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Bishop pulls out my seat, then grabs an extra chair from against the wall behind us and sits down next to me. “It’s too far away, across the table,” he says to his mother. I try not to feel ridiculously grateful for this small act of defiance, this solidarity he’s shown me.
Mrs. Lattimer is not happy with the change, but she doesn’t make it an issue. She nods curtly to the maid waiting by the doorway, who scurries over to move Bishop’s place setting across the table.
“They are still newlyweds, after all,” President Lattimer says with a smile. Whatever President Lattimer envisions, I doubt Bishop sleeping on the sofa every night is part of it.
We make it through the salad course and warm rosemary bread with small talk and only a few awkward silences. I’m starting to think I may survive the evening unscathed when President Lattimer turns toward me with a smile. “How are you enjoying your job at the courthouse?”
“I like it,” I say. “I’m working with Victoria Jameson. ”
President Lattimer nods. “We know Victoria well, and her father, of course. That will keep you busy until babies come along. ”
My heart skips a beat. “Yes,” I say.
President Lattimer cuts into his chicken. “Are you learning anything interesting?”
I take a sip of ice water. “Mostly I’m helping with case work,” I say carefully. “Keeping the judges organized. ” I pause. “Victoria did say that next week we may be doing some work with the prisoners. ”
Mrs. Lattimer’s hand rises to her throat before falling back to her lap. “Oh,” she says. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate, Ivy. Not for you. ”
“Why not?” I ask, the words coming out even more defensive than I intended them.
“You’re only a girl,” Mrs. Lattimer says. “There are some things that are too adult for you. ”
I focus on my plate. Keep your mouth closed, I tell myself. Just shut up. But I can’t, and I now fully understand Callie’s apprehension when Bishop asked for me instead of her. If I can make my father’s plan work, it will be a miracle. “I think if I’m old enough to be married off against my will, I’m old enough to work where I want,” I say, raising my eyes to meet hers.
There’s a long beat of silence. Mrs. Lattimer’s fork clatters to her plate. “How dare you,” she says, eyes wide. “How dare—”
“Erin,” President Lattimer says, voice calm. “Ivy’s allowed to have her own opinions. Especially here, at our dinner table. ” I look at him, taken by surprise. “I encourage debate,” he tells me, no irony in his tone.
“As long as it’s within the confines of your beliefs, right?” I ask. I put down my fork so no one can see my hand shaking. “Out on the streets, people aren’t allowed to talk about democracy, are they? About having a voice in how things are run?”
President Lattimer’s face tightens. “Democracy was what your grandfather espoused, Ivy. And he lost. He lost because he didn’t have enough supporters behind him. ”
“No, he lost because your father got to the guns first. ” I need to stop. I take a breath, bringing myself back under control. Bishop’s hand brushes against mine on the tabletop. Just his pinky shifting against my fingers. I glance at him, startled, and his eyes hold mine. Encouraging me, or at least not trying to stop me.
“What’s wrong with letting people decide the kind of government they want?” I ask. “What are you afraid of?” They are my father’s words, and it makes me feel closer to him to speak them.
“People need certainty,” President Lattimer says. “They need peace. We’ve had enough war and unrest. ”
“Putting people outside the fence, that’s a kind of unrest, though, isn’t it?” I say.
“The people put out have done horrible things. The punishment fits the crime,” Mrs. Lattimer interjects.
“Maybe for some of them,” I concede. “But it’s not just murderers who are put out. It’s people who steal or upset the status quo. How does leaving them to die bring peace?”
Mrs. Lattimer opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off before she can get a word out. “And what about forcing girls to marry, not letting them have any say in their own lives?”
“Our priority is not personal happiness, Ivy,” President Lattimer says. “It can’t be. We are all still trying to survive, increase our population, and when people have too many choices, they often make the wrong ones. So it’s up to me to guide them. ”
I choke out a laugh. “So you know what’s best for every single person in Westfall?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Lattimer says. “He does. ” She glares at me, little wrinkles forming around her lips where her mouth is drawn tight.
“You know,” President Lattimer says, pulling my attention away from Mrs. Lattimer, “you remind me of your mother. Of course, you look like her. She could be…impassioned, too. ”
“What?” My voice comes out as a whisper I can barely hear over the screaming in my head. “You knew my mother?”
“Yes. ” His smile is sad. “I knew her well. ”
