Drought (7 page)

Chapter 7

Soon all of the Congregants know I am Leader.

It starts with a strange glance, a quick squeeze of my hand—people telling me they know, without saying.

But then the pleas begin.

Yesterday I was alone, harvesting, when Gen Baker found me.

“Those Smiths stole the last of our dry hay, I know it,” she said. “What’ll we do for fresh beds this winter?”

“I’m … sorry?” I was too startled to say anything else. Besides, the Bakers and Smiths were always feuding.

Gen tapped her spoon against her cup. “You’re the Leader. Fix it.”

Mercifully, an answer came to me. “Come to the next Elders meeting.”

She left me alone after that, though she wasn’t entirely satisfied.

Harvesting has become a new torture, for it’s a time when the Congregants can find me. More and more come, wanting small things that are large in their lives. We will have a very full Elders meeting next.

Today’s harvest is a little better, at least. They took our cups and spoons away today just as the sun reached its peak in the noon sky. We’d met quota, most of us, the morning dew kinder than it had been in a while.

Darwin didn’t take the time to punish us for anyone’s shortfalls. Instead he told the Overseers to give us shovels.

“You’ll all dig,” Darwin bellowed. “Four holes each, and then more if it’s still light out.”

I hate scraping and bending for water, but digging is worse. The ground is baked hard, reluctant to give up its grip on the rocks and roots around it. And the Overseers watch us the whole time. There’s no slipping into the shade for a moments’ rest, or watching a bird flit overhead.

At least we’re paired, two to every hole, so one can dig while the other tosses the dirt.

“I’ll pair with Ruby,” Mother tells the Overseers. They only grunt and give us our shovels—long sticks with narrow heads on them.

I’m glad to hear her claim me. Maybe fewer people will ask me for things if I have her company.

“There’s a spot with shade,” I whisper to her, pointing to the area marked with a painted orange X. Most of today’s digging areas are right along the road, where only tall weeds grow.

Mother gives the earth a heavy jab with her shovel. “I’ll start it for us.”

She pulls her hair higher on her head and bends to the task. Red welts stand out on the back of her neck. Darwin hit here there two, perhaps three nights ago. I’ve been careful to let those stay angry and sore, so he thinks every part of her is healing as slow as he’d like.

“We can both do it,” I tell her. The ground is too hard for her to break alone. It will get easier when we reach the crumbly underlayer.

But it will still be hard work. The holes must be narrow, and deep, so deep that the Overseers can reach down and feel nothing but air beneath their fingertips.

“You sleep like the dead these last few days. Are you staying too long at the cisterns?” Mother asks.

I haven’t been back to the cisterns since Ford and I talked. I’m afraid he’ll be there—and I’m afraid that I want him to be.

Never have I missed a night, not when we’ve added any water to the cisterns. Mother says I must give only a little blood at a time, that if I tried to do it every few days, or every week, I could weaken. She doesn’t know how much of my blood pours into the buckets at night, trying to make stronger and stronger Water to ease her wounds.

I’ll make up the difference soon, giving extra blood to the Water … as soon as I figure a way to go to the cisterns without seeing Ford.

“I’m sleeping enough,” I tell Mother.

“Perhaps you’re still growing.” She stops digging for a moment to study my face, and a slight smile softens her hollow cheeks. “In some ways you’re still a child.”

“I suppose.” I duck my head so she can’t see the lie in my eyes.

I manage to flip a clod of dirt off the surface of the soil, and then another shovel, this time full of sand. “I wish I knew what he was planning.”

“Darwin West will do what he wants, whether or not we know what it’ll be,” she answers. “You needn’t worry.”

“Knowing when something is coming helps,” I argue.

I’ve heard other Congregants chattering about the holes. Some think there’s going to be a fence—though this makes little sense, since the holes are cut in strange angles throughout the woods. Others think they’ll be used for some strange punishment. None can imagine what that would be, though, and none wish to discover it.

One thing is for certain: these holes can only make our lives worse. When has Darwin ever done something to make us live more easily?

“Dig!” an Overseer bellows at us. But he is too lazy or hot to come closer. Perhaps the heat has drained the fight from him too. Even with the shade, the heat seems to slink up from the ground like fog. Humid thick fingers twine up my skirts, over my neck, trying to pull me to the ground.

“Whatever Darwin West has planned, I’ll protect you, Ruby.” Mother’s voice is softer. She reaches out to grasp my elbow for just a second before taking her turn at the soil.

