Free Tree of Truth (Book of Pilgrimage 1) by James Huss Page A

father, she on the porch with open arms awaiting her beloved husband. It was all a fantasy.
    The fantastic vision broke when I heard the creaking of the Library door. It was Blake. “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. Why aren’t you at school?”
    He wasn’t angry, even after what I did to him, even after the embarrassment and the frustration. There was a silver lining to his cold nature—he rarely lost his temper. Still, I trod lightly with my words. “I just needed to think. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
    He sat down at the table next to me. For the first time in a while, he seemed more like my big brother than my stern father. “I know it’s hard. We all have to make tough decisions. In the old days, people had more choices, more freedom. But the Disease—”
    I couldn’t let him finish. I just blurted out, “Shelley saw the Light. It was the other night. I snuck out to see her, and we went to the old theater together. She saw the Light. I don’t know what to do. I really love her, Blake, and she’s dying.” I started crying. He put his arm around me.
    “There is nothing you can do. This is the way. I know that in a few years I will have to leave my precious Charlotte and our little girls and even you, and I know that it will break my heart. But this is our world. This Disease is our burden, and we must bear it with strength.” He gave me a hug, a real, brotherly hug. “Take the next few weeks and spend them with the woman you love. Stay with her until she passes. I’ll talk to Sylvia and her family. They will understand. When you finish your grieving, then we will talk about the wedding.”
    “Wedding? What wedding?” I pulled away and stood up, glaring down upon him.
    “We want you to marry Sylvia. She likes you, and her family likes you, and she will make an excellent wife. What other choice do you have? You’ll have to marry soon—you’re nearly sixteen.”
    “You don’t know that Shelley will die! You don’t know if there is a Cure! I am not marrying Sylvia!” I stormed from the Library and ran straight to school, where I knew Shelley would be waiting.
    I sat on the bench by the exit she used in the afternoon. Even an hour after leaving the Library I was still fuming. I tried not to make eye contact with any of my peers—I didn’t feel like explaining where I had been or what was wrong. I only wanted to talk to Shelley. I caught her by the arm as she strolled past me.
    “Marlowe! Where have you been?”
    “The Library.”
    “What’s wrong with you? Why are you so upset?”
    “Can we take a walk?”
    She nodded and hooked her elbow inside of mine. I told her about everything: the meeting, the Library, the fight with my brother. She listened intently, and when I finished she turned to me and grasped both of my arms. “You did this all for me?”
    “I love you.” I just blurted it out. I couldn’t help myself. I was nervous and a little embarrassed, but felt this great sense of relief. I wanted to say it a thousand more times, but that look she gave me told me not to. I couldn’t figure it out. It was like flattery and sympathy and uncertainty all fighting for control of her confused countenance. She hugged me.
    “Let’s go home.” We walked quietly the rest of the way to her house.
    I dropped her off at her doorstep as I had many times, but after the door closed I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I tapped on her window. She opened it. “Forget something, Marlowe?” I kissed her quickly. She giggled. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you feel weird.”
    “It’s okay.” I felt confidence in my veins, like it was the end of the world, and I could say anything without consequence. “I still love you, and I will love you no matter how you feel about me. And one day, you will love me too. I know you will.”
    Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I do love you, Marlowe.”
    “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
    The tears streamed down her face. “I saw