White Wasteland Jeff Kirkham (book series for 12 year olds TXT) 📖

three and a half months—had no problem with that “Jesus fellow,” and even the couple Jewish and the large contingent of Muslims in the Homestead had graciously agreed that Christian services would be “close enough” for them. So, Christianity it would be.

“In the name of love

What more in the name of love?”

As the singing ended, Jacquelyn walked to the front of the room to take her place as the leader of the service. As she passed through the middle of the capacious garage, and dozens of hands reached out to touch her hand. For a moment, Jacquelyn basked in the love and gratitude of her Homestead friends. Sniffles filled the silence after the song.

They’d gone through a lot together, and emotion thickened the air around the two hundred people packed into the garage. Once again, they’d gone to war and once again, they’d survived. Last time, they’d battled gangbangers and a mob. This time, the enemy had been a virus.

Jacquelyn lingered up front, looking from face to face: Jenna and Jason Ross. Jeff and Tara Kirkham. Doc Erik. Emily Ross and Gabriel. Alena James. Ron. JT. Zach. She could honestly say she loved them like family.

In a moment, the time would come for her to ruin everything.

“Thank you all for joining us in this prayer meeting. I’ve spoken with most of you about your beliefs, and I reached the conclusion that this,” she motioned around the room, “might make everyone as comfortable as possible.

“Our Jewish friends will begin this service with a prayer from the Siddur.”

A Jewish woman prayed, and one of the Mormon Homesteaders delivered a short message on “Loving One Another.” Jacquelyn suggested the topic in hopes of softening the hard truth she was about to reveal.

They sang Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Waters. Jacquelyn returned to the front of the room. The emotion of the song settled like a mist. She picked a piece of lint off the sleeve of the dress she’d borrowed from Jenna Ross.

Jacquelyn’s children sat on the front row beside Emily Ross and Gabriel Peña. Her youngest daughter, Sarah, fidgeted on Emily’s lap while Emily stroked her long, blonde hair. The morning light caught the fly-away strands that shook loose from her hairband. Emily Ross coughed, something that would’ve triggered intense concern just two weeks before.

The silence drew out.

Little Tommy Junior, her eight year old son, looked around. Tish, her six year old, gazed at her mother with love, oblivious to the awkwardness of the silence.

Jacquelyn had decided to say it plainly. “Friends, I believe that I was responsible for the flu entering the Homestead.” She knew that the dies were cast, and only the reckoning remained. “I broke the rules many times, knowingly and without consulting anyone. I’m responsible for organizing an orphanage for refugee children in the Schaffer home, and it’s likely that my decision allowed the flu to pass into the Homestead.”

Murmurs rolled through the crowd—most of the adult members of the Homestead were present.

She continued, “Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.’

I don’t offer those words in my defense. I gave my word to keep the rules and protect the Homestead. I didn’t consult with anyone when I took those orphans in. I broke my word, so the blame is all mine. I cite Jesus to ask you to find a way to care for those eight children at the Schaffer home. And, if you have a heart for it, please take in my three children as well.”

Jason Ross and Jeff Kirkham exchanged granite stares across the room, but neither interrupted her.

After the prayer meeting, Gabriel and Emily retreated to babysitting Jacquelyn Reynold’s children while the furor broke. Despite the tension in the air, Emily played with little Tish, hugging her with one hand and tickling her with the other. Tish’s mother was still inside the garage chapel, talking to a line of people, one at a time. It fell on Gabe and Emily to care for the children while her pastor’s duties kept her inside.

Out on the chilly, cobblestone driveway, Gabe watched Emily playing. It wasn’t very modern of him, but nothing turned Gabe on more than visions of wife and family. More than anything in the world, he hoped that someday she would do him the honor.

Emily let out a ragged cough, protecting little Tish by turning aside and coughing into her elbow. Emily set the girl down, grabbed her by both hands and spun her in a circle, a simple joy that contrasted with the pall that hung over them all. Tish whooped with laughter.

Gabriel knew that the consequences of the illegal orphanage could swallow the heavenly creature swinging the little girl. If Emily were thrown out, maybe the two of them could retreat to his mother’s home—if anyone there had survived.

Emily slowed and landed little Tish on the cobbles. Both of them laughed. Emily doubled over and coughed some more. Then, she coughed so ferociously that Gabriel ran to her side and held her up while she hacked.

The cough refused to abate. It deepened and rattled. Emily shuddered. After an impossibly-long grumbling, chuckling cough, her legs went limp and she fainted to the driveway.

“We make exceptions and people die. If we’ve learned one thing in this shitty new world, it’s that Mother Nature does not give a FUCK about our feelings,” Jason Ross thundered. He’d been getting angrier and angrier since the happy-slappy church service and he wanted blood.

The Homestead committee met together an hour after the prayer service to discuss next steps. Jacquelyn, and whoever had helped her, would be ordered to leave the Homestead if the rules meant anything at all.

Donald Ross—Jason’s brother—stood to speak, which was strange given that only seven committee members and a few spouses were in the room. Standing seemed overly formal. Given the stakes of the decision, maybe it wasn’t. “Jacquelyn is critical to the Homestead.