The chaperone, p.17
The Chaperone, page 17
Is that what happened to Willow? Everyone says she’s been kidnapped. Does that mean she escaped? Is that why she needed the money?
Angel explains. “They don’t want people to know girls are getting out every week.”
“Is that what happened to Willow Howard?”
They exchange looks. A conversation of raised eyebrows and head shakes.
Angel turns back to me. “It’s better if you don’t know, Stella. It’s better if neither of you knows.”
So that’s it. Willow Howard escaped from New America. That’s why she needed the money. She was sick of the HH parties, the stares, the rumors, the slurs. She got out.
And I will too.
CHAPTER 60
I wait until everyone has been asleep for hours.
It’s after one when I tiptoe to Mom and Dad’s room and put my ear to the door. Dad’s snores sound more like a breathing machine than a fully grown man.
Mom hides most of her valuables in the bottom drawer of her dresser, but she has other hiding places too. She isn’t allowed to have her own bank account, so she stashes cash all over the house. I don’t even know why she needs it. Dad pays for everything. One time I saw her putting a roll of bills into the flour sifter. Another time several hundreds fell out of a transparent envelope when she was looking for stamps. It’s shocking how careless she is.
The kitchen seems even darker than normal. I open the pantry doors as quietly as I can and carry the step stool to the fridge. The metal creaks beneath my weight. I look over my shoulder, certain someone will be there, but there’s nothing behind me except a floor full of marble tile. I open the cabinet doors above the fridge and grab the rolling pin, moving it to the top of the fridge. When I put my hand inside the flour sifter, I feel a Ziploc bag. Inside, there’s a roll of twenties thicker than the rolling pin. I was right.
How much can I take without getting caught? I pull half the bills off the roll and return the rest. I slide my hand over the top of the fridge, searching for the rolling pin, but it gets away from me, moving across the top of the fridge. I try to grab it before it goes over the edge, but it slips out of reach, falling and hitting the floor with a sharp thud. The stool creaks loudly as I jump down, grab the pin, climb back up, shove it in the cabinet, and throw the door shut. I look over my shoulder, certain someone will be there, but the kitchen remains empty.
I hesitate at the end of the living room, remembering Dad’s warning—You have no business in here unless you’re entertaining guests—but the key to Mom’s secretary is sticking out of the lock, urging me forward. I go directly to the cubby on the right. But when I open the envelope, there’s nothing but stamps inside, the prime minister’s black-and-white face staring back at me, taunting me.
“Darn it,” I say out loud.
I pull everything out of the cubbies: envelopes, note cards, more stamps. Everything but cash. I start on the drawers next. There are notebooks, pens, pencils, rubber bands, paper clips, binder clips, old letters, and printer paper. Dozens of letters. They all have the initials R.S. in the upper left-hand corner. Who is R.S.?
I open one and read the first line.
Dear Mary Beth,
I was just thinking about that class we had with Professor Wilhoit…
They’re from one of Mom’s college friends. I put the letters back in the drawer.
I take in a deep breath. What will I do if I can’t find enough money?
I have to take everything in the flour sifter. Mom is too smart not to notice half is gone. Why not take it all?
I’m on the step stool reaching for the Ziploc bag of cash when I hear it.
The sound of creaking stairs.
Someone is coming down the stairwell. I contemplate my surroundings, but there’s nowhere to hide. When I was little, I hid in the bottom of the pantry all the time, but I’m too big for that now. There’s not enough time to run to the annex either.
I’m going to get caught.
I put the money in the front of my pajama pants. I have nowhere else to hide it. Dad flips on the overhead lights at the exact same moment I shove the flour sifter back in the cabinet.
“Stella? What are you doing?”
A lumpy plastic bag is all I can find. I turn around with it still in my hands.
“Is that chocolate?”
I examine the bag. Semisweet chocolate chips. “I had a craving.”
His head tilts.
“I’m feeling kind of…you know…emotional.”
“Is everything okay?”
I close my eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s, you know, my period.”
“Oh.” Dad leans back on his heels. Even though they teach boys how to talk about menstruation at school now, older men like Dad never learned those kinds of things. Mentioning my period is the easiest way to throw men his age off guard. “I understand.” He turns halfway around before pausing. “But don’t overdo it, Stella. You’ve got Visitation with Joseph Clarke this weekend.”
I want to scream but swallow my anger. “Of course, Dad.”
He turns back around. “Speaking of Joseph, I want you to consider making a commitment of some kind.”
“A commitment?”
“Yes, a commitment to a future with him. It would be wonderful if you could be engaged by Freedom Day.” Freedom Day? Freedom Day is just over a month away. Only two days before I’m supposed to leave. Is he out of his mind? “That’s when I’d like to announce it. So don’t go overboard.”
“What?”
He points at the bag of chocolate chips still in my hand.
I want to throw the bag at his head so hard it leaves a dent. I’m still trying to work up the tremendous amount of courage it would take to do it when Dad walks away.
“Good night, Stella,” he calls to me from the dining room.
