“I…I forgot what you use to fertilize plants here,” says Mrs. Adam.
“What of it?” replies Vanessa, confused.
“Well, it’s, let’s just say, the humanness of it…I just don’t want to eat it.”
“A carrot?” Vanessa peers at the root, sniffs it, and takes a bite. “Yes, it’s a carrot.” Looking up, she sees Mrs. Adam looking faintly ill.
“I’m sure you get used to it.” Mrs. Adam gulps. “I mean, I think I’m almost used to the smell. I must say, when I first arrived I couldn’t stop, you know, puking. Maybe it’s the baby. Clyde didn’t mind as much, but me, I would wake up, take a breath, and puke.”
“I guess it does smell kind of strong,” agrees Vanessa. “You don’t notice it after a while.”
“Strong,” says Mrs. Adam with a brave smile. “That’s the word.”
They grin at each other for no reason.
“So,” says Vanessa. “What did you like to eat? In the wastelands?” But at the word “wastelands” Mrs. Adam’s face falls, and Vanessa feels her heart sink.
“I can’t tell you anything about the wastelands,” whispers Mrs. Adam dramatically, like that very inability is a secret that must be guarded. “Clyde says I mustn’t. And the wanderers, they were so…forceful. From the time the one came to see me at—in the wastelands.”
“Of course,” says Vanessa. “How stupid of me.”
“Oh, but I’m sorry,” says Mrs. Adam in a normal tone. “You must be just dying to know. I would be dying to know!”
Vanessa smiles tightly. “Just dying,” she agrees. She rises and goes to kneel near Mrs. Adam, their thighs pressed against each other.
“Which wanderer was it?” asks Vanessa, after a time. “Who came to see you?”
“I don’t—I don’t think I can say. But he was so, so tall and sure of himself and dressed in that black coat. He asked me so many questions.”
“Like what?”
“Was I prepared to take the ancestors into my heart, was I prepared to accept Clyde’s authority and his authority. He told me a lot of things too.”
“What did he tell you?” asks Vanessa eagerly.
“Well, about the island, of course. How things are. Not everything, but most things, you know? And we were so happy to be chosen. Although Clyde said a lot of people wouldn’t go, because of the final draft and the daughters, but it didn’t bother him.”
“What daughters?”
“You know, he saved me, he really did, I was such a wreck and he saved me. So I couldn’t say no to anything he wanted. Plus, it really is so beautiful.”
“Saved you from what?”
“Just…not a good life. I was doing things I shouldn’t have done. I mean, I didn’t have any choice, but all the same, they were bad things.”
Vanessa stares at Mrs. Adam’s wide, shallowly set brown eyes. “What things?”
“Oh, no,” says Mrs. Adam, shaking her head. “Even if I could tell you everything, I wouldn’t tell you that. It’s not for children.”
“I’m not a child,” snaps Vanessa.
“But you are,” says Mrs. Adam, smiling in bewilderment at her. “Of course you are.”
Vanessa is silent for a moment, and then says, “So Mr. Adam saved you. And then brought you here.”
“Yes,” she says, eager again. “He’s such a good man, really.”
Slowly, Vanessa says, “He saved you from the fires.”
“Fires?”
“Pastor Saul says everything is on fire,” murmurs Vanessa, less to Mrs. Adam than herself. She is surprised to find a cool, dusty palm on her cheek.
“Vanessa, Clyde told me about how you tried to get him to answer your questions,” Mrs. Adam says fondly. “How much you want to know. I’ve never been like that, but I admire it.”
Vanessa puts her hand over Mrs. Adam’s, and waits.
“There’s…” Vanessa can see Mrs. Adam struggling to string words together. “You’re so bright. I’m not surprised you want to know everything you can.” She pauses. “But it’s not a good thing. It won’t make you happy.” More silence. “My whole life, I’ve learned to not question things. It doesn’t do any good, really. You usually learn what you didn’t want to learn, and still don’t know what you wanted to know.” A sigh. “I mean, knowing things, it can really hurt.”
“But Mrs. Adam,” whispers Vanessa, clinging to the hand on her jaw, “what if the hurting isn’t the most important part? What if it’s not even worth considering?” She swallows. “What if you were going to hurt anyway?”
Mrs. Adam blinks, and a tear crawls down her face. “Are you hurting, Vanessa?” she asks softly.
Vanessa can’t answer. Suddenly she feels that she is the adult, and Mrs. Adam is the child who needs to be protected. “Not all the time,” she gasps, and it’s the most comforting thing she can manage. She digs her fingers deep into the earth and closes her eyes, as if she can feel the soil groan and settle under her numb knees.
Chapter Thirty
Janey
It’s a drizzly day, soft ash-colored mist lying heavily on the bare branches of trees. Mary shifts and shivers, but Janey can tell she is trying to bear the cold and wet without complaint. They are ankle-deep in muck at the edge of the shore, gazing at the spot among the reeds where the ferry comes and goes. Near the dock is a huge, hunched, arthritic willow whose branches slump to graze the surface of the water. Janey and Mary stand half crouched with their hands on its dry, pimpled bark, watching for the raft to come to shore.
“They’re going to see us,” whispers Mary. “You know we aren’t supposed to be here.”
“They won’t see us,” replies Janey curtly, “they would have to be looking for us.” But then, glancing at Mary again, she lifts her sweater so it shields her bright hair, and suddenly there is no vivid color anywhere.
When they hear the slow, sucking sounds of the ferryman’s pole, they crouch further, so the muddy water grabs hold of their hems. The ferry hisses to a stop among the grasses, and two wanderers disembark, draped in black. They nod to the ferryman and then begin striding across the grass in their leather shoes toward their homes. One has a bundle wrapped in cloth under his arm.
“Let’s go,” whispers Janey.
“We have to wait until they’re out of sight,” murmurs Mary back to her.
“They won’t look back. Come.” She grabs Mary’s elbow with a strong hand. They want to run, but the wet grass and mud make them slip and slither, and eventually they clop along in their wooden clogs as quickly as the ground will allow.