Grounded

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lydia

Seventeen years later...

Bishop Kauffman often preaches we are to be in the world but not of the world. I've never understood why he bothers. The only world I've ever known is Hemlock Hollow, and you can't be more set apart than us.

I press my cheek into Hildegard's tawny belly, and she stomps her hooves in disapproval. She's uncomfortable with my pace, but I don't slow my milking. I can't. I have my responsibilities, but there are also my priorities.

"Sorry, girl," I whisper. "We need to hurry."

I kick a clump of hay toward her head. The cow stretches her neck for a nibble, temporarily distracted from my tugging. The sky lightens beyond her hindquarters, distinct rays visible on the horizon. As planned, my bucket is full before the sun is up.

To Hildegard's relief, I set her to pasture and then return to the barn to get my bucket of milk. Mary Samuels arrives just as I'm leaving for home, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Behind her, the cow she leads looks as tired as she does.

"Already finished? Oh, to be a morning person like you, Lydia," she says. She straightens her apron with one dark brown hand, darker than usual due to her work in the sun this time of year. I curse the vulnerability of my fair complexion. Any other time, I'd enjoy a long talk with Mary, my dearest girlfriend, weighing the benefits of our various gifts, dark skin versus a morning disposition, but not now. Not this morning.

"Good to see you, Mary." Arm bent to keep the bucket a safe distance from my side, I hurry past her toward the house. Inside, I dump the fresh milk into the stainless steel receptacle we keep in our one and only modern convenience, a methane-powered refrigerator. Quickly, I wash my pail out for tomorrow and check on breakfast. The risen dough is ready for the bread pan. I've already gathered the eggs. My father will be in the field for at least another hour, plenty of time.

Without delay, I hasten toward the hay barn. Jeremiah sidles up to me, also finished with his chores. He wears the same black trousers and vest as all the other boys, but Jeremiah stands out to me. His eyes are the color of cornflowers and he's always smiling, even when none of his teeth show.

"Good morning, Lydia." He straightens his straw hat. His steps quicken until his feet slap the gravel ahead of mine.

"Good morning, Jeremiah." I match him step for step.

Lengthening his stride, he speeds up until he's ahead again. "Are you going to do the wise thing this morning and start breakfast early?"

"No, I don't think so. I think I'll be going to the haymow." I elbow past him.

"Yeah?" He smiles, breaking into a jog. "That's where I'm going, too."

Race on.

I launch into a full-out run, balling my long skirt in my hand. More of my tights show than is proper but I trust Jeremiah won't tell. Anyway, the shape of my calf might distract him. I can't allow him to beat me to the hay. Of all the mornings I've raced Jeremiah, he's only won twice, and I've never lived down either of those times. If he wins, he'll tell me with a quirky half-smile that maybe I've finally learned I'm a girl. He'll offer twenty times a day to help me carry the eggs or knead the bread, because the race has proven he is more capable. Not again. Not if I can help it.

My legs pump underneath me. I pant from the exertion, the air heavy with late summer heat and the smell of fresh hay. The pounding of Jeremiah's feet beside mine pushes me harder, faster than I've ever run before. Lucky for me, I'm fast for a girl.