Agnes at the End of the World Read online

Raw egg smeared Beth’s face. She clutched a note tied to a stone, looking more frightened than Agnes had ever seen her.

  Oh Beth, she thought, spirit sinking. What have you done?

  “Give me that,” Father snapped.

  Beth hesitated, and that’s when Agnes knew.

  She’d been fooling around with someone. That’s why she’d been disappearing. It was the worst thing a girl could ever do, and Red Creek would enforce her punishment with relish. When word got around, the patriarchs could even decide to exile her. If she was allowed to stay, she’d be a pariah.

  For all intents and purposes, Beth’s life was over.

  I’ve failed my sister.

  Father read the note, a vein pulsing in his temple.

  He slapped Beth harshly across the face. Then he stormed out of the house, shouting about getting his gun. No one noticed that Agnes’s hand bled all over the floor.

  The kids were crying, and Beth held herself stiffly as a corpse. The note had fallen from Father’s hand and fluttered to the floor.

  Beth’s been whoring with Cory Jameson.

  Burn in hell.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Beth whispered, unmoving. “I’ll be faithful now. I swear.”

  Agnes couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even think straight. She could only kneel and hold her sister. She didn’t care what Beth had done. She would always be her beloved sister.

  “I didn’t mean it,” Beth babbled. “I just…”

  “This is Red Creek’s fault,” Agnes said firmly. “It’s Red Creek that’s to blame.”

  But her sister didn’t hear her, lost in the forest of her pain.

  13

  AGNES

  Tend your soul like a garden. Weed out all thoughts that disturb the spirit of God.

  —PROPHET JACOB ROLLINS

  Agnes had never seen Father so angry.

  All morning he called Beth evil names, his words raining down like blows, and when he was spent, he refused even to look at his second born.

  It was called shunning, that cold refusal, and there was no telling how long it might last.

  As for Beth, she looked like she was slowly bleeding to death inside. Washing the breakfast dishes, her hands shook, palsied. Uncharacteristically, she ignored the twins plucking at her skirt, begging to play dolls.

  “You should’ve been watching her.” Father turned on Agnes. “Both of you will take a water fast. Three days.”

  Sick at heart, Agnes glanced at Beth, who’d always been too thin, and wondered if her body could take it—let alone her mind.

  Later, after Beth had retreated to the bathroom, Sam cornered Agnes. “Is Beth really a—”

  “Don’t say it,” she answered sharply.

  His lip quivered at her rebuke. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  Sam deserved some kind of explanation, but Agnes had to tread carefully.

  She put her hands on his shoulders. “Any of the words you learned for bad women in church? Don’t ever say them. They’re more powerful than you know.

  “I’ll explain it all to you one day, Sam. I swear I will. But for now, let it be.”

  Unusual for him, Sam nodded and let it go.

  Though the atmosphere in the trailer was thick with tension, Agnes wouldn’t let the kids play outside. The javelina kept crashing into her mind in a haze of violent red. She brought out the rainy day toys: puzzles and crayons.

  “Draw me something,” she instructed Ezekiel, who hadn’t spoken a word since last night.

  Meanwhile, Agnes combed her memory of every conversation she’d had with Beth that summer. Hadn’t Cory Jameson’s name slipped from her sister’s lips once too often? And hadn’t Beth tried to tell her, not once but twice, about her crisis of faith?

  Regret scraped Agnes’s insides. She dearly wished she’d heeded her sister’s tentative cries for help. Wished she’d asked her, flat out, about her friendship with Cory Jameson. She even wished she’d gone through her diary.

  Anything to spare her this punishment, this shame.

  A knock on the door brought Father from the shed and Agnes from the kitchen.

  Matthew Jameson stood on their porch in a shaft of morning sun.

  Shock rippled through her with dread on its heels. What if Matthew had come to marry her today? What if he took her before she’d had time to prepare?

  Her eyes found Ezekiel, who hadn’t yet had his before-lunch shot.

  Make him go away, she prayed. Please God, get that man away from here.

  Father led him inside, and Agnes broke into a cold sweat. Desperately, she searched Matthew’s face for a clue.

  With his snowy beard and craggy, time-worn face, Mr. Jameson looked like he’d stepped straight from the pages of the Old Testament. His eyes, blank as two flints, told her nothing. In their shabby kitchen, his fine clothes seemed absurdly out of place.

  Father huffed. “What brings you, Matthew? Can Agnes get you something?”

  “Water, please.” He didn’t so much as look at her. “I think you know what brings me.”

  Word traveled fast in Red Creek, and his son’s name had been written on the cruel note, too—though Agnes doubted Cory would be punished as harshly as her sister. At the kitchen sink, she dared to hope that Matthew had come to break their engagement.

  She brought him his water and stepped aside.

  “My son assures me nothing happened with your daughter. I prayed on it, and I believe he tells the truth.”

  “Matthew—”

  He held up a liver-spotted palm. “Don’t apologize. God sends challenges, but He sends solutions, too.”

  Father nodded, silenced, and Agnes felt a stab of unease. Though he spoke quietly, Mr. Jameson’s voice was laced with power. His will would be done, whatever it was.

  “My son’s reputation is badly damaged, but I believe I can salvage it by marrying the girl. Beth.”

  Beth?

  He can’t, Agnes thought madly, senselessly. She’s too young.

  Her sister stepped into the doorway, her eyes wide with astonishment. Agnes reached automatically for her hand, and they linked pinky fingers. Beth’s skin felt clammy, cold.

  Father rubbed his jaw. “That’s very Christian of you. But are you sure you want her for a wife? She’s not innocent in this.”

  Mr. Jameson’s eyes flitted to the doorway, looking through the sisters like they were glass. Agnes remembered Danny’s compassion when he’d looked at her—Are you okay?—and thought what a bitter irony it was that she’d first experienced masculine kindness from an Outsider.

  “In my experience, women settle when taken to wife,” Mr. Jameson was saying. “They only need a firm hand. I’m happy to help your Beth shed the vestiges of her rebellion.”

  The words made Agnes’s stomach churn.

  Don’t agree to it, Father. Don’t you dare agree.

  While Father thought, his hands folded beneath his chin, Agnes prayed as hard as she ever had in her life. Beth couldn’t marry that man. She must not.

  In Father’s slow, yellow smile, Agnes recognized the twisted wire of an animal trap and felt sick. Yes, he’d marry his fifteen-year-old daughter to that flinty-eyed man in place of his sixteen-year-old daughter, if it made his life the least bit simpler.

  “How can I ever thank you?”

  “No thanks needed. I’ll have another water.”

  Agnes hurried to pour him one.

  “And the Prophet?”

  Jameson said, “I’ll talk to Rollins. I’m sure he’ll have another revelation.”

  Father laughed, and the water glass slipped from Agnes’s hand, shattering.

  “Foolish girl,” Father snapped. “What’s wrong with you?”

  She risked a glance into Matthew’s eyes. Supposedly, he was a faithful man, a believer; yet, he’d spoken of the Prophet’s visions like they were lies of convenience. Patently false.

  I’ll talk to Rollins. I’m sure he’ll have another revelation.

&n
bsp; While Agnes numbly swept up the broken glass, the men shook hands and left. The trailer door banged behind them, shuddering the aluminum walls.

  Among the shards, Agnes struggled to catch her breath. Now she knew for certain: God had nothing to do with marriage in Red Creek. Men wanted what they wanted. It was as simple and vicious as that. But Jameson’s words weren’t the worst of it. The worst part was that they’d laughed.

  Agnes tried to catch Beth’s eye, expecting to find her outraged. But she only looked colorless, almost transparent, hovering in the doorway like a ghost.

  Agnes couldn’t dither about praying, or thinking, any longer. They stood in the wreckage of the most dreadful lies—and the men laughed, careless that she’d heard the truth. After years of enforced obedience, it didn’t matter a whit to them what she knew. They simply expected her to obey. And the old Agnes would’ve done just that: buried this little inconsistency in the dark soil of her faith, never to think of it again.

