Drought (8 page)

Chapter 9

Ford heads the early-morning line for cups. His eyes linger just a little too long on me. Then he smiles, only a little. I have to fight the urge to smile back.

When it’s Jonah’s turn in line, Ford gives him a hard stare. He looks like he’d like to give Jonah ten lashes with his chain.

“A full cup!” Darwin bellows.

He looks at Mother, waiting for her to argue, but she stays silent, just as she was when we woke this morning. We argued yesterday, and there hasn’t been much for us to say to each other.

“Any problem with that?” Darwin sneers.

Mother shakes her head.

I think she’s afraid he’ll drag us to dig more holes. Already he’s pulled half the men away to help.

“Then get to work, Toads!” He points into the woods and we all obey.

I cut a path high up the hill. Start up high and work downhill as the day wears on: that’s the way to get the most water, I think. Everyone has their own theories about how to fill their cups.

After a few minutes of searching, I find a patch of coolness, as if this part of the woods has forgotten that it’s the height of summer. Water waits for me under clumped, gold-flowered weeds, and I whisper a quiet prayer of thanks to Otto while I spoon it into my cup.

The drops make a quiet
plink-plink
in my cup. Above me a bird trills a song. I work and work, until my cup has water half the height of my pinky. I should make quota today, especially without Ellie’s cup to help fill.

Ellie. Thinking of her hurts like Darwin’s kicked me in the stomach. She seemed paler when I checked on her this morning, and she barely smiled.

My body feels heavy with grief, the magic of the morning gone. I’ll rest, just for a moment. I set my cup carefully on the ground, twisting and pushing it until the dirt holds it tight. Then I sit on the leaves and pull my arms tight around my knees, resting my cheek against my knuckles.

“Ruby.” A man’s voice, whispering. I jerk my head up and look around.

Then I hear the footsteps, soft ones, careful like Mother approaching one of her traps. I unfold my body and pick up my cup.

Ford steps out of the woods, quietly, carefully. He is getting better, much better, at creeping. Every bird in the woods seems to grow still. For the first time today, I notice the light wind ruffling the leaves far above our heads.

He’s wearing the same as all the Overseers: khaki pants with many pockets and a shirt without sleeves. The shirt clings in patches to his chest.

My skin tingles. I imagine a thousand tiny lines of lightning sparking across the space that separates us.

“Hey, Ruby.” Ford’s voice is gentle.

I scramble to my feet. “I’m working as hard as anyone could.”

“Who said you weren’t working hard?” he asks.

“You’re here and you talked to me and …” My voice is shaking.

“You’re not in trouble.” He wipes one hand up and down his face, pulling his mouth open wide for a moment. What would it feel like, running light fingers over the stubble I see on his chin?

But then his hand slides in his pocket, and every part of my body wants to run.

Ford holds up both hands, empty, and gives me a sad smile. “Do they do anything except beat you?”

“Sometimes they only yell.” I don’t mean for it to be amusing, but a smile quirks across his face.

“I only wanted to talk again,” he says. “I liked that … the other night.”

“I have to work.” I edge away from him and kneel in front of another plant. There’s not a spot of water on it, but I run my spoon over the leaves just the same.

He crouches next to me. I edge away. Ford follows, staying low like me.

“That … 
boy
 …” Ford says. “I heard what he asked you.”

I keep my eyes on the plant. Even if I don’t want Jonah, he’s still a Congregant. We protect each other.

“You’re a million times better than him,” Ford says.

“I don’t want him,” I say. I don’t mean to emphasize the last word—
him
—but I think I might have.

“I can help you, too, you know.” Ford pulls a small white bottle out of his pocket and holds it out to me. “For Ellie.”

“What is it?” I ask.

Ford shakes the bottle. “It’s just some Advil. She’ll hurt a little less if she takes it.”

“Thank you.” I take the bottle and tuck it into my pocket. “Does Darwin know you gave this to me?”

Ford picks up a fallen leaf and pulls the green away from the spindly veins in the middle of it. “No.”

“He’d hurt you.”

“Maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to me.” Ford lifts a hand to his neck and fingers the oval gold necklace hanging from a chain.

“What would you do if he found out?”

There’s a noise near us—sticks breaking, someone walking, not trying to be quiet.

“You have to go,” I tell him.

Quicker than a bird’s wing, he reaches his hand out. I think he’s going to take my hand, but then he pulls away.

