The Garden of Darkness

Clare, Jem and Ramah walked on.

“Dante seemed nice,” said Clare finally.

“The word ‘nice’ doesn’t mean anything,” said Jem.

“Well. The two with the goat didn’t seem particularly nice.”

“Point taken.”

“So I can use the word ‘nice?’”

“No.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Ramah. “But we need a plan.”

“We don’t get separated,” said Jem. “We act all innocent.”

“We are all innocent,” said Ramah. “That’s what bothers me.”

Then the gate was in front of them, set in a formidable wall of stone. Jem gave it a push, and it swung open.

Inside, the landscape was lush. The thick grass was carefully clipped. There was a pond with a fountain bubbling in the center. Three ducks waddled over the grass, and a peacock cocked its head at a peahen and spread his tail. Clare thought of Bird Boy: he would have been ecstatic.

The peacock saw them and screeched.

Beyond the rolling lush lawns and gardens stood a mansion, its windows glittering in the sun. Someone, apparently, had decided to build an English manor in the rural United States.

“This makes Thyme House look like a run-down farm,” said Clare.

“Thyme House is a run-down farm,” said Jem. “But we still love it.”

Clare had expected something quite different. She had pictured children fighting for survival, scavenging and hoarding food, not weeding ornamental gardens. This looked like nothing less than Paradise.

She idly wondered about the location of the snake. But mostly she was thinking about whether or not there might be warm water for bathing. She had a momentary fantasy about washing her hair in a hot shower.

They turned a corner, and Clare was startled. She automatically took Jem’s hand. There must have been twenty-five children in front of her—and they were actually playing. A game of foursquare was going on in the corner of the courtyard; two small children were chalking out a place for hopscotch; other games involved a lot of running and some hiding and much laughter.

When the children in the courtyard caught sight of them, they began to crowd around. Most of them were younger than Ramah. Where Clare could see throat or chest, she saw the Pest rash.

“New ones!”

“You’re welcome here.”

“Someone get Britta.”

“What’s it like out there now?” asked a girl, but she was shushed.

An unnaturally beautiful little girl with a heart-shaped face and a long braid reached out and touched Ramah, who drew back.

“Sorry,” the little girl said. “But we haven’t had new ones in a while.”

At that moment, Britta and Doug, along with the goat, arrived out of breath. The effect was instantaneous. The children stopped playing.

“It’s still recess,” said a wispy little girl. “You said we could play.”

“It’s all right,” said Doug. “But one of you get the goat back to the barn.”

Britta looked at Jem, Ramah and Clare as if she found them less than interesting. Clare stood up straight and let go of Jem’s hand. Letting go, she realized how hard she had been holding on to him.

“You seem to be in charge,” said Jem.

“Until Master’s back,” said Britta.

Doug, oddly, eagerly, looked hard at Clare.

“You’re staring, Doug,” said Britta. She sounded haughty. “It’s rude.” Clare rather hoped that the goat had kicked her.

“It looks like you came just in time,” said one of the younger ones. She tossed her head, and her tight braid flipped onto her shoulder. Clare was suddenly reminded of Laura Sparks, Michael’s girlfriend from long ago. She also noted how very clean the group of the Master’s children looked. There were a lot of shiny faces and a lot of just-washed hair. The fantasy of a hot shower returned. Then Dante came in the gate, still carrying his hoe. His shirt was smudged with soil and pollen and grass stains, and his face was dirty. He smiled at them, but Britta snapped at him.

“Go get cleaned up. You’re filthy.” Dante fled.

Then Britta led them into the mansion. “We’ll give you your rooms now,” she said. “Work assignments come whenever Master gets back. We’ll heat water for you—we only take two bucket hot showers here usually, but I’m going to tell Fran to give you three buckets. You look like you need it.”

“A hot shower,” said Clare.

“Don’t get ready to sell your soul yet,” said Jem.

“Finally,” said Britta, “don’t go prowling about on your own. You’ll just get lost.”

“No prowling,” said Jem.

“You’re part of the Ingathering now,” said Britta. “That’s a good thing.”

“‘Ingathering,’” murmured Ramah.

“When Master gets back, he’ll have a few questions for you. But while he’s gone, I sort you out. I find out who you are, or were, and then I decide how you’ll fit in.”