At bedtime Honor told Quintilian his favorite bedtime story. It was a story from one of the books in the school library, the tale of Dorothy and how she fell asleep and dreamed of the land of Oz. Honor told that story every night. Eventually Quintilian drifted off, but Honor stayed awake for hours. Where were they? Where had they gone? How had she allowed this to happen? She asked those questions over and over again. But the questions that really frightened her were simpler than that. Why did no one ask about her parents? No one came looking for Will and Pamela from work. No one said anything at school. The mail came as usual. New Directives piled up. The Neighborhood Watch, which was supposed to notice everything, never came to call. It didn’t feel as though her parents had been taken; it felt as though they’d never existed in the first place.
She became exhausted because she couldn’t sleep at night. Honor couldn’t keep her eyes open on the bus, and once she even drifted off in class. Ms. Lynch stood right over her and clapped in front of Honor’s face.
“Heloise!”
Honor started back in surprise. The other girls covered their mouths with their hands.
Honor’s classmates were quiet. They acted almost the same, and yet none of them, not even Helena, was quite as friendly to Honor as before. The girls did not come up to Honor and start conversations. She had to come over and talk to them. If she wanted Helena to be her walking partner, she had to ask first.
Quintilian was having trouble. He didn’t listen; he had accidents. He brought home red cards again, and Honor forged their parents’ signatures. She wrote the names as well as she could, but they looked nothing like Will’s and Pamela’s handwriting. Strangely, no one at school noticed. Eleven days passed.
The twelfth day was unusually hot, and Honor had archery practice. The heat was terrible on the field. Sweat trickled down her face, and she wanted desperately to take off her sun hat, but the students were not allowed to take off their hats outside. There were six targets set up, and the girls were shooting in pairs. Honor and Hedwig shot together. Hedwig was good, but Honor was better. She had been practicing at her Young Engineer meetings and had even won a school ribbon for Accuracy. When she lifted her bow, the other girls put theirs down to watch. Honor planted herself and stared at the target; she placed her arrow and pulled her bowstring taut all the way to her ear. She felt fierce and strong standing there with that weapon, and then she felt angry. She was furious. Her hands began to shake; her eyes filled with tears. She tried to steady herself, but when she released her first arrow, she shot straight into the grass. The other girls gasped. Honor wiped her tears on her sleeve and tried again, but she couldn’t see, because she was crying too hard. Miss Teasdale, the archery teacher, hurried over and took her bow.
“Are you sick, dear?” asked Miss Teasdale. “Are you hurt?”
Honor didn’t answer, but Miss Teasdale sent her straight to the infirmary anyway.
“Come in,” called Nurse Applebee in her honey voice. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Honor froze. There in the room next to Nurse Applebee was Miss Blessing.
“Please tell me what’s the matter.” Nurse Applebee leaned forward with concern in her eyes.
“Nothing,” said Honor.
“Please tell us the truth, Heloise,” said Miss Blessing. “Something is wrong. What is it?”
Then Honor realized something. Everyone else knew exactly what had happened. Ms. Lynch knew. Nurse Applebee knew. Miss Blessing knew. They had known all along. They’d only been waiting for her to tell them herself. Honor began sobbing. All this time she’d tried to hide it, and now she had to tell them. They sat waiting; they would wait for as long as it took.
“My parents,” she sobbed.
“It’s better to tell the truth, isn’t it?” said Miss Blessing. “It’s a relief to be honest with one another. That’s why we teach the Rule here: honesty is our policy. Your parents are no more. This is something you must Accept.”
Honor bowed her head automatically when she heard the word Accept. Miss Blessing didn’t seem to notice Honor’s fists clenched in her lap. She smiled sadly. “I know. I know.”
Nurse Applebee gave Honor a tissue for her nose. Miss Blessing held out a little blue booklet stamped Nurse’s Copy: Do Not Remove. The title of the booklet was What It Feels Like When Parents Disappear.
“Open it,” said Miss Blessing, “and please read it carefully to yourself.”
Obediently, Honor opened the book. You may feel that you are to blame, she read. Many children feel that way, but that is Inaccurate. You are not to blame. You may feel angry. Many children feel that way, and that is natural. Your parents may have behaved inappropriately. They may have hurt or disrespected others. They may have exaggerated or even lied. They may have committed crimes against Nature. It is only natural to feel angry at them. . . .
Honor looked up. “Keep reading,” said Miss Blessing.
“Where is Quintilian?” Honor asked.
“We’ll be bringing him in at the end of the day,” said Miss Blessing, and Honor saw a picture book on the nurse’s desk. Disappear Means No One Here: A First Experiences Book.
“No,” said Honor. “We have to catch the bus.”
“You won’t need to worry about the bus anymore,” said Miss Blessing.
“We have to go home,” said Honor desperately.
“You are home,” said Miss Blessing.
THREE
QUINTILIAN PULLED BACK WHEN HONOR TOOK HIM TO the Boarders’ Houses that evening. He clung to her. He was afraid of the orphans’ plain cinder-block buildings, half hidden by flowers and blooming trees.
“Come on.” She dragged him by the hand.
There had been ten orphans at the school, and now, with Honor and Quintilian, there were twelve, six girls and six boys. The girls’ and boys’ houses were identical, long and narrow. Beds were lined up on one side and desks lined up against the wall opposite. Between the beds were nightstands. On each nightstand where family pