The Grace Year(74)

“I know you.” A girl staggers toward me. I think it’s Hannah, but it’s hard to tell beneath all the dirt and grime. “Tierney the Terrible.”

I nod.

“Someone was looking for you.” She reaches up to scratch her head but ends up pulling out a clump of hair instead. “I can’t remember who,” she says before wandering off.

Cautiously, I walk the camp. The pots and kettles are piled up next to the fire, rotting food curdling at the bottom, rice scattered in the dirt, empty jars and cans strewn about. Roaches are battling it out for the remains. I pass Dovey’s cage, thinking she’s certainly dead by now, but huddled in the bottom corner there’s a scrawny bird. She’s not cooing, but when I slip my finger through the slats to try to pet her, she lashes out with a vicious squawk.

“That’s how she says good morning.” A soft voice passes behind me. I turn to find Vivi shuffling toward the gate, where a handful of other girls are huddled together.

The limbs of the punishment tree hang heavy, bloated with new trinkets, the soil beneath, caked in fresh blood. There’s a girl standing behind the tree—she’s so thin that I almost miss her. She’s stroking a long copper braid that obviously used to be attached to her skull. It makes me think of Gertie. Where is she?

As I open the door to the lodging house, the smell hits me like a runaway coach.

Urine, disease, rot, and filth. I wonder if it smelled like this when I lived here or if this is something new.

There are a few girls lying in their cots. They’re so still that for a moment I wonder if they’re dead, but I can detect the faint rise and fall of their chests. I stare down at them, but they don’t meet my eyes. They seem to be lost in a world of their own making.

I find the spot where my cot used to be. I remember how scared I was the last time I was here, but I also remember Gertrude, Helen, Nanette, and Martha—talking late into the night. We were so full of hope in the beginning. We really thought we could change things, but one by one, they fell under the influence of the water … of Kiersten.

Their cots are gone now. I tell myself that maybe they’ve just moved their beds to the other side of the room, but when I look over at the swollen pile of iron frames stacked up in the corner, I know it’s a lie.

I’d love to play dumb, pretend I’ve been in a soundless slumber, but I heard the caws in the woods, as I lay beside a poacher every night, doing nothing to help them. Nothing to warn them. “I’m so sorry, Gertie,” I whisper through my trembling lips.

“She’s not here,” a voice calls out from the far corner of the room, making my skin crawl. I don’t see anyone there, but as I walk toward the sound, a hand reaches out from under one of the beds, grasping my ankle.

I scream.

“Shhh…,” she whispers, peeking out from beneath the rusty springs. “Don’t or you’ll wake the ghosts.”

It’s Helen. Or what’s left of Helen. There’s a half-moon puckered scar where her right eye used to be.

“What happened to you?”

“You can see me?” she asks, a huge grin spreading across her face.

I nod, trying not to stare.

“I got so invisible that I couldn’t see myself anymore. They had to take out my eye, so I could come back … but Gertie…,” she says, staring off in the distance. “They took her to the larder.”

“The larder?” I ask. “Why?”

She tucks her chin into her chest. “Gertie was too dirty.” She snickers, but her laughter quickly dissolves into soft tears.

Backing away from her, I leave the lodging house and walk across the clearing to the larder. Each step feels harder than the last, like I’m trudging against a strong current. People halt and stare, Jessica, Ravenna, but no one stops me. No one is coming after me. Not yet.

The sticky heat has made the door swell. As I pry it open, a flood of flies comes pouring out, but all I find is a cot piled high with ratty blankets. And now I understand what Helen meant—the smell is unbearable. Covering my nose and mouth with my overskirt, I take a good look around. The shelves have been emptied; a bucket sits on the ground next to the cot, full of bile and filth. There’s a dark green cloak peeking out from beneath the scratchy wool blankets.

“Gertie,” I whisper.

Nothing.

I try one more time. “Gertrude?”

“Tierney?” a soft voice replies.

My breath hitches in my throat. Digging through the blankets, I find her. She’s bone thin, with skin the color of a late January sky.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

It’s all I can do to hold myself together. “I’m here now,” I say, reaching for her hand. I feel her pulse, but it’s so weak I’m afraid her heart will stop at any moment.

“Let’s get you situated,” I say, peeling off the blankets, squeezing her limbs, trying to get some blood flowing. “Did they stop feeding you?” I whisper.

“No.” She blinks up at me. “I just can’t keep anything down.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“Is it the new year?” she asks.

“It’s June.” I’m lifting her neck to prop it up on a rolled-up blanket when my fingers slip into something soft and gooey.