The Silence of God by Gale Sears

Author:Gale Sears [Sears, Gale]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Historical
Publisher: Deseret Book Company
Published: 2010-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Ural Mountains

January 1918

The train swayed along the endless track, locked in the colorless bite of winter. Agnes was cold. The hard benches inside the train car offered no comfort or relief. It was as if they said, “You deserve this. Bad people deserve bad treatment, and you are an enemy of the people.” She had never felt like an enemy to anyone. When she was at school at the Smolny she tried to be kind, even when one of the girls had ceaselessly taunted her. Hadn’t she borne that with quiet meekness? Hadn’t she returned charity for mistreatment? Hadn’t she followed the Savior’s teachings? Someone started coughing—a raspy cough that went on and on. Agnes closed her eyes. Lord, where are you? It wasn’t the first time that thought had come to her mind over the past several weeks.

The wheels clattered over a crossing and Agnes imagined a bridge and a river. They were moving down the eastern side of the Ural Mountains and into Siberia. Agnes pulled her ragged coat tighter and retied the shawl around her shoulders. It did no good. Even with her many layers of clothing, the cold seeped through and settled on her skin. Her broken heart generated no heat and could not be called upon to revive her. She didn’t want to die, but could see no escape if the cold continued to whisper in her ears and encase her body. Her eyes moved slowly over to find Erland, curled in the corner of the boxcar like a mongrel dog. Several men sat off to the side of him, but ignored him as though he didn’t exist.

Agnes wanted to go to him and feed him warm soup, but she had nothing. She feared to move, and standing was out of the question. She crept her hand along the bench until she found Alexandria’s ankle. She laid her hand on her sister’s felt boot and patted it three times. Alexandria stirred, but didn’t wake. Agnes worked to keep her mind inside the dim interior of the boxcar. Anything outside of that was deep, dark water in which she’d drown. Her numb lips formed letters and she whispered their names. “Johannes, Oskar, Arel, Erland, Alexandria.” If she kept saying their names she would keep them alive. We are all going together. That’s a good thing. At least to the same town or village. . . . That’s what we’ve been told. All of us here on this train. Well, not all of us. “Johannes, Oskar, Arel . . .”

“Agnes.”

Was she speaking her own name out loud?

“Agnes,” the voice came again.

“What?” she barked hoarsely.

“Shh . . . it’s Arel.” He took her hand. “Here’s a biscuit.” He joggled her hand. “Here, can you feel it? Grab it with your fingers.”

Her fingers curved inward involuntarily.

“Good girl. Now, eat it.”

“Why?”

“It’s food. Eat it.”

Arel’s voice went away, and she slowly brought the biscuit to her mouth. “Do what your brothers tell you to do,” her father had said. No! No! I can’t think of Father.

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