Drought

by Pam Bachorz

  I tilt my head, just a little, to see what Darwin’s doing. He hands a big bottle of water to Ford; beads of water drip off the container and fall on the dirt. I imagine scuttling forward and opening my mouth to catch them.

  “Thought you might need this. It’s hot out here,” Darwin says to Ford.

  “Thanks.” Ford doesn’t even look at me; he lifts the bottle to his lips and drinks.

  I can’t help staring, tracking it with my eyes. It’s not Ford who has my attention now. I haven’t had anything to drink all day; every drop has been for the cup and Darwin’s impossible quota.

  “That little Toad behaving for you?” Darwin asks.

  “She’s working,” Ford replies.

  “Make sure she doesn’t get lippy. Some of her mother in that one.” Darwin comes close to me, and I return my gaze to the bush I’ve been crouched beside for a long time.

  He’s looking in my cup now. He’s so close I can feel his breath. Goose bumps rise on the back of my neck.

  “Looks like you’ve got a lot of work left yet, Toad,” he says—sounding happy, as if my near-empty cup is the best thing he’s heard all day. I know he’ll be cruel tonight, if we don’t all make our quotas.

  Darwin retreats—but not too far. He’s in the deep shade of the pine trees, perhaps ten paces away from Ford and me.

  Ford backs up too, and for a moment it feels nearly normal. It’s a lonely feeling.

  Before long, though, Mother is walking down the hill to me. She holds her cup carefully as she steps close, watching it as she walks.

  Does she known Darwin lurks? I lower my head and let out the robin’s call.

  The crunch of Mother’s feet on leaves slows. But then she closes the space between us and stands over me.

  “Have you found much yet?” she asks.

  “Only a dozen drops.” I look up at her. Framed in the sun, she’s only a dark figure with a halo around her head.

  “Me too.” She sighs and squints up at the sky. “It’s nearly noon.”

  The water is hiding today. Or perhaps it’s all gone already, evaporated with the first touch of sun and heat. When we woke this morning, I was already sweating, my shift stuck to my body as if I’d been swimming instead of dreaming.

  “Keep me company,” I say. Having Mother close will stop me from wanting to stare at Ford every few moments.

  “Yes!” Darwin calls out. “Do stay, darling!”

  Mother shifts her jaw from side to side; her fingers grow so tight around her cup that her knuckles are white. But she kneels next to me and lifts her spoon.

  I shift to make room next to the large bush I’m crouched beside. The water in my cup dances, mocking me. Drink me, I imagine it saying. Don’t give me to Darwin.

  “I thought there’d be water coming off the mountain, maybe.” I point along tiny rivulets in the soil where water passed, at some point.

  “And did you find any?”

  “No. I thought maybe this bush would have some, deep inside the branches.” I put my arm into the greenery, up to my shoulder, to demonstrate.

  Mother nods and sets to work.

  I dare to look up at Ford again; his eyes flick away, fast, and he scans the hills above me as if searching for enemies. His eyes narrow and his hand makes a vague shape around the lump of chain in his pocket.

  Then I see what Ford does: another person comes out of the woods. It’s Asa, headed straight toward Ford. His face, usually flushed red on a hot day like today, is gray. But his eyes still burn blue as he speaks to Ford.

  “It’s hot. I need a drink,” Asa barks.

  Ford caps his bottle and slides it back in his pocket.

  “Work,” Mother hisses at me, and I bend over the plant again. It doesn’t have a bit of water to give me, but still I run my spoon over each leaf—and watch.

  “Give me some water,” Asa says. His voice is not as steady as it was a moment ago.

  “Don’t let him boss you around!” Darwin calls from the shade.

  Ford’s lips press together tight and he gazes away, over Asa’s head.

  Mother is working too, but her spoon moves slowly, and her eyes flick from Ford, to Asa, back to Ford.

  Asa’s hand flashes toward Ford. Did he poke him? Shove him? I’m not sure. But Ford doesn’t move, not even a little. “You want me to drop dead?” Asa asks.

  Ford ignores him.

  I hold out my cup, a little, offering it. Let him drink the bit that I’ve gathered.

  “Put it down, Ruby,” Mother says softly.

