretending she was indifferent to the youngest members of the Order.

Cass could do that, too. She could convince herself she didn’t need to see Ruthie, to hold her, if only she knew that she was being cared for. Cass didn’t deserve any more, not after she’d been so careless. She just needed to know her baby was safe.

“So this isn’t too bad, right?” Adele asked, clearing her throat and forcing a smile. “I mean, for Aftertime.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cass said, though she’d barely touched her food, a stir-fry of kaysev leaves with a few grains of barley and herbs and bits of jackrabbit meat. “I’m just…I’m not that hungry. I guess all the excitement, and all-”

Monica rolled her eyes. “I know, more excitement than a person can stand. Deacon Lily gave you the grand tour, right? Only I bet they didn’t show you any of the stuff they don’t want you to see.”

“Monica,” Adele scolded her. “You’ve got to stop being so disrespectful. You’re going to get us all in trouble again.”

Monica managed an apologetic smile, showing a tiny gap between her front teeth. “I’m sorry, Adele. I really am. Only I don’t understand why no one ever stands up to them.”

“It’s not everyone,” Adele said, shaking her head in exasperation. “Honey, you need to understand that every organization has its bad apples. But you still have to show some respect.”

“Cass, it was so ridiculous. No one has a sense of humor around here.”

“What happened?”

“I forgot how this one prayer ended and I kind of made up my own verse in chapel. Mother Cora was not amused, and my ladies here all had to attend extra prayers because of me.” Monica inclined her head toward the women at the other end of the table. “They’re still kind of mad. That’s why we’re all alone at the bad girl end of the table.”

“Well, honey, we missed tea,” Adele said, patting her arm. “Can’t get between the ladies and an afternoon snack, even if it is dandelion tea and rabbit salad sandwiches.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“You need to take it more seriously,” a woman two seats down said. Cass hadn’t realized she’d been listening. “Next time it’s gonna be a reckoning. You’ve already had what, like three warnings?”

“Two,” Monica mumbled.

“Okay, two,” the woman said. “Third one’s a reckoning.”

“What’s a reckoning?” Cass asked.

“Don’t listen to them,” Monica protested. “All I ever do is say what everyone is already thinking. There’s no way they’d call a reckoning without more to pin on me than that.”

“But what’s-”

“Hush,” the woman down the table hissed, as a deacon in deep lavender walked slowly past their table. Conversation died down until she was safely out of hearing range.

“Damn spy,” Monica muttered. “Like to see where that’s in the Bible. Especially when they’re up there preaching faith, it would be nice if they had a little faith in-”

This time it was a different woman who interrupted. “Come on, Monica, can we please get through one single meal without you getting us in trouble?”

“Why’re you even here if you’re not a believer?” another added. All the other neophytes were turned toward them now.

“I am a believer,” Monica protested hotly. “I’d put my faith up against anyone else’s any day. I just don’t believe in this crazy shit that masquerades as, as real faith.”

But she kept quiet until the meal was finished and servers had cleared the dishes. Cass answered Adele’s questions with a mixture of the truth-her job at the QikGo, her love of plants and landscaping-and lies and omissions. Lily had been right-the food helped, and by the time they filed out of the darkened stadium, their way lit only by the stars and the strings of tiny lights, her head had cleared, and the terrifying memories had receded back into the recesses of her mind.

37

BUT IN THE MORNING SHE AWOKE FROM THE dream of Ruthie again. Ruthie pressed beneath her, the snuffling wailing of the Beaters coming closer, her own screams ringing in her ears-she jerked awake in a twist of sheets sour with her own sweat, salt riming her eyelashes so that she knew she’d cried in her sleep.

For a moment she didn’t remember where she was. The light in the neophyte dorm was ashy, filtered through burlap tacked along the top of the enclosure, which had been constructed from a length of the stadium’s concrete corridor.

Only the neophytes were kept locked in. Lily, who had escorted her to the dorm after dinner, explained that once they became acolytes they would join the others, groups of women sharing quarters created from what had been restaurants and club rooms and offices and even-for the ordained-the skyboxes. They would be allowed to keep clothes and personal possessions-books, keepsakes, toiletries-in their rooms. But for now everything was common property.

“It builds a sense of community,” Lily explained, showing her the shelves of towels and kaysev shoots carved into toothbrushes and the rough soap made from the oily center of kaysev beans. No doubt the manufacture of these supplies was part of what kept the convent humming with industry, but it served another purpose, too- preparing for the day when everything from Before ran out.

As the neophytes lined up for the two crude bathroom enclosures, acolytes brought buckets brimming with water and took away tubs heaped with dirty laundry before locking the doors for the night. To Cass’s surprise they were allowed to wear whatever they wanted to sleep in, everything from Giants T-shirts to lacy nightgowns, but she had nothing but the clothes she was wearing.

She rubbed sleep from her eyes and looked around the empty room, surprised that she’d slept through the others’ departure. Most of the beds were neatly made. Her bed was separate from the others, tucked into a corner. The newcomer bed, where Lily explained she would sleep for the first few transitional days. Next to it was a hardback chair and a small table on which a stapled set of pages rested. They were well-thumbed, the edges curling, and they looked as though they’d been typed on an old manual typewriter.

“You’ll have two days to rest before you join the others for daily chores and study,” Lily had said when she showed them to Cass. “Mother Cora likes for newcomers to spend time in reflection. And reading these.”

There were hundreds of pages, single-spaced. “Who wrote all of this?”

“The founders. Mother Cora did a lot of it.” Lily looked uncomfortable. “You can, you know, skim some of the parts. You’ll take your meals here until you’re done. Just try to think of it as room service.”

On the table next to the pages was a plate holding a thin, flat seeded kaysev cake and six almonds, and a tall glass of clear water. Cass put the glass to her lips and drank slowly, feeling the water wash down her throat, lukewarm but clean, the best she’d tasted Aftertime.