The Hallowed Ones

I wrenched open the barn door with a savage creak of metal on wood. I was angry, spoiling for a fight. I was ready to take it out on the only person nearby whom I could be terrible to with impunity. I did not announce myself to him, but the dogs knew my scent, came to me, licked my hands.

I listened to the structure creak and sigh as darkness fell and the wood cooled. The shade was cold on my damp face. There was no other sign of life, just me and the dogs.

Part of me, the selfish evil part of me that Elijah loathed, wished that the Outsider had died. I could dig a grave for him in a few hours, be done with my guilt. My sin of defying the Elders would be erased, as if nothing had ever happened.

I heard a rustle and assumed it was Alex stirring.

I squeezed my eyes shut and lowered my head. I concentrated all my power on steadying my voice. “Just me.”

I did not go back to him immediately. I scrubbed my sleeve across my face, knelt beside Sunny to rub her sides. I could feel puppies moving within her. Any day now. Sniffling, I lit a lantern and hung it on a hook beside the door. I went to check their water. The levels were low, so I began to top them off with a bucket I kept in the barn. The dogs nosed past me and began to slurp, splashing water against my knee. I did what I knew how to do, tried to focus on work, hoping that would drive out the despondency and hurt and fear.

“Katie.”

I glanced up, tears dripping down my nose.

Alex stood in the straw, watching me. I was startled to see him vertical, clean, and dressed like a Plain man, in dark britches, a white shirt that was a little short for his long arms, and suspenders. He was taller than I’d thought, though he stood with a slight slouch with his hands in his pockets. His face was clean-shaven, and his freshly washed hair was the color of straw. I did not know how long he’d stood there, watching me snivel.

I smeared the tears off my chin with my knuckles, turned back to fussing with the dog bowls. I didn’t want the Englisher to see me cry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I clanged the food bowls together, filled them with scoops from an open dog food bag. “I’m fine.”

“No. No, you’re not.”

I couldn’t look at him. “I am fine.” I began shaking out the dog blankets. They would be due for a washing soon . . .

He came up beside me and caught my elbow. “Hey. What happened?”

I bit my lip. I could feel the tears prickling hot behind my eyes, and I couldn’t trust myself to speak again. My hands shook, and I let the blanket fall.

“Did somebody hurt you? Did the vampires—?”

His eyes were bright with such sympathy that I couldn’t stand it. I shook my head, covered my face with my hands, and sobbed.

He put his arms around me while I cried against his chest. His shirt smelled like soap and sweet straw and dog. Familiar. He didn’t say anything, just held me until my tears faded to hiccups. I grimaced when I saw that a smudge of pink makeup had smeared his white shirt.

His hands rested lightly on my shoulders. “What happened?”

I released a short, bitter bark of laughter. The end of the world had happened, and I was bawling over a boy. Maybe, but that boy had been a very large part of my very small world. “It wasn’t vampires.”

His brow creased. “What, then?”

I drew back, and his hands fell. “I don’t think you’d understand.”

He folded his empty arms across his chest. “Try me. I’ve got nothing but time.”

I blew out my breath. “The man I . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say “love.” “The man I’m expected to marry got baptized this morning.”

“Okay.” He looked at me blankly. “That’s normal in your culture, right? You come of age, and you get baptized in the church?”

“Well, yes.”

“A lot of places don’t do it that way, you know. They baptize babies.”

“So I’ve heard. But here you have to choose to join the church of your own free will.”

“And . . . he joined the church?”

“When you join the Amish church, you are required to follow their edicts. It is putting an end to Rumspringa, to all earthly desires.” My vision blurred.

“It put an end to your relationship.”

“Ja. At least, it must change form.” I rubbed my eyes. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“What’s stupid?”

“Being . . . being jealous of God.”

He shook his head and laughed. “No, it’s not stupid. Religion is a big deal for couples. You guys have to be on the same page.”

I sighed. “We always . . . we always dreamed of Rumspringa together. Our parents dreamed of us married. Now Rumspringa is impossible. And . . .” My hands fell open and I took a quavering breath. “It seems he has found a more suitable girl. Ruth is . . .”

“A more suitable girl?” Alex laughed softly. “What does that mean? More pious, more obedient?”

I nodded, staring down at the floor. That was it, exactly.

“Look, I, uh . . . don’t know the guy. But he sounds like a jackass.”

My gaze flickered up, and I cracked a smile. No one had ever called Elijah anything like that. “He has his moments.”

“I mean . . . c’mon. Is he that threatened by a woman who thinks for herself?”

I’d never been called a “woman.” I expected to be a “woman” after Rumspringa and marriage. I still thought of myself as in that in-between liminal stage: too old to be a girl, but without the responsibilities of adulthood.

“If he’s looking for a . . . a mouse, I’m sure that there are plenty of them about. But you’re not a mouse. You’re intelligent, brave as hell, and you’re cute.”

I blinked at him. “I’m not any of those things. I’m supposed to be obedient. Yielding.”

Alex shrugged, as if it were a matter of objective fact. “Well, you are those things. I’m no expert in relationships, but . . .” A shadow flickered across his face, and I supposed that he was remembering Cassia. “As cheesy as it sounds, if it was meant to be, he’ll come back.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “You’re invoking Gelassenheit?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” A lopsided smile crossed his face. It was then I noticed that it was speckled in tiny cuts: two on his jaw, one on his cheek.

“What happened to your face?” I asked.

His hand flitted to his chin, and his smile turned sheepish. “I, uh, kinda suck with that straight razor you gave me.”

I smiled. “You’ll learn.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So . . . would you like some applesauce? I still have some left.”

“Ja. I would like some applesauce.”

I carefully took the lantern from its hook and followed Alex back to his nook in the barn. It looked as if he’d been restless there. His blanket was folded in a corner, food in another, comic books stacked in a third, and soap and clothes in the fourth. I felt a pang of sadness for him. These were the four corners of Alex’s world. And I mourned for how small mine was becoming.

He sat down, unscrewed the cap on the jar of applesauce, and handed it to me with the spoon I’d left him.

“Thank you,” I said. I dipped the spoon into the sauce and tasted the cinnamon apple mixture. It soothed me, stopped the hollow rumbling in my stomach. After a few bites, I handed it back to him. He tucked into the jar with the same spoon clinking against the glass.

He gestured to the stack of books. “Interesting reading material.”

“Oh?”