My Family is polite but distant, as if Choosing a youth is of no importance. Shouldn’t they want to know more about me? Or do they only see me as a vessel to bring back Milly’s memories? Who I am should matter too.
As if Rosemarie Cross knows my thoughts, she slips an arm around my shoulders. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
I sense she hopes I’ll say I’m happy to be with her too. But I say nothing.
“We’ll share kitchen duties as before,” she goes on, not looking at me but at our blurred reflections in the window. “I thought you’d be more comfortable staying with me until after your memdenity, so I readied my room.”
“You planned to Choose a girl?” I ask, remembering my conversation with Lila. “Usually boys become laborers.”
“We took a boy last time,” she says with a shrug.
I glance over at her sons, wondering if one of them is a replacement like me. But I decide it must have been a different man since these men share their mother’s rounded cheekbones, olive complexion, and rich, shiny black hair.
“I’ve rearranged the furniture and brought in a bed for you,” she goes on cheerfully. “It’s been quite a house-craft, clearing out cupboards and the closet.”
“You’re very kind,” I say.
“Selfish, more likely. I don’t want to share you yet.” She giggles, which makes her seem closer to my age of fifteen, although she looks twenty-five and has experienced two, maybe three centuries of life.
“I want you to feel comfortable,” she goes on. “I know you won’t remember much until the memdenity, but I hoped you might enjoy some of the same things as Milly. I hung her favorite painting on the wall over your bed—a lovely scene of a summer garden your—I mean, her—daughter Daisy painted.”
So I have a daughter. Not unexpected, but I shift uneasily on the hard wood solar cart bench. What will it be like to meet Milly’s womb-born child? An adult now, of course, so she’ll appear ten years older than me.
I really, really wish I’d studied the Cross Name book.
Tall poles with glow-lights brighten the dark roads, and other lights shine too, from buildings in the distance. I press close to the window, squinting at white streaks of fences that stretch over the rolling hills where the Hu Family dwells. I visited the ranch once on a lesson trip, and a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat explained the importance of fencing in livestock.
The terrain changes, flat as flapcakes, then rising into ghost-pale domes like giant bubbles. Distant lights shine like land-trapped stars, and I realize these multi-dwellings must belong to the Sarwald Family. The domed climate-controlled buildings contain acres of vegetation, our prime food supply. And it’s where Marcus is. I already miss him and Lorelei, but I am glad they got the Families they wanted. I won’t be able to see them often, and when I do, I’ll have to call them Neil and Flavia.
The glass is cool against my cheek. Fields and orchards pass by as my thoughts travel to my new Family. Aside from kitchen duty, what chores will be expected of me? I have no labor skills, although I am quick with my hands and a good climber. My stomach knots as I imagine being ordered to lift crates and other muscle-aching chores. Doing what I’m told: not my best skill. And I dread the memdenity. My head is already too full of thoughts. Why can’t I make my own memories like retro-century people? Sure, their uncontrolled societies caused war, disease, and death, but at least no one had strange memories crammed into their brains.
Of course when ShareHaven was first created, no one lived forever either. The development of memdenities strengthened our society, preserving memory knowledge like ripe fruit canned in jars for future usage. My lessons come back now, and I can almost hear Instructor Heath’s deep voice explaining how ShareHaven began as something called a “think tank” for scientists. Dozens of scientists were brought to this island to work in isolation on medical research. When the mind-plague struck and people all around the world were stricken with an airborne memory-wiping disease, most scientists left ShareHaven. The scientists who remained brought their families. Outside ShareHaven, civilization crumbled as fear and death spread. A false rumor that our scientists had a mind-plague vaccine led to the Attack: a violent, desperate mob, armed with guns and explosives, stormed ShareHaven. Buildings, research, and lives were destroyed.
Survivors put up the Fence to protect us. And when the scientists developed the cease-aging patch, they gave us immortality.