I remember how she used to fill my cup for me, when I was smaller, allowing me to rest in the shade or build fairy houses with sticks. Even this summer I think she would slip by with extra water, if it weren’t for Ellie’s need.

But things are different now. “I’m Leader. I’m supposed to protect you,” I say.

“No. Sustain, Ruby.” Mother gives me a sharp eye before stabbing her shovel into the dirt.

We fall into the same rhythm we’ve used for the last few days he’s made us go out digging.

“Suppose we should be glad we’re not digging with spoons,” Mother sighs. She dumps her dirt just behind her, not giving an extra effort to the task. But even so, she staggers back once her shovel is lightened and nearly falls to the ground.

“Let me dig twice for your once,” I urge her in a low voice, making sure not to look over at the Overseer in the deep shade.

Mother shakes her head and grips her shovel hard with both hands. “No, Ruby. Mine is to suffer. Yours is to sustain. That is how Otto would want it.”

“What was he like?” I ask my mother, like all the other thousands of times I’ve asked the same question. But she always gives a new scrap of a story, or reminds me of something that’s grown fuzzy in my mind.

“When I met your father, he was half wild, and as thin as a river otter,” Mother says. “He followed my father out of the woods.”

“He wanted your father’s food,” I say.

Even as Mother works, a smile softens her face. “Yes. Even though Otto lived off the land, he was a terrible trapper. I don’t know if he ever managed to kill something.”

“Otto was good at some things,” I say.

“Not at first, I didn’t see that.” Mother laughs. “He was nothing next to my fiancé.”

We both stop for a moment and look at the Overseers. Darwin isn’t near today, though I know we’ll see him at sunset.

“He wasn’t always this cruel.” Mother bows her head and looks at the hole. “Though I didn’t choose him for kindness. He was rich, and he promised me an easy life.”

We both let out a short laugh.

“Dig!” The Overseer closest to us bellows, this time taking a few steps toward us.

The hole is deep enough now that I must bend to get my shovel to the bottom and scrape the dirt up the side to the top. I try not to struggle as I do it. I don’t want Mother to know how hard this work is for me.

“Otto was kind, wasn’t he?” I prompt Mother.

“Yes. He was so … easy with being kind. He gave all that he had as if it cost him nothing,” Mother says.

“He didn’t have much,” I say.

“Nothing except his blood.” Mother’s lips press together, and her eyes dart to my arms.

A crack of sticks, and Jonah Pelling is there. His shirt is wet against him—has he been working, for once?

“The Overseers are on the lookout,” I warn him.

He waves his hand. “They sent me to get them water.”

Mother crosses her arms around her shovel, leaning on it. “You’re their message boy?”

“Whatever is takes to duck the lash.” Jonah gives me a wink, not seeming to notice Mother’s wince. “So you’re Leader now. Fine news, little Ruby.”

I bite back the urge to tell him I’m not little anymore. None gets under my skin like Jonah. “Your Overseers are likely thirsty,” I say.

“I provide what’s needed.” He gives me a smile that is too bold, too familiar.

I’ve had enough of the Pellings. I’m glad to see him saunter away.

“Where’d my father come from?” I ask.

“I’ve told you, Ruby,” Mother sighs. “The woods.”

“Who was
his
mother?”

“We’d best speed up, Ruby,” she warns. “Else we’ll never dig more holes before the sun goes down.”

I give the sand and rocks a vigorous scoop. “Tell me about Otto’s mother, please?” I try to use the same sweet tone that won me tiny triumphs with her when I was smaller.

She sighs again. “He was only a child when his parents were taken. Then he had to survive on his own.”

I’ve heard the story before, but I’m always certain she’s keeping parts of it from me. Surely she knows more about this. “Who took them? Where did they go?” I press.

“He never said more than that.” Her voice is sharp.

And then I ask the same thing I have always wanted an answer to, hoping maybe this time she’ll say something different. “Were they like Otto … and me?”

“I don’t know.” Her answer is quick. “We’ll never know.”

“I suppose not,” I mutter.

“Just one more foot,” Mother says. “Why don’t you pick our next digging spot?”

I pretend to look around, but I’m only thinking of how to move our talk to Ellie … to the thing that’s been burning me like the middle of the hottest flame.

“Maybe we’ll have dinner tonight,” I say.

“Unlikely.”

“We can bring it back to Ellie.”

She nods. “We’ll find something for her tonight.”

I try to slow my breath and think before I say the next thing, but it’s so hard. “Did Otto ever deny anyone?”

