Drought

by Pam Bachorz

  “Ruby, quiet!” Mother warns.

  “How will he do it?” I ask. “How will Otto free us?”

  “I don’t know,” Mother says.

  “He’d need a plan. He’d need our help,” I tell her.

  She doesn’t answer. She’s looking over my head. And then she starts to shovel faster.

  “He’s coming over,” she whispers.

  This time the Overseer comes close to us, so close that I can smell the sweat on his clothes. “You two finish this hole yet?” he growls.

  “Nearly,” Mother says.

  He gives her a dubious look and kneels to put his arm in it. Dark fantasies fill me: how easy it would be to lift the shovel and drop it on his head, or simply kick him hard enough to make him stay down.

  The Overseer stands and pulls the chain out of his pocket. He looks at it like he’s considering something. I stand steady; Mother slips her hand in mine.

  “No more talking, Toads,” he says, aiming a wad of spit at the ground by my feet. “Dig. You’ve got a foot more to go, at least.”

  But he retreats to his shady spot, which is shifting farther from us as the sun sinks in the sky. He won’t hear if we whisper.

  “Wouldn’t he love us, still, if we freed ourselves?” I whisper.

  Mother acts as if she has not heard me. But I’m certain she did.

  “If we could escape—Ellie might not die. Not so soon,” I say. “She’d have to drink Water, then.”

  “Let me do it,” I tell Mother.

  “No.” She uses the same voice I heard when I was a child and wanted to eat dirt, to fill my stomach, or cram my cup with flowers and sticks. It is her warning voice.

  “Please,” I tell her. “Let me find a way to free us.”

  “I said no. We won’t speak of it again.”

  Her shovel is jammed into the ground, her arms crossed against the top of it. I realize I’ve done the same. We are staring at each other like enemies, not mother and daughter.

  Chapter 8

  I can’t wait any longer to go to the cisterns.

  The woods are noisy tonight—windy, and crackling with animal sounds. I’m not afraid of the animals, though. My heart is pounding because I know I might see Ford again.

  When I get to the cisterns, there is no shadow beneath, no man lurking around the edges. Good. He shouldn’t come. And I should be relieved—I’m safe. But mostly I feel a lump in my throat. Part of me—maybe all of me—wanted to see him.

  Just before I put my foot on the bottom rung of the cistern’s ladder, I see a shadow in the trees, at the other side of the clearing. It’s tall and narrow, too still and too dark to be a tree’s shadow.

  I freeze and look harder. The shadow shifts, slightly, and I know for sure that it’s a person. A person, watching me from the woods.

  Ford came, after all. But he didn’t hide, before. Why does he lurk in the trees? I can’t add my blood, now.

  My breath is short, and my fingers and arms are tingling. I could walk over to him. I could confront him. Or … I could run.

  But instead, I take a step toward the shadow. And then another, and another, until I start to see the edges of it: the person is wearing long pants, and long sleeves.

  “Why are you hiding?” I ask in a low voice.

  “Why are you here?” A man’s voice, answering—but it’s not Ford. It’s a lighter voice, a laughing voice.

  Finally I find the resolution to run. My feet pound toward home, fast faster faster, and my breath comes so hard that I can’t hear if the man is chasing me.

  But then I feel a hand around my elbow, and I’m spun, hard. “Am I that bad?” he asks.

  It’s not an Overseer, after all. It’s Jonah Pelling. All my fear rushes away and is replaced by a deep, familiar irritation. How like a Pelling to lurk about the woods and scare people. How like a Pelling not to call out a warning, an assurance, anything to stop me from running in terror.

  “You scared me.” I yank my arm out of his grip. He lets go with a low laugh and a grin.

  We stand on the dirt road, facing each other—I panting from my sprint, he barely winded. Jonah jams his hands in his pockets and looks around at the woods.

  “Remember how we used to play hunter? We always made you be the rabbit,” he says.

  “And you never caught me,” I retort. I remember: Jonah, Zeke, even Hope sometimes, letting me run ahead for a minute and then chasing me with sticks held high. They found it amusing. But it terrified me.

