The Grace Year(26)

“I heard they did this,” Hannah whispers. “But I didn’t believe it.”

“Did what?” Kiersten says as she kicks one of the leaves out of formation, breaking the chain, which makes most of the girls flinch.

“I shouldn’t say.” Hannah shakes her head, staring down at the ground. “It’s forbidden to speak of the grace year.”

Kiersten’s nostrils flare like she’s getting ready to lose it, but as she exhales, her face softens. “What’s said here … what happens here…” She smooths her hand over Hannah’s ruddy cheek. “… remains here forever. That’s our most sacred vow.”

Hannah purses her lips so tight they turn the shade of newly sprung blueberries before blurting, “It’s the remaining supplies, everything they’ve built … everything they used to get through the year.”

“But why would they burn it?” Jenna asks.

“Because it was done to them,” Hannah says, studying the notches in the lone tree—forty-six. “Year after year. Why should we have a leg up when it was never given to them?” she says, running her fingers over the deepest, freshest cut.

I don’t know why it surprises me, but I feel the betrayal deep within my bones. Not only did they want us to fail, they wanted us to squirm in doing so.

A scream comes from one of the smaller structures. Ruth Brinley is backing out, holding her cloak over her nose and mouth as a flood of black flies comes pouring out of the shack.

Martha cringes as she peeks inside. “I think we found the privy.”

“Ashes,” I say without thinking. “If we put the ashes in the privy it will cut down the smell, help break it down.”

“How do you know that?” Gertie asks.

“My father. I used to go on calls with him to the field house. They have an outhouse similar to this one.”

They all look to Kiersten.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Kiersten barks out an order at me.

Grabbing a sleeve of fallen birch bark, I scoop up the ashes and carry them into the shack. The smell is unbearable; there’s feces and who knows what else spread over the walls. I dump in the ashes, and when I come back for a second round, I notice the stone hidden beneath the debris. It appears to be etched with something. “Look,” I say to the others. “Maybe it’s a message.”

I try to brush away the soot but only manage to kick up a thick cloud of ash.

“Are you trying to kill us?” Kiersten says, fanning the air in front of her. “Get some water to wash it away.” She nods toward the well.

There’s a part of me that wants to refuse on principle. After all, I don’t want to set a precedent, but at least I’m doing something. Not just standing around like a bunch of sheep.

Gertrude joins me at the well. “See? This is smart,” she says as she helps me pull up the heavy bucket. “If you make yourself useful, maybe you can get back in their good graces.”

Green algae clings to the sides of the well, the rope, the bucket. Maybe I’m delirious from the journey, but there’s something about it that looks unnatural. The bright green glow against the drab stone.

“Hurry up.” Kiersten’s brusque voice pulls me back.

I carry over the bucket, trying not to slosh too much over the sides. Kiersten grabs it from me, slinging water over the stone. The etched words come into focus.

Eyes to God.

My skin erupts in goosebumps. This is identical to the plaque we have in the town square. They position the gallows directly over it so when our necks snap, it’s the last thing we’ll see, which always struck me as especially cruel. If your neck is broken, how can you look up? Even in death we’re a disappointment.

As the girls press in to get a closer look, a red drop appears, followed by another.

I crouch to see if it’s rust seeping up through the stone, when a drop appears on the top of my hand.

As I look up, a cloud passes by, the late-afternoon sun filtering through the branches, illuminating hundreds of trinkets tied to the tree like yule ornaments.

Helen’s pointing at the gnarled limbs of the tree, but she can’t seem to find any words.

It takes me a moment to put it together, like a vile jigsaw. It’s not rust. It’s blood. And they’re not yule ornaments, they’re fingers, toes, ears, braids of all shades and textures affixed to the tree.

But while everyone is backing away, Kiersten steps closer.

“It’s a punishment tree,” she says, reaching out to touch the rough bark. “Just like the one we have in the square, only this one is real.”

Becca starts pacing. “I always thought the reason they came back with missing fingers was because they traded them with the poachers for food, not as some kind of punishment.”

“Why would they trade for food, dummy?” Tamara says as she glances back at the wagons. “We have plenty.”

“And yet they come back starving.” Lucy wraps her arms around herself.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Martha rolls her eyes. “We can always forage if we get scant.”

“Not in those woods.” Ellie shakes her head a little too rapidly as she stares past the log cabin into the surrounding forest. “I heard the animals are mad in there.”

“Animals?” Jenna laughs. “What about the ghosts? We’ve all heard the stories. If you go in there, you don’t come out.”