I stand there processing what just happened. No way I’m getting engaged by Freedom Day, and no way I’m marrying Joseph Clarke. I put the chocolate chips back in the cabinet and return the step stool to the pantry. Before I flip the light off, I let my hand go to the giant wad of bills tucked inside the elastic of my pajama pants.
The cost of my freedom.
CHAPTER 61
Sister Laura will be the first person the authorities contact once I’m gone. She needs an airtight alibi and can know nothing of my escape. If she were involved, she’d be charged with treason and sent to prison. Or worse.
I have to do this on my own. Meet with Angel. Review the plan. Memorize each carefully laid out step. And then actually do everything Angel planned.
We meet in the bathroom at State Street three times a week for the next several weeks. I lock the plywood door as soon as I shut it behind me. I don’t ask Angel how she gets in, and she doesn’t tell me. There’s a cracked window on the far side of the small space. Could she be climbing through it? At her age?
Angel has maps and phone numbers and lists. She spreads one of these on the bathroom counter every time I meet her. I take it home and commit it to memory. Angel says it will happen November 5th, two days after Freedom Day. I have just over four weeks to get it all down. Just over a month to prepare. And then I’ll burn it. Every last shred of paper will go into the fireplace the night before I leave.
But I’ve always been good at studying. Each time she gives me a new document, I hide it inside Lord of the Flies because the boys in that book remind me of the Minutemen. In the library, I read the document over and over. When I get home, I recite it out loud until I’ve committed it to memory, whispering the words in a low voice so no one can hear. It takes all night, but I always get it done.
* * *
“It’s hard to know what to talk about now,” Sister Laura admits when we go hiking at Shanty Hollow a little more than two weeks later.
The lake looks incredibly inviting. I’m baking in the sun even though it’s mid-October. If only we could take a quick swim.
Sister Laura goes on. “I don’t want to put you in the position of having to lie.”
I step carefully over the thick tree roots that line our path. “Good idea.”
“We should talk about something unimportant, something that has nothing to do with what’s really going on.”
“Like what?”
“Mateo?”
My chest tightens. I’ve been trying not to think about him. “Who says he’s not important?”
“Well. Not unimportant. But unrelated to…you know.”
“Yes.”
“I actually have news about him.”
“You do?”
Sister Laura focuses on something in front of her with great concentration, as if glimpsing the future. “But you have to promise not to be angry.”
“Why would I be angry?”
“Because I finally got what you wanted, and now you’re leaving. I regret it took me so long.”
“What do you think I want?”
She comes to a stop and studies the water in front of us. A blue heron lurks in the cove just beneath the trail. We see them every time we come here. Sister Laura turns toward me, her face squeezed into a frown. “Mateo. He’s going to be one of your callers. The second Sunday in November.”
I can’t believe what she’s telling me. “What?”
“It wasn’t easy. Joseph Clarke has requested several weeks in a row. We’ll schedule them an hour apart, so they don’t cross paths. You were right. Mateo is a good match for you. He’s a good student, comes from a good family. His father is a very successful neurologist.” She lets out an angry laugh. “As if any of this should matter.”
“A neurologist?”
“A neurologist is a doctor who treats people with diseases of the brain.”
I turn back to the loon. “So what you’re telling me is Mateo thinks he’s going to call on me, but before that happens, he’s going to believe”—I drop my voice to a whisper—“I’ve been kidnapped?”
Sister Laura flips her head toward me. “Stella!” Her voice is only loud enough to express disapproval. “I cannot know anything about what you’re doing. Not even when it’s happening.” She looks over her shoulder. “The punishment for helping a girl escape is prison. Do you understand that?”
I’m horrified. I’m supposed to protect Sister Laura, and now I’ve put her at risk. So I do what I have to do.
I lie.
“You don’t think I’d tell you the truth, do you?” I use the most casual voice I can muster. “I was just trying to throw you off.”
Sister Laura lets out a breath of relief. “Thank goodness. You scared me.”
Lying isn’t hard at all. In fact, it’s easy.
And I know I’ll be doing a lot more of it soon.
CHAPTER 62
Not twenty-four hours later, I’m sitting across from Joseph Clarke for the fourth Sunday in a row.
Joseph rambles about the weather, but I’m not listening. Why doesn’t he get I’m not into him? It’s exactly like Bonita and Olu.
“This is actually my favorite time of year,” he says. “The crisp air, the fall leaves—”
I cut him off. “I would hardly call it crisp.” The temperature is still in the nineties even though it’s mid-October.
He ignores me. It’s something he does more and more. But I don’t pay much attention to him either.
“We should do it soon—before it gets cold. I’m thinking Freedom Day. For the rest of our lives, we could share an anniversary with this great country.”
It’s the word anniversary that gets my attention. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the two of us starting our lives together, Stella.”
“You mean, getting engaged?”
“No.” When he leans across the coffee table, I instinctively lean back. “Get married, Stella. I don’t want to wait. I want to be with you now.”
