At night we stayed out as late as we dared. My mother always told me night was when the world became the Devil’s playground. But Everett showed me the opposite. At midnight, when every shred of light seeped from the world and it hung at the pinnacle of darkness, the creatures of the forest woke and soared and sang. So did I. Under the protective spell of the dark, I became a wolf, howling with Everett, exploring, traipsing through the swampland unafraid. Midnight Ruth was my boldest self, too precious for sunlight.
Eventually my parents discovered what I was doing and wereincensed. They tried everything to stop me. But there was no threat or punishment that would make me give up Everett. When my father screamed, spittle flying, when he told me Everett was a corrupter with a tar-black soul, sent by the Devil to debase me, I let his words tumble past. When he caught me sneaking home and struck me with the cane until my back bent, I let the pain sink in and flow out. I have no idea where the bravery came from, why their disapproval didn’t trigger the same debilitating fear it always had. Perhaps it was simply that I could sense, even in the beginning of our friendship, that Everett was a lifeline I’d better hold on to.
One day I came downstairs for breakfast wearing my sneakers, planning to meet Everett after, and found my parents sitting side by side at the kitchen table. That was bad enough, but when I saw what was on the table, my stomach seized. Two thick envelopes, torn open. My admissions results from Louisiana Tech and LSU, the two schools in the state with the strongest English programs and cheapest tuition. The two I’d secretly applied to. If I could just get accepted, I’d reasoned, I could come up with a plan to pay so I wouldn’t have to ask my parents for money, and then I’d stand a chance of convincing them.
Graduation was now a week away. I’d been waiting for these letters all spring.
“You went behind our backs,” said my mother in her quietest voice, which was also her most dangerous. My father and she were fire and ice—and like Robert Frost said, when it came to destruction, either was nice and would suffice. She flicked the letters with her bony fingers. “How dare you make plans without us, like we’re nothing? Your parents who raised you?”
“I was going to tell you—”
“Don’t interrupt your mother,” my father boomed. The great James Cornier was thick and towering, larger than life, with a sonorous voice,square teeth, and wild chest hair that curled from the tops of his dress shirts. The dark giant to my mother’s pale sprite. When he rocked forward, the entire table quaked. “Where’s your judgment, Ruth? These places are Sodom incarnate.”
“That’s not true.” Desperation pitched my voice higher. “They’re places for learning. That’s all I want to do.” Books were my refuge; the idea of devoting my life to them was a dream that had carried me through every day in Bottom Springs.
“Learn what?” My father was flummoxed. “You can learn everything you need to be God’s servant here.”
“‘A woman should learn in quietness and full submission,’” said my mother. “Timothy 2:11.”
“That’s what you’re doing in this house. We’re teaching you everything the Bible says you need: how to love your future husband and children, how to be self-controlled, how to submit to God’s will.” My father shook his head. “The need for worldly education is a lie told by the government, Ruth. We appease them as we must, but enough is enough. I won’t let your head become clouded.”
“‘Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised,’” my mother quoted. Her white-blond hair, as stripped of color as mine was full of it, swished over her shoulders. “I know those books you read when you think we’re not looking give you airs. But you’re almost a woman now, Ruth Cornier. It’s time to stop being vain and childish and grow up.”
They weren’t supposed to ambush me. I was supposed to find the letters in the mailbox and, if they contained good news, present my case methodically, persuasively. I’d win them over and then I’d escape to a city where no one watched or whispered, where Renard Michael’s bloody face didn’t haunt me around every corner.
I took a deep breath and dared to meet my father’s eyes. “The costwon’t be a burden, I swear.” I kept my voice subdued, the way he liked it. “I’ll take out loans and work a part-time job, if you’ll just sign the paperwork.” He was my legal guardian; without his signature, I couldn’t access anything. “Please,Daddy.”
The thought that I could lose the one shining light at the end of my tunnel was suddenly too much to bear. Instead of keeping calm, I made a fatal mistake. I fell to my knees and placed my head in my father’s lap, willing him to see me as his daughter, to feel a spark of tenderness that could sway his heart. The words tumbled out: “I want to see the world. I want to learn and have a career.” My voice cracked. “Please. I’ll suffocate if I don’t leave.”
I knew the moment I looked up that I’d revealed too much. Given my parents a glimpse of the real me, the emotions I’d hidden. It was a line I could never uncross.
My father jerked his knee away and I fell back against the kitchen floor.
“It’s that boy, isn’t it?” my mother hissed. “He’s in your ear. Getting you to want things you have no business wanting.”
My heart felt as if it were physically breaking. They were going to blame Everett and kill two birds with one stone. I scrambled to my feet. “This has nothing to do with him. I’ve wanted to go to college my whole life.”
“You’re not leaving Bottom Springs.” My father’s words were heavy and final. “You’re a Cornier. You will set an example.”
“Please.” My legs trembled as I gripped the table. “Don’t take this away. It’s all I’ve lived for.”
One of my greatest weaknesses has always been that sometimes grief and fear can grip me so completely that I lose control. I could feel it happening then, that old demon clawing: the shortness of breath, a pounding heart, the sense that I was spiraling and couldn’t stop.
“Do you see now?” My mother turned to my father as if they were picking up a conversation they’d started long before. “She’s hysterical. God demands we intervene.”
I willed in air. If they were going to call the elders to lay hands on me, I’d run.
“Your mother’s right.” My father crossed his arms. “It’s time we take you to the doctor.”
I gaped. “You said they’re for the weak, for people without the moral fiber to connect with God.”
“Youarethe weak,” he said. “And you’ve been masking it for years, haven’t you? But your momma and I’ve seen it. Our only child, a deviant. Well, God calls us to face down the Devil even when he’s inside our own home.”
My heart pounded. I couldn’t let them touch me.
“Listen to me,” my father commanded, and that’s when the switch flipped. I had the sudden sensation of being pinned down, unable to breathe. I’d do anything to escape. I lunged for the letters and bolted down the hall, ignoring my parents’ shouts, then burst from the front door and streaked across the lawn.
As I shot around the street corner, there was Everett, making his way to my house. He stopped short but I kept running, clutching my letters, not even stopping when I got close enough to register his fresh black eye.
