“Look no further than our Savior, Abigail, for the answer to your questions.”
“But, Mama, you wanted to be with Isaiah, right? You chose to come here. I mean, you could have—”
“Where, may I ask, is this curiosity coming from?”
Mama’s breathing was loud in the silence that followed. There was a moment—just a second or two—when she’d have told the truth, perhaps. Whatever that truth might have been. That she’d changed, or the world had, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to change it back.
“Just wondering who God will pick for me, is all.” Or if, perhaps, God had already chosen.
“It isnotyour job to wonder, child.” Mama’s jaw was hard, her words crisp. “It is your responsibility to submit.”
“Yes, Mama,” she mumbled.
It wasn’t long before Isaiah arrived, opening the door to the cabin and letting in another draft of that icy wind.
“I’ve got to go,” Abby muttered. She made to move past him, and he stopped her.
“What’s this?” he asked, reaching to touch her.
“I don’t—”
“Got something in your hair here, Abigail.”
He touched her hair and came away with a dry leaf on a branch. He squinted at it, hard, before looking at her.
“Grape leaf?” he asked.
“Must have blown over from next door,” said Abby, throat tight with fear.
He examined it, and her, before tossing it to the wind, muttering something about the weather. Abby didn’t wait before following one step behind. She had to get away from his all-seeing gaze and Mama’s all-knowing one.
At her own cabin, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, shaking. Why, oh why, had she spoken of this to her mother? Why had she gone into their cabin tonight at all?
She shut her eyes hard against the memory of that leaf crunching in Isaiah’s hand, his yellow eyes on hers.
In the dark, something moved.
“Who’s there?” She scrambled to light the candle beside the door, hands trembling so hard she needed a second match to do the job.
A moan, followed by a thud, led her to the kitchen. Dread heavy in her stomach, she turned the corner to see Sammy, curled up on a floor stained with blood and vomit.
Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord. No, no, no. Please don’t do this. Not to Sammy. Please, not Sammy.She dropped to her knees, heedless of the filth seeping into her skirt, and pulled Sammy’s soft, golden head into her lap. His hair was matted brown, and crusty. Was he breathing? Yes. Yes, he was breathing, but—
His eyes opened, sweet and lucid.Oh, thank you.
“Sammy.”
“Abby.” His voice was thin as a thread, but his smile was real. Good.Thank you, Lord. Oh, thank you.She loved that smile, loved his gentle face with its high forehead and button nose. He was different, she knew. She’d seen people like him outside. But it didn’t matter to her. There was no one in the world she loved more than this boy who couldn’t be mean if he tried.
“What happened, Sammy-Boy?”
“Don’t know, Abby. Don’t know.”
“Did you fall?”
“Uh-huh. Fell, shaking like the last time. Hurt my head so bad. Hurts bad.”
He tried to sit up, and she held him tighter, stilled his body. “Hold on, pumpkin. Just hold on for a sec. Let’s make sure you’re in one piece first, okay?” He was getting worse. Just a week ago, he’d had one of these episodes, and she’d had no idea what he needed. No idea how to help. An image of Hamish flashed into her mind, so real it blinded her: those last dark months when his begging had gotten to be too much to bear and she’d finally done something about it.
