The Hallowed Ones

not poison those who remain?”

She sighed. “They will run their figures and calculate the acceptable losses. Like Spock said in Star Trek: ‘The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.’”

I began to protest. Mrs. Parsall seemed to have as much faith in the military as my people had for the Ordnung. And that was just as dangerous. Moreover, I didn’t know who Spock was, but he had no moral authority over—

Something rustled beside the car. My head snapped up, and my grip on the bread knife tightened and quaked like a car antenna in the wind.

I saw nothing but heard scratching near the left fender. The hair stood up on my neck. The sound echoed in the undercarriage of the car.

Mrs. Parsall and I both scrambled back on the dew-slick hood.

“Oh God,” she cried.

The sound seethed and scraped below us. A whimper escaped my teeth. I knew with all my heart that the vampires had found us. That we were finished.

I held the knife in front of me as the noise slithered under the engine. Mrs. Parsall wound her fingers in the sleeve of my nightdress, pushing me behind her with the protective instincts of a mother. I resisted, squirming forward. We may be finished, but I would not go without a fight.

A pale, writhing form crept out from beneath the car, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a shriek.

It was just an opossum. A mother opossum with babies clinging to her, their tails woozily moving like the tentacles of some undersea beast.

She glanced back at us with a weary eye and shambled away into the darkness.

I began to murmur the Lord’s Prayer in thanks.

“Shit,” Mrs. Parsall said.

Chapter Twelve

I did not speak to my family of what I’d learned last night from Mrs. Parsall.

Neither did she.

I carried my silence with me, that heavy curtain of secrets, throughout my minimal chores of the morning. Mrs. Parsall stayed behind when we went to church, and I was forced to carry that silence alone, as my fingers knitted in my apron while I sat on a wooden pew at the Miller house. My mother sat on my left, Sarah on my right. My father sat across the aisle with the men.

It was church Sunday. Plain folk did no more chores than absolutely necessary, beyond caring for their animals, and spent the day in prayer, fellowship, and sharing food. Church services were held on a rotating basis at each house in the community. A wagon would arrive early that morning or the night before with pews and tables, and the women would descend upon the house to begin cooking.

A heartbreakingly clear blue sky stretched overhead. The benches were arranged in the Millers’ yard in rows, and I watched the people settle like birds onto telephone wires, men on one side, women on the other. Two rows ahead of me, I saw Hannah Bachman’s dark hair tucked under her bonnet. She was smiling and looking at Sam Vergler across the aisle. He was blushing under his freckles. I exchanged glances with Elijah from across the yard, looked away. Hannah and Sam had not changed, but something had shifted between Elijah and me.

My gaze landed on Ruth Hersberger, the girl that Joseph had adored. She sat close to the front, holding her sisters’ hands, rising to kiss Herr Miller’s cheek. Her eyes were red and swollen. It seemed that she missed Joseph more than I had thought.

I looked away bitterly. Perhaps a girl like Ruth would be better for Elijah as he stepped into the void left by his brothers.

I sucked in my breath to stifle a sob, then spied the Hexenmeister ambling to the back bench. He seemed to have been busy; even his church suit was spattered with a bit of paint.

I looked forward to the Bishop as he began prayers.

My fingers flipped the pages of the Ausbund, and my voice lifted in song automatically with the others. But my heart beat like a bird against the cage of my ribs as I snuck glances to the front, to Elijah. He sat with his head bowed in prayer and his crutches leaning against his shoulder, never once glancing back at me.

As the women and children sang, the men left the pews to decide who would give the sermons. My voice sounded dead to my own ears, and I was relieved when the men returned and the Bishop walked before the congregation to give a sermon.

The topic of the day was Gelassenheit. I cast my eyes downward at my clasped hands in what I hoped passed for meditative focus.

The Bishop’s voice rolled over us like thunder:

“The world Outside is full of doubt, of violence and turmoil. It is natural to experience fear. And the answer to fear is not questioning. The answer to fear is faith—faith in the will of God.”

I could feel the weight of the Bishop’s scrutiny on me. I whispered “Amen,” and felt his gaze move away.

“Gelassenheit is not something to be accepted when life moves smoothly. We need to recognize the will of God when times are troubled. As they are now.

“We have experienced a great deal of loss in our community recently. The loss of Rebecca and Ava Yoder, Mary Fisher, Seth and Joseph Miller . . .”

I squeezed my eyes shut. The Bishop was admitting that they were as good as dead. A hysterical sob was muffled. I looked up to see Ruth crying into her apron with her sisters’ heads bent over her.

Sarah stared up at me with round eyes and whispered: “Are Seth and Joseph really gone?”

“I’m afraid so, Sarah.”

“Are they in heaven with their mother?”

I swallowed hard. I looked at her innocent eyes, thought of how devastated she would be by the idea that the boys who had been with her all her life were lost. I also thought of all the places that Mrs. Parsall had said that God had saved: the Vatican, the mountain in Japan, even the pagan temple in New Jersey. I could not believe that God would be unkind enough to leave Seth and Joseph behind.

I leaned in to kiss Sarah’s forehead. “Yes, liewe. They’re with their mother. She’s taking care of them now.”

When I looked up, I found the Bishop staring hard at me. I was certain that he could not have heard our whispered conversation over Ruth’s weeping. But he sensed my rebellion, even from across the yard. I lifted my chin defiantly. I would not tell a little girl that the young men who had been brothers to her were gone for eternity. There was enough time for her to find out on her own.

“But, even in the face of these losses, God has given us a gift,” the Bishop continued. “He has given us a great reward for observing Gelassenheit. He has given us safety.”

A low murmur rustled through the congregation like dry leaves.

“Yes, God has blessed us and has provided for us. The world Outside has been devastated.”

The murmur crackled. There had been rumors, and all were aware of the Elders’ edict that no one was to venture beyond the gate.

“But he has saved us, saved us to reward us for our obedience. And as long as we remain obedient, we shall be safe.”

My fingers chewed the hem of my apron. I knew that this wasn’t true. We were not his chosen people. We were safe, to be certain, but so were others. The image of the pagan army in New Jersey kept popping into my mind. I imagined that they were much like us, dressed in black, fighting against the monstrosities at their own Laundromat.

I was brought back to myself when the Bishop gave up the floor to the next sermon—a lay sermon from Herr Miller.