The chaperone, p.24
The Chaperone, page 24
“In fact, that’s our goal. To turn the chaperone program into a wing of the resistance.”
Like Dr. Fineberg, Ms. Norrod has an eerie sense of calm about her. Nothing seems to rattle her.
“Many of the women who become chaperones hate New America and all it stands for.”
“Then why become chaperones?” Willow asks without raising her hand.
This is something we do here. Jump in without raising our hands or asking Ms. Norrod’s permission. It’s not unusual for the nine of us to devolve into an intense debate. After what happened in Russell’s class, it’s one of my favorite things about my new life. The freedom to speak.
“They don’t have much in the way of choices, Willow. Women in New America can get married and have kids, they can work as a servant of some kind, or they can become a chaperone.”
“What about college?” I ask.
A couple of girls in the back laugh. Willow shoots them a dirty look before turning to me. “College is just for show, Stella.”
“For show?”
Ms. Norrod jumps in. “It’s not that simple, Willow.” She turns to me. “Since they don’t let women hold professional jobs, Stella, there isn’t any real reason for women to go to college. Of course, they can go for the sole purpose of becoming more educated, but even then—”
“It’s a joke,” one of the girls in the back says. “Trust me, I tried it.”
I turn and look at her. Her name is Tracy. She’s wearing a strapless white jumpsuit. I can’t imagine her in New America.
Ms. Norrod holds a hand up in disagreement. “I wouldn’t say it’s a joke.”
“You wouldn’t?” Tracy asks.
Ms. Norrod lets out a quick sigh. “Okay, you’re right. It’s a joke. Just like high school, all they teach you is to behave.”
Is it true? Is college just as worthless as high school?
“Then why even let girls go?” I ask.
Ms. Norrod turns back to me. “I’m not sure, Stella. Maybe they think it will distract them. Maybe they think girls who go to college will feel better about their lives. Did you plan to go?”
“Yes, of course.”
“They push smart girls like you toward college to keep you happy. If you’re focused on studying, applying to college, graduating, they figure you won’t think about the fact that you’ll never have a real career.”
“It’s a pacifier,” Tracy says.
“Pretty much,” Ms. Norrod admits. “That’s why they teach you gossip is a sin. So you won’t talk to each other or compare notes. Like you’re doing now. It’s another way to control you.” Ms. Norrod shakes her head. “Of course, some girls figure this out. I’m sure you all did. Isn’t that why you’re here? You realized something was wrong.”
“Thank God,” Willow says under her breath.
“And that’s why some women who hate the system still choose to become chaperones. They don’t see any point in going to college. They don’t want to get married and have babies.”
“Is that why so many chaperones are gay?” A girl named Rafaela asks. She’s the one who got here the same day I did.
I turn to Willow. Are they?
Willow shrugs. It might be the first time she’s admitted to not knowing something.
“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘so many,’ but yes, some women who are gay choose to become chaperones,” Ms. Norrod admits. “If you were a gay woman, would you want to get married to a man and have his babies?”
Everyone laughs. I immediately think of Liv on homecoming night.
I can’t do it. I just can’t.
“That’s why it’s not terribly difficult to recruit chaperones to our side. Yes, chaperones have more freedom than other women in New America, but they’re still not free. They still can’t do things women can do here. No matter who you are, being a woman is dangerous in New America.”
“What do you mean?” a girl named Jamaine says from the front of the room.
Ms. Norrod lets out a slow breath before she continues. “I know you’re all well aware of the things women aren’t allowed to do, but what you may not realize is how the Minutemen enforce those rules.”
I flash back to all the red SUVS racing around town.
Ms. Norrod looks each of us in the eye, making sure she has our attention. “What you may not know is they’ve killed women who dared to resist.”
No one says a word. I peek at Willow. Her eyes are as wide as mine. She shrugs at me for only the second time in her life.
“What I’m trying to tell you,” Ms. Norrod explains, “is that every woman in New America is in danger of being murdered. Men there can legally kill a woman they believe has broken the rules of their society. They don’t even have to prove it. They can merely say they felt it to be true.”
The room is so quiet I hear the second hand of the clock whirring around its face.
Ms. Norrod continues.
“The worst example of this happened when you were still girls. In a town now called Appomattox.”
Appomattox?
“Six men in that town decided they were going to put women in their place. They went from house to house searching for women they could arrest. Or worse. They were vigilantes, plain and simple. They were out for blood and wouldn’t be stopped. They wanted to find women they could kill. They called themselves the Appomattox Six.”
CHAPTER 97
“What did you just say?” Every head swivels in my direction. “Did you say the Appomattox Six?”
“Yes, I did, Stella. Do you know about them?”
I don’t answer, searching the others’ faces to see if anyone else has heard of them. But no one shows any sign of recognition. Instead they all stare like my face has turned blue.
“I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know what they did.”
“As I said, they went out looking for women who were not going along. In under a month, they killed two different women.” Killed? Did she say killed? “But that was just the beginning. Before they were caught, they killed eleven more women.”