“He gave Water to all who asked. But nobody knew it was his blood. Nobody except me, and then Ellie …” Mother squares her shoulders and pulls a good amount of dirt from the hole.

Nobody else knew the secret of Otto’s blood until they’d followed her to the woods. She told the few people she trusted the most. They became the Elders.

“I want to help everyone, just like Otto,” I say.

Before I even look at Mother’s face, I send Otto a fast prayer:
Help me, Otto. Help me, my father
.

Her eyes are narrowed, and she stares at me like she’s trying to burn holes with them. She knows already where my mind is, I think.

“Sometimes we must wait for what we want,” she says.

She’s been saying that for two hundred years. I’m very tired of hearing it.

“Haven’t we waited long enough? Ellie is dying,” I burst out.

“Ruby, quiet!” Mother warns.

“How will he do it?” I ask. “How will Otto free us?”

“I don’t know,” Mother says.

“He’d need a plan. He’d need our help,” I tell her.

She doesn’t answer. She’s looking over my head. And then she starts to shovel faster.

“He’s coming over,” she whispers.

This time the Overseer comes close to us, so close that I can smell the sweat on his clothes. “You two finish this hole yet?” he growls.

“Nearly,” Mother says.

He gives her a dubious look and kneels to put his arm in it. Dark fantasies fill me: how easy it would be to lift the shovel and drop it on his head, or simply kick him hard enough to make him stay down.

The Overseer stands and pulls the chain out of his pocket. He looks at it like he’s considering something. I stand steady; Mother slips her hand in mine.

“No more talking, Toads,” he says, aiming a wad of spit at the ground by my feet. “Dig. You’ve got a foot more to go, at least.”

But he retreats to his shady spot, which is shifting farther from us as the sun sinks in the sky. He won’t hear if we whisper.

“Wouldn’t he love us, still, if we freed ourselves?” I whisper.

Mother acts as if she has not heard me. But I’m certain she did.

“If we could escape—Ellie might not die. Not so soon,” I say. “She’d have to drink Water, then.”

“Let me do it,” I tell Mother.

“No.” She uses the same voice I heard when I was a child and wanted to eat dirt, to fill my stomach, or cram my cup with flowers and sticks. It is her warning voice.

“Please,” I tell her. “Let me find a way to free us.”

“I said no. We won’t speak of it again.”

Her shovel is jammed into the ground, her arms crossed against the top of it. I realize I’ve done the same. We are staring at each other like enemies, not mother and daughter.

Chapter 8

I can’t wait any longer to go to the cisterns.

The woods are noisy tonight—windy, and crackling with animal sounds. I’m not afraid of the animals, though. My heart is pounding because I know I might see Ford again.

When I get to the cisterns, there is no shadow beneath, no man lurking around the edges. Good. He shouldn’t come. And I should be relieved—I’m safe. But mostly I feel a lump in my throat. Part of me—maybe all of me—wanted to see him.

Just before I put my foot on the bottom rung of the cistern’s ladder, I see a shadow in the trees, at the other side of the clearing. It’s tall and narrow, too still and too dark to be a tree’s shadow.

I freeze and look harder. The shadow shifts, slightly, and I know for sure that it’s a person. A person, watching me from the woods.

Ford came, after all. But he didn’t hide, before. Why does he lurk in the trees? I can’t add my blood, now.

My breath is short, and my fingers and arms are tingling. I could walk over to him. I could confront him. Or … I could run.

But instead, I take a step toward the shadow. And then another, and another, until I start to see the edges of it: the person is wearing long pants, and long sleeves.

“Why are you hiding?” I ask in a low voice.

“Why are you here?” A man’s voice, answering—but it’s not Ford. It’s a lighter voice, a laughing voice.

Finally I find the resolution to run. My feet pound toward home, fast faster faster, and my breath comes so hard that I can’t hear if the man is chasing me.

But then I feel a hand around my elbow, and I’m spun, hard. “Am I that bad?” he asks.

It’s not an Overseer, after all. It’s Jonah Pelling. All my fear rushes away and is replaced by a deep, familiar irritation. How like a Pelling to lurk about the woods and scare people. How like a Pelling not to call out a warning, an assurance, anything to stop me from running in terror.

“You scared me.” I yank my arm out of his grip. He lets go with a low laugh and a grin.

We stand on the dirt road, facing each other—I panting from my sprint, he barely winded. Jonah jams his hands in his pockets and looks around at the woods.

“Remember how we used to play hunter? We always made you be the rabbit,” he says.

