Welcome to Paradise (6 page)

Kevin was only partially right
,
Mira discovered the next morning
. They were surprised after breakfast by their first visit from Cliff since arrival at the camp.

“I know you’re all getting tired of practicing,” he said. “And that you feel more than ready for your adventure to begin. I’m happy to tell you that it’s graduation day. When you go back to your cabins, you’ll find a full set of 1885 clothing waiting for you. Get yourself into those, leave everything else behind, and come on back in here. Because we’re going to be taking a little trip.”

“When will we be told how we’ll be split up?” Scott wanted to know.

“Just as soon as I tell you,” came the amiable reply.

“I don’t know why they have to drag it out so much,” Scott grumbled to Mira as he opened the door to the cabin, went through ahead of her. “All right, we’re in suspense. Go ahead and tell us already.”

“Wow,” Mira said, hardly listening as she spotted the twin pile of clothes on the bed, began sorting through hers. “Look at all this stuff. Yours looks pretty simple, but mine . . . They’ve actually had to give me a drawing, and written instructions. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a clue.”

Scott held up the long cotton drawers and long-sleeved underwear top with distaste. “Am I really supposed to wear all this? What are we, Mormons?”

“You think that’s bad, look at mine,” Mira said, beginning to strip off her clothes. “This is going to take a
long
time. But I’m so glad to get
started,
I’m not going to complain. I just wish they’d let me take my notes.” She looked longingly at the notebook on her bedside table. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable.”

“You’ve probably got a pocket somewhere. Why don’t you pull out the pages and stuff them in there?” Scott suggested, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it on a chair.

“It’s not allowed. I checked.”

He heaved an annoyed sigh. “So you do it anyway, sneak a look when you’re in the outhouse or whatever. You don’t have to follow every single stupid rule people make up, you know. It wouldn’t even be cheating. Just reminding yourself of what you’ve already learned.”

“It
would
be cheating, though. How would it be any different from taking notes into a test?”

“So? You’ve never done that? Never written the answers on your arm, downloaded a term paper?”

“Of course I haven’t.” She stopped trying to figure out the new clothes to stare at him in disbelief. “Most people don’t do that kind of thing.”

“Most people
do,”
he corrected. “Everyone cheats, one way or another. And this is for a million dollars. It’s not Sunday
School
, it’s
America Alive.
Everybody else here is going to be taking every opportunity they can. Why would you handicap us for the sake of some stupid principle that doesn’t even make sense? The real homesteaders would’ve been doing anything they could to get ahead. It’s all about survival out here.
Then
and
now.
It’s a
game.
”

“Well, I’m not doing it,” she said, turning back to the Scary Underwear pile. “It’s not worth it. Writing everything down helped anyway. I’ll just have to rely on that to get me through.”

“I sure hope you remember, then,” he said in exasperation. “If you aren’t even willing to help yourself.
To help
us.
Lucky for us that I didn’t have to write things down, at least.
I have a really good memory.”

She was silent as he finished dressing and left to join the others. She had a terrific
memory,
she fumed, continuing to struggle into the awkward clothes.
She
wasn’t the one who’d taken three tries to pass the bar. She’d done better in school than he had, too. She might not be the most confident person, but she knew how to learn. She listened, she took good notes, and she worked hard. She’d never
had
to cheat, and she wasn’t going to start now. Whatever she did out here, even if she struggled, she was going to know that she’d played fair.

Fifteen minutes later, she shut the door of her cabin for the last time and walked back into the dining hall, feeling horribly self-conscious and still flushed with the effort of getting into the corset. She should have asked Scott to stay and help her despite the argument, she’d realized too late. That had taken some major contortionist work.

Rachel took one look at her red face and laughed from beneath her printed sunbonnet. “You look as ridiculous as I feel,” she said. “And just about as hot.”

“How did you lace your corset?” Mira asked.

“Kevin,” Rachel said with a grin. “He said this was a red-letter day in his life. That he’d never helped a woman with her underwear before, and he never will again.”

Mira laughed. “I guess from here on, we just use these hooks at the front. I’m not messing with all these laces another time.”