  “Caught you tonight,” he says softly, reaching out to touch my hand lightly, then pulling his arm back again.

  “You’re not supposed to be out here,” I tell him.

  “Nor are you. But … I knew you would be.”

  I think of how still his shadow was in the woods, how easy it would be to miss it, if you were distracted. Did he see me talking to Ford? Did he hear what we said?

  I am suddenly aware of how exposed we are, standing in the middle of the road. Anyone might see us—and if an Overseer’s truck drove round the corner, we’d be trapped in its lights.

  “Follow me,” I tell Jonah.

  “Anywhere,” he breathes, and a nasty chill washes down my back. I don’t like the way he’s talking to me. It makes me think of how he used to pursue Hope, in the years before Gabe made his play for her.

  I couldn’t possibly be his new target … could I?

  I lead him into the woods, doubling back toward the cisterns. Maybe Ford will be there soon. He’d protect me, if Jonah goes strange.

  Jonah leans against a tree and reaches back to smooth his short, ragged ponytail. We all do the best we can with sharp-edged rocks to keep our hair manageable.

  “Why did you think you’d find me out in the woods?” I ask him. My heart pounds as I wait for the answer.

  “You think you’re the only one who creeps around at night?” He shrugs. “I see you sometimes.”

  I never heard him, never saw him. How close was he? How many times did he stare at me, without any part of my body warning me? It’s as if I’d been trailed by a bear and never knew it.

  “Why do you go out?” I ask.

  “There’s good hunting and berries to find too.”

  “That’s … That’s why I go out,” I say.

  “To check your mother’s traps.” He lowers his chin and meets my eyes squarely, no hint of a smile left on his face. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

  Then he flicks me a smile. “I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine.”

  I don’t know how to answer, and I don’t want to tell him anything he doesn’t know. So I simply take a step away and bend to inspect a bush, pretending I’m searching for berries.

  “You won’t find anything on the bushes around here. But there’s some fine mushrooms that grow on the shady side of these trees.” Jonah turns and pulls something off the trunk he was leaning against. Then he offers it to me.

  “Mother says they’re not safe.” I shake my head.

  “Guess trappers like killing more than picking. That’s fine, more for me.” Jonah tucks the mushroom in a small bag that hangs around his waist.

  My mouth waters as I watch the mushroom disappear. “Maybe if you took a bite,” I say.

  “And see if I fall dead?” Jonah tilts his head and gives me a narrow-eyed look. “You’re not too fond of me, are you, Ruby?”

  “No—I mean, that’s not it. I only wanted to make sure it was safe,” I stammer.

  Again, the grin flashes over his face. Jonah has always had quicksilver moods; when we played together, he’d be sunny one moment and stormy the next. We never knew how to predict the changes.

  “Just joking,” he says. “Here.”

  He reaches into his waist bag and then holds his palm out to me—six perfect plump berries glint in the darkness.

  “Thank you.” I take three.

  Jonah shakes his head and stretches his arm out farther. “Take them all
. I picked them for you.”

  If he doesn’t want food, I won’t argue with him. I take the rest, then bite into the first. The juice fills my mouth and I can’t help closing my eyes, for a second, in pure pleasure.

  When I open them, Jonah is standing closer. And then … he drops to one knee.

  “I’m not much for talking,” he says. “But I’m a good provider. One of the best.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask. I can think of only one thing he’d be doing, kneeling in front of me, but I can’t believe it. We’ve never courted. We’ve never even whispered a single romantic thing to each other.

  Jonah looks up at me with an intense stare. I take a step back. He continues his speech. “Pellings never want for anything … at least, nothing they really need.”

  “Otto provides,” I mutter.

  “You could be a Pelling too,” Jonah says.

  I nearly shout “No!” but collect myself just before the word bursts from my lips. There’s no use hurting Jonah. For he seems to be very, very serious.

  “I’m not … I won’t be marrying,” I say.

  He takes a step forward on his knee and reaches for me, but I slide both my hands behind my back. He keeps his hand in the air, suspended, as if waiting for me. “Why not?” he asks.