“And you never caught me,” I retort. I remember: Jonah, Zeke, even Hope sometimes, letting me run ahead for a minute and then chasing me with sticks held high. They found it amusing. But it terrified me.

“Caught you tonight,” he says softly, reaching out to touch my hand lightly, then pulling his arm back again.

“You’re not supposed to be out here,” I tell him.

“Nor are you. But … I knew you would be.”

I think of how still his shadow was in the woods, how easy it would be to miss it, if you were distracted. Did he see me talking to Ford? Did he hear what we said?

I am suddenly aware of how exposed we are, standing in the middle of the road. Anyone might see us—and if an Overseer’s truck drove round the corner, we’d be trapped in its lights.

“Follow me,” I tell Jonah.

“Anywhere,” he breathes, and a nasty chill washes down my back. I don’t like the way he’s talking to me. It makes me think of how he used to pursue Hope, in the years before Gabe made his play for her.

I couldn’t possibly be his new target … could I?

I lead him into the woods, doubling back toward the cisterns. Maybe Ford will be there soon. He’d protect me, if Jonah goes strange.

Jonah leans against a tree and reaches back to smooth his short, ragged ponytail. We all do the best we can with sharp-edged rocks to keep our hair manageable.

“Why did you think you’d find me out in the woods?” I ask him. My heart pounds as I wait for the answer.

“You think you’re the only one who creeps around at night?” He shrugs. “I see you sometimes.”

I never heard him, never saw him. How close was he? How many times did he stare at me, without any part of my body warning me? It’s as if I’d been trailed by a bear and never knew it.

“Why do you go out?” I ask.

“There’s good hunting and berries to find too.”

“That’s … That’s why I go out,” I say.

“To check your mother’s traps.” He lowers his chin and meets my eyes squarely, no hint of a smile left on his face. “Is that all?”

“That’s all,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Then he flicks me a smile. “I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine.”

I don’t know how to answer, and I don’t want to tell him anything he doesn’t know. So I simply take a step away and bend to inspect a bush, pretending I’m searching for berries.

“You won’t find anything on the bushes around here. But there’s some fine mushrooms that grow on the shady side of these trees.” Jonah turns and pulls something off the trunk he was leaning against. Then he offers it to me.

“Mother says they’re not safe.” I shake my head.

“Guess trappers like killing more than picking. That’s fine, more for me.” Jonah tucks the mushroom in a small bag that hangs around his waist.

My mouth waters as I watch the mushroom disappear. “Maybe if you took a bite,” I say.

“And see if I fall dead?” Jonah tilts his head and gives me a narrow-eyed look. “You’re not too fond of me, are you, Ruby?”

“No—I mean, that’s not it. I only wanted to make sure it was safe,” I stammer.

Again, the grin flashes over his face. Jonah has always had quicksilver moods; when we played together, he’d be sunny one moment and stormy the next. We never knew how to predict the changes.

“Just joking,” he says. “Here.”

He reaches into his waist bag and then holds his palm out to me—six perfect plump berries glint in the darkness.

“Thank you.” I take three.

Jonah shakes his head and stretches his arm out farther. “Take them all. I picked them for you.”

If he doesn’t want food, I won’t argue with him. I take the rest, then bite into the first. The juice fills my mouth and I can’t help closing my eyes, for a second, in pure pleasure.

When I open them, Jonah is standing closer. And then … he drops to one knee.

“I’m not much for talking,” he says. “But I’m a good provider. One of the best.”

“What are you doing?” I ask. I can think of only one thing he’d be doing, kneeling in front of me, but I can’t believe it. We’ve never courted. We’ve never even whispered a single romantic thing to each other.

Jonah looks up at me with an intense stare. I take a step back. He continues his speech. “Pellings never want for anything … at least, nothing they really need.”

“Otto provides,” I mutter.

“You could be a Pelling too,” Jonah says.

I nearly shout “No!” but collect myself just before the word bursts from my lips. There’s no use hurting Jonah. For he seems to be very, very serious.

“I’m not … I won’t be marrying,” I say.

He takes a step forward on his knee and reaches for me, but I slide both my hands behind my back. He keeps his hand in the air, suspended, as if waiting for me. “Why not?” he asks.

I’d never seriously thought of marrying any Congregants. For my whole life, I’ve watched them marrying and leaving and marrying again. Few bonds last forever, or even a hundred years. Maybe that’s why I never thought to marry: I know nearly every Congregant I could marry will eventually sicken of me, or I of him. I know them too well. What mysteries could there be left to discover?

“I don’t want to,” I answer simply.