They were joined by Zara, looking rueful
. “I never realized just how lucky I was to be born in the twentieth century,” she said. “I thought girdles were bad, back in the day. That’s why I became a Flower Child in the first place, just to get out of wearing them. How many things do we have on here?”

“Chemise, drawers, corset, blouse, skirt, apron,” Mira counted. “Six. Not counting the bonnet
thingie
.”

“Well, now that we’re all here,” Cliff said from the front, and they subsided. “I first want to say to the ladies, my, don’t you look lovely.” He grinned at the disgusted groans from his audience.

“Lovely as a potato sack,” Zara muttered. “I looked up “unflattering” in the dictionary, and they showed me this outfit.”

“The wardrobe expert asked me to tell you,” Cliff continued, “that to be really authentic, we would have added a petticoat and a corset cover. But that she decided to take pity on you, especially because the weather service says that the next few weeks are going to be extra-warm. We don’t want anyone fainting onto a hot stove.”

“Considerate of them,” Rachel agreed. “The guys look good, though. Why is it that men always seem to get off easier? They hardly even look different.”

“Might take them longer to pee than us for once,” Zara pointed out pragmatically, eyeing the men in their work shirts, canvas pants, and suspenders. “They’ve got buttons on those pants, whereas we get the convenient
crotchless
undergarment. Who knew the nineteenth century was so racy? It feels really drafty down there. Are we supposed to be having quickies behind the outhouse?”

Mira giggled. “No, I think we’re just supposed to make it
out
of the outhouse in a reasonable period of time.”

“That might be what
you’re
using it for. Hank was pretty interested in the intriguing possibilities.”

“And now,” Cliff said, “comes the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Especially Scott,” he said to the accompaniment of some laughter. “You’ve been wondering all along why we began this
America Alive
season with two-person teams. Here’s the big news. You’re not going to
be
in two-person teams.”

He held up a hand at the murmuring and rustling in the room. “That’s not quite right, though. I should say that you
won’t
be in teams as you’ve been thinking of them. Instead, we’ll be splitting each team between the two homesteads. But when you’re voted out, both of you will be leaving.”

“But how does that work?” Scott objected. He’d been standing with Martin, comparing notes. Both of them were frowning heavily now. “You mean when we’re competing against each other, we’ll be competing against our own teammate?”

“Exactly. You
will
be facing period-appropriate challenges every week, in true
America Alive
fashion. But your partner will be on the opposing homestead. The homestead that wins the challenge gets to decide which team goes home.”

“Then what’s our incentive to win?”
Scott, protesting again.

“Your incentive,” Cliff answered, “is to keep your homestead from wanting to get rid of you. You personally. To do that, you’ll have to contribute, and you’ll have to endear yourself to the other members, which may be a bigger challenge for some of you.” He glanced at Scott and Martin. “The people who succeeded out here were the ones who had the skills and the fortitude to keep going, but they were also the ones who worked together well and got along with their neighbors, helped each other through the tough times, and were helped in their turn. Sometimes, you know, life really
is
a popularity contest.”

“Only four of you, two teams, will make it to the end,” he announced. “To the final balloting, where you’ll all have a hand in choosing the winning team. Twenty-five percent, not
that
far from the thirty percent who actually lasted the five years and proved up their homesteads. Consider yourselves lucky. All you have to do to get there is last seven weeks, in the height of summer, and impress everyone else enough to be chosen as the winning team. But to get to that spot, you’re going to have to work hard, get along, and have a little bit of luck as well. Just like the people who did this for real.”

“And now,” he said impressively, as Mike’s camera zoomed in on him, with Danny’s panning the group, “here are our homesteads. In Arcadia, we have . . .” He paused for effect. “As I call your name, please come over and stand on my left. Arlene, Lupe, Rachel, and Chelsea, for the women. And Hank, Alec, Calvin, and Scott, for the men.”

“Oh, boy,” Rachel breathed, giving Mira and Zara a quick hug. “What did Kevin
say.
Alec and Scott. I see fireworks in my future. Wish me luck.”

“And, as you’ve already figured out,” Cliff continued, “in Paradise, on my right, we have Melody, Zara, Maria-Elena, and Mira, for the women. And Gabe, Stanley, Martin, and Kevin, for the men.”

