The Chosen One by Carol Lynch Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

work to fill them up and no time for me to get to the piano or sneak off and read.
    But today zooms past. And all I want it to do is slow down. Give me time here with my family, safe , I think. Let my father talk to the Prophet. Let things change for me .
    “Kyra,” Mother Sarah says. This afternoon she’s not as sick and this gives me more time to worry about what is to come. She sits propped in her bed, spooning chicken broth into her own mouth, and sharing bites with me and Laura and Margaret and Carolina. “Kyra, you’re such a good help,” she says. “This soup tastes like Mother Claire’s homemade.”
    “I used her recipe,” I say. This is almost the truth.
    It is Mother Claire’s recipe, but I stole the soup from her pot yesterday, before all this happened, and replaced it with water. Something like guilt catches in the back of the throat. Is this why I am marrying my uncle? Does the Prophet know that this whole pregnancy I’ve stolen food from the other mothers so I wouldn’t have to make it myself? Does he want to teach me a lesson?
    I look away from Mother because I know she never, never stole soup from another woman’s cooking pot. Especially not as many times as I have.
    “Mother,” I say, getting ready to tell her everything, like how hard it is to cook dinner for so many. Like how I want to play the piano. Or read. Or see Joshua. But not cook another meal.
    She looks at me, her face almost relaxed.
    I close my mouth to the confession. She doesn’t need this information now. I’ll tell her later, when her baby’s here, maybe after the blessing. Maybe when I am sick with my own pregnancy. The thought makes my stomach turn over. I don’t want anything else to eat.
    Carolina bounces on the bed. Her blond hair swings in its braid. Beads of sweat dot her forehead.
    “Don’t bounce, baby,” I say, trying to make my guilt go away by being especially nice to Mother. “You make Mother’s tummy ache.”
    Our mother nods in thanks. She eats a bit. Shares some more.
    Carolina stops her bouncing and says, “Fan Mother harder, Laura. It’s hot.”
    “I’m fanning fast as I can,” Laura says. She smiles. I can see she’s worried.
    All around us, the hot desert air moves from Laura’s fanning and the big fan propped in the corner. If we only had air-conditioning like the Prophet and Apostles do, Mother would be able to be pregnant in comfort.
    The Prophet.
    Is Father still with him?
    Thank goodness there’s a swamp cooler plugged into the kitchen window or I swear we’d all go up in a ball of smoke.
    “It’s hot as hell in here,” says Margaret. Then she smiles.
    “Margaret,” Mother says, her tone disapproving. “Your language is not fitting to that of The Chosen Ones.”
    Margaret, her face crinkled, keeps smiling. I bet she likes it that she can say a naughty word. “It’s straight from the Bible,” she says.
    Laura fans Mother Sarah harder and says, “Tell us about when you were little.”
    So our mother tells us about Bible study, when times were easier because sin didn’t cover the world the way it does now. When The Chosen Ones were allowed out of the Compound more. How she used to go to the next town and eat Fudgsicles with all her brothers and sisters, before the chain-link fence, before, when Prophet Childs’s father was our leader.
    We’re all quiet, thinking about those Fudgsicles. At least I’m thinking about them. And thinking how Father wasn’t so old when Mother married him.
    “You were lucky to live then,” Margaret says, her voice a sigh almost. “And I’m sorry I said hell.” There’s that grin again.
    Mother eyes Margaret and says, “You’re forgiven.” Then she breathes out. “I certainly was lucky.”
     
     
    AT LAST I LEAVE the Compound the way I always have, slow like I always do, so no one will think any more of this walk than any other I’ve taken over the last I don’t know how many years.
    Are they watching me now that I’ve been Chosen?