  I’d never seriously thought of marrying any Congregants. For my whole life, I’ve watched them marrying and leaving and marrying again. Few bonds last forever, or even a hundred years. Maybe that’s why I never thought to marry: I know nearly every Congregant I could marry will eventually sicken of me, or I of him. I know them too well. What mysteries could there be left to discover?

  “I don’t want to,” I answer simply.

  “Marrying has its joys. Ask Hope.” He swallows and looks down at the ground.

  Then I hold out both hands to him. “Please stand, Jonah.”

  He lets out a sigh and stands without my help. “She never wanted me,” he says.

  “I know you fancy her. And … I see why. Hope is kind.”

  “And beautiful.” Then he smiles again, his dark mood dropping away as fast as it came. His voice is light. “But so are you. You’re a woman now, all grown.”

  I’m conscious of my dress, too tight across the chest—once Mother’s, now mine, with no more room to let out the seams. Even without enough food or drink, I’m bigger than she ever was.

  “You should marry me, Ruby. That’s what you should do. Think of it: the Congregation’s Leader, and the Pellings—one family. We’d be the highest family in the Congregation.”

  “There are no … heights … in the Congregation,” I tell him.

  He waves his hand as if shooing away a fly. “You know what I mean, Ruby.”

  “I do, exactly,” I say. I’m not going to create some terrible royalty in our Congregation: Otto’s daughter marrying the prince scoundrel.

  Besides, I don’t want him. I don’t tingle when he nears. I don’t want to trace every bit of him with my eyes.

  “Think of it: you’d have pillows … plenty of firewood … and food. I can forage from anywhere,” Jonah says. “I’ve even stolen from the Overseers’ trash.”

  I let out a gasp. “They’ll shoot you if they see you.”

  “Hasn’t happened yet.” He crosses his arms. “I’ll do whatever my family needs. And you could be family.”

  “Why do you want me?” I ask. “Me, and not Hope.”

  “I’m no fool. She’s only got eyes for Gabe. But you … you’re unclaimed. Untouched. I wouldn’t mind laying eyes on you every night … every morning …” The edge in his voice makes my skin crawl.

  “I’m not wanting to be touched,” I warn him.

  “It’s not just that.” Jonah shakes his head. “I think you want what I want—I see you, watching Darwin and the Overseers. I know how mad you get.”

  “I never say anything.”

  “Nor do I. But I hate them, just the same. I hate them the way the rest of them don’t.”

  “Otto loves, never hates,” I say.

  “Yeah, and most Congregants … well, they try to be that way. Me? I’m not wasting any love on Darwin West,” he says.

  “Me either,” I whisper.

  “I want to fight,” Jonah says. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes.” The answer flies out before I can stop it. I clap my hand over my mouth and look around. “I mean, no. It’s wrong. We’re only supposed to endure.”

  “Endure, and wait. I’m sick of that. Aren’t you?” He takes a step closer and stares at me, and this time I do not back away.

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “We could plan it … we could plan a whole battle, Ruby.” His voice is high, and excited. I remember how he used to arrange stones in formation, soldiers marching toward one another, making quiet explosion sounds with his mouth.

  “It’s not a game,” I tell him.

  “I know. But Ruby—if we were married, we’d be together all the time. We could plan, night and day. I’d get us our own cabin. Nobody would have to hear … not until they’re ready to hear.” His words come out fast, and fevered. I wonder how long he’s wanted this, planned for it.

  A very small part of me wants to say yes. I want someone to listen to me, someone to agree that Otto wouldn’t mind if we fought; maybe he’d even be proud.

  But then I look at him: Jonah Pelling, the one whose cup always seems to be half empty; Jonah Pelling, the one who steps aside the fastest when Mother volunteers to take the beatings.

  And then, Ford. I can’t have him. But he makes me want Jonah even less.

  “Say yes,” Jonah urges.

  “No,” I say. “And don’t ask again.”

  “I will. I’m going to ask, and ask … and one day, Ruby, you’ll say yes. You’ll get fed up with waiting. You’ll get fed up with being a woman and living with your mother.”

