"A book? Like the Bible?"
"Not exactly. It's called Rebel of Love," Samantha said. She showed Prudence the book's cover, on which a bare-chested man sat atop a motorcycle with a blonde woman.
"What's that?" Prudence asked, pointing to the motorcycle.
"It's a motorcycle. A motorized bike."
"What's a bike?"
"A bicycle." When Prudence shrugged, Samantha sat her down to explain. "A bicycle is kind of a two-wheeled carriage. The person sits on it and makes it go with his feet. A motorcycle is a bike where instead of using the rider's feet, the bike is powered by an engine. Do you understand now?"
"I guess so. How do you know all this?"
Samantha thought about this for a moment. How did she know about a bicycle or a motorcycle or how to pick a lock? And if she knew all that, why didn't she know her name or where she came from or anything about her family? "I can't explain it. I just do," she said at last.
"Why isn't the man wearing a shirt?"
"I don't know. Maybe he was working outside and got hot, like the boys in the fields."
Prudence seemed satisfied with this answer, so Samantha opened the book and began to read it.
The story began with a man named Remy LeBeau on an airplane bound for New York City. Prudence stopped Samantha after the first paragraph to explain airplanes. "They're like metal birds people can ride in," Samantha said.
"Really? You mean we could fly up into the clouds? Do you think we'd see God up there?"
"I don't think so. At least not unless he wants to be seen." Samantha continued reading, until she got to a description of New York's skyline. When Prudence asked her about it, Samantha's voice took on a distant tone. "There are a lot of very tall buildings, even taller than mountains. Some of them touch the clouds. When you stand on the street looking up at them it's magical."
"Have you been there?"
"I don't know." She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself on the streets of New York, looking up at the Empire State Building or the World Trade Center. The more she tried to picture the scene, the less real it became, until everything smeared together in her mind. "Maybe."
"Is that where savages live?"
"Well, I suppose some do, but not everyone. There are good people there too. Lots of them." Maybe this is where I came from, she thought. Maybe my family lives in one of those skyscrapers, right at the top above the clouds. Maybe they're looking outside their window right now for me. She closed the book and dropped it to the floor.