“I hope you understand that we need to keep our betrothal secret until I’ve got my parents’ approval, Amalie.”
I was utterly disconcerted by his words. I’d never heard of anyone asking for their parents’ approval before announcing a betrothal. If you were old enough to marry, you were old enough to make your own decisions about your partner. The man’s parents were always delighted and relieved that he’d succeeded in finding a wife. If a girl’s parents felt she’d made a dreadful mistake in her choice of husband, they’d comfort themselves with the thought that frontier divorce was fast and simple, so a bad husband could be quickly replaced with a better one.
“It’s an issue of respect,” added Rodrish.
Of course I only knew the customs of ordinary people like me. The Founding Families of Miranda must have different betrothal customs, or perhaps they were only different if you were marrying into the Jain family. Thirty-one years ago, the Military had presented the crystal globe representing Miranda to Kellan and Inessa Jain. As the symbolic father and mother of our world, they did deserve to be treated with special respect. One thing still didn’t make sense though.
“You didn’t seem worried about secrecy when you shouted from the roof of the school dome,” I said.
Rodrish blushed. “I’d meant to speak to you privately later, but I got a bit carried away by the moment. I was very drunk at the time.”
That was true. “I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful to your parents.”
Rodrish beamed at me. “I knew you’d understand.”
He stepped towards me again, trying for another kiss, but I pressed both my hands on his chest and pushed him firmly away.
“If you want to keep our betrothal a secret until you’ve got your parents’ approval, I’d better leave right now. We can’t risk the Jain’s Ford gossips seeing us kissing.”
“We’re absolutely safe here,” said Rodrish. “This track runs past my brothers’ farms and ends at mine. Nobody will be coming this far along it today. I gave my farm workers the day off to make sure we’d have privacy for your visit.”
“Nowhere is safe from Shelby Summerhaze,” I said, “and what if one of your brothers decided to come and visit you today? You wouldn’t want Bened catching us kissing, would you?”
Rodrish sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m definitely right. My hair must look as if I’ve been tumbled in a medcorn field.”
I turned and walked back into the crowded Mirandan trees of the river conservation zone. I heard laughter and a farewell shout from behind me.
“If my parents approve this match, I promise to tumble you in my medcorn field by moonlight, Amalie!”
Chapter Ten
Once I was safely hidden among the trees, I stopped, took out my lookup and set it to mirror mode so I could check my hair. Chaos, my parting joke about looking like I’d been tumbled in a medcorn field was only too close to the truth. If Shelby Summerhaze saw my hair in this state, she’d spread lurid tales about me round the whole of Jain’s Ford County.
I wedged my lookup into a bush so I could see my reflection while I combed my hair and replaited it. The result wasn’t perfect, but no one would think that odd. I could never force my rebellious hair into the sleek smooth plait that some girls managed.
Reassured that I looked respectable again, I walked to the river path and followed it, picking my way slowly and carefully through the mud until I reached the drier section. When I’d left Rodrish, he’d been looking quite exultant, but I was feeling nervous and uncertain.
I wasn’t worried that Rodrish had got a little over excited at times this morning. That sort of behaviour was perfectly natural. All men had fantasies about getting betrothed to a girl, finally being able to touch her, kiss her, and let down her hair. I’d had a few betrothal based fantasies myself.
And that was the problem. Being held in Rodrish’s arms and kissed had matched my fantasies, but then there’d been the devastating moment when he pulled away and told me that we had to keep our betrothal secret.
There was the issue of Rodrish’s parting shout as well. I didn’t mind his promise to tumble me in his medcorn field. Once a girl accepted a man’s offer, he was entitled to make suggestions like that. It was the girl’s choice whether to respond with a reproving slap and tell him to wait until the wedding, or grin and suggest they should meet up that same night.
No, what bothered me was the way Rodrish had used the words “If my parents approve this match.” Did that mean that asking his parents’ approval was far more than a polite gesture of respect? Perhaps I’d been wrong to think that story about failing the Farming Studies Certificate module was a joke. If Rodrish was genuinely afraid of displeasing his parents, a negative word from them might mean an end to our betrothal.
Should I even be thinking of this as a betrothal? I’d been kissed, but Rodrish hadn’t let down my hair to claim me as his future bride. I’d accepted an offer of marriage, but I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about it.
I’d grown up on a world where the man suffered all the anxieties of making an offer and waiting for the girl’s decision. Now I was in a weird, unprecedented situation, where the standard roles seemed to have been reversed.
I told myself this situation wouldn’t last long. As soon as Rodrish had talked to his parents, we’d return to the normal pattern of betrothal and marriage. For the time being, I should concentrate on practical matters. If Rodrish’s parents approved our betrothal, I’d be getting married in a month from now. When I left home, it wouldn’t just change my life, but affect my family too.
Once I was gone, my younger sisters would have to do my share of the chores. There was no problem with that. Lisbet was 16 now, and more than capable of taking over the duties of the eldest daughter. Odette would take on Lisbet’s chores, and increased responsibility would cascade down to each of the younger ones in turn.