“I’ll come back,” he whispers, and then he’s on his feet, stomping toward the noise.

“You Toads keeping up with your quota?” he roars. A shiver runs down my spine, hearing him talk like that.

But I can’t help tracing the places on my hand where his skin nearly touched mine.

“Are you ill?” It’s Boone, standing over me, a frown on his face.

“No. I’m just resting.”

“Careful. There’s an Overseer walking around here.” He looks back over his shoulder. “More alert than the others, that one.”

“I didn’t see him,” I say. I stand and walk away from him, careful to stay slow and steady, searching the leaves for any sign of water. He can’t suspect how nervous I’m feeling. Boone has known me for so long. Won’t he see the lie on my face?

“Don’t rest for a while,” he says, an order, but a tender one, like a father would give. “That Overseer might be back.”

The thought makes fresh heat rise in me. “I’ll be careful,” I say.

There, a few drops under the bushes. I kneel and the bottle in my skirt pocket rattles a bit.

Did Boone hear it? I look to see. He’s frowning, but I think it’s just his cup he’s looking at.

“It’s a dry day,” he says.

Why won’t he go? I want more of Ford, even a moment more.

I stand again and hear another rattle, but Boone shows no sign of hearing it. When I come close to him and peer inside his cup, I see there’s barely enough to cover the bottom.

I tip what I’ve got into his cup before he can tell me to stop. “There. Now it’s almost a third full,” I tell him.

He gives me a small smile. “Thank you, Ruby. But what will you do?”

“I’ll work harder,” I say.

“When I’m done, I’ll come back to help you.”

“No.” I say it too quickly. “Help Mother.”

He nods once and moves away. I walk a little downhill—water runs downhill, after all, and things will only get drier the higher I try. There I find a little more water, and the bottom of my cup is wet again.

It might not be enough, though.

Let Darwin beat me. I’m the Leader. It’s time I stepped forward. My wounds will heal fast; I might even forget the pain.

I stop harvesting to check—Boone’s gone. And when I peer into the leaves, I see a different face. Ford is back.

He stands over me and holds out one hand. “Talk for a minute more?”

“Only for a little while.” I stand up without his help. Then I slowly slide the near-empty cup behind my back.

“I have a present for you too.” He pulls a packet of something out of his pocket; the sun flashes off the surface and I have to squint.

“Take it,” he says, thrusting it into the space between us.

The packet feels heavier than it should, for the size. It’s as long as the span from my wrist to the tip of my pinky, and about as wide as two fingers. The wrapping is bright silver and yellow.

“What … What is it?”

“You never saw a protein bar before?” He rolls his eyes. “Come on.”

“Haven’t you seen what we eat around here?” I ask him.

Shame settles on his face. “Sorry. It’s … good. It’s the best flavor they make.”

“Cho-co-late … and … ba-na-na?” I read. The smell is heaven, even through the wrapper. My stomach growls.

Ford nudges the bar with his finger. He’s so close I can smell the half-sweat, half-scrubbed scent of him.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Thank you, but … no.” I hold the bar back out to him, trying to control the quavering in my fingers. I want to rip that shiny wrapper off and cram the whole thing into my mouth.

“Why?” He doesn’t take it from me.

“Overseers don’t give presents. And … I don’t have anything I can give back.” My face burns.

“You took the medicine for Ellie.”

“This is different.” I drop the food on the forest floor and back away fast.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” Ford picks up the bar and holds it out. “Overseers give Congregants food.”

I shake my head. “You know this isn’t the same.”

“All right, then.” He shrugs and drops the bar on the ground. “Guess I’ll get back to work.”

His voice isn’t warm anymore.

“I’d best work too,” I say. I can’t help looking down at the food, just sitting there. Would Mother want me to take it, and she’d decide who needed it the most? Should I bring it to the Elders instead? Isn’t that what a Leader should do?

But there would be too many questions.

“Take it,” I say, my voice rough. “Don’t leave it there.”

“Fine.” Ford shoves the bar in his pocket. But then he reaches into another pocket.

“Maybe you need this, at least?” He’s got a clear bottle of water. The paper wrapper makes a crinkly sound as it comes out of his pocket.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“I didn’t mean for drinking.” He looks at my cup.

“It has to come from leaves,” I whisper.

He stares at me, steady. “Really, now?”

“You have to go,” I tell him. “Someone will come.”