Mira followed Zara over to the spot Cliff indicated, her mind still reeling. This was nothing like she’d expected. She saw Scott’s expression, and was glad not to be with him right now. All his carefully planned strategy, all his maneuvering, were for nothing. Because the game had changed before it had even started. And suddenly, they were playing by a whole new set of rules.

They reassembled again out in the yard, standing together a bit awkwardly in their new homestead groups. The expectant buzz rose higher as two large wagons lumbered through the front gates, each pulled by a team of the sturdy horses the men had been working with all week, a Guernsey cow and calf tied on behind.

“Meet your worldly possessions,” Cliff said as the drivers pulled the horses to a halt and Duke and Daisy came trotting out behind John and Alma. “We’ve even packed everything for you. Now all you have to do is get to your homesteads, and we’ve made that easy for you too. You’re going only five miles. And I hope you’ve been paying attention this week, because once you get there, the drivers will be heading on back here, and it’s all yours. Happy homesteading!”

“How will we all fit in that wagon, though?” Melody asked. “It’s full already.”

“Packed as full as it can get, and often more,” Cliff agreed. “The way West was littered with all the things people threw out, as they realized they’d brought more than their livestock could haul. Which is why only babies rode. And since we don’t have any babies here . . .” he eyed Melody speculatively, “that means you’re walking.”

“Five
miles?”
Chelsea asked in disbelief.

“You’ve been complaining about being stuck in the kitchen, haven’t you?” Cliff answered cheerfully. “Here’s your chance to explore the world around you. See you guys in a week. Good luck.”

“I can’t
believe
this,” Melody complained as the wagons pulled out onto the dirt road, with Danny and Mike each hopping onto a four-wheeled ATV behind a driver, waiting to film the homesteaders as they began their hike, accompanied by the two big dogs. “Why couldn’t they have dropped us off closer?”

“The historical rationale is this.” It was Martin, in his usual pedantic tone. “The original settlers would have traveled for weeks, sometimes months.
And when they finally did arrive, already physically and emotionally exhausted, they had to start from scratch.
We’re going to have already-planted gardens and fully constructed cabins, from what I understand. Frankly, I’m disappointed at that. I made a point of studying cabin-building techniques before I came, and was hoping to have a chance to put them to use. I for one am pleased that they’re allowing us at least a taste of the authentic experience.”

“Yeah, right, a taste of the experience,” Kevin said. “More like ready-made drama. A little fatigue, a little bickering, maybe a meltdown or two . . . All good for the ratings.”

“And I’d hate to think of living in a cabin built by Martin,” he said to Mira, dropping behind with her as they followed the wagons out of the yard. “There I’d be, innocently sleeping, buried under the rubble when it collapsed around me. If he didn’t bring a tree crashing down on him while he was building it.”

They began the long journey, staying well behind the heavy wagons to keep out of the cloud of dust raised on the dirt road. Despite the warmth of the early July day, the mercury beginning its rise now that it was after eight, Mira found herself enjoying the walk. It
was
a relief to be out of the kitchen, and the countryside was so beautiful, with its rolling hills and stands of pines and firs, the tree-covered mountains looming ahead. A hawk circled in a blue sky with just a scattering of white clouds, and her heart soared right along with it. She was walking toward the adventure of a lifetime. Whatever happened in the game, she vowed, however far she got or didn’t get, she was going to take everything she could from the experience.

The newly formed homesteads had been walking together, with Arcadia in the lead, but after an hour or so Scott left the group and waited at the side of the road for Mira to catch up. He pulled her back behind Zara and Kevin, with whom she’d been chatting in a desultory way, and launched into a monologue he’d clearly been mulling over for some time.

“This is a stupid ratings gimmick,” he said irritably. “I’ve been discussing it with Arlene, and we can’t see how the two-person teams can have any chemistry, how they intend to come up with a coherent storyline with us split between homesteads. I don’t know what the producers were thinking.”

“I guess just that it’d be something different,” Mira said cautiously. “Something to get people talking about the show.”

“Different because it’s ridiculous,” Scott snorted. “But since we can’t do anything about it, we’re just going to have to adjust our strategy. I’ve been thinking about how to do that, and I’ve realized that all we need to do is revise my original plan. We’ll still be working with the same alliances. It’s just that I won’t be able to oversee your part of it as well as I was planning to.”

