Chapter 26 #2
With the dimming sun, we make our way towards the church, and without their denim cut-offs, the guys look handsome in a fresh set of clothes.
The men stare as we pass, and I safely assume everyone knows who I am.
We stand before the tall wooden doors, and I’m dwarfed by the church’s true size, while Atlas presses the heavy oak doors open.
Our echoing footsteps fill the room when we walk below the warm glow from the black iron lanterns suspended from the dark timber beams. I track the triangulated timbers, which follow down tall supports carved with Celtic crosses and patterns.
Wooden pews, which someone has pushed aside, create an open area filled with mix-matched couches and armchairs.
It surprises me when Leon removes his hat, treating it like a sacred space, but I suppose you don’t need to be religious to realise this is a place of importance—the epicentre of the Cornerstone.
My fathers stand to greet us, and I skip into their arms, still euphoric at the sight of them, breathing them in to remind myself that this is really happening, while the guys greet them, bashful and quiet.
Rex combs his fingers through his beard. “So, before we get started, we need to confirm a few things.”
“We want to thank you for your sacrifice, Everlee,” Malcolm says, rubbing my arm. “While you were in the system, we were able to build the resistance, and we are so close to taking action, little sparrow. So close.”
Rex says, “We know it’s been tough, but I guess …
what we really want to ask is…” He steps toe to toe with me.
His grip on my shoulders is firm but protective as his thumb strokes me while he takes a moment to consider me.
“Do you want to join us? Continue fighting? Or … there is a place where you can go. A haven for women that we’ve built.
There are already other women there; Mrs. Ramsay and Mrs. Tanaka are helping lead it.
You can go there, stay safe, and wait for us to come back for you when this is over. ”
His eyes pin on me as if it is only us in the room.
I know what I want to say immediately, but there is a hesitation as I consider the other option.
A life in a haven? To sit back with Kris and Ren’s moms, waiting for it all to blow over…
But I would hate it with every passing moment, wondering if my family is safe.
“I appreciate you asking, but you know I couldn’t … surely?”
Rex cups the side of my face. “It would obviously feel more comfortable having you there, but we’ve always felt you were safer with us. We expect nothing less.” From his pocket, he pulls a small black patch embroidered with white thread.
“The Rose of Venus,” I whisper, taking it from him and tracing my fingers over the sweeping geometric curves.
As a child, all my fathers schooled me, but Rex had an affinity for the sky and beyond, teaching me all he knew of astronomy, especially the orbit of Venus—how the planet would dance around the Earth during its cycle, snaking in a perfect pentagram to produce a rose at its centre.
He rarely encouraged a belief in astrology or gods, but my admiration for the mythology of Venus never dwindled, so he embraced it, reinventing its symbology.
Instead of sanctioning it for fertility, femininity, and family, he reimagined it as a symbol of embracing your own power, evolving any woman into a warrior.
“We can get it sewn onto your jacket, if you promise to commit to training,” Roscoe says.
I hold the patch to my chest. “Absolutely, I’m all in.”
“Then we’ll pledge you in tonight,” Rex says.
“Well, gentlemen?” Roscoe says towards Leon. “How about you?”
Leon looks back at Atlas and Zeke, stroking his hands over his head to sweep his hair from his face. His posture and tone are so formal as he addresses my fathers. “Sir, we pledged our allegiance to Everlee first. It would be an honour for us to serve, as long as we can fight alongside her?”
There’s a smugness triplicated among my fathers’ faces. Rex doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, that settles it. Four new pledges! Let’s begin!” He pulls the radio to his lips. “Ready to launch.”
Before he even reattaches it to his belt, the large oak doors groan open through the stone room.
Men enter, rolling wooden barrels and carrying trays of food and boxes of tin cups and plates.
As they step closer, the light unveils their faces: the Coyles, the Ramsays, the Tanakas, the fathers of the families and their sons.
They were my fathers’ friends, but they became more like uncles to me, and now each of them queues up to embrace and welcome me.
It’s hard to believe how their sons have become men, but two of my oldest friends, Kris and Ren, are not among the crowd, and after the doors close, I dare not express disappointment after being reunited with so many.
Someone taps a pair of barrels, releasing the fragrance of sweet wine throughout the church.
