The Speed of Mercy by Christy Conlin (good books for high schoolers txt) 📕

wall and a strange white hood. Cynthia sits Stella on a chair and then she puts on the dress and the hood. “You have to be very quiet. Stay here. I’ll come back for you later.” Then she pulls and pushes Stella into a cramped closet. “Stay here. And take this.” She hands Stella a sachet, the smell of fresh mint and rosemary, crushed borage and lavender spiralling through her nose. Stella tucks it in her training bra, Cynthia’s bra, once upon a time. Cynthia closes the closet door. The darkness encases Stella. After a few minutes (just seconds?), Stella doesn’t know if her eyes are open or closed.

Stay quiet. Stella thinks it must be her mother talking, not Cynthia. She left. Hush. Or Granny Scotia. No, she’s gone too. Not a word, not a word, sweet child. If only her head wasn’t so heavy. It’s dark and quiet. And then the door to the room opens. The door to the closet opens. “Lookee what we have here. Hiding, were you? That’s what they say your aunt did. Well, someone has to pay your grandfather’s debt. Debt is a terrible thing to inherit. Your aunt refused, so she was taken care of in the lake. And it would have been a whole lot easier if you hadn’t decided to go to the library with your mother. You girls make everything so complicated.”

Tommy puts her over his shoulder and brings her down a dim hall and into an open space. Stella tries to kick her legs, to punch him in the back, but her arms and legs feel formless. Mommy. She hears her voice. Mommy. She’s screaming, but only in her head. Tommy Jessome is gone again. The light is so low. Stella crawls off to the side of the space as voices mutter: “Sodality first. All debts are paid.”

The building smells of incense. It is dark in the lodge. It’s surrounded by towering trees and the remains of the sunset can’t reach inside the windows. Outside a coyote howls. Inside the men laugh. Their faces are shadows, masks. A very old man sits in a colossal chair woven out of twigs. There are twig crosses on either side of him.

The men are in a circle, about twelve in all. It’s hard to see in the dim light. Stella hides behind an armchair and peeks around the corner. Stella can’t see their faces. They’re wearing dark dressing gowns. Tommy is gone. Cynthia is on the floor. The old man wears a bird mask with a curved beak. They all seem to move in slow motion. Stella’s head spins.

The flames flare in the tremendous old fireplace, and shadows flicker up into the high ceiling. Stella sees Cynthia is on her back, her legs open. Stella hears a shuffling from above and looks up at a balcony. Men are up there watching. Stella sees a man with a camera. He is taking pictures of this ceremony, of this violation.

Stella has never seen a naked man before, not even her father. The old man’s penis rises out of a mass of ashen hair, moving back and forth, coming closer to Cynthia. She can hear Cynthia screaming, sobbing, the first time Stella has ever heard her cry. Stella is too dizzy to move. She calls out but her words are only puffs of air.

Stella is outside. On the dock. Cynthia is there. She is trying to get Stella into a rowboat tied to the dock. Stella’s hands are numb. She wants so badly to help Cynthia, to take over, but she can’t even do that. Thudding. The dock shaking. Frank running over the dock, his voice severe, hissing. “What were you doing? I told you to stay out of the way. Jesus, Cynthia, this wasn’t supposed to happen to you. You never do what I say.” Frank is shouting. Frank is very angry. He is very, very, very angry.

Stella throws up into the water. And now another loud voice, more shouting.

It is her father. He’s apoplectic, screaming as he runs down the dock.

“Franklin. Jesus fucking Christ. Why are they out here on the dock? You said it would be quick, the trip out here, a new ritual, not like the old days. Frank, you said would bring her back from Mercy Lake to Seabury. You lying bastard.” The clouds blow back and darkness comes. Opal light glows on the dock. Stella sees Cynthia stand up. She has her backpack.

“It already was me,” she spits out to Frank. “What do you think Tommy was doing to me the last two summers? What do you think? Are you that blind? Are you that much in debt to your fucking stupid brotherhood and business and money?” She’s raging away, storm raging. “You took Granny Scotia. I’ll never forgive you. I’ll never forgive you.”

Stella’s father takes a step towards Frank, who punches him in the nose. He splashes into the water. Just then another man thuds onto the dock. “For fuck’s sake, now is not the time for pictures, you asshole.” Frank hits the photographer in the head and the man falls to the dock, his camera and camera bag rolling from his hands. Then there is silence. Stella throws up again. The photographer crawls a bit, and then gets up and lurches back towards the lodge. Clouds blow over the moon and it’s dark and then they blow off into the midnight blue and moonlight dazzles on the lake. A breeze comes up. The coyotes keep howling.

Cynthia takes something out of her backpack. She holds it up. Frank takes a step back. It is the black book. But then the clouds blow over the moon again and Stella can’t see. The clouds move away from the moon and illuminate Cynthia and the blank pages of the book she holds open. There is a sound in the lake. Water rippling . . . stirring. Stella lifts her dizzy head up and the sky swirls, the moon a bright glowing marble,