A chalky substance pushes its way up my esophagus until it reaches the back of my tongue and coats the inside of my mouth. I’m going to throw up. I search for a glass of water, but the living room is like a museum. No drinks or food ever come in here unless Mom and Dad entertain.
“I hope that’s what you want too, Stella.”
Joseph stares at me, waiting. I don’t remember what his last words were. I do know I have to tell him I have no intention of marrying him.
“Joseph—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“Stella, just let me get this out.”
“Get what out?”
Before I know what’s happening, Joseph is standing from his chair, moving around the coffee table, and dropping to one knee on the floor in front of me. The chalk lining the walls of my mouth gets thicker.
“Stella Graham.” His voice betrays a ridiculous amount of sincerity. “I know we’re just getting to know each other, but I’m sure you’re the girl for me. I know it.”
I wince when he says girl.
“You’ll be the perfect wife, someone to stand by my side through everything yet to come.”
I hold my hands up to him, willing him to stop. I need to stop him before he says it. I need him to not say it. “Joseph, I—”
It’s Dad who interrupts me. “Oh, good! We’re here just in time.”
Mom is right behind him. Dad has an uncharacteristic smile on his face, but Mom’s lips are pressed together. She knows something’s wrong. I’m trying to figure out how to prevent this from happening when Joseph clears his throat and again says my full name like he’s taking attendance.
“Stella Graham.” He’s still kneeling in front of me. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small turquoise box, holding it out to me. “Will you marry me?”
If I open my mouth, I’ll throw up all over the expensive rug he’s kneeling on. I put my hand over my mouth and try to hold it in.
“Stella?” Joseph says.
I jump up from the sofa and rush out of the room. I’m running by the time I pass Mom and Dad, who gape at me like I have two heads. I make it to the powder room just in time, the vomit hitting the water so hard it splashes back into my face.
* * *
I puke for what feels like forever. Sister Laura holds my hair back just like girls do in old movies. This is how real friends act.
After I get cleaned up, Sister Laura pushes her glasses up her nose. “Stella, you have to go back out there.”
Is she out of her mind?
“Go back and tell him you value his service. He’s a constable. You can’t let him know how much you dislike him.”
Is this why Sister Laura is always so nice to the constables?
“Why is this happening? You said Mateo was approved for Visitation. How can Mateo call on me if Joseph just proposed?”
“No one told me anything, Stella. Maybe Joseph found out about Mateo. Maybe that’s why he’s rushing things.”
I notice a spot of yellow vomit on her white caftan. Her white caftan. White, I’ve learned from Angel, is the color of the resistance. Does Sister Laura know that?
“It won’t take long,” Sister Laura says. “I promise.”
“What won’t take long?”
“Saying goodbye to Joseph.”
Sister Laura escorts me back to the foyer where Mom and Dad stand awkwardly next to Joseph.
Dad’s eyes light up. “There she is!” His enthusiasm is as nauseating as Joseph’s proposal.
We stop next to Mom, who pats my arm like I’m a pet. “She’s just nervous.”
I study Mom’s face for any hint of insincerity, but her beauty queen smile gives away nothing. Does she really think I’m nervous? Or does she know the idea of marrying someone like Joseph Clarke makes me physically ill?
“That’s okay, Stella,” Dad says. “We understand how exciting this is. For all of us really.” He turns to Joseph. “Mary Beth and I are so pleased, constable.”
Pleased? Pleased about what? I didn’t agree to marry him. I didn’t take the ring. I didn’t even answer the question. Dad can’t just act like I said yes.
“We’ll start getting everything together. Freedom Day is coming up fast, but Mary Beth knows how to work miracles with this kind of thing. We’ll make it happen.”
It’s clear to me now.
Yes, he can. He really can.
Give obedience.
CHAPTER 63
I tell Angel the next afternoon.
“We have to move things up.”
“What?” She shakes her head. “That’s impossible.”
“We have to.”
We’re talking to each other’s reflections in the bathroom mirror. That’s how I notice the dark half-moons under my eyes. I barely slept last night.
I turn to face Angel. “Joseph proposed yesterday.”
“Oh, no, Stella.”
“Dad wants us married by Freedom Day. I can’t marry him, Angel. I can’t.”
“You can still escape…even if you’re married. We can have it annulled when you get there.”
“But if I marry him two days before I leave, I’ll still have to…”
Her eyes are wide with questions.
“Don’t you understand? If I marry him before I leave, I’ll still have to go through with…with the…the wedding night.” I squeeze my eyes shut, willing those images away. I open them and beg her. “Please, Angel. I can’t.”
Angel sucks in a breath of air so long I worry she’ll run out of oxygen. When she lets it go, she stretches the word oh into one long exhale. “Ooooooh.”
“Exactly.”
CHAPTER 64
Two weeks later I’m ready. I know it all backward and forward.
This is our last meeting before I leave. “The only problem will be,” Angel says, “if something goes sideways.” She squints at me from behind her reading glasses. “Do you know what I mean?”
“You mean we have to stick to the plan.”
“Right. And pray nothing unexpected happens.”
I don’t tell her I’m no longer sure I believe in prayer.