I am handed a mug, finding myself rooted to the spot as everyone wants to greet me, but doesn’t want to talk about the obvious troublesome questions, leaving me stranded like a social pariah.
They dare to ask one question: “How are you?”, before awkwardly sidestepping into another conversation.
I lie through a smile as they come and go.
I’d love to say, “I’m emotionally battered, physically drained, and still struggling with my recent heartache,” but “I’m great, thanks.
Just glad to be home” is the easiest answer to give.
A rescuing gesture from Zeke allows me to unwind my tightened shoulders.
He’s waving me to an armchair he’s gained possession of, and we squeeze into the seat together as we watch Leon and Atlas excitedly conversing with the families.
His eyes have been at a constant tilt all evening, rocked by his grin as he looks around the room.
I enjoy watching him, the sparkle of his blue eyes matching the blue of the lake we swam in.
Our outer thighs and arms grow warm with our closeness, and it’s always a surprise when he doesn’t smell of earth and motor oil—as if that’s his natural scent, rather than the citrusy wash he’s showered with.
As I take a sip of the fruity crimson wine, my mouth slowly acclimates to the warm, acidic snap of the berries.
It’s been a long time since I drank wine.
At the bar, after a damaged crate of beers, Joey and I salvaged a couple of bottles and cheekily drank them from mugs throughout our shift.
It didn’t take much for the alcohol to affect my senses, and as I near the end of my second glass, my cheeks are turning warm, my muscles unraveling from their tightened coils, and my smile loosens into my eyes.
“We saw a lot of these older guys in the field.” Zeke points with his cup of wine in his hand. “It’s kinda like fate that we ended up here, don’t you think?”
I nudge him with my shoulder as I say, “Do I think? How about I know?”
He laughs. “Oh, is that so?”
“Well, yeah. It’s bittersweet, but it has to happen for a reason.
” I raise a finger with each point I list. “If I hadn’t gone to the city, I wouldn’t have met Joey, and this rebellion would never have gotten to this point.
If I hadn’t lost Joey, we would have both died escaping that city or out in the Wilds.
And then I wouldn’t have met my heroes, who brought me home and agreed to stay.
Who agreed to fight with me and my fathers. ”
His grin causes a squint as he looks over my face.
“Everlee Clade,” he says in conclusion, like a statement.
He raises his tin mug to meet mine. They clink with our toast to fate before we take a healthy gulp of wine.
He puts his comforting arm around me. “I’m pretty sure you’ll find Joey again.
That sounds like your fate.” I look at him with a dimpled lip.
He mirrors my sad face. “Naw, don’t do that. Don’t cry.”
I scoff. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Well, don’t,” he says with a smirk. “I don’t like seeing you down. It’s my personal mission to keep a smile on your face.”
Without meaning to, his words ignite a smile. He points at me. “See? Success! I’m good at my job, aren’t I?”
I nod, trying to mute the smile with little success. “You’re phenomenal.” He’s smug with satisfaction, and I ask, “What is your job title, anyway?”
“Best friend? Guardian angel? Knight in denim armour?”
I spit a laugh, and he ruffles my hair. “You’re cute, Zeke. You’re more than qualified for all those roles.” I look into my empty cup. “I need more wine.”
“We need more wine.”
I offer to refill our cups, rocking to my feet as I unstick myself from the tight gap, missing his warmth as soon as I stand.
The long table is full of bread and fresh fruit, but I can barely smell it over the wine.
For now, I grab a couple of bread rolls, throwing one to Zeke to free my hands and holding the other between my teeth.
It’s still warm as I inhale the doughy goodness.
My mouth salivates as it takes all my strength not to bite into it.
Holding both mugs in one hand, I twist the tap, watching the wine, a transparent magenta, as the trickle fills our cups with a crimson pool.
The room drops quiet, causing me to turn towards a figure at the centre of the parted men.
It’s a man—one I know. His clothes and face are dirtied, his long golden hair tied back from his handsome rectangular face.
With a rifle still over his shoulder, he pants, standing, looking much like an old friend of mine.
He gasps with his indigo stare and dark lashes fluttering. “It’s you. It’s really you!”
The bread drops from my mouth, and I place the cups on top of the barrel beside me before running and jumping into his arms.
My oldest friend, Kris.