  But Asa doesn’t seem to notice, anyway. Why doesn’t he drink his own cup? Or perhaps he has, and it’s dry. He’ll suffer tonight for it. There’s no way to catch up.

  Asa’s upper body is swaying now, like a tree in the wind. Still, his hand grips his cup. But his eyelids are flickering.

  “Asa!” I move, try to go to him, but Mother puts out a hand to stop me. She gives a glance toward Darwin, still watching us from the shade.

  “Asa won’t thank you for getting hurt.” Her voice is hard, but I see tears welling in her eyes.

  I try to catch Ford’s eyes. He stands less than a foot from Asa, and the near-full water bottle protrudes from his pocket. He could help. He has to help.

  But he doesn’t look at me. He only stares at Asa with a hard, unreadable face.

  “Water. Please,” Asa moans.

  I know what that please must have cost Asa, a man who never begs.

  Ford shakes his head. “No water.”

  “That’s right!” Darwin calls from the shade. “Let them get their own … when they’re done getting mine!”

  Asa’s body gives up. He hits the ground, hard, landing on his side. Ford does not reach out to break his fall.

  “Get up,” Ford tells him. His voice, low and rough, isn’t the same one I heard at the cisterns or in the woods.

  How can this be the same boy I kissed? There are the same swirls of ink down his arms, the same stubbly red hair on his head.

  “Water,” Asa says.

  “Please help him,” I say.

  I don’t think Darwin can hear me. But Ford must.

  Ford turns his head back, a bit, as if he’s going to look at Darwin. But instead his eyes move to me, just for a second. “Better get used to the hot weather, Toad,” he says.

  Toad. It never stung before—never meant much before, except that the Overseers hated us. We always knew that.

  But I thought Ford liked us. Or at least he liked me.

  Toad.

  Ford nudges Asa with the toe of his boot again. “It’s real hot in hell too.”

  Hell: Mother’s told me about it. Asa likes to use it for a curse. But it’s a place where bad people go—people like Darwin West and the Overseers. Otto will reward every Congregant for their suffering. He would never let us go to a place like hell.

  “You’ll be the one in hell,” Asa says, each word an obvious effort.

  “Get up, blasphemer,” Ford growls.

  “Can’t,” Asa groans.

  “Please—Mother—let me …,” I whisper.

  Mother sighs, but then she gives me a little push. I stand and go to where Asa lies. I hold my hand out. “I’ll help you.”

  He shakes his head and looks up at Ford. “You give me my water,” he says. Even half collapsed on the ground, Asa’s got more vinegar than all the other Congregants put together.

  “You remember who pays your mama’s hospital bills,” Darwin calls out.

  Ford’s hand slides in his other pocket—the one that hangs heavy, heavier than the one holding water. He gives his wrist a flick and the chain flies out of it. I step back just in time; one second later and I would have gotten a good lick from it.

  “Go on and beat me,” Asa says. Then he closes his eyes and lays his head on the ground.

  Ford takes a deep breath. He does not look at Darwin, or me. He keeps his eyes on Asa.

  “Get up or else,” Ford warns.

  Asa doesn’t move.


  “Do it,” Darwin orders.

  The chain arches up, then down, the silver glinting in the afternoon sun. It lands across Asa’s chest, hard enough to make his body jerk. He grunts and his body goes limp.

  “No!” I shriek. Mother is there, suddenly. She grabs me around my waist, stops me from getting any closer.

  “He’ll hit you too,” she says in my ear, holding me so tight and strong I can barely wriggle. “You want that?”

  “Is he … He’s not …,” I say. Asa’s body is far too still.

  “No. Only stunned,” Mother answers. “See? He breathes.”

  Ford is staring at Asa, the chain limp in his hand now. His shoulders are heaving up and down, as if he’s just run a long race.

  Then Asa’s eyes open. He does not ask for anything this time.

  “He only wanted water,” I say. Ford shows no sign of hearing me.

  “Quiet,” Mother warns.

  Darwin finally ventures from the shade to come stand next to Ford. “You know I was worried about you being soft, boy.” He claps one heavy hand on Ford’s shoulder. It looks small, almost fine, next to Ford’s bulk.

