“Oh.” His hands lowered the shirt to his lap. “Sorry.”
I shook my head, ashamed for taking out my bad temper on another. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’ve had a bad morning.”
His eyes widened. “You didn’t go back to town, did you?”
“No. I went to church.”
“Ah, well. That explains it,” he blurted. “I mean . . . well . . . Two hours of sermons is enough to dim anyone’s sparkle.”
I frowned, changed the subject. “I have news from Outside.”
He stopped chewing, dropping crumbs onto his stubble. “Yeah?”
“Ja. I took some cell phone batteries with me yesterday.”
He smirked. “Took or stole?”
I was silent for a moment. “I left money. Do you want me to tell you?” I wasn’t sure if he wanted information or to simply continue goading me.
“Yes. I want to know.” He lifted his hands in surrender, but his eyes burned hungrily for the news. “Tell me.”
“The Englishwoman staying with us has a husband in the military. She spoke to him. The . . . the contagion has spread.”
“How far?”
“Far enough that he estimates that two-thirds of the people everywhere are just . . . gone.”
Alex set down his sandwich.
I continued, the words falling over each other. “There are people who have survived . . . he said in places like Vatican City. Stonehenge. Religious sites.” I shook my head. “I don’t believe it. Not all of it, anyway.”
He looked up. “I was right. They offer some protection against the vampires.”
“God cannot be with everyone. Not everyone is right.”
“Maybe, in your view. But it seems like whoever’s left standing will demonstrate his approval the most.” His mouth turned down. “Short of hiding in monasteries, are they any closer to finding a way to stop them?”
“It doesn’t sound like it. They are working on it. But . . . Mrs. Parsall says that they may be forced to use nuclear weapons to stop the spread.”
His jaw dropped. “They can’t. They can’t do that. If they nuke us back into the Stone Age, to nuclear winter, no one will survive.”
I cocked my head. I knew that nuclear weapons were poison, but I hadn’t heard that term. “Nuclear winter?”
Alex leaned his head back against the wall. “The nukes would devastate our climate, plunge us into a winter like no one’s ever seen. The dust would blot out the sun. All of us would freeze or starve to death. Never mind the rest of the mammals on the planet.”
“Would that be a worse way to go than the vampires?” I couldn’t imagine a worse way than having my head torn off by the creature from the Laundromat.
His mouth opened, closed, like a fish’s over a hook. “I don’t know. They have to find another way.”
“It is out of our hands,” I said, turning my attention back to the basket. I handed him a clean blanket.
“Is that what they call Gelassenheit, Bonnet?”
My blood curdled in anger. “What do you know about it?” I forced myself to say blandly. To turn the other cheek.
“That your people tend to surrender yourselves to God’s will. I always thought it was kind of passive, but . . .”
I turned to face him with eyes narrowed. As conflicted as I felt about my own religion, I would not brook sarcasm from an Outsider who knew nothing about it except what he’d read in college textbooks. Plain folk were charged with being mild-mannered, but something within me snapped: “Let me tell you about how Gelassenheit saved your life. When I found you on the other side of our fence, I was forbidden to take you in by the Elders. They said that no one goes in or out of the gate. I asked them—begged them to reconsider. A man stood over you with a rifle, was going to put you down like a dog.”
My voice lifted, and I could see him shrinking back, the armor of cynicism falling from him. “I begged them to leave you there, that it was up to God whether you lived or died. And they took their gun and walked away. I violated their rules to bring you back here, because I thought that was the right thing to do. If they were to find out, you would be exiled. Thrown out of the gate and fed to the monsters.”
I put my face very close to his, so close that my bonnet strings brushed his shoulder, and hissed: “Don’t dare to tell me about Gelassenheit.”
His gaze fell from my furious one. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m a jerk.” When he glanced up, the expression in his ice-blue eyes had thawed a bit, seeming as hurt as it had when he’d talked about Cassia and the end of the world. He swallowed hard. “I owe you. Thank you. I mean it.”
I gave him a curt nod, crawled away, back to the basket. My cheeks flamed, and I was ashamed of my outburst. “You’re welcome.”
The anger drained out of me as I dug in the basket. I set a jar of apple butter on the floor and a wrapped-up loaf of bread. Though I seemed to be doing well at pilfering and provisioning for Alex, I had no idea what to do with him next.
I cleared my throat, and my voice was more gentle. “I thought you would be bored, so I brought you some things to read.”
I gave him copies of the Bible and the Ausbund. Chastened, he took the books gratefully. “Thank you.”
“And I also brought you some less boring reading.” Hesitantly, I handed him a stack of well-worn Wonder Woman comics. “Just don’t spill anything on them.”
A brilliant smile spread across his face. “Diana, princess of the Amazons! I love her.” He began to page through them. “‘Beautiful as Aphrodite, strong as Hercules, wise as Athena, and swift as Mercury . . .’”
I hesitated and returned the smile. Maybe we had just found a small patch of common ground.
Chapter Thirteen
I managed to avoid Elijah until the Singing.
By then, there was nowhere to hide.
Sunday evenings were when the young unmarried members of our community got together to socialize in a pre- approved fashion. After Nachtesse, we all walked to the one-room schoolhouse with our copies of the Ausbund tucked under our arms, giggling in the gloaming. The Singing took place without adult supervision. It was our chance to be free each week. There was always something magical about it: the music, the shy glances passed between boys and girls, holding hands in the darkness.
But it wasn’t magical tonight. I told my mother that I didn’t want to go and busied myself with washing dishes. She took the dishes from me and dried my hands with the dishtowel.
“Go. It will be good for you to get your mind off things.”
“But, Mother . . .” I protested.
“It’s Sunday. No chores.” She lifted her finger and smiled. “Go.”
I sighed, then trudged up to my room to stare sullenly at the dresses in the closet. Mrs. Parsall watched me from the bed, peering over her glasses. My mother was teaching her how to crochet, to keep her occupied. She was not doing a half-bad job on the afghan she’d started with marled ombre yarn. The rows were quite even, though she did count the stitches under her breath.
She laid down her hook when she saw me. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Yes. To the Singing.” I rolled my eyes.
“Are you sure that you want to go out?” she asked neutrally. But I could see the anxiety in her eyes. She knew what lay in the darkness as much as I did.
I sighed and stared into the closet. “My mother insists.”
“I would like to go to the Singing.” Sarah peeped into the room and stuck her tongue out at me.
“You’re too young,” Mrs. Parsall and I said automatically, at the same time. That made us both laugh.