My parents had made sacrifices to give me schooling and the best start in life. I was happy to think that I’d given them something in return by buying lookups for both the twins when they started school.
If I could just make sure that the farm’s almond bushes would give a fine harvest, I could leave home feeling fully satisfied with my contribution to my family. After seeing the moon monkeys eagerly clustering round the muddy pool in Rodrish Jain’s almond field, I was sure that clay mixed with water was the extra factor we needed.
Every day was crucial during the almond bush pollination period. It was much too late to prepare a proper pool this year, but my father had already dug over an area of clay soil near the stream. All I needed to do was ferry a lot of buckets of water and tip them out onto the clay ground to create plenty of mud.
It was vital the moon monkeys had their mud patch as soon as possible, and I’d rather make it myself than drag my father away from his other farm work. I wondered if there’d be time for me to do some water carrying before afternoon shift school started.
As I checked the time on my lookup, my brain seemed to give an odd lurch, like a cartwheel jolting over a rutted track. I wouldn’t be attending school this afternoon or ever again. A girl left school when she got betrothed, so she could prepare for the marriage that was only one short month away.
I’d have to talk to Teacher Lomas again, of course. I needed to tell him I was grateful for his suggestion that I could get a degree and become a lecturer at the planned University Miranda, but I had to refuse. It would be much simpler to have that conversation when I could say I was betrothed to Rodrish Jain.
Skipping school this afternoon would solve two problems at once. I’d have plenty of time to create a wet clay patch for the moon monkeys, and I’d avoid any awkward questions from Lomas.
I’d have to be at the school tomorrow, but not for lessons. Tomorrow was a Community Day dedicated to adding a new classroom to the school. With most of the population of Jain’s Ford Settlement there to help with the work, it should be easy enough for me to avoid any private
talks with Lomas.
I walked on down the river path to River North 2 portal. Once there, it only took a couple of minutes to portal to River North Central, on to Mojay’s General Store, and finally to Lone Tree portal.
The instant I arrived there, I was aware my headache was back. I thought that walking through the cool shade of the Mirandan trees in the conservation area would help it, but it actually got worse. By the time I was walking along the track through my parents’ farm, I felt as if someone was pounding on my head with a rock, but the sight of the almond bush field made me even more determined to try the mud idea. There was only a single moon monkey there, and that one was leaving the field.
I went on down the track to the farm outbuildings, collected a couple of buckets, and then trudged back to the almond field. When I took a closer look at the clay patch, I was encouraged to see it was more of a shallow trench than just soil that had been turned over. It should work well as a makeshift pool.
I didn’t just have a headache now, but felt sick too. It would be ridiculous to give up at this point though, when I only needed to carry a few buckets of water to finish what I’d started. I went across to the stream, filled both my buckets, picked them up, and staggered across to the trench. I tipped the water in, nearly fell into the trench after it, and decided that carrying one bucket of water at a time was a slower but safer option in my current state.
I left one bucket by the trench and took the other to get more water. I was emptying the bucket for the fourth time, watching with a frown as the water sank into the soil, and thinking this was going to take longer than I’d expected, when I was startled by a voice from beside me.
“You don’t look well. Can I help with this?”
I’d been so obsessed with thoughts of the moon monkeys that I’d forgotten about Captain Koulsy Mobele. After hearing all the warnings that he didn’t want people talking to him, I hadn’t been prepared for him to talk to me. My head was throbbing too painfully to think about how I should react, so I took the simplest and safest option, just nodding and pointing at the second bucket.
We ferried water in silence for the next ten minutes. At first, the water kept sinking into the clay, but then the level of liquid mud in the trench started rising. I’d just made the mistake of rubbing my painful head with a muddy hand, and paused to try to scrub the mud off with my relatively clean forearm, when Captain Mobele spoke again.
“You’re clearly extremely ill. I don’t have a lookup myself because I can’t use them. If you have one, I think you should call for medical help.”
I didn’t understand his comment about not being able to use lookups, but that wasn’t my business. I just had to reassure him there was no need to call for help. “It’s only a headache. I’ve been getting them for the last year, and I’ve already seen Doc Jumi. He’s sure they aren’t serious.”
Captain Mobele frowned. “This doctor just told you the headaches weren’t serious? He hasn’t done anything to help you?”
“Of course he did. I have some tablets to take when a headache is especially bad, and I’ll be seeing a specialist next February.”
“Then I think you should take one of your tablets,” said Captain Mobele, “while I finish carrying the water myself.”
I didn’t feel well enough to argue, so I put down my bucket and went to sit on a rock by the stream. Doc Jumi had told me to take either one or two tablets, depending how bad the headache was, but warned me taking two tablets could cause slight dizziness. I usually played safe by only taking one tablet, but this headache was the worst I’d ever had. The encounter with Shelby Summerhaze, followed by my secret betrothal, had made this a stressful morning.
