Exile: The Book of Ever

3: Voices

Sister Hales' round face hovered over Ever's own, her soft, motherly features pinched in concern. Ever let her dab her forehead with a cool, wet cloth and drank the broth that she foisted on her, more to appease Sister Hales than out of any real desire to drink it.

She could barely remember their flight back to Bountiful, though the trip must have taken over an hour. She had never been so scared in her life. There were only flashes: trees whirring by, their feet churning the sand on the beach, Jared heaving against the oars with all his might. Then more woods, the walls of Bountiful suddenly looming, and Sister Hales, Bountiful's Mother Healer, wrapping Ever in a warm, doughy embrace and showing her onto a cot in the infirmary.

She had slept, she thought; the sun was low in the sky through the small, square window near her bed.

"There's someone here to see you, dear, if you're up to it," Sister Hales said. The way she said "if you're up to it" clearly implied her willingness to scare off any visitors Ever didn't want to see. But the shock of her experience was already fading, replaced by worry that she'd been left out of whatever decisions the Elders were now making in response to the day's events.

"I'm fine," she said, hoping it was Jared, or someone with news. Sister Hales finished fussing at her forehead and took the broth away, disappearing through the doorway that led to the storeroom and kitchen. A few minutes later Erlan came in and approached her with a look of dramatic concern on his face.

"You're awake," he said, taking her hand.

"Yes," she said, not knowing what else to say. "Has Jared reported to the Council?"

"It's lucky I sent him after you," said Erlan, as if she hadn't asked the question. "Do you understand now why everyone is so concerned about your little solitary journeys? If Jared hadn't been there you'd be dead."

Ever withdrew her hand and tried her best to project the placid acceptance she knew Erlan wanted to see. It was hard. She wasn't sure she succeeded, either, given the look on Erlan's face. Beneath the surface, anger warred with a whipped feeling. After what she'd been through, this was how he greeted her—his future wife? She wondered suddenly if he'd even bothered to ask Jared the details of what happened, or if he had started blaming her for it as soon as he heard there had been trouble. Ever had never thought of herself as having a particularly fiery personality, but at that moment all she really wanted to do was hit Erlan over the head with a bedpan and walk out.

"I'm glad to see you were so worried about me," she said.

Erlan squinted, his mouth a crooked line. She had trouble reading him at the best of times—was this rebuke? Confusion? He had plain features, an oval face, brown hair and brown eyes; he had never been accounted particularly handsome, but when Elder Orton had first proposed him as a suitable husband for her Ever had thought of his plainness as purity, and had transformed his stern countenance into nobility.

In the six months since their engagement, however—on the rare occasions that Erlan relaxed enough to actually talk to her—Ever had realized that what she had first seen as purity of character was in fact a distinct lack of curiosity about the world, and what she had thought of as noble seriousness was a narrow rigidity that now made her recoil. In short, she was having serious doubts about their compatibility as husband and wife, and spent most nights praying for guidance.

"Of course I was concerned about you, Ever," he said reproachfully. "We're...we're promised." Ever remained silent, looking at the fringe of the blanket covering her legs.