“Ugh, the boys!”
“No, she wanted to wait until the girls were older.”
“But…what would they do while they waited?”
“I don’t know. Do you know how she died?”
“No.”
“She bled out.”
“Oh.”
“I think there are others.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know.” Janey goes back to pacing, sighing loudly every now and then. Mary yawns, mutters, and falls asleep. The moon is full, limning the room with edges of silver. Sitting on the bed, Janey realizes that she herself is absolutely exhausted, bone-weary, shaking with the effort of days awake. Suddenly she begins weeping silently, tears sheeting down her face and pattering onto her lap. She has a vision of Amanda’s face when they heard the intruder: pale, her eyes wide, her hands frozen in midair. I could have saved her, thinks Janey, instead of walking away. Her lips retracting to bare her teeth, she brings her slender palms to cover her face in shame.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Vanessa
The night after the dinner with Mr. Adam, Vanessa wanders outside. It’s a warm day, and her shoes sink into the mud with a satisfying squelch. No longer foreign, the rough hem of her dress brushes her shins with every step, and her fingers play with the edge of her reddish-brown braid. Summer, the girl in the tree, seem years away.
The Jacobs’ dog Bo comes to greet Vanessa for the first time since summer started. They are old friends, and Vanessa smiles to see her. She scratches Bo’s ears, and the graying hound leans into her hand contentedly until she catches sight of a rat and immediately takes off. In fall and spring, it isn’t even necessary to feed dogs and cats, as they can live off rats. Vanessa has always wanted a dog or cat, but they make Mother itch.
Slipping and sluicing through the mud, she heads toward the new Adam house. It is a popular location lately; Vanessa has seen many people slowly wander by, some blatantly staring through the windows to catch sight of the new Adams. It’s almost dark, and nearly everybody is inside now, so Vanessa can lurk alone. Stepping around back, she sees a figure by the garden too small to be the new Mr. Adam.
“Are you Mrs. Adam?” Vanessa says softly, drawing closer. The woman doesn’t answer, and Vanessa wonders if she’s found another woman sneaking about, hoping for a glimpse of the new arrivals. “Mrs. Adam?” she says more loudly.
There’s a pause, and then the woman turns. “Hello, I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m not used to that name yet.”
They stare at each other. “What was it before?” says Vanessa.
“Oh, never mind, nothing,” she says. “There’s just so much to get used to here.” Mrs. Adam is thin, with poor posture, her long arms hanging down and crossing across her belly. Vanessa remembers Inga’s mention of what happens to pregnant women in the wastelands, and she feels sorry for Mrs. Adam. She is about to reassure her that nobody here cuts open pregnant women when Mrs. Adam says suddenly, “What’s your name?”
“Vanessa Adam. What’s yours?”
“Maureen Adam, of course,” she says, and they both laugh.
“What’s different here?” says Vanessa. “From what you’re used to, I mean. That you have to get used to. Or want to.”
“Well.” Mrs. Adam waves her hand vaguely around her. “The trees, so many of them! The people, the customs. You know.”
“No.”
“Well, of course you don’t. I was told I wasn’t supposed to say anything about—about—back there, you know. I mean, the wanderers know, of course. But nobody else does.”
“Why can’t you say anything?”
“They said it would poison everything,” she says. “That’s the word they used. Why, do the wanderers talk about back home? I mean, back there?”
“No. And the Jacobs, their daughter doesn’t even remember anything.”
“I see. Well, we’re not supposed to either.”
There’s a silence. “What are you planting?” asks Vanessa.
“Nothing, just trying to take care of what was already here. I don’t know much. So many women have offered to teach me.”
“When will you have your baby?”
“Oh, a couple of months.”
To Vanessa’s eye, Mrs. Adam looks too big for seven months. Perhaps she will have twins. It’s hard to make out her long face in the dim air, but she looks awfully old for her first pregnancy.
“My father has books,” says Vanessa. “Wasteland books. He’s a wanderer. He’ll lend you books, if you want.”
“Oh, I don’t read well,” Mrs. Adam says. “I don’t garden well.” She gives a little laugh. “I don’t know what I’m good at!”
“Maybe you’ll be a good mother.”
“I hope so.” She pats her belly. “I hear I can only have two.”
“How many do people have in the wastelands?”
“The waste—now, you know I can’t tell you anything.”
“It can be a secret.”
“I’ve been strictly told.”
“What did you eat there?”
“Vanessa.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just so rare to get someone from the wastelands. I mean, the wanderers, but not someone who lived there.”
“If it wasn’t for your wanderers, we wouldn’t be here. I must be thankful to them.”
“And the ancestors.”
Mrs. Adam sighs. “Yes, I suppose. My ancestors too now, although not by blood.”
“They take care of everyone on the island. They’re always watching us.”
“Isn’t that a little scary?” Mrs. Adam tugs on her ill-fitting dress and laughs nervously. “So tell me, Vanessa, what advice would you give to someone who’s just moved here?”
Vanessa stares at her and tries to think of something Mrs. Adam might not have been told. Something every woman knows, but doesn’t usually say. “Have sons?”
Mrs. Adam nods as though this isn’t a surprising suggestion. “That’s it, with daughters…” She pauses. “Clyde was very excited to come here. Not for that, for…” She shrugs. “You know. The new start. Nature, community…” She pauses, thinking. “What you’ve done here is impressive. The wanderers really explained how the whole society here…I had to know about it, or it would be too late. They don’t want anyone leaving. And it’s necessary. I mean, you know men. You have to keep the population down. And I guess there’s drinks you can give, medicine, if they can’t control themselves? Clyde wants to be here so badly, and he’s my husband. There’s nowhere I’d survive, anyway, on my own, I’m not good at being on my own. And if everyone does it, it can’t be too bad, right?”
She stares pleadingly at Vanessa, leaning toward her eagerly as if Vanessa is about to pardon a crime. Vanessa has no idea what the jumble of words tumbling from Mrs. Adam means. All she can think of to say is “Right.”
“Are you happy here, Vanessa?”