Did he really think she was such an idiot that she couldn’t figure out how to talk to people without his help? But the last thing she wanted was a televised argument. Mike had dropped back to film them, to her chagrin. She shoved the irritation down and asked instead, “What are you thinking?”

“I’ll start bonding with my group,” he began to plan. “Arlene and Chelsea are feeling left out and vulnerable right now.
Probably Lupe too.
That’s a group of four
right
there. I get one more with us, and we’ll have a majority. Meanwhile, you should be getting friendlier with Martin. Stanley likes you too, I’ve noticed. Work on that, and I’ll do the same with Calvin. But the main thing: cozy up to Maria-Elena and Melody. Get to be their best friend. Talk about clothes, brag about your boyfriend, all that girl talk.”

“I’m not sure that’s going to work. Because I’m
not
particularly friendly with Melody,” Mira pointed out. “She sure isn’t friendly with me. I don’t think she’s all that interested in women. And I’m not crazy about Martin either. I’m
friends
with Zara and Kevin, and I like Stanley and Maria-Elena. I’m pretty sure we could become friends, once we’re living together. That’s five, with me. A majority.” She didn’t dare mention Gabe.

“It doesn’t matter who you’re
friends
with,” Scott said impatiently. “That’s not the point. There’s no way we’ll win if we start out by making alliances with members of different teams. You need to be thinking strategically.”

“It seems to me, though,” she said carefully, “that it’s going to work best if we get friendlier with the people we already like, who already like us. It’s what Cliff said. The main thing is not having your group want to vote you off. And actually, you know,” she couldn’t help adding, “thinking strategically is my job. That’s what management consultants do.”

“You’ve never been the senior consultant on the team, though, have you?” he retorted. “You’re an information gatherer, not the one who draws the conclusions. If you were, you’d see that you
can’t
just take what Cliff tells us as gospel. That’s what he
wants
you to think. Use your brain. Think it through. What’s he leaving out?
That when a homestead is deciding who leaves, they’re also thinking about who’s going to be leaving the other homestead.
They’ll want to leave their own homestead stronger, and the other one weaker. That’s what I’m mainly worrying about, those times when your homestead wins and does the voting. And don’t think for a moment that the others aren’t going to be thinking about their own team. Alliances are everything out here, and we need to be on the same page with that.”

“I’m not so sure you’re right about that,” Mira countered doggedly. She hated arguments, but his assumption that her team would want to vote her out, his dismissal of her professional experience had stung. When she’d confided her frustration in her role, she’d never imagined that he’d use what she’d said against her.

“OK,” she conceded, “I’m not the senior person at work, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have any strategic input. And I think the homesteads might become more cohesive than you’re imagining. People form tribes and cliques really easily. I’ve seen that a lot. It seems to me that what will matter most is who the group doesn’t want to live with anymore. I think our best bet is just to work hard and get along, each of us, where we are.” And she knew she had a lot better head start on that than Scott did, whatever he said.

He sighed. “Sweetheart. You know you’re a little unworldly, don’t you? Come on, now. You know that.”

“Maybe I am,” she said, struggling to maintain her belief in her opinion. “But I’m pretty sure I’m right about this.”

“You’re very sweet,” Scott said, his tone softening now, becoming affectionate. “And that’s your problem. You think everyone else is as nice as you, and that everyone plays by the rules they learned in kindergarten. Don’t you think that I know just a little more about how people maneuver and scheme, how to get them to do what I want, than you do? You don’t exactly have your dad wrapped around your finger, do you?”

“No,” she said, the familiar hurt slashing at her self-confidence. “But that’s different. And I still think . . .”

“Don’t think,” he coaxed. “You’re a nice, nonthreatening person, and people like you. That’s what you bring to the table. All I’m asking
is,
use a little more of that niceness on Martin and Melody. Because I’ve noticed you haven’t gone out of your way with them, or with Arlene either. You’ve been pretty cold and distant, in fact, and they’ve noticed. That’s not the way to get along out here. Don’t you think you ought to have been a little more friendly?”

