The Hallowed Ones

“Come be baptized with me,” he said, not unexpectedly.

“That’s what your father said.”

“He means well. So do I. If you were to be baptized tomorrow, then we could be married before first frost.” Elijah’s hand tightened on mine.

My breath stuck in my throat, and I tried to pull away. “Don’t.”

He held my hand fast. “Don’t you want this? Don’t you want to be married, have children, go to heaven?”

“Of course, but . . .” I grappled with my thoughts.

“Don’t you want me?” There was a pang of hurt in his voice. “Don’t you want me more than what’s Outside?”

I placed my free hand on his cheek. “Of course I do. But this is all . . . it’s all too fast.”

I felt the tension in his jaw relax fractionally. “Ja. I understand.”

Just days ago Elijah and I were looking at movie ads, planning where to go, and roaming Outside as if it was our birthright. Now the crisis had hardened him, caused him to withdraw into the safety of tradition. I couldn’t blame him, but I would not be pushed.

He rested his forehead against mine. “I will wait for you.”

I blinked back tears. “If you want to be married quickly, it may be best if you don’t.”

He frowned. “How could I imagine anyone else? I have waited years. I will wait a season or two more.”

He kissed me. It was not our first kiss; Elijah and I had kissed many times on the way back from the Singings. Amish youth gathered on Sunday nights, ostensibly to sing, without adult supervision. There was always something heady and romantic about the darkness and the music. On a couple of occasions, we’d forgotten ourselves, exploring each other with our clumsy fingers. We were not strangers. Not lovers—I would not give myself to him on those occasions. But we knew each other well.

He kissed me more deeply. I would miss this, after his baptism. He would be unable to touch me again until we were married. It felt cruel, the pressure of his lips on mine, his hands wrapping around my waist and pulling me into his lap. One of his hands slid up to cup my breast, and I felt his arousal under my right hip.

“Elijah,” I murmured against his lips. He took that for ardor, plucked the pin from the top of my dress to peel back the fabric.

“Elijah,” I said again, more insistent.

His hand slid beneath the fabric to my breast.

“Stop.” I grabbed his hand and tried to push myself off his lap.

He hesitated for a moment, then released me. I scrambled off the bed, pulled the collar of my dress together, and jabbed the straight pin back into the fabric to close it.

When I looked back at him, there was hurt in his eyes. I’d rejected him, and it had wounded him dearly.

“I need . . . I need some time.” I backed away, reaching for the doorknob.

“There’s nothing for you Outside,” he said softly as I slipped through the door.

Maybe not. Maybe my destiny was shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller to one inevitable path. I could feel it tight around my neck, tighter than my bonnet strings, strangling me.

Chapter Eleven

My head hurt, my heart ached, and I knew that there was no hope of sleep tonight. I kept picturing those monsters I’d seen today, free to roam in the darkness. I struggled with the concept that an idea like faith could create a strong-enough wall to keep them out. My own faith felt tenuous and weak . . . I couldn’t imagine it being powerful enough to keep the vampires at bay.

But I did not think that baptism would strengthen it enough. I quailed against the idea in the deepest part of my chest. My parents had broached the subject after that evening’s Nachtesse, stressing the same points made by Elijah and his father. I stared at the floor, mute. They could not force me. I could not swear obedience before God. It would be a false promise. I had that much integrity left.

Sarah snored beside me, closest to the wall. She slept the sleep of one who had no real concept of what happened beneath the surface. Today was the same for her as yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Her life hadn’t really changed, except for having to share a bed with me. She’d seen no raven evacuation. No riderless white horses. No brutal application of the Ordnung.

Mrs. Parsall sat up against the headboard, staring into the dark. Her right hand was slack around her cell phone. She slept with it, even though the charge was dead. It was her last tie to her husband and children. I slid out of bed and reached beneath it for the bag from the drugstore. Wordlessly, I padded across the floor and put it in her lap.

She reached inside, the plastic crinkling. Her glass-blue eyes widened as she pulled out the batteries and charger.

“Where did you get these?” she rasped.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

Her hands grasped my elbows, and she drew me down to the bed. “Did you go Outside?” Her gaze was fever-bright.

I swallowed and nodded.

“What did you see?”

I remained mute.

She squeezed my arm. “What did you see?”

My lip trembled, but I couldn’t shape my voice around horror that I’d witnessed.

“Were there people?” Her fingernails dug into my arms like claws. “Did you see people?”

I shook my head. “No. Not people. Monsters.”

I could see the whites of Mrs. Parsall’s eyes widening in the dark. “What do you mean, monsters?”

A tear trickled down my face. “Ravenous. Bloodthirsty. Inhuman.”

Her hand flew to my cheek, smearing the tear. Her brow wrinkled, in shadow. “I don’t understand.”

“They are like . . . like vampires.” I told her, haltingly, of the terror I’d seen at the Laundromat, keeping my voice to a whisper so Sarah wouldn’t hear.

When I’d finished, Mrs. Parsall threw her arms around me in a hug while I sobbed into her shoulder. She stroked my hair and muttered soothingly. “It’s okay. Shhh. You’re okay.”

Spent, I drew back and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, as if the pressure could drive away what I’d seen. “You can’t tell them,” I whispered fiercely. “If they knew, they’d shun me.”

Mrs. Parsall brushed a soggy strand of hair off of my face. “I won’t.”

Her gaze crept to the phone batteries, and I saw the twitch in her fingers.

“Call your family,” I said, hiccupping back tears.

Behind me, I heard Sarah stir and mutter: “Katie?”

I went to her bedside, pulled the blankets up to her chin. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

Her sleepy eyes watched me, though, watched me until the weight of her lashes pulled her eyelids down.

I looked back to Mrs. Parsall, laid my finger on my lips.

She nodded, gathering up the phone and batteries, and tiptoed from the room.

I followed her, creeping past my parents’ door, down the steps to the kitchen. All the lamps had been doused, and the only light in the room came from the moonlight streaming in and the pilot light in the stove. It was all cold, blue light, and I shivered in spite of the warmth.

Mrs. Parsall reached for the doorknob of the back door. I grabbed the sleeve of her nightdress. “Don’t,” I whispered. “They love the dark.”

Her mouth was set in a grim line. “I have to talk to my family.”

I knew that there was no stopping her; I had just given her hope wrapped up in a plastic bag.

She pulled away from me, opened the door to the night, and slipped out the back step.