forgotten about that part, but now I remembered. “Oh yes,” I said. “Yes I have. I’m called to higher service.”
Aunt Estée gave me a long and searching look. Then she asked me if she could pray silently: she needed guidance about what to do. I watched while she folded her hands, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. I held my breath: Please, God, send her the right message, I prayed in my turn.
Finally she opened her eyes and smiled at me. “I will speak with your parents,” she said. “And with Aunt Lydia.”
“Thank you,” I said. I was beginning to cry again, this time with relief.
“Do you want to come with me?” she said. “To talk with your parents?”
“I can’t,” I said. “They’ll get hold of me and lock me in my room, and then they’ll give me a drug. You know they will.”
She didn’t deny it. “That’s sometimes best,” she said, “but for you, I think not. You can’t stay here at the school, however. I couldn’t stop the Eyes from entering, and removing you, and changing your mind. You don’t want the Eyes doing that. You’d better come with me.”
She must have evaluated Paula, and judged that she’d be capable of anything. I didn’t know then how Aunt Estée had come by this information about Paula, but I know now. The Aunts had their methods, and their informants: no walls were solid for them, no doors locked.
We went outside and she told my driver to let his Commander’s Wife know that she was sorry for having kept Agnes Jemima so long, and she hoped that no undue worry had been caused. Also he should say that she, Aunt Estée, was about to pay Commander Kyle’s Wife a visit, to decide an important matter.
“What about her?” he said, meaning me.
Aunt Estée said she would take responsibility for me, so he need not concern himself. He gave me a reproachful look—actually a filthy look: he knew that I’d tricked him, and that he was now in trouble. But he got into the car and drove out through the gates. The Angels were Vidala School Angels: they obeyed Aunt Estée.
Then Aunt Estée used her pager to call her own Guardian driver, and we got into her car. “I’m taking you to a safe place,” she said. “You must stay there while I talk to your parents. When we get to the safe place, you must promise me you’ll eat something. Promise?”
“I won’t be hungry,” I said. I was still holding back tears.
“You will be, once you settle in,” she said. “A glass of warm milk, at any rate.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “All will be well,” she said. “All manner of things will be well.” Then she let go of my hand and patted it lightly.
This was comforting to me as far as it went, but I was on the verge of crying again. Kindness sometimes has that effect. “How?” I said. “How can it ever be well?”
“I don’t know,” said Aunt Estée. “But it will be. I have faith.” She sighed. “Having faith is hard work sometimes.”
38
The sun was setting. The springtime air was filled with the golden haze that can often appear at that time of year: dust, or pollen. The leaves of the trees had that glossy sheen, so fresh and newly unfolded; as if they were gifts, each one, unwrapping itself, shaken out for the first time. As if God had just made them, Aunt Estée used to tell us during Nature Appreciation, conjuring up a picture of God waving his hand over the dead-looking winter trees, causing them to sprout and unfurl. Every leaf unique, Aunt Estée would add, just like you! It was a beautiful thought.
Aunt Estée and I were driven through the golden streets. Would I ever see these houses, these trees, these sidewalks again? Empty sidewalks, quiet streets. Lights were coming on in the houses; inside there must have been happy people, people who knew where they belonged. Already I felt like an outcast; but I’d cast myself out, so I had no right to feel sorry for myself.
“Where are we going?” I asked Aunt Estée.
“Ardua Hall,” she said. “You can stay there while I visit your parents.”
I’d heard Ardua Hall mentioned, always in hushed tones because it was a special place for the Aunts. Whatever the Aunts did when we weren’t looking was not our concern, said Zilla. They kept themselves to themselves and we should not