Several girls in the room gasp, but I can’t even move.
They killed eleven more women?
“These women were holding secret meetings. Trying to get a movement started to fight the Minutemen.”
“Good for them,” Willow says, pulling my attention from Ms. Norrod for a split second.
“Yes, I agree, Willow, but unfortunately, they didn’t succeed. These men learned of their plans and went after them.”
Are these the men Sister Laura and Dr. B were talking about?
“They gathered in an abandoned Episcopal church. No one knows exactly what happened that night. What we do know is these men went to the church with the intent of putting an end to their meetings. And that’s exactly what they did. They stormed the church, launching a Molotov cocktail into the nave.”
“A what cocktail?” Rafaela asks.
“A Molotov cocktail. A homemade bomb you make with just a bottle, a gas-soaked rag, and a match.”
Jamaine lets out a soft whimper. “Oh, no.” She’s the sweetest in our group but also the most prone to tears.
“Precisely. The church was under construction. The bomb hit some scaffolding inside the front door, knocking a can of paint thinner to the ground. The lumber on the floor immediately caught on fire. According to testimony, the front entrance of the church was engulfed in seconds. The men who were responsible claimed they figured the women would flee out the back. But what they didn’t know—or said they didn’t know—was that the rear doors had been removed and plywood had been nailed over the opening. That was their story anyway.”
Someone in the back lets out a noise that sounds like a cross between a growl and a cry.
“The women were trapped inside. The front entrance was blazing, and the rear was blocked. They couldn’t get out.”
“What about the windows?” Tracy asks.
“They were very high. Over ten feet off the ground. Impossible to reach.”
“So what happened to the women inside?” Jamaine asks.
Doesn’t she know? Doesn’t she get it?
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Jamaine, but those women…they were burned alive.”
* * *
I can’t sleep that night.
Every time I close my eyes, I picture those eleven women.
Frantic. Trapped. Terrified. Their knuckles raw from banging furiously against the back wall. Screaming to be let out.
What kind of person would help those men?
What kind of person would come to their defense?
What kind of person is my father?
CHAPTER 98
The next day I tell Dr. Fineberg everything.
Everything.
Rose. Dad. Sister Laura’s sister. When I get to the part about the A6, Dr. Fineberg reaches out and puts her hand on my knee.
“Stella, look at me.”
I lift my eyes.
“Stella, you need to slow down. Just breathe, okay?”
Her words trigger an inhale. I count to ten, hold my breath, and then count backward as I exhale.
“Feel better?” I nod, and she leans back. “I’m not sure what to say, Stella.”
“Aren’t you shocked?”
Dr. Fineberg’s eyes narrow. Either side of her mouth pulls up, but she’s not smiling. She’s thinking. “I understand, Stella, why it might surprise you to learn this about your father, but the truth is, we’ve known he was a Minuteman for some time.”
So it’s true. Dad really is one of them.
“You knew?”
“To be honest, Stella, that’s another reason why you were chosen. So we could get closer to him. We target households like yours.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You weren’t ready.”
It’s the same thing Sister Laura said when I asked her about the A6. You’re not ready… Knowing what happened would only hurt you.
“I was working up to it,” Dr. Fineberg explains. “And this”—she gestures toward me—“is why. It’s formidable. You’re processing a lot of information. On the one hand, you feel relieved to share all of it. On the other, you feel overwhelmed by how big it is. And how awful.”
“It is awful. Completely awful.” I’m talking too fast again. My voice is getting louder. I take in another slow breath and look out the window. The water in the bay is violent today, the waves rolling on top of each other. Like it says in that song Mateo gave me, a boat could go lost.
“He helped those men. He helped them get off. Murderers. What kind of person would do that?”
“I want you to know, Stella, that even though he was clearly in the wrong, I believe your father thought he was doing the right thing.”
“But how?”
“You told me he claimed he was trying to solve a problem. I think he was referring to what was happening in New America at that time. The A6 tore that brand-new country apart. Even skeptical people were willing to go along with things they didn’t think were right, but not that. Not burning people alive. Not killing those women. For a while, it seemed like the country might descend into chaos and maybe even civil war. Honestly, I wish the resistance had been up and running back then because that’s when New America was at its most vulnerable. We could’ve easily taken them down.”
“I wish you had.”
“Me too.” Dr. Fineberg lifts her pen to her mouth but doesn’t bite it. “But we can’t go back and play the What If? game. What we can do is work through your feelings about your father. He knew how vulnerable the country was. He was worried it would fall apart. So he helped those men by paying for their defense. I don’t know everything about the case, but I do know they initially weren’t going to plead guilty. And when they did, people felt vindicated. I’d like to think your dad played a role in that.”
“He was still wrong.”
“Perhaps, but another part of becoming an adult is realizing that even people who do bad things sometimes have good intentions. And that’s true of those in the Minutemen Party too.”
