26 Then
Then
The morning of the fire, I found Ilse crying.
She sat alone at the front of the small cabin we shared with our mother and father, silhouetted by the large bay window overlooking the clearing.
Our parents had just gone out—I was the only one around to hear her quiet sobs.
Her eyes were glassy, her hair unkempt, but I remember thinking that it didn’t make her any less beautiful.
Ilse had always looked like a softer version of me: face round and sweet where mine was angular, eyes a light hazel where mine were near black.
Our hair was the same dark blond, although hers fell in ringlets while mine only just managed waves.
Had I still believed in salvation, I might have thought she looked like an angel, especially clad in the simple white style of dress we both so often wore.
In a way, she was my angel. The sole reason I remained with the Apostles when everything in me wanted to take my chances in the wilderness.
For Ilse, I stayed. For Ilse, I tried to pretend.
I knew she feared for my soul. And because I didn’t want to cause her distress, particularly now that she was so far along in her pregnancy, I was trying.
I approached her from behind, lightly touching a hand to her shoulder. She started, her red-rimmed eyes swiveling to latch on to mine. “Talin.”
The way she said my name was strange, as though she wasn’t altogether certain she liked the taste of it.
I forced a tight smile. Now that I had drawn closer, I could see our parents’ retreating backs through the window as they were engulfed by the trees, Vicar Johannes an imposing presence between them. Of course they were with him. They often were.
“They’re talking about you,” Ilse said before I could ask. “I heard Mother say your name as she left.”
“Oh.” Perhaps it should have unnerved me, but I felt nothing save a sort of cold emptiness. “All good things, I hope.”
My poor attempt at humor didn’t land. Ilse pivoted to face me, a scowl overtaking her expression and twisting it into one I didn’t recognize. “Damn it, Talin. It’s like you’re not even trying.”
Now I was unnerved. Ilse almost never cursed. In fact, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d heard her do so. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t take anything seriously. Not the services, not your prayers, and not the Vicar’s warnings.” Splotches of pink appeared high on her cheeks. “We’ve spoken about it, you know, he and I. He hoped I’ll be able to get through to you, but I’m starting to think no one can.”
“Get through to me?” In my shock I had the strangest desire to laugh, but I repressed it, knowing it would only make things worse.
“Ilse, I’m the same person I’ve always been.
You’re the one who’s changed. And I’m not blaming you, but”—I broke off, gesturing vaguely at her as acid flooded my throat—“I mean, hell, you’re having his child.
And don’t you dare try to tell me you’re doing so willingly. ”
The pink in my sister’s cheeks had turned to angry red. “The Vicar has done so much for us. I love him, and—”
“Ilse, you’re not even eighteen yet!” I couldn’t keep calm any longer. “Johannes has sons our age. And no matter what he tried to tell you, coercion is not consent.”
My words fell like an anvil between us. Ilse rose to her feet, hands folded protectively over her stomach.
That was the moment I knew for certain that I’d lost her.
I’d failed her, I hadn’t protected her, and now I’d lost her.
I might have cried, then, if my well of emotion hadn’t long since bled dry.
As a result, all I felt was sick, sick, sick.
“We’ve all done nothing but try to save you,” Ilse hissed from between her teeth, eyes still glistening.
“And you don’t even care, do you? I mean, you’re already showing signs of the Bloodrot, Talin!
The mark of the devil! No wonder nobody knows what to do with you.
Tell me, do you even believe in the Savior’s everlasting love? Do you even want to be saved?”
I swallowed what I’d been about to say, caught off guard.
How many times had I been posed some version of that question and lied in response?
I knew what everyone wanted to hear and had no qualms about misleading them.
Ilse, though, was different. I had never lied to her.
I couldn’t—unless I thought it would keep her safe. So what was I supposed to do here?
It didn’t end up mattering. I’d hesitated too long, and my sister saw the answer in my face.
“You don’t, do you?” She took an unsteady step back, shaking her head in dawning horror. Her lips pinched at the corners. “Are you truly so lost?”
“Ilse, please.” I tried to close the distance between us once more, reaching for her, but she shied away. Heart thudding dully, I let my arm drop. “I’m not lost. But I’m not going to lie and tell you I believe in anything, or care about any of this. The only thing I care about is you.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Ilse stared at me like she’d never seen me before.
Then, abruptly, I saw something in her shift, the horror giving way to cold detachment.
“You’ve strayed too far,” she whispered.
“I guess the Vicar was right, and you can’t save someone the devil already has his claws in.
Burn in hell, Talin.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “It’s what you deserve.”
And that, I suppose, was the day I stopped caring about anything at all.