  But she’d changed. The Outsiders, the prayer space, the phone…

  The girl who obeyed without question was dead, buried in the King family graveyard. Only one thought blazed in her mind now, bright as the polestar:

  Virus or not, I have to get the children out.

  14

  BETH

  Repent with perfect obedience, and yet ye sinners shall be saved.

  —PROPHET JACOB ROLLINS

  Beth flew into a frenzy, collecting everything that reminded her of sin and Cory Jameson.

  She threw her hairpins, her barrettes, and even her precious vanilla-scented lotion into the trash, then ripped out the pages of her diary and tossed them into the wastebasket.

  “Beth, you don’t have to do this,” Agnes pleaded. “You’re fine how you are.”

  She whirled. “I’m not fine. Our people want me to burn in hell.”

  “They’re just words. Cruel, thoughtless words.”

  She wanted to punch something. “I’ve been out of control, Agnes. Why didn’t you stop me, help me? I needed you, and you weren’t there!”

  “You’re exhausted. Let me get you something to eat.”

  “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “We’re supposed to fast.”

  “Beth, maybe—”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Beth couldn’t remember ever feeling such rage. Her chest felt pressurized. “Didn’t you see the note? Don’t you understand?”

  Rumors weren’t harmless. They were poisoned arrows lodged in her heart, filling her with seeping, pestilent terror. She kept feeling the egg breaking against her face, over and over. Kept seeing that ugly word, whoring.

  To know herself hated, rejected, despised… it made her want to rip out her rebellious insides and replace them with another girl’s. All her niggling self-doubts rose to the surface, stinging worse than Father’s slap.

  I’m vain and cruel, selfish and cowardly. I’m lazy, always letting Agnes take the heaviest chores and yet resenting her for loving Ezekiel. I’ve told countless lies, sinned countless times.

  Never before had she felt the burrowing anguish of self-hatred, and she’d have done anything—anything—to numb her pain.

  “I won’t be like Lot’s wife,” she swore. “I won’t look back.”

  But there was stupid Agnes, offering a forbidden glass of milk.

  She pushed her sister’s arm away, and milk slopped onto the floor. “What happened to you, Agnes? You used to be so good. Who’re you now?”

  “You don’t have to marry him, Beth. There’s another way—”

  She snapped. “Maybe I should tell Father you’ve been sneaking out! I bet that would put the fear of God into you.”

  Agnes’s eyes filled with tears, and for half a second, Beth felt sorry, and sorely wanted to fold her sister into her embrace. Then those foul words came rushing back—Beth’s been whoring with Cory Jameson—and her pain came flooding back, too. Her suffering felt so large it left no room for anything else.

  “Just go, Agnes. Leave me alone.”

  Her sister’s boots clicked remorsefully against the tile. Then she was gone.

  Alone in the kitchen, Beth groaned like a wounded animal. No other sound but the drip, drip of the leaky faucet. Even the kids, hiding out in the living room, kept quiet for once.

  Her humiliation consumed her.

  Suddenly, there was no more ground beneath her feet. No more steadiness; nothing to hold on to. It didn’t matter that she’d ever doubted the faithful or their Laws. All that mattered was that three hundred people now wished her ill, and she felt their judgment striking her like stones. Her soul shrank, mortally afraid and frantic for shelter. The muscles in her back were steel; her hands rigid claws.

  “I only wanted to be loved,” she whispered.

  Sure, the Laws galled, but she ought to have followed them anyway. She ought to have at least pretended faith, because the consequences of her lukewarm rebellion—this relentless, excruciating shame—were too miserable to bear.

  She knelt in the kitchen and tried to pray, knowing it was too little too late. No peace followed her stumbling attempt at faith.

  But all was not lost.

  Matthew Jameson had extended his hand. All she had to do was take it.

  “A patriarch’s wife,” Beth said out loud.

  And not just any patriarch. The best and wisest of them, excepting the Prophet. If she married the second holiest man in Red Creek, she’d be safe again.

