Page 6 of Heartland
“What do you mean? I’m just here for the algebra.”
“Uh-huh.” He uncaps a bottle of rum and pours generous dollops into both our mugs. “I mean your real story. Tell me how you got here to Moo U.”
“Don’t you know that part?” I just assumed that Dylan had mentioned my strange story.Don’t mind my dorky friend. She grew up in a cult and can’t help it.
“I want to hear it from you,” he says.
“Well it’syourWednesday night. I guess you can spend it on my bullshit if you want to.”
He laughs suddenly, and he looks about five years younger. “I fucking love other people’s bullshit, Chastity. Lay it on me.”
I pull the mug of cider closer to me, considering what I might say. “When I was nineteen, I ran away from the religious compound where I grew up out West. I could only afford a bus ticket to the New York border. And then I walked and hiked the rest.” Thank God it had been summertime, or I would have frozen to death.
“What was that place like? The compound.”
“Um…” What to say? I don’t talk about it that much, because it’s weird and embarrassing. “Let’s see. The only clothing I’d owned before I left was something called the Paradise dress. Picture Laura Ingalls in pastel polyester. Long sleeves, long skirt. With a high collar.” I put my hand up to my throat. “You couldn’t show any skin, because that was sinful. We wore the dresses with hiking boots from Payless.”
“Oh fuck,” he says, blowing on the surface of the cider in his mug. “So the place was a fashion disaster. But what was itlike?What did you do all day?”
“I worked at home. Cooking, cleaning, and sewing. I didn’t go to a real school after third grade. Nobody wanted us to be smart, anyway. They only cared about obedience. They didn’t want us out in the sinners’ world, wondering why we couldn’t have all the things that other kids had. Too many big ideas. When I was seven, I asked for a pair of new shoes, like another girl at school had. I got a slap on the face, instead.”
“Wow.” Rickie watches me with obvious fascination. He has hypnotic eyes. They’re gray, with a darker circle around each iris. “So they thought you might figure out that polygamy is illegal?”
“Maybe,” I hedge. “But it wouldn’t matter all that much if we’d known. That’s what brainwashing is for. We sat in church for six hours on Sunday. The preacher spent a lot of time telling us howspecialwe were.” I roll my eyes, although my nonchalance is forced. Two years isn’t all that long, and part of me still believes some of the things I was taught.
That’s the part I can’t explain to outsiders. Everything our Divine Pastor ever said was a big load of bullshit. But some of it was really appealing bullshit. I’ll never go back, and I don’t miss the place at all. But Ilikedhearing that I was part of a special mission from God, with a unique purpose in the world.
Say what you will, but it was easier living in a world where I knew the rules. Even if I didn’t always follow them.
“How did you eventually decide to run away from this special, special place?” Rickie measures me with his serious eyes.
“Now there’s a story.” I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “When I was sixteen, I got in some trouble. I got into the back of a car with a boy.”
“You hussy!” Rickie snorts. He’s kidding, but I get tense anyway. Because the boy and I got caught, and the things they called me afterward were so much worse.
“He got thrown out,” I say.
“Out of the car?” Rickie sips his cider.
“No–out of the compound.”
Rickie stares. “Forever?”
“Of course. The sons can’t ever be alone with the daughters. It’s forbidden. But I, um, wanted to know what all the fuss was about. When they preach at you every Sunday about sin…”
I don’t think I can finish the sentence. My face heats just from the memory of sitting in that garage, kissing Zachariah. His hand had been on my bare thigh. I’dreallywanted him to take it further. And then? Disaster.
“Sin has always yelled my name, too,” Rickie says with a smile. “Every stupid thing. I did it.”
I can’t help but smile back at him. I take a big gulp of the steaming cider. The rum gives it a sharpness I’m not used to, but I kind of like it.
“So what happened to you? After you kissed the boy?”
“Oh.” I set the mug down.
This part of the story isn’t much fun. After several blissful minutes, we’d been discovered by the worst possible person—my vindictive uncle Jeptha. There had been no chance of him brushing it under the rug. He’d summoned the elders…
“We were punished,” I say, and it comes out as a squeak.