  “I’m not soft,” Ford says in a low, strangled voice.

  “You’re getting good and mean now.” Darwin’s voice is proud, cheerful. “Maybe I’ll have you do the whippings tonight.”

  “It’s the job,” Ford says, still staring at Asa.

  I can’t help the low moan that escapes me. Mother gives me one last tight squeeze. “I’ll get Asa up,” she whispers in my ear. “Don’t you interfere.”

  Mother kneels by Asa and says something very quiet. She looks up at Darwin and Ford, like a dare.

  “Get back to work,” Ford says.

  “You saw what the boy can do with a chain.” Darwin gloats.

  My stomach heaves. I can’t stand to be here, not for another second. I take my cup and spoon and hurry into the woods—sliding behind a tall, broad pine just before I wretch.

  There’s nothing in my stomach, but still my body heaves, and heaves, as if it’s trying to rid itself of that memory: the chain, rising, falling, the dead look on Ford’s face. The proud look on Darwin’s face.

  Mother’s right. There’s no room for love in the Congregation.

  Chapter 19

  I have never been to any of the Pelling cabins.

  It seems impossible, to have lived here two hundred years, never going to visit them. But the Pellings have always chafed and complained; Mother never sought them out. So I never did either.

  It’s time for me to make my own choices about who I talk to.

  Even when Jonah, Zeke, Hope, and I played together, we never came here. Usually it was Ellie’s cabin, where we all hid and played with silly piles of sticks and stones.

  But tonight, I need Jonah. It’s time to talk of leaving.

  It’s late, but all three Pelling cabins still have light spilling under the doors. I hear soft laughter coming from one. I wonder what could make them sound so happy. I wonder what I’ve missed, staying away.

  My knocks on Jonah’s door are harder than they should be, probably. Someone eases the door open a crack and peers out.

  “It’s Ruby,” I whisper.

  The door shuts for a second, then opens wider. Jonah flashes me a smile and runs his fingers through his long, dark hair. It’s unbound, hanging to his shoulders.

  “Come to marry me?” he asks.

  “Let me in,” I tell him.

  Jonah puckers his lips and crooks an eyebrow. I shudder and shoulder past him.

  Inside there’re two beds, with three blankets apiece—and pillows, fluffy ones. I count five pairs of pants, and some extra shirts too, hanging on the wall.

  Earl sits on a fine wood chair near the fireplace, resting his stockinged feet on the hearth. He grunts and gives me a curt nod.

  “Where’d you get all this?” I ask.

  “It was all honest enough—some in trade. Other in gambling,” Jonah answers.

  “Shut it,” Earl warns. “Leaders don’t need to know what goes on after harvest. ’Specially those who think they’re too good for marrying.”

  “I’d provide for you, Ruby. I told you that,” Jonah says.

  “Trade with who? Gambling with who?” I ask. I never knew anything like this happened in the Congregation.

  “Most Congregants aren’t as uppity as your Elders,” Earl says.

  “Dad, let Ruby sit,” Jonah orders.

  “No, he doesn’t have to,” I say, but Earl gets up with a dramatic groan and waves me toward the seat.

  Jonah settles on the floor near me. The wood planks are as clean as ours, I realize. And the mudded walls are smooth. I suppose the Pellings can spare some effort for things that matter to them.

  “I’d offer you some tea, but we lost our kettle to the Bakers last week, along with my chair. Unlucky night.” Jonah shrugs.

  “That’s fine.” I stare into the fire.

  “You ready to leave this place, then?” Jonah asks.

  “Yes.” The answer comes fast and certain. “We need to go soon.”

  Jonah leans back on his palms and stretches his legs toward the warm fire. “How soon?”

  “Tomorrow night.” I have some things I need to do first.

  “Freedom.” Jonah smiles, slow and easy this time, and I see what he might have been before he came here: a Jonah without bitterness or anger. I wonder how I would have been different, if Mother had been able to raise me as a free person.

  “First thing I’m doing is finding some food, fried up in fresh grease,” he says.

  Alarm makes a dull ping in my heart. “We’re going to find Otto,” I warn him.