“Marrying has its joys. Ask Hope.” He swallows and looks down at the ground.

Then I hold out both hands to him. “Please stand, Jonah.”

He lets out a sigh and stands without my help. “She never wanted me,” he says.

“I know you fancy her. And … I see why. Hope is kind.”

“And beautiful.” Then he smiles again, his dark mood dropping away as fast as it came. His voice is light. “But so are you. You’re a woman now, all grown.”

I’m conscious of my dress, too tight across the chest—once Mother’s, now mine, with no more room to let out the seams. Even without enough food or drink, I’m bigger than she ever was.

“You should marry me, Ruby. That’s what you should do. Think of it: the Congregation’s Leader, and the Pellings—one family. We’d be the highest family in the Congregation.”

“There are no … 
heights
 … in the Congregation,” I tell him.

He waves his hand as if shooing away a fly. “You know what I mean, Ruby.”

“I do, exactly,” I say. I’m not going to create some terrible royalty in our Congregation: Otto’s daughter marrying the prince scoundrel.

Besides, I don’t
want
him. I don’t tingle when he nears. I don’t want to trace every bit of him with my eyes.

“Think of it: you’d have pillows … plenty of firewood … and food. I can forage from anywhere,” Jonah says. “I’ve even stolen from the Overseers’ trash.”

I let out a gasp. “They’ll shoot you if they see you.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.” He crosses his arms. “I’ll do whatever my family needs. And you could be family.”

“Why do you want me?” I ask. “Me, and not Hope.”

“I’m no fool. She’s only got eyes for Gabe. But you … you’re unclaimed. Untouched. I wouldn’t mind laying eyes on you every night … every morning …” The edge in his voice makes my skin crawl.

“I’m not wanting to be touched,” I warn him.

“It’s not just that.” Jonah shakes his head. “I think you want what I want—I see you, watching Darwin and the Overseers. I know how mad you get.”

“I never say anything.”

“Nor do I. But I hate them, just the same. I hate them the way the rest of them don’t.”

“Otto loves, never hates,” I say.

“Yeah, and most Congregants … well, they try to be that way. Me? I’m not wasting any
love
on Darwin West,” he says.

“Me either,” I whisper.

“I want to fight,” Jonah says. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.” The answer flies out before I can stop it. I clap my hand over my mouth and look around. “I mean, no. It’s wrong. We’re only supposed to endure.”

“Endure, and wait. I’m sick of that. Aren’t you?” He takes a step closer and stares at me, and this time I do not back away.

“Yes,” I admit.

“We could plan it … we could plan a whole battle, Ruby.” His voice is high, and excited. I remember how he used to arrange stones in formation, soldiers marching toward one another, making quiet explosion sounds with his mouth.

“It’s not a game,” I tell him.

“I know. But Ruby—if we were married, we’d be together all the time. We could plan, night and day. I’d get us our own cabin. Nobody would have to hear … not until they’re ready to hear.” His words come out fast, and fevered. I wonder how long he’s wanted this, planned for it.

A very small part of me wants to say yes. I want someone to listen to me, someone to agree that Otto wouldn’t mind if we fought; maybe he’d even be proud.

But then I look at him: Jonah Pelling, the one whose cup always seems to be half empty; Jonah Pelling, the one who steps aside the fastest when Mother volunteers to take the beatings.

And then, Ford. I can’t have him. But he makes me want Jonah even less.

“Say yes,” Jonah urges.

“No,” I say. “And don’t ask again.”

“I will. I’m going to ask, and ask … and one day, Ruby, you’ll say yes. You’ll get fed up with
waiting
. You’ll get fed up with being a woman and living with your mother.”

“Maybe I will get sick of those things. But I won’t marry just to leave them,” I say.

“You’ll get fed up with being alone. I know that too, Ruby,” he says.

“I’m sorry about Hope,” I tell him.

“Don’t be. Just—think about it. Think about what being my wife could mean.” Jonah pats his waist bag. “Food. Comfort. And … we could fight Darwin West.”

I don’t tell him no again—and he doesn’t stick around to hear it. Instead he simply turns and melts into the woods, heading uphill, away from the cisterns and me.

I wait for temptation to flicker. I wait for second-guesses to flood in. But none of that happens. Saying no to Jonah is the easiest thing, yes—and it’s also the entirely right thing.

The cisterns will have to wait till another night. I walk down to the edge of the road and begin my careful walk home. Toe heel, toe heel, I go, not wanting anyone—Overseer or Pelling—to find me tonight.