The Hallowed Ones

The black figures stared at me for speaking out of turn again.

“Father,” I pleaded. “It’s Gelassenheit. Let God decide.”

My father turned back, exchanged a glance with the Elder who held the rifle. The weapon trembled from barrel to stock. It would be a hard thing to ask a man to kill another. Even in the name of mercy.

The Bishop’s gaze flicked among us, then to heaven. He reached out and pushed the barrel of the gun down.

“Leave him. Let God decide if he should go quickly, or if he should suffer.”

The men in black walked back across the field, back to their dry homes, like crows returning to the nest.

I trailed behind them, a confused and drenched brown sparrow behind the flock.

Chapter Six

I returned to the fence before dusk.

The rain had stopped, and the sun singed a low bank of clouds at the horizon. The long rays of the sun illuminated the sheen of moisture glistening on the fence posts and grass in an aura of gold and shoved my shadow behind me.

I clutched a jar full of cold water close to my chest. It sloshed with every step as I advanced upon the fence. When I stopped before the prone wet form beside the barbed wire, I swore that the hammering of my heart thundered through the water and caused it to splash to the rim. I imagined that this was the sound of the sea, though I’d never heard nor seen it.

The rain had soaked the young man through, his hair plastered to his sharp cheekbone. The blood had been rinsed from his face. He had not moved since this afternoon.

I feared that Gelassenheit had been fulfilled, that he was dead.

I crouched down beside him in the mud, wet grass tickling my knees. Tentatively, I reached through the barbed-wire fence to touch his chest. Swallowing hard, I placed my palm flat against the cold zipper and soggy leather of his jacket, where his heart lay. I was rewarded with feeling his chest swell against my hand.

I chewed my bottom lip. It would have been easier if he were dead, I knew. But Gelassenheit wasn’t about what was easy.

I reached under the barbed wire with the jar, pressed it to the young man’s lips. Awkwardly, I tried to turn his head toward the jar. Water dribbled over his lips, and my hand shook. I couldn’t tell how much trickled down the back of his throat, and how much ran down the side of his cheek into the grass.

I sat back on my heels and set the jar down on the ground beside me. After wiping my hands on my apron, I clasped them to pray. The molten light from the vanishing sun warmed my face. I held on to that warmth until it drained away.

I stood as the first stars began to prickle through the canopy of blackness. I knew that it was wrong of me to ask for a sign from God, to ask for anything. But I wished, deep in the bottom of my heart, for some indication that he would not turn away from me for what I contemplated doing.

But there was no sign. No word from God except what the Elders had said.

And for a moment, I wondered if what Mrs. Parsall had supposed was true . . . Had he truly left us? Left all of us?

And if so, did it matter any longer what we did?

* * *

I waited until the moon crept beyond the tangle of trees, until my sister slept and I could hear Mrs. Parsall’s soft, fitful snoring.

I slipped out of bed, dressed noiselessly in the dark. I remembered where each and every creaky floorboard lay in the house and sidestepped them in bare feet. I felt a pang of guilt in my chest as I passed the closed door of my parents’ room and stepped down the stairs into the kitchen. I put my shoes on and let myself out the back door, a shuttered lantern in my sweating grip.

The crickets and bullfrogs sang sleepily, and the moon burned through the tatters of clouds overhead. The cool night air slid over my face as I made my way to the barn just at the edge of our yard. This was the barn that was frequented by our family, the cows, and the horses. It was in good repair and freshly painted red—not the gray, dilapidated realm that I haunted a mile away with the dogs. I slowly opened up the lantern and turned up the wick, feeling the heat of metal in my hands.

In the highly flammable setting of a barn, with the unpredictable hooves of animals, fire was an imminent threat. I placed the lantern down on the bare ground and watched it like it was a living thing with its own volition as I reached for the barn door. The hinges squeaked as I opened the door, then propped it open with a brick. I gathered the lantern in a two-fisted grip and walked into the darkness.

I whistled softly at Star. She blinked and nodded at me. We were keeping her here since we had taken over so many of the Millers’ chores. I rubbed the white mark on her forehead and kissed her nose. She blew questioningly at me as I led her to the sledge and placed the heavy harness on her.

“I shall bring you extra oats,” I promised, trying to buy her silence.

I turned the lantern down and shuttered it, and we left the barn. I glanced fearfully up at the windows of my house. No lights burned, and it was just chilly enough tonight that the windows were closed.

I was thankful that the moon was waxing, that it provided enough light to see by. It cast spiky shadows of grass and fence posts and the lacy shadows of trees on the ground. It illuminated the clouds above in gray light, all color drained from the sky.

I led Star to the Millers’ south field. The horse’s ears flattened, and I knew that she assumed that we’d be throwing more hay bales. I reached up to ruffle her ear. “I’ll be quick.”

She snorted back at me. The sledge bounced along the ruts in the field. I saw the steers lying down in the moonlight, shadows nodding. But that wasn’t the shadow I sought . . .

There. I advanced upon the form curled up beside the fence. I knelt down beside the young man, touched his shoulder. It shivered.

“Can you hear me?” I asked. My voice sounded very loud in the quiet of night.

The man didn’t speak, and his eyes were closed.

“I’m going to take you someplace warm.”

I reached between the two strands of barbed wire and grasped his arm. With all my might, I pulled his soggy sleeve beneath the lowest strand of wire. I dragged him over a hump of lumpy grass and poison ivy, trying to extricate his dead weight from the wire. His jacket caught, and I was forced to pause and work it free. I hadn’t brought gloves, and the barbs scraped my hands.

I succeeded in pulling him to my side of the fence. Grasping his heavy arms, I dragged him toward the sledge.

Star’s eyes rolled, and she whinnied, shying away. In the field a steer ear twitched, and there was an answering moo.

“It’s okay, girl,” I said soothingly. Star was a good horse but unaccustomed to human cargo on the sledge. I left the young man in the muck, tied Star to the fence post, and then managed to drag him up on the sledge by his feet. He weighed considerably more than a bale of hay, even wet hay, and sweat prickled my brow under my bonnet.

“Ja, let’s go,” I said to Star. She allowed herself to be led from the fence, but I could tell that she was on edge. It was as if she sensed that I was breaking the rules and she was demonstrating her disapproval.

“I know,” I told her, through gritted teeth.

She hauled the man to my distant, little gray kennel barn, away from our homestead and the prying eyes of others. Hearing the clatter of gear and the grate of the sledge, Sunny waddled to the door. She snuffled my hands and apron, searching for treats.

I kissed her head. “No treats tonight. But I brought you a roommate.”

Copper was sniffing over the young man with the vigor of a hound dog. He whined at me, as if he’d caught