“I hate them.”
“I understand, Stella.”
“How can I just sit here and do nothing?”
“You’re not doing nothing, Stella. You’re training to be part of the resistance.”
“But how much can I really do on the outside?”
“More than you realize.”
“It’s not enough,” I insist, and suddenly I realize how right I am.
If I stay here—in real America—my life will be easy. No, I won’t ever see my family or friends again, but I’ll be free. Free to go to college. Free to get a job. To drive. To have my own bank account. To have sex. Free to speak whenever I want. And even though some part of me will always be back in Bull Run, I’ll still be able to make my own choices.
But if I go back, I can try to change things. I can be a spy. A sleeper chaperone. Like Sister Helen. Like Sister Laura. I can help people. I can teach girls to think for themselves, show them the truth about New America. Maybe even help them escape. I can recruit people to our cause. Bonita. Liv. Maybe there’d be so many of us they’d have no choice but to change things.
But can I do it? Am I brave enough to risk my life? I might end up shunned or in prison. Or worse. I might end up like Sister Helen.
The truth hits me like a jab to the throat. How can I not do it?
“What are you saying, Stella?”
I focus on Dr. Fineberg. I’d almost forgotten she was there. I look her in the eye.
“I’m saying I have to go back. I have to go back and fight.”
CHAPTER 99
It happens five months later.
That’s how long it takes to finish my training at the Jacobs Center.
This time I cross at Harpers Ferry. When we get to the water’s edge, our caravan leaves the roadway for the gravel towpath. Our SUV moves slowly over the bumps and grooves. A hawk swoops over the steel-colored water.
There are about fifteen of us. Zoey and Alex and their parents are allowed to come with me, but it’s not safe for Willow. The rest of our group is FBI. They’ve helped with my training too. Today there are ten agents, the first people I’ve seen in real America with guns. They don’t look that different from constables. They wear suits and carry automatic rifles. They even drive SUVs with tinted windows, but theirs are black, not red.
We park under the bridge that connects real America to New America. The FBI agent in charge is a woman. “Are you ready, Stella?” Her voice is even.
“I am.” I’ve been training for months, but the lining of my stomach still feels like it’s been scraped with a razor blade.
“And you know what to do if there’s a problem? An emergency?”
“I memorized the protocol.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Impressive.”
“I had to memorize everything last time too.”
“I should have guessed. You really are quite gifted, Stella. I hope we have the opportunity to work together again.”
I smile. It’s the first time I’ve felt a sense of calm all morning.
“I hope so too.”
She nods at me before abruptly turning around. “Okay, people, let’s do this.”
* * *
A giant spiral staircase takes us from the towpath to the bridge. I watch the earth move away through the open grates as we get higher.
The view is stunning with gray-blue water on all sides. A chain of tiny islands sits just beside the bridge. But I can’t enjoy the scenery. I have to focus on what’s ahead.
We stand at the end of the bridge. A narrow walkway for pedestrians sits next to two rail tracks. I can’t see across to the other side.
Before I start the long walk, I turn back and take one last glimpse of freedom. I want to remember all of this when I’m back in Bull Run—not allowed to go anywhere alone, not allowed to drive, barely even allowed to speak, much less go to college or have a career.
“At least I know it’s a cave,” I say out loud because, for at least a few more minutes, I’m still allowed to say what I want.
* * *
I take the first step forward. The agents step with me like our movements are synchronized. We walk slowly.
With purpose.
I face forward but catch flashes of the two rivers crashing into each other like warriors. If the water where I crossed had been this rough, I wouldn’t have made it. I would have drowned. Or maybe I wouldn’t have even tried.
About halfway across the bridge we see them. The group on the other side marching toward us like they’re going into battle. There are at least a dozen constables and two men not in uniform. Even though the temperature is still hovering around freezing, they’re not wearing coats. The sight of their gray uniforms causes my throat to tighten. Am I really going back to this?
As we get closer, I start to make out their faces. That’s when I see Joseph Clarke.
The man I was supposed to marry.
My throat constricts even more.
Not Joseph. Not him.
I force myself to calm. I am not marrying him. There are some things I won’t do. I already have my out. I’m not going to get married at all. I’m going to the conservatory. Mom and Dad won’t like it, but they won’t be able to stop me either. Doing so would mean admitting the chaperone program is not a public good.
I keep my eyes on Joseph until we’re close enough that he can see me watching him. When his gaze catches mine, I shift my attention away from him. I will not give him the satisfaction of looking into my eyes. I have at least that much choice. Even in their world.
My gaze lands on the person in the middle. A thin middle-aged man in a green-and white T-shirt with the word MOUNTAINEERS across the front.
A Night Light.
This is who they’re trading me for. He’s been in prison for months.
This is another way we’ve tricked them. By making them believe they have to trade someone. The truth is, I’m allowed to leave real America whenever I want. No one’s blocking my escape. I could walk over this bridge any day of the week, and no one would blink, much less stop me.
