I remembered that two years ago one of my classmates had been baptized very young. He had been sixteen, insisted that he was ready, that he had tasted enough of Outside—but then he returned to the ways of Rumspringa. He moved outside our community within six months. He had come around for a while to visit his family, wearing his English clothes of jeans and T-shirts, driving his car, and talking about the job he’d found Outside in a factory. He’d also found drugs—meth. His parents kept trying to talk him into coming back, where there would be no temptation. He could go through withdrawal at home, ask the church for forgiveness, go back to where he’d started.
But the Elders said that his visits couldn’t continue. They said that the only way to bring him back into the fold was to reject him. He could not have the best of both worlds. He had accepted the rules when he was baptized, and he should know better. They were confident that the disapproval of his family and community would cause him to come back, dry out, ask forgiveness and rejoin the church, and to live happily ever after. With us.
And so they shunned him. The Bann und Meidung. Under the Bann, he was not permitted on our property. We were not allowed to speak to him, not even if we saw him Outside. We were to turn away from him, cast our eyes and voices away. We were to do nothing to help him. We were to release him to Outside like a wayward bird and let him find his way back.
It was heartbreaking for his family. I remember seeing him pounding on the door of his house, distraught, but no one would let him in. On the second floor, I could see his mother peering through the curtains, weeping. The only one who greeted him was the family dog.
He drove away and never came back. News came months later that he had died in a car accident. Alcohol was involved. His parents were not permitted to bury their son, and it was rumored that the government Outside had cremated his unclaimed remains. He’d turned against us, and his parents would never see him in heaven.
The Elders said that was God’s will. Gelassenheit.
And the Elders now said that no one was permitted in or out of the gate. I had defied those edicts twice. I had brought an Outsider in, and I’d ventured Outside myself. I could tell them what I had learned . . . that Outside suffered from a plague of vampires. But could they do anything with that knowledge that they weren’t already doing? They had placed our community in quarantine. That seemed to be working. According to Alex, it would continue to work unless someone invited evil in.
I squeezed my eyes shut. If I told the Elders, I did not know what would happen. I expected that they would throw Alex out to the monsters. For myself . . . I had never seen someone placed under the Bann until after they were baptized. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. If they could shun someone for accepting and then renouncing the Ordnung, for the crime of being an addict, they would not hesitate doing the same to me for bringing risk to the community.
And, given what I’d seen and heard today, the Bann would mean certain death.
I sank up to my chin in the now-tepid water. I had failed to follow the Elders’ wisdom. Though they didn’t have all the information, they had chosen the correct course of action through faith.
I had no choice. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want Alex to die. I would have to keep silent.
But perhaps I could make amends to God, and he could forgive me. Perhaps he would not bring disaster to our doorstep.
I began to murmur the Lord’s Prayer, my breath pushing small ripples across the water. Maybe he would still hear me.
***
I walked over to Elijah’s house that evening to bring him and his father some supper. I left as soon as the bread had cooled enough to handle and the Jell-O had set. The sun was still above the horizon. I wanted to be back well before nightfall, now that I knew what dwelt in it.
I knocked on the front door, and Herr Miller called for me to let myself in. I found him sitting at the kitchen table, reading his Bible. He looked very pale and thin as his eyes moved across the page.
“I’ve brought supper. And I’ll pick up your laundry.”
“Thank you, Katie,” he murmured as I put a plate of bread, ham, and baked apples before him.
“I’ll put the Jell-O in the refrigerator,” I said. “It has spiced apples in it.” There wouldn’t be much more Jell-O, or any groceries from the Outside, in the future.
His gaze flickered at me as I prepared Elijah’s plate. “Katie, you know that Elijah will be baptized tomorrow.”
I paused in slicing the bread. “So soon?” I blurted.
“The church will be doing their fall baptisms tomorrow.”
“I thought . . . I thought that wasn’t for a few more weeks.” The Amish baptized their young men and women in fall and spring, at large church services for that purpose. That then allowed those who were intent on starting families to prepare for weddings after harvest or before planting, when there was a lull in the daily activities. And there was always a course of study for many weeks before.
“The Elders moved it up. They said it was best, given the circumstances.”
I could feel his gaze heavy on my back as I assembled the plate.
“I am happy for you both,” I said. “You must be very proud.”
“I am. But you should consider it, as well, Katie. I will talk to your parents about it. I think that they would be strongly in favor.”
I bit my lip. I wanted to make amends with God, certainly. The end of the world had come, and it did make sense to get baptized. But my conscience was not clear enough for me to take baptism. I still had a young man in the barn. I couldn’t be baptized now and abandon him the instant the water touched my forehead. For, once baptized, I could not continue to care for him in any good conscience . . . never mind the Bann.
I smeared a gentle smile on my face. With Elijah’s plate in my hand, I kissed his father’s balding forehead. I hope that he took that as a gesture of respect. He smiled and patted my sleeve.
I climbed the stairs to the boys’ room. The door was ajar, and I pushed it open. Elijah was lying in his middle bed, reading his Bible. He smiled when he saw me.
“I brought you some supper,” I said, closing the door behind me.
He put the Bible on the nightstand. “Thank you.”
I sat on the edge of his bed. “How’s your ankle?”
He wiggled the foot at the edge of the quilt. “It’s getting better. I’ve been up and around on it a bit. I found someone to lend me some crutches for . . .” His eyes slid away from mine.
“For tomorrow,” I finished.
He stared fixedly down at his plate. “I want you to be happy for me.”
“I am. But . . . I also feel as if I’m losing my best friend.” I rubbed my nose. It was as close to explaining how I really felt: that he would be closer to God than he would be to me. And that was a good thing. It just left me feeling . . . lonely. Bereft.
He reached out and took my hand. “Don’t feel that way.”
“How can I not?”
“There’s nothing out there for us, anyway. The Outside world took Joseph and Seth. Caught them out.” His eyes were dark. “I want no part of it.”
I could understand his anger. “You aren’t the only one who’s lost family. Mrs. Parsall may have lost her children and husband.”
“They aren’t like us.” Elijah shook his head. “They aren’t going to heaven.”
I pulled my hand away. “What’s happened to you?”
His mouth was set in a grim line. “The Elders came by yesterday. What they said made sense.”
“What did they say to you?” Dread curled in the pit of my stomach.
“They said that something terrible has happened Outside. That it’s all gone. That there’s no point in hoping for Rumspringa. We must devote ourselves to God and build on what we have here. God has blessed us. He’s saved us. And we must show our devotion to him.”
I couldn’t argue with that unimpeachable logic. “I wish you well,” I said softly.
“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.”