Vanessa stays in a daze throughout her cool bath, fresh dress, and Mother rebraiding her hair. She is sitting at the table, still musing, when Father opens the door to greet a man with a deep voice. Starting, Vanessa perks up and walks to the door, where Father is shaking the hand of an enormous man; not fat, but tall and wide. Whatever is going on in the wastelands, Vanessa thinks, there must be food somewhere. She peers around him for his wife, but doesn’t see a new woman anywhere.
“I’m sorry,” says the man, smiling. “Maureen is feeling ill tonight.”
“The pains of breeding,” says Father, smiling back. “I do hope she’s doing well overall?”
“Yes, yes,” says the man jovially.
“Well,” says Father, “a shame she can’t make it, but we’re pleased to have you.”
The man looks over Father’s shoulder and sees Vanessa lurking by the wall. He gives a funny little bow at the waist. “This must be your daughter.”
“Indeed. Vanessa, this is the new Mr. Adam.”
Staring at Mr. Adam, Vanessa tries to pinpoint the traces of the wastelands in his face. She is not sure exactly what she is looking for: scars, maybe, or features arranged in a pattern foreign and new. She searches his eyes for emptiness or a bleak knowledge. Finally she gives up; Mr. Adam possesses blunt features and a friendly expression that could be found on any island man. The only unusual thing about him is that his eyes are a dark brown, and they are staring at her face as intently as she is examining his.
Vanessa goes forward and shakes Mr. Adam’s hand, which is large and damp and squeezes too hard. “A lovely girl,” says Mr. Adam, still holding on to her hand. She wonders if he’s going to hold it all night. “Absolutely lovely.”
Father’s hands settle on her shoulders. “I agree, of course.” He pulls Vanessa slightly backwards against him, breaking Mr. Adam’s grip. “Irene has made a beautiful dinner for us.”
Father sits at the head of the table with Mother to his right, Vanessa and Ben to each side, and Mr. Adam across from him. Vanessa breathes in the scent of the steaming food appreciatively. There are biscuits and roasted potatoes out already, and chicken cooked with onions. “We have carrots also, and baked apples,” says Mother, drifting into the kitchen. She eyes Mr. Adam warily, like he is a strange new animal too unfamiliar to deem harmless.
“So, Clyde, how are you settling in?” asks Father as he passes him a plate of biscuits.
“Well, very well,” says Mr. Adam. “A beautiful place here, very beautiful. Much different from what I’m used to, of course.”
Ears pricked, Vanessa waits hopefully for him to say what he’s used to, but he stuffs his mouth full of biscuit. She glances at Father, whose lips are tight. Sighing, she accepts a platter of roasted carrots, orange and purple and swimming in butter, and scrapes some onto her plate.
“It’s a shame you arrived during summer,” says Mother. “You hardly got to see anything, kept inside your house. Now it’s safe to walk around outside.”
“Safe from mosquitoes or safe from dirty children?” Mr. Adam chuckles. “No, no, a charming summer ritual you have. Let the children out to play. Keeps them obedient the rest of the year.”
“You must be very excited to have your first child,” says Father. “I hope Maureen isn’t ill often?”
Mr. Adam shrugs, chewing. “She does like to rest a lot.”
“Sleeping for two,” says Mother, smiling stiffly. “She had better sleep while she can.” Leaning forward, she wipes butter off Ben’s chin with her thumb.
“This is a lovely house.” Mr. Adam looks around at the well-maintained walls, arched rocking chairs, and soft, clean rugs. “Who lived in it before you?”
“My parents. It’s been in our family for generations. We lived briefly in another one right after Irene and I were married, while my parents were still alive. Two Josephs had died, and the house was free.”
“They both died at the same time?”
“Of course they died together,” says Mother.
Mr. Adam frowns. “What, one killed the other?”
“No,” says Father, coughing a little. “Remember. Here when somebody is no longer of use—no longer contributing, and their children have children—they take the final draft. It, well, I’m sure they must have told you before you came.”
“Right, yes, right, I’m sorry,” says Mr. Adam. “Clean them out when they’ve got no more purpose. Good idea.”
“What, in the wastelands do people just live until they die?” blurts Vanessa.
Mr. Adam looks surprised, and Father looks worried. “Vanessa, please don’t interrupt.”
Mother smiles again, and Vanessa sees tightness around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. She doesn’t seem to like Mr. Adam very much, or perhaps she’s simply frightened of him.
“It will be so helpful to have another carver on the island,” says Father. “It’s a wonderful skill. We try to reduce our dependence on metal as much as we can.”
“You seem to have some good wood on this island,” says Mr. Adam. “Good trees. I think I can make some useful tools.”
“Wonderful,” says Father. “We bring in wood from the wastelands too. We have to be careful and make sure our trees keep up their numbers. There’s a whole area of the island we haven’t cultivated at all. It’s perfectly wild. The children love it in summer.” Mr. Adam nods, and everyone sits and chews for a bit. Vanessa bites into a biscuit and inhales the yeasty steam that emanates from it.
“Have you seen the church?” Mother asks Mr. Adam politely.
“Yes, the ever-sinking one. I can’t imagine wasting all that labor on a building that sinks, but John says it’s the way the ancestors wanted it. Have you ever thought about how tall it would be if you drew it back up from the mud? It would tower over everything!”
“It would fall over,” points out Vanessa.
Mr. Adam laughs. “True, it would fall over. Anyway, it’s quite beautifully designed, although the thought of it is a bit eerie. All those church rooms, all the way down, all empty and dark. It’s scary, isn’t it?”
“Why?” asks Vanessa. He winks at her but doesn’t answer.
“That is Vanessa’s favorite word,” says Mother.
“A smart girl, are you?” says Mr. Adam.
“I do believe she’s read almost all of my library,” says Father. “She’s an expert on many matters, although most of them are useless here.”
“You let her read books from outside?” says Mr. Adam, looking surprised.
“Some of them,” says Father defensively. “She’s quite intelligent.”
“That seems dangerous.”
“No harm so far,” says Father.
“I’ve seen the school, and I must say, I don’t see the point of any of it,” says Mr. Adam.
“What do you mean?” asks Mother. She is cutting her food very slowly, as if the task requires intense attention. “It’s a school. For children. The first ancestors built it. The first school, I mean, not the actual building they use now.”
“Why do the girls need to learn to read? Hell, I’d bet only a quarter of the boys need to read. There’s no point.” Vanessa isn’t sure what “hell” means, but it sounds fun to say it the way Mr. Adam says it. Hell.
“Reading is a valuable skill,” says Father. “Instructions, records, procedures…Many wives help their husbands with their work.”
“And how many of those men need to read?” says Mr. Adam.
“What about Our Book?” offers Mother. “Everyone should be able to read Our Book.”