  Safe.

  For who would dream of reproaching her then?

  From one heartbeat to the next, Beth changed her destiny. She decided to marry him.

  Immediately, a soothing numbness blossomed inside her like a black velvet flower. She’d never paid much attention in church. So she didn’t really know what this new feeling meant.

  But she hoped—prayed—it was the feeling of redemption.

  15

  AGNES

  Your first allegiance is to your Prophet. Your second, to God through him. Let your loyalty to your family follow only in the wake of those.

  —PROPHET JACOB ROLLINS

  After everyone had gone to sleep, Agnes rescued the torn-up pages of Beth’s diary from the bathroom wastebasket.

  She tried her best to tape them together without spying on her sister’s private thoughts. She couldn’t help reading a few snatches, especially when she saw her name.

  I think Agnes is in rebellion.…

  Agnes is ignoring me again. She loves Ezekiel more than me.…

  Father says getting a tattoo is the evilest thing a girl can ever do. Now I want one more than anything.… Is that normal?

  Agnes crouched with her head in her hands. If only she’d opened up about Ezekiel’s illness… if only they’d kept confiding in each other…

  Before Ezekiel was born, she and Beth would lie in the purple meadow grass, their pinky fingers linked, watching the fireflies flicker like low-hanging stars. They believed nothing could break the bond they shared.

  Nothing.

  But, of course, Red Creek finally had. The home they’d trusted to shelter them had torn them asunder.

  Only one living person had any inkling of what she was going through.

  Her stomach tightened, remembering how he’d smiled at the forest’s edge.

  With the shower on full blast, Agnes switched on the phone, fumbling with the small, disappearing keyboard before sending her first text. It looked like a blue balloon, loosed into a miniature white sky.

  Hello Danny. It’s Agnes.

  His reply was lightning fast, and Agnes’s whole body thrummed, because it felt like a miracle. Danny had seen her blue bubble and sent his own through the electric air.

  Hey! What’s up?

  I don’t think I can be in Red Creek anymore.

  A long pause. Too long. Agnes stared hard at the screen, willing words to materialize.

  Are you ready to talk to my mom? She can help you get out.

  Was she really ready?

  I have five b
rothers and sisters. I can’t just leave.

  Are you sure?

  She was. The kids were too many and too big to haul out of town kicking and screaming by herself. But if she could get Beth back on her side…

  Maybe I should tell Father you’ve been sneaking out at night. I bet that would put the fear of God into you.

  Surely that was only Beth’s fear talking. Red Creek had struck her hard. Was it any wonder she still reeled from the blow?

  Agnes shivered, drawing her knees up tight against her chest. She needed to think about something else, or she’d lose her mind. She typed:

  Are you really going to be a doctor?

  I want to be. But my internship was canceled because of Petra. Medical schools are shutting down, too. Life is on hold.

  She could only pretend to understand words like medical school, internship, but she sensed his disappointment even through the phone.

  She thought a moment, then typed:

  What’s your favorite website?

  Remember Pangaea? Check it out. You’re still staying safe, right?

  Safe was a word she couldn’t recall the meaning of anymore. She started to type, Thank you for asking—but stopped, uncertain what her words would mean to him.

  With a pang, she wished for Beth. Her sister knew more about boys. She would know whether Danny meant his words tenderly, or whether he was just being polite. And she would know what it meant that when Agnes saw his face, she battled an urge to count the freckles over his nose and know the number of them.

  Agnes stared at the screen until the shower ran cold, chilling the air.

  Off to dinner. Take care. Text anytime.

  She felt his absence like a physical ache.

  Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she scrolled through Pangaea.

  Once again, she sensed God wanted to show her something. Wanted her to see.

  Teenagers stood in front of a great statue in China. A girl sipped coffee in a restaurant. Meals were assembled from outlandish ingredients, and teenagers strummed instruments she’d never seen. A story about a church youth group raising money for the homeless startled her, because the Prophet always said Outsider churches were hotbeds of selfishness and sin.