Ford holds the water bottle up high.

“It’s not consecrated,” I say.

“Only a priest can consecrate something.” Again Ford reaches for the medal that hangs around his neck.

“Please just go,” I tell him.

He uncaps the water bottle and pours it, slow and steady, over the bush that he’s standing next to. He makes sure to cover the leaves in the water, until drips fall from every surface.

“Just in case,” Ford says.

“I won’t use it,” I say, but he smiles anyway.

“Come to the cisterns,” he whispers.

I stare down at the ground, not watching as he walks away—but I hear his footsteps, lighter, lighter, and then gone.

Then I kneel by the bush and hold my cup under the dripping water. It’s a gift I can’t give back, and one I can’t bear to waste.

Chapter 10

I long to bring Ford’s modern gift to Ellie. It’s rattled in my pocket all day, reminding me—though I need no help remembering Ellie’s need.

Mother needs me first. Darwin lifted the chain against her tonight. I rush the healing, sloshing more Water than I should over her body. There are small puddles on the floor by the edge of her bed.

“Rest well,” I tell Mother.

“And you,” she whispers back, before her eyes slide shut.

I straighten the covers that lie over her body, just as I remember her doing when I was small.

Before I go, I empty the bucket of bloodied Water outside the door: this is a shortcut I know I shouldn’t take. Tomorrow lush plants will spring from the ground where only dry, cracked earth should be. If I were wise, I would take the time to return the Water to the Lake, like usual.

But it’s all taking too long. So I set the bucket by the door and run all the way to Ellie’s cabin. It is full dark outside, with no moon; clouds cover the stars too.

I sense something is wrong before I understand what I am seeing. There’s a large something on the road by Ellie’s cabin. My heart leaps, and my first thought is that it’s a bear watching me. But then I realize it’s bigger than that: an Overseers’ truck, parked half on, half off the road. The truck is dark. I can’t tell if anyone is inside it—or the cabin.

I creep to the deeper shadow of the trees, a little closer to Ellie’s cabin. But I hear nothing: no voices inside the cabin, nothing coming from the truck either. A night bird in the tree above me bursts into song. I wish I could call to Ellie the way this animal is calling to its family.

Why are they here? The Overseers hardly ever come to our cabins—save for Darwin’s one terrible visit to our cabin, every year. But I don’t want to think of that, not now.

The medicine in my pocket rattles again. Until now, I thought my only problem tonight would be convincing Ellie to take the pills. How would I explain where they came from? I didn’t know exactly. I didn’t even know if they were truly safe.

When Asa’s wife Mabel was alive, she knew how to brew teas to ease pain. She sent Asa into the woods at night to find roots and leaves whenever someone was especially suffering. But now she’s gone, and her secrets gone with her.

I have to trust that this medicine is like her tea.

There’s a loud squeak, and a light inside the truck comes on. Two Overseers climb out of the truck and start down the small, steep hill to Ellie’s cabin. One of them carries a flashlight. The beam bounces from rock to rock, and I shrink deeper into the shelter of the trees.

If only I had come a little sooner. I could be inside with her, helping her. But now I don’t know what to do. Should I rush ahead of them? Try to protect her? Or is it better to wait here in case I need to run for help?

For now, I will stay behind the trees. I hold my breath as they get closer to the door, closer to me. The one holding the flashlight looks up just as they reach the door. My breath stops. Something about the man’s shape is familiar—something I’ve studied. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s Ford.

Did he bring more medicine to Ellie? Do I dare to hope?

I remember only one time that the Overseers came to our cabin. It was long ago, one of the snowiest winters ever. I was young enough to dance outside when it snowed, catching snowflakes on my tongue.

So much snow had drifted against the side of our cabin that we couldn’t see out the window. The morning light was a strange filtered blue, as if we woke at the end of the day instead of the start.

That night there was another storm.

“Wake me every hour to mind the door. This one looks bad,” Mother warned me. She’d have to push the door open and shove the snow away from our only entrance … and exit, each hour. Otherwise we could have found ourselves buried, come morning.

We’re still expected to work in the winter, with beatings doled out to anyone who comes to the Common House late. There’s still water to find, by midday. Snow melts off branch tips and we catch the drops in our pewter cups. There are always things to do around the Common House too: cleaning, patching holes in the roof, chasing away the mice that are fatter than us.