“I thought I
was
being nice,” she said with dismay. “Have I really seemed unfriendly?” Had Martin said something about her to Scott? “I didn’t mean to be. But . . .”

“No buts,” he said, reaching out with his index finger to tap her on the nose. “You just work on that, and we’ll be all set. Now you go on over there and get started, and I’ll start charming my ladies.”

He set off to join his homestead again, catching up with Arlene and Lupe and leaving Mira struggling with the logical argument she knew she should have made. Could have made, if she’d had a little more time and space to think it up.

Kevin dropped back to walk with her, watching Scott with a speculative look on his face. “Let me guess,” he said. “
Boyfriend’s instructing you on strategy.”

“He has a name, you know,” she said, trying to rally her forces again.

“He’s had a name in my cabin, too,” Kevin countered. “And I’m not using that one, out of concern for your delicate feelings. But
come on
,
tell
. What’s his brilliant strategic plan?”

“What’s yours?” she countered. She wasn’t
that
naïve.
Kevin had come to win
,
she knew that
.

“Eventually, to team up with you and Zara, vote the Big Strong Men out,” he answered promptly. “What do you think?”

“I think I don’t want to say right now,” she said with a reluctant smile. “It’s too early. And I’m not going to make promises I might not be able to keep. Not good for my game
or
my soul.”

He sighed. “I knew it was too easy. Not as soft as you look, are you?”

“Not soft in the head, anyway,” she countered. “The first thing you learn in my job is not to take anything anybody says at face value, or to draw conclusions too quickly. I like you, and I’m not looking to vote you out. But I’m not making any alliances just yet.”

 
“Well, you’ve got a point there,” Kevin admitted. “You don’t watch these things, but I can tell you, the mistake people make is playing their endgame too early. That’s why I said “eventually.” You have to keep that endgame in mind, of course, but at this stage you’re really just outrunning the bear.”

“What bear?” she asked, diverted in spite of her caution.

“You don’t have to be the fastest guy,” he explained. “You just have to be faster than the slowest guy. I’ve got a couple weeks here before I have to worry about the bear catching me. Not when Melody and Martin are offering themselves up as such tasty morsels. Now,
you . . .”

Kevin
thought she was likely to be voted out? Then why was he trying to align with her? “I’m bear meat, huh?” she asked, trying to make a joke of it as the hurt rose inside.

“Nope. I’ve got to plan for it to go either way, though.
Because you’re up there running at the head of the pack, but Scott?
He’s Tender Vittles.”

By the time they had reached the turnoff to their separate homesteads, which, the drivers informed them, were about a mile apart, most of the group were looking fairly droopy, and conversation had fallen to a minimum. Mira had become increasingly tired, the unaccustomed layers of clothing and wide cotton skirt making for heavy going in the late-morning warmth. She said goodbye to Scott, nodded briefly at his whispered “Remember what you’re supposed to do,” then turned wearily onto the dirt road to Paradise. There’d be a lot to do when they got there, she knew. But at least she could stop walking.

“You have got to be kidding,” she heard Kevin say loudly from his position in front of the wagon when the heavy thing lumbered to a stop at last. She walked up with Zara to see what he was looking at. And stopped dead in her turn.

“Wow. I knew it’d be rustic, but . . .” she began.

“
Noooo
!” Melody wailed from behind her. “This can’t be it! Where’s the real house?” she demanded of the driver.

“That’s it,” he said with a not unsympathetic smile. “Home sweet home.”

“Maybe once it’s cleaned up . . .” Mira began, looking dubiously at the rough cabin, the bark still clinging to the logs, with its few tiny, grimy windows and leaning tin stovepipe, set in the middle of a clearing of dirt and weeds.

“It’s a
shack!”
Melody cried. “I thought it’d be cute, like a log cabin at a ski area. How are we supposed to live here?”

“Well, let’s not get all lathered up yet,” Stanley cut in firmly. “Looks to me to be a creek over there. Let’s go sit a spell, pull a little water out of the well, eat this lunch you ladies packed us, and rest up before we tackle the rest of it.”

“If y’all will grab the lunch,” he said to Zara, “the boys and I’ll unhitch the horses, be over to join you as soon as we tie up the animals in the shade and get them a drink of water themselves. Don’t eat all the sandwiches, now.”