She headed through the big double doors and into the lobby area, where Sarah led the children in song. The sound made her smile, bringing back memories. If she had one wish, it would be to get that feeling back—the beauty and joy of singing, of knowing she was here for a reason and that everything they did here meant something. She’d been special. Important.
She walked across the thin, tan carpet—whose rough nap she remembered perfectly beneath her knees—to the rear of the room, where two doors led to the dining hall and kitchen.
In one of the doorways stood Brigid, focused on the kids, the half smile on her face probably a replica of Abby’s.
She didn’t notice Abby right away, but when she did, it took a while for her expression to change. For those few seconds of limbo, they shared something. A memory of a childhood spent as friends? A moment of regret for the past they’d had here? Singing and believing and justbeing, away from the reality of life outside this fence.
Just being.
Brigid’s eyes cleared and her features dropped. The smile disappeared, and she squinted before disappearing into the kitchen. Well, Abby supposed, crossing the room to follow her, even bonds forged in childhood could be broken.
Gracious, wasn’t it sad? She and Brigid had been close once. Almost the same age. But as Abby pushed through the swinging door, she remembered things changing. They’d been about twelve, maybe, when they’d started to grow apart. No, not grown—more like broken, with Brigid splintering off from her life one summer. If not physically, at least in spirit.
There was a racket in here. The productive clatter and sizzle of cooking. Potatoes and beans, chicken and stuffing. A feast, it looked like. Abby’s mouth watered as she sought out her mother, but she wasn’t here. Abby made her way through the busy space, to the greetings of several women—not including Brigid, she noticed, who’d slid away to peel carrots, shoulders hunched, stiff back to the room.
What happened to you?Abby wondered before walking through the door.What happened that summer?
Ah, here was Mama. In the dining hall, preparing for dinner. Abby raced to her.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Here you are. Wondered where you’d got to after the market.”
“Checked my fences.”
Her mother chuckled. “Looks like we finally got you the right job.”
“I liked the market.”
“Yes, well. You liked that a little too much, Abigail. Customers were asking after you. Fraternizing with outsiders is—”
“Frowned upon.I know, Mama. I know, but—”
“It’s not just fraternizing, dear. It’s sinking to their level. There’s a reason we live here, you know. On this mountain.” Above the fray. Yes, she knew that, too. She knew it all, and yet she couldn’t seem to get it right—couldn’t seem to want to.
“I need to talk to you, Mama.”
“What about, child?”
“Sammy.”
“Oh, honey, not that again. The boy was born with his cross to—”
“No, Mama. We can change it.”
Hands busy polishing and separating flatware, her mother didn’t say a word.
“Sammy’s sick, Mama,” Abby said.
“It’s the Lord’s will” was the response, although it sounded more like a single word:Sthlorswill. It came out smooth and easy, dismissive of the reality of it. That was what happened when you repeated something often enough. It turned into a meaningless sound.
“He’s in pain, Mama. He’s hurting. And we can fix that.”
“If the Almighty’s decided to—”
“We can save him.”
“Who iswe?”