When we aren’t working during winter, all the Congregants retreat to their cabins. Once the snow is high, nobody visits one another, not even the Elders. Every winter night it’s only Mother, and me, and the stories she reluctantly tells me in front of the fire.

But that one night, there was a knock. A knock, just like now.

The Overseer with the flashlight is knocking on Ellie’s door. One, two, three polite knocks.

“Quit being so nice.” The other one bangs a fist on the door. The sound makes me jump. “Open up, old lady!”

There’s no answer. They push open the door. It’s dark inside.

When the Overseers came to our cabin that night, we’d already put out the fire and climbed into Mother’s bed to huddle for warmth. We’d been conserving our small pile of firewood, not knowing when we’d be able to dig through the piles of snow for more.

When Mother slipped from under the blankets to answer the door, I curled against the sudden cold of being alone in the bed.

“You alive in there?” a rough male voice called.

Mother shrank back from the door and glanced back at me. Then she squared her shoulders and opened the door a crack.

“We’re barely alive. It’s freezing,” she said.

“Yeah, well, Merry Christmas,” the voice said.

Christmas had come the week before. We had prayed to Otto and worked. Mother tied a fragrant bough of pine to the foot of my bed.

“What do you want?” Mother asked, voice wary.

“You want this stuff or not?” the man answered. I strained to see him through the crack in the door, but it was too dark.

The Overseers at Ellie’s cabin tonight brought nothing but their flashlights—and whatever was in their pockets. They shut the door behind them, so I can’t see inside. Flares of light show in the window, then are gone, then flares again. They must be looking all around her cabin with that flashlight.

“Aw, shit!”
I hear a man shout from inside. It’s a favorite curse from the Overseers.

Did she hurt him? Will they hurt her? I slide my feet over the dry leaves to come closer, closer, even though there’s nothing to hide behind.

Then I hear the scrape of a chair. Feet thumping on floorboards. But there are no more voices—not the Overseers’ and not Ellie’s.

A steady glow of light illuminates Ellie’s window. Someone must have lit the lantern inside.

When Mother saw what the Overseers brought us that long-ago night, she let out a gasp. “Is that all for us?”

“Unless you’d rather freeze to death.”

“Is there—is there enough for everyone?” she asked in a low voice.

“We’re making deliveries all night,” he answered.

Mother stared out the door for a moment; in the dim I thought I saw her shake her head as if amazed. Then she called to me.

“Ruby, come help.”

I half hopped to the door, the floor like a sheet of ice, even though I was wearing my thickest socks. Mother drew me close and rubbed one hand over my arm as we looked outside the open door.

There, hurrying away from our cabin, I could make out two thick figures wearing coats splotched with green and brown. They were Overseers, wearing their plush coats that reached from neck to ankle.

“What did they want?” I asked.

“They brought us this.” Mother pointed at what I hadn’t noticed—a big pile of wood sitting on our doorstep.

“We could make it as hot as summer in here,” I said. I remember imagining thick flames leaping up, pushing out of our stove, so warm that we would have to edge away from it.

But Mother didn’t answer. She didn’t pick up the wood either. She was staring at the place where the Overseers had been, a moment ago—now it was only blowing sheets of white snow.

She let out a sob.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The door to Ellie’s cabin flies open, and I take a quick step backward, remembering too late that I’ve crept far from the shelter of the trees. One of the Overseers backs out the door, moving slowly, and then I see he is carrying something: a bundle of sheets, Ellie’s sheets. In the dark, they seem to glow.

I don’t understand what they’re doing. They can’t take her bedding. We’re allowed that, at least. And she’s sick. What will she lie on?

I open my mouth to speak, but then the second Overseer steps out the door. The lantern lights his face and a thrill races over my skin. It’s Ford, sharing the burden of the sheets with the other Overseer.

Ford looks up and our eyes lock. I’ve been discovered. He blinks, so slowly that his eyes are closed for a moment.

Sheets shouldn’t be that heavy.

Sheets shouldn’t be long, and narrow.

Otto save me. Otto save Ellie. That can’t be her.

They are lifting their burden, staggering up the hill.

There is nothing so heavy in Ellie’s cabin like this … nothing but Ellie.

“Stop!” I scream, and there’s no safety or intelligence or planning left in me anymore. My feet fly me to the Overseers.

