Now, the only thing that comforted Cal was that Frida hadn’t gotten to bake bread this morning. She was probably wrestling with the disappointment, and though that saddened him, made him feel vaguely protective of her, just as he’d felt when she served him that birthday cake so long ago, the feeling didn’t overshadow the pettiness in his heart.
The thing was, Cal had woken up happy. There was no longer a knot of secrets between him and Frida. Micah knew the situation, and the choice to stay on the Land was out of their hands. Frida’s body would begin changing soon, and there would be something to look forward to, no matter what happened here. Cal knew he was being na?ve, stupid even. But he didn’t care. All his life he’d been careful, hesitant. Now he’d have what he wanted, and what he wanted was a family.
He’d caught himself whistling on the way to Morning Labor. He hadn’t gone to the Church for the private meeting; he figured the invitation had been rescinded since he’d revealed Frida’s pregnancy. Besides, he had an interest in the work he’d been doing with his team. The outdoor oven was nearly done, and looking at it, he felt a surge of pride. It was well made, almost elegant. He didn’t even chastise himself for feeling in tune with his comrades, for thinking of them as comrades, for using phrases like in tune. It wasn’t until he heard about Frida’s baking that his day had turned south.
He finally forced himself to forget about it and try to focus on the oven. There was still work to do, and he’d do it well. It amazed him how much satisfaction there could be in that.
Once he’d settled into a rhythm, his back aching, the paste for the brick mortar clinging to his skin, Peter showed up.
“Can you come look at the garden irrigation system with me?” He spoke quietly, his gaze straight ahead, as though they were two undercover agents. “Your brother-in-law says you’re a gardening genius, that you have professional experience.”
Cal held up his hands, as if to say, Hey, sorry, man, I’m busy.
Peter took a rag out of his back pocket and offered it to Cal.
“It wipes off easily,” he said, and waited as Cal cleaned his hands.
It was strange how none of his comrades said anything as Cal left with Peter, not even Sheryl, who was normally such a pill about the rules. In fact, no one looked up as the two men walked away. Maybe he and Peter were undercover after all.
As they headed in the direction of the garden in silence, Cal felt as though he was in trouble and was being led to the gallows. Would Frida be there, too? He pictured Micah holding two ropes and the requisite black hoods. No pillowcases here. Cal wasn’t about to underestimate what the Land had access to.
He was being dramatic. If Micah had told Peter about Cal’s experience running gardens back in L.A., it meant they needed that kind of expertise, that they needed Cal. He wasn’t beholden to them; he had something to offer, too.
When they passed the garden, Peter not even slowing down, the dread that had been collecting at the bottom of Cal’s spine spilled down his legs.
“I thought we were going to the garden,” Cal said.
“Later,” Peter replied walking more briskly now. He was heading toward the woods, and Cal could do nothing but follow.
“Where are we going, then?”
“Micah wants to see you.”
“And you do his bidding?”
Peter didn’t respond. He couldn’t be goaded into anything, Cal realized. Peter was too mature to be embarrassed, too powerful to worry about what the new guy thought of him. He’d probably exuded this since childhood; he was a natural leader.
“Micah and I both want to talk to you,” Peter said, and that was it.
He led Cal into untamed forest at the northern edge of the Land. Cal and Frida had come from the west, and they hadn’t had a chance to explore the rest of the borders. Cal had seen this section of woods from afar and wondered about them. The Spikes rose on either side, waiting like armed guards, and he imagined there was a whole maze of them deeper in the forest.
“Can I take a look at the Forms sometime?” Cal asked.
“I suppose so,” Peter said, and pushed aside a mass of thorny branches. He gestured for Cal to walk ahead. “You’d probably be good at security. I can tell you’ve got that kind of mind: you’re the paranoid sort. Always assuming danger.”
Cal followed Peter’s lead and stepped over a rotting log. There was a path here, but it was tricky. “I want to know how the Forms are really a threat to outsiders,” he said. “I mean, come on.”
“They scared you, didn’t they?”
Peter kept walking, going around another rotted log and pushing aside tree branches. He stepped over what looked like a dead bird, covered in flies. “Watch out,” he called back, and Cal stepped over it, too, holding his breath.
Finally, Peter stopped at the trunk of an Oregon oak. He put his palm against it.
“Where are we?”
Peter pointed up, and Cal saw that there was a wooden platform built into it.
“A tree house? How quaint.”
A big laugh sounded from above. Micah. “Come on up!” he called.