I rinsed my hands in the stream, scrabbled in my pocket for the little box where I carried the tablets, and took two of them. After that, I closed my eyes for a while to let the tablets do their work. The pain in my head slowly eased, and my nausea faded. When I opened my eyes again, I saw Captain Koulsy Mobele had put down the buckets and was standing next to them watching me. “I’ve filled the trench with water now,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“A lot better, thank you.” I saw the Captain’s uniform was heavily splashed with mud, and there were pale streaks of dried clay on the dark skin of his face and hands. I pulled a guilty face. “I shouldn’t have let you help me. Your uniform is ruined.”
He laughed, picked up one of the buckets, went to stand in the stream, and poured water over himself. “Military uniforms are made of a special fabric that resists attack by fire, acid, and weapons. I think it can cope with a bit of mud too. My uniform will dry quickly in this sunshine and be as good as new.”
I belatedly remembered to bathe the mud off my own face. There was no point in trying to do anything about my clothes. Nothing less than a full wash would get them clean.
“Can I ask why we were creating a mud bath?” asked Captain Mobele.
“For the moon monkeys.” I automatically looked round the field as I mentioned them, and caught my breath. “Look, one’s coming this way. Can we move over to the track and watch?”
He nodded. We picked up the buckets and retreated to sit on the Mirandan grass by the side of the farm track. I watched nervously as the moon monkey loped through the field, sniffed at an almond bush, nibbled at a Mirandan cabbage leaf, and then went to inspect the muddy trench. It definitely seemed interested in the makeshift pool, but that could just be curiosity about something new in the field. Any unfamiliar noise or sight would bring moon monkeys running to see what was happening.
The moon monkey inched closer to the water, lapped at it for a moment, then balanced precariously on its hind legs, lifted its face, and started howling a cry that sounded like the twins’ favourite word. “Why? Why? Why?”
“What’s it doing?” whispered Captain Mobele.
“That’s a young male scout, and he’s calling to his troop to tell them he’s found a good feeding ground.” I looked eagerly towards the conservation area, and saw the fronds of the trees were shaking. “Look, the troop is coming.”
A moment later, the moon monkey troop came into view, pausing on the bushy tops of the Mirandan trees to look across at their scout and see what bounty he’d found for them, before casually dropping down to ground level.
They bounced across the field, three long-limbed, elderly males in the lead, their glowing faces faded slightly with age, calling to the others to encourage them. Ten young females followed with last spring’s brown furred babies clinging to their black backs. Behind them came this troop’s wise aunties and their charges. Four elderly females, and a dozen juveniles born in the previous breeding season.
One of the juveniles, still noticeably smaller and browner furred than a mature moon monkey, caught sight of the Captain and me. He stopped to give us a nosy look, then started moving towards us, but the four aunties herded him back to the group, making a scolding, chattering noise.
I grinned in delight as the troop joined their scout by a row of almond bushes, and started stuffing themselves with the false fruits. Over the next couple of minutes, several more moon monkeys joined them. The distinctive crests on their heads showed they were males, so I guessed these were the troop’s other scouts coming to join the feast.
“Those monkeys are eating your crops,” said Captain Mobele, in an anxious voice.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “That’s exactly what we need them to do.”
The older moon monkeys gave a different, higher pitched cry, and the group abandoned the almond bushes to go and eat Mirandan cabbage. Some of the juveniles tried lingering by the almond bushes to eat more false fruits, but the wise aunties rounded them up, urging them to eat cabbage instead. Finally, the high-pitched cry came again, and the troop moved to the trench of muddy water and started lapping it up. I laughed as one juvenile was reluctant to drink, and got slapped on the head by the nearest wise aunty.
“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” said Captain Mobele.
“
The orange fruits aren’t the proper crop. You see the way the moon monkeys keep stopping to groom the fur on their faces?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because they’re getting covered in almond pollen while they’re eating. They spread the pollen from bush to bush so the proper almond nuts will grow. Pollination gets a bit complicated here on Miranda.”
“This world is called Miranda?”
I gave him a shocked look. “You didn’t know which world you were on?”
“I knew I was somewhere in Epsilon sector, but not the exact world. I wasn’t in a good state when I first came here, and I’ve been avoiding talking to people.”
Captain Mobele had started the conversation with me, but his words reminded me that I’d been talking far too much and should leave him in peace now. I got to my feet. “I’d better get home.”
He stood up as well. “Do you feel well enough to walk to the farmhouse alone? I could come with you part of the way, but I can’t go too close to houses or portals or any sort of technology. It’s difficult to explain the reason.”
“You don’t need to explain anything,” I said. “The Military talked to the Mayor of Memorial Settlement when you first arrived, and word has been passed from settlement to settlement as you moved around. You were part of a Planet First mission making a new world safe for colonization, you were hurt, and you need to be left in peace to recover. That’s all we need to know.”
He frowned. “People have been very kind. Wherever I’ve been, they’ve brought me food. I just accepted that at first, because I wasn’t thinking clearly, but lately it’s been worrying me. I hope I haven’t been a burden on anyone.”
“Miranda is a frontier farming world,” I said. “We’re short of the manufactured goods imported from other sectors, but we have plenty of food. It will never have been just one farm providing your food anyway. As soon as the neighbouring farms heard you’d arrived, they would have been demanding to send contributions.”
Frontier Page 8