Mother and I piled all the firewood next to the stove, under Otto’s portrait. We stacked it neat and pretty, like it was our finest treasure. And it was: we coaxed weeks of warmth from it. Once it was gone, I had hoped for more firewood. There was still plenty of snow on the ground, though we had started to gather the snowmelt that crept from under the icy bottoms of snow banks.

“They’ll not be back with more,” Mother had warned me. “We’ll need to gather our own.”

“But why wouldn’t they come back? They did it once,” I argued.

“Darwin was afraid we’d all die,” she explained. “But it’s warm enough now that we’ll only suffer.”

And suffer we did. Overseers never came with firewood—or anything else—ever again.

I stumble-run up to the Overseers carrying the bundle from Ellie’s cabin. When I reach them, Ford bows his head. The other one makes an angry motion with his hand, nearly dropping his end of the bundle.

“Get out of here, Toad,” he growls.

“Is that … Is she …” I swallow hard.

“Get back,” the man orders. He tries to start walking again, but Ford stays still.

“The game’s on soon.” The other Overseer gives Ford an angry look.

But Ford shakes his head. “We can wait for a second.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, daring to glance at him for a moment. But he isn’t looking at me.

I reach one hand out to touch the sheet. I can’t make myself move one last inch and actually touch what they’re holding. That same night bird bursts into song, and a strange wave of fury overwhelms me. I hate that bird more than Darwin West and all the Overseers.

Tears flow out of my eyes and drop onto the sheet, leaving large dots on the yellowed fabric. “Is that Ellie?” I whisper.

“The, uh, lady that lives here died.” When Ford speaks, he keeps all the warmth out of his voice. His eyes go heavy-lidded and dead.

The Overseer shifts their burden and turns his nose higher up in the air. “And she’s getting ripe. You smell that?”

This is what I should feel fury for—are our lives worth so little to them? But I don’t feel anything now, even though tears are still flowing down my cheeks, into the corners of my mouth. I find the strength to touch the sheet, to trace my fingers over the length I think is her arm.

“I love you, Ellie,” I say.

“Let’s go.” The other Overseer starts walking, and this time Ford doesn’t stop him from moving. They trudge up the hill and I follow, still holding the sheet.

She was alone when she died today. When did it happen? Was it after I brought her breakfast and found her still asleep—but breathing? I checked that, I know I did.

Did she see the sun set today, or was she already gone? When did she give up waiting for us—and for Otto?

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” I tell her.

Ford pulls in a deep breath and looks up at the stars.

“Like I said,
rank.”
The other man lets out a harsh laugh.

They’re near their truck. “Put her down while I open the tailgate,” the other man orders.

Ford gazes at me while his partner yanks open the back of the truck. He gives me a tiny smile that vanishes only a second later.

It gives me strength. “Wait. We’ll want to bury her.” I look over my shoulder. “Will you just take her to my cabin?”

“We could do that,” Ford says, his voice quiet and deep.

“Please. Please, she means everything,” I say.

“Forget it.” The man wrinkles his nose and bends to lift Ellie. “You think the boss wants them Toads wasting burying time? Or energy?”

“Right.” Ford stares straight ahead. He’s a lot gentler easing Ellie into the back of the truck than the other Overseer is.

“You want this job? Keep your ideas to yourself.” The man shakes his head and gives Ellie’s body one last shove before he slams the back shut.

“Right,” Ford says again.

Ellie is lying next to all the dirty shovels we’ve used to dig our holes, next to the discarded wrappers and cups from the Overseers’ favorite food places. It’s like she’s nothing more than garbage.

They’re walking toward the truck doors now.

What did Mother say when the others withered? What did she say over their graves? Shouldn’t I say some of it, any of it, now?

But I can’t remember.

“Please just tell me where you’re taking her,” I say. My voice breaks over the words like a stream over rocks.

There’s no answer. Two doors slam shut. Ford doesn’t look back.

I go to his side of the truck and slam my open palms against the window. He jumps and looks at me. In the darkness I can’t see his eyes.

“Where are you taking her?” I scream.

The truck starts with a rumble and a blast of sound from the inside—music, loud music that sometimes we hear the Overseers playing in their cabin at the top of the Lake. My palms vibrate on the window. Still I shout. “Tell me! Please tell me!”

Just in time, I step back before the truck jolts forward. The words from Mabel’s funeral come back to me.

“Walk with Otto,” I say, just as Mother did when we sprinkled the first bits of earth on Mabel’s body.