Living forever could grow boring with a dull Family. I think of the solemn way Scientist Lila stared at me, as if seeing inside my thoughts when she asked, “Do you want to live with the Cross Family?” I was going to accept until I realized she’d spied on me and couldn’t be trusted. I wonder what would have happened if I’d answered yes. Instead of heading for the Cross Family multi-dwelling, would I be on a different road?
“Aren’t you eager to see your home?” Rosemarie nudges my arm, so I turn from the window toward her.
“I, um, guess.” I want to remind her I don’t have Milly’s memories yet, so “home” is only a word I’ve been taught at the Edu-Center.
“We’re almost there. I have so much to show you! We’ve made many improvements since you … well, since Milly was there. Milly hated being so close to my sons’ room because Tyler’s snoring is worse than a claw’s roar. But the boys have their own dwelling now.”
She says “boys” as if they’re youths, but they’re clearly age twenty-fives like their mother.
“You, Arthur, and I have rooms on the top floor,” she continues. “But Arthur has temporarily moved in with my boys.”
“Arthur?”
“He wanted to greet you today but had to oversee a constructing project. He was sorry to miss your Celebraze.” Rosemarie speaks with such affection that I guess Arthur is her husband.
The solar coach turns into a lighted entrance with an archway sign announcing “Cross” in large flowy letters. The road is bumpy, rougher than the paved road we left. We pass dark-wood square dwellings with corralled livestock, barns, and gardens. Rattling, rumbling, and an occasional bump lead us farther down the road until we curve and rise toward red-trimmed wood buildings: not one dwelling, but three squeezed together.
The solar coach jerks to a stop, and a spotted, short-haired dog chases over to us, tail wagging.
“Felix, you sweet boy!” Rosemarie says, scratching the dog’s head.
I reach out to pet Felix, but he sniffs at me and growls, baring his teeth.
“You’re not fooled by her, are you?” the unfriendly woman says with wicked delight, kneeling beside the dog.
A dog lover, but a Jennza hater (or is it Milly she hates?), the dark-haired woman ignores me as she hurries up a stone trail and into the house, with Felix scampering after her.
“Guess I’m not her favorite person.” I say wryly.
“She needs time to adjust,” Rosemarie says apologetically. “This is all confusing for Daisy.”
“Daisy? You mean … Milly’s—my daughter?”
“I thought you knew.”
No, I did not. But I’d rather die than become her mother.
Just strike me down now with all Three Dangers.
I sense someone coming up behind me and turn to find Leader Cross, so I give him the customary head-tuck of respect.
“We’re gratified to have you with us, Milly,” he says with a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes.
My new name feels wrong. “I’m honored to be with your Family.”
“Your Family now,” he says. “Come inside where we can sit down and introduce ourselves properly. Do you play chess?”
I shake my head. “I tried once with a friend, but I wasn’t very skilled.”
“Pity.” He shrugs. “Still, you will find my collection of chess sets fascinating. My oldest dates back to 1820, Chinese-carved, a rare ox bone chess set. Chess is a strategic game like a civilized war, placing men in the line of fire and never underestimating your opponent.”
There’s a gleam in his
gaze that makes me hope I never become his opponent. Smiling politely, I follow him up steep wooden steps into a house with ceilings twice as tall as Leader Cross. Walls are painted white and decored with stunning, realistic retro photos. One photo shows Leader Cross, standing tall and proud in a blue uniform with military patches. There were only a few photos on display in the Edu-Center. I read in a lesson book that a chemical for photo processing isn’t on our island. But this is no loss since faces never change after age twenty-five.
As I go down a hall, I stare at sculptures of machinery and tools. On one wall is a quilt made of work gloves. The furniture is heavy, dark wood. When we enter a dining room, there’s an elegant oval table with fourteen chairs. Leader Cross pulls out a chair for me, then sits at the head of the table. Others take positions around the table too—except my hostile daughter. Glances shift toward a closed door, and I realize they’re waiting for someone. I hope not for Daisy.
When the door opens, a woman hobbles in on a cane. She’s wrinkled, with dark bruising spots on her blue-veined skin, and her back is humped.