  “Maybe I will get sick of those things. But I won’t marry just to leave them,” I say.

  “You’ll get fed up with being alone. I know that too, Ruby,” he says.

  “I’m sorry about Hope,” I tell him.

  “Don’t be. Just—think about it. Think about what being my wife could mean.” Jonah pats his waist bag. “Food. Comfort. And … we could fight Darwin West.”

  I don’t tell him no again—and he doesn’t stick around to hear it. Instead he simply turns and melts into the woods, heading uphill, away from the cisterns and me.

  I wait for temptation to flicker. I wait for second-guesses to flood in. But none of that happens. Saying no to Jonah is the easiest thing, yes—and it’s also the entirely right thing.

  The cisterns will have to wait till another night. I walk down to the edge of the road and begin my careful walk home. Toe heel, toe heel, I go, not wanting anyone—Overseer or Pelling—to find me tonight.

  Chapter 9

  Ford heads the early-morning line for cups. His eyes linger just a little too long on me. Then he smiles, only a little. I have to fight the urge to smile back.

  When it’s Jonah’s turn in line, Ford gives him a hard stare. He looks like he’d like to give Jonah ten lashes with his chain.

  “A full cup!” Darwin bellows.

  He looks at Mother, waiting for her to argue, but she stays silent, just as she was when we woke this morning. We argued yesterday, and there hasn’t been much for us to say to each other.

  “Any problem with that?” Darwin sneers.

  Mother shakes her head.

  I think she’s afraid he’ll drag us to dig more holes. Already he’s pulled half the men away to help.

  “Then get to work, Toads!” He points into the woods and we all obey.

  I cut a path high up the hill. Start up high and work downhill as the day wears on: that’s the way to get the most water, I think. Everyone has their own theories about how to fill their cups.

  After a few minutes of searching, I find a patch of coolness, as if this part of the woods has forgotten that it’s the height of summer. Water waits for me under cl
umped, gold-flowered weeds, and I whisper a quiet prayer of thanks to Otto while I spoon it into my cup.

  The drops make a quiet plink-plink in my cup. Above me a bird trills a song. I work and work, until my cup has water half the height of my pinky. I should make quota today, especially without Ellie’s cup to help fill.

  Ellie. Thinking of her hurts like Darwin’s kicked me in the stomach. She seemed paler when I checked on her this morning, and she barely smiled.

  My body feels heavy with grief, the magic of the morning gone. I’ll rest, just for a moment. I set my cup carefully on the ground, twisting and pushing it until the dirt holds it tight. Then I sit on the leaves and pull my arms tight around my knees, resting my cheek against my knuckles.

  “Ruby.” A man’s voice, whispering. I jerk my head up and look around.

  Then I hear the footsteps, soft ones, careful like Mother approaching one of her traps. I unfold my body and pick up my cup.

  Ford steps out of the woods, quietly, carefully. He is getting better, much better, at creeping. Every bird in the woods seems to grow still. For the first time today, I notice the light wind ruffling the leaves far above our heads.

  He’s wearing the same as all the Overseers: khaki pants with many pockets and a shirt without sleeves. The shirt clings in patches to his chest.

  My skin tingles. I imagine a thousand tiny lines of lightning sparking across the space that separates us.

  “Hey, Ruby.” Ford’s voice is gentle.

  I scramble to my feet. “I’m working as hard as anyone could.”

  “Who said you weren’t working hard?” he asks.

  “You’re here and you talked to me and …” My voice is shaking.

  “You’re not in trouble.” He wipes one hand up and down his face, pulling his mouth open wide for a moment. What would it feel like, running light fingers over the stubble I see on his chin?

  But then his hand slides in his pocket, and every part of my body wants to run.

  Ford holds up both hands, empty, and gives me a sad smile. “Do they do anything except beat you?”

  “Sometimes they only yell.” I don’t mean for it to be amusing, but a smile quirks across his face.

  “I only wanted to talk again,” he says. “I liked that … the other night.”