She didn’t answer, and I glanced out the window by the woodstove. The metal roof of the farmhouse looked silver in a new freckling of snow. In its basement, I knew, the lights glowed warm and white, and the air smelled like a mossy jungle, heavy and spicy and wet. Now, the basement was the only place anything could grow.
I placed my hand above the top of the stove. It was ice-cold. “Lisbeth, I guess I should go. The fire’s out. I have to get more wood. In August.” I tried to laugh.
Lisbeth didn’t laugh back. “Wil, wait.” She took a breath, and I knew something big was coming; she inhaled, then spoke in a rush when she delivered bad or hard news. I pictured her holding on to her braid, squeezing it, as she did for reassurance. She didn’t even know that she did this. “We’re getting out,” she said. “The Church is going away and we’re going with them. I want you to come with us. My folks want you to. The Church said it was okay.”
“Getting out? Where are you going?”
“South. That’s all I know.”
The news, when I watched it at Lisbeth’s house—we didn’t have cable or internet on the farm—showed cars waiting to cross into Mexico. The line stretched for miles, longer and longer every cold day, the cars laden with suitcases, gas cans, children’s bikes. Whole lives strapped to the roofs. Most of the cars were turned away at the border. Where was Lisbeth going to go?
“What about your job?” I said.
She did laugh then, but it came out barking like a cough. “What job, now?”
What about me? I thought. Us? I said, “The entire church is moving together?”
“Yes. The Migration, that’s what they’re calling it.”
“Like birds.”
“Wil, you can’t tell anyone about this, okay? You can’t tell your mama or Lobo, when they call. The invitation is only for you. The Church talked about it, and that was the decision.” Silence from me, which Lisbeth felt uncomfortable with and tried to fill. “It’s just, we’re taking these vans, and there’s only so much room, so many seat belts. And there’s only so much food.”
“You’re taking food? What place are you going to that has no food?”
“The Church is prepared. We’ve been preparing for something for a long time. Not this specifically, but in case something should come, someday, we’ve been ready. My parents love you,” Lisbeth said. “I love you. Come with us. We can protect you.”
“Protect me from what? Do you know something? What’s causing this?”
Lisbeth paused. “God.”