“Grandmother,” Leader Cross says in a gentle, respectful tone, “allow me to help you into your chair.”
She snorts, slapping his hand. “I don’t need help.” She hobbles to a chair, leaning one gnarled hand against a handrail, before sinking down into a chair so only her shoulders and head are visible.
A real living elder person! Not merely over twenty-five like Grand Sarwald but body withered and bent with a vast age. To see one up so close and hear her speak, well, it’s amazing. I can’t take my gaze from her. Blue veins rise on her hands like swells in a rough sea, and dark spots dimple her face, arms, and hands. I can hardly believe she moves and speaks like a normal person.
“I’d like you to meet our new Family member, Milly,” Leader Cross says with a gesture toward me. “Milly, this is my grandmother, Ida Mae.”
The old woman squints at me. “That’s not Milly,” she says, scowling.
Leader Cross shares a tired “do we have to go through this again?” look with the others around the table. “Gram, I’ve explained this to you.”
“You don’t need to explain anything. My eyes may not be what they used to be, but I can see clear as daylight that this scrawny child isn’t my Milly.”
“You will call her Milly,” he says forcefully.
“I’ll call her mud if I’ve a mind to, and I won’t be bullied by a snit like you.”
“I apologize for this rudeness, Milly. Forgive her poor manners. She forgets to take her medis and becomes unsensical.” He turns back to the old woman. “Gram, we’ll talk about this later.”
“Talk all you want,” the old woman says with a sly grin. “If you say something interesting, maybe I’ll listen.”
I cover my mouth so I don’t laugh. Gram is one opponent Leader Cross should never underestimate.
Rosemarie enters the room, balancing a tray with steaming cups of cinnamon apple cider followed by a blond woman who carries a basket of warmed scones. I have no idea I’m hungry until my stomach rumbles. When I bite into a scone, buttery sweetness melts into my mouth.
Rosemarie sits beside a man with a red mustache, calling him Arthur. Her husband, I think. She glances at him, smiling, but she doesn’t touch him intimately like “soul mates” Greta and Monroe.
No one talks for a while, and the only sound is soft chewing, until Leader Cross taps his fork against his coffee cup.
“As is customary,” he says with a gesture to me, “we gathered here to welcome Milly back into our Family.”
“I am honored,” I say politely.
He glances down at his silverware, frowns, then rearranges the spoon and knife so they are positioned side by side opposite of the fork. He looks up at me with an assessing gaze, as if trying to gauge my position too. “Your records show a lack of preparation and low marks. Still, you seem bright enough. What do you know of Milly’s history?”
All eyes fall on me. “Um … not much. But I can learn.”
“Certainly you will,” he says. “Our Family is respected for our strenuous work. We repair community roads, machinery, roofs, and pipes, and we maintain the Fence and the Gate. We rise early and work till dark.”
I nod, pressing my lips tight to hide my anxiety. I look at the men, their deep tans and rugged hands. The fair-haired man with a reddish mustache is especially muscled and nice-looking, with a dimpled chin and pleasing smile. Even the dark-haired woman beside Leader Cross has strong hands and broad shoulders. Only Rosemarie has softness to her slim figure and smooth skin.
“Rosemarie will explain your role,” Leader Cross goes on. “Your duties will be split between communal and home. Communal duties aren’t scheduled until your trial period ends, but you’ll begin house-crafting duties tomorrow.”
“Milly was highly skilled in cookery,” the red-mustached man says.
“My sister could whip up fabulous recipes of her own invention,” Rosemarie adds with a wistful glance at me. “I’ve tried to recreate some, but it’s not the same.”
I have zero cookery skills. I was barred from the kitchen after the cinnamon cookie incident. I had no idea stove fires spread so quickly.
Rosemarie reaches for one of my hands. “I’ve been carrying a heavy load since you … well, since I’ve had to take care of duties alone. It will be wondrous to share duties with you.”
“She won’t be any help until after completion of all three memdenities.” Leader Cross snaps a scone in half and plops it in his mouth.