  “Right. Otto, of course.” His smile doesn’t slip a bit.

  There might be better people to take with me. But I want to go now, and Jonah is ready and willing.

  “Meet me behind our cabin,” I tell him. “When the moon is at its highest.”

  “Why not tonight?” Jonah looks around. “You feel sentimental about these woods?”

  “I just …” I have to put my blood in the Cisterns—but Jonah doesn’t know about that. And I have a few things burning in me that I have to say to Ford. “Tomorrow, is all,” I say.

  “All right then.” He shrugs.

  “What supplies do you have?” I ask.

  “What do you have?” Earl retorts.

  Jonah laughs.

  I try to keep irritation out of my voice. “I’ll bring what food we have—and rags, for binding wounds.”

  Earl reaches under one of the beds. He lifts something high in the air—a spear? No, a stick, nearly as tall as him, with a whittled point. “Won’t hurt to have some defense,” he says.

  I imagine driving the stick straight into an Overseer’s gut. “Do you have another?” I ask. “For me?”

  “No,” Earl growls.

  “Yes,” Jonah says, tipping his head back to stare at his father. “And we’ve got some jerky too.”

  “It’ll be enough to get us started,” I say.

  “It’ll be plenty,” Jonah says. He looks so joyful; I can’t help feeling it too.

  Suddenly, strangely, I feel a surge of affection for Jonah. We are going to do something brave and bold together. For this moment, at least, I love him.

  “We’re going to do it. We’re going to find Otto, and I’ll tell him all our prayers,” I say.

  Does Jonah pause a second before he agrees? I think he might.

  “Wish I’d gone when I was younger,” Earl says.

  “You should’ve,” Jonah says.

  “If even one of us was gone, Ruby here would’ve gotten it.” Earl draws his finger across his neck. “Otto might not like that.”

  “I’m grateful,” I say quietly.

  “That doesn’t put food on the plate,” Earl answers with a shrug. “You want to thank us, go fix things.”

  I swallow and nod. “When we go—we’ll have to be quiet. Overseers are in the woods sometimes,” I say. For a
moment I feel Ford’s arms around me—the warmth of his lips against mine—and I am grateful for the dark that hides the flush rising in my cheeks.

  “You know how good I am creeping around the woods,” Jonah says.

  “And at scaring people,” I retort.

  “You shouldn’t be so jumpy,” he says.

  I draw in a deep breath to stop the string of things I’d like to say to him.

  “Do you know a bird call?” I purse my lips and let out the robin’s trill that Mother and I use. “We could use it for a signal, if we separate.”

  Jonah answers me with a perfect cardinal’s chatter.

  “I guess I’ll go, then.” I stand up. Jonah doesn’t.

  Earl steps up to me.

  “Mind you keep my boy safe and comfortable.” He says it with a twisted, knowing grin that turns my stomach.

  Any joy left in me ebbs away fast. “Otto will keep all of us safe,” I say. I sound a little too perfect, a little too much like Mother, I know.

  “You stay in one piece, boy.” Earl claps a strong hand on his son’s back.

  I wish I’d be able to say good-bye to Mother. I wish I’d have her blessing, like Earl is giving to his son.

  Once I’m back with Otto, she won’t be able to stay angry.

  “We’ll come back soon, and everything will be different,” I say.

  “So we go. Tomorrow night,” Jonah says. I feel a stab of guilt—making this plan, doing this thing with the wrong boy. But Ford is the wrong one. I have to remember what he did, and who he really is.

  I’m going to go tell him that now. I have to, before I never see him again.

  “Tomorrow,” I say. “After midnight.”

  When the door shuts behind me, the lights in the other cabins are turned off. It’s very late now.

  But not too late to go tell Ford just how much I hate him.

  Chapter 20

  Tonight will be the last night I see Ford.

  Tomorrow I’ll be creeping through the words with Jonah. I’ll climb that tree and start my search for Otto. And then, when we find him—freedom.

  The moon has slipped behind clouds, and I stumble on my way to the cisterns. Once I go down, hard, and my knee lands square on a rock.

  “Damn it,” I say, tasting the curse that Asa loves and Mother hates. It’s satisfying.