“I’ll teach her,” Rosemarie offers.
“Still, it’s inefficient to wait a month for the first memdenity.” Leader Cross taps his fingers on the table. “I’ll consult the health-keepers and request them to schedule an appointment soon.”
“I don’t mind waiting,” I say quickly.
“Memdenity is painless,” Rosemarie tells me. “There are only minor side effects with the first insertion. Did your Instructors explain what will happen?”
I nod. I had listened to that lesson without staring out the window even once, dreading my future, yet also fascinated.
Memdenity is a simple process: a device is inserted into the brain to transfer memories of a Lost One. The first insert contains memories to age fifteen. Next is fifteen to twenty-five. Third is the most important, from age twenty-five to death.
Knowing what will happen should make things easier—but not much.
Rosemarie squeezes my hand. “Once you have memdenity, you’ll be as talented as Milly.”
“Still, I need time to … well, to get to know everyone. I don’t want to hurry the memdenity.”
Leader Sarwald frowns. “Your opinion was not asked.”
“I was just pointing out—”
“I make the decisions here!” Leader Cross smacks the table, silverware clattering. “Milly would never argue with her Leader’s decision. Didn’t your Edu-Center teach you respect for Leaders?”
“Yes, but I thought—”
“You’re here to serve your Family. Arthur will need to use a firm hand with you,” Leader Cross says, gesturing to the mustached man.
“Relax, Ryan,” Arthur says with a dimpling smile. “If Milly wants to wait, that’s fine with me.”
“Then I won’t interfere.” Leader Cross pats Arthur on the shoulder. “But say the word, and I’ll schedule her first appointment.”
Arthur twists the end of his red mustache, turning to me with an expression of longing. He’s pleasing in appearance and manner, and I’m warmed by his attention. I’ve never had a twenty-five-age boy … man … show interest in me, as if I’m no longer a youth.
“Arthur there will be time for that later,” Rosemarie says sharply, then turns to me. “Come along, Milly. I can see you’re tired. I’ll show you our room.”
“Thank you,” I say, suddenly aware of overwhelming fatigue.
I start to leave, but Arthur comes around the table, standing close to me. “Milly dear, before you go,” h
e says seriously. “I have something for you.”
“For me?” I ask, surprised. “But Rosemarie has already gifted me.”
“This isn’t a gift. It’s already yours.” His voice thickens with emotion. “I’ve waited long to return this to its rightful place.”
Arthur grasps my left hand and slips a diamond and gold ring on my finger. A wedding band.
Arthur isn’t Rosemarie’s husband.
He’s mine.
TEN
Staring at the ring steals my breath. So small, yet a heavy anchor dragging me somewhere I’m not ready to go. If only I’d been chosen by the Treveno Family where I’d have no marriage partnership.
“It’s too big.” Arthur sighs as he slips the ring off my finger, then tucks it into his pocket. His gaze sweeps over me with disappointment before he turns away.
Rosemarie, who has been tapping her foot impatiently, tugs on my hand and leads me out of the room, then up a stairway and through a maze of halls. I fix each turn in my memory. In case of a quick escape, I think, until I remember there’s no escape. This is my new life. I will never see my cave again.
The second floor has so many similar doors I’ll need a compass to find my way out. “I’ll show you where you and Arthur will stay afterward,” Rosemarie says, and I know “afterward” means after the memdenity.
She leads me to the second floor, passing through a narrow living room with a rectangular table, four chairs, and a bookshelf.
“Did Milly … I mean, I, like to read?” I ask, gesturing to the books.
“Cookbooks, although she rarely followed other people’s recipes. She stirred up her own delicious creations.”
“I don’t know much about cooking.”
“You will,” Rosemarie assures.
I’ll know much more, I think, with an uneasy glance at my ringless finger. What does being married actually mean?
Rosemarie stops before a door. “This is the room you and Arthur shared. But he moved in with my boys after you … after Milly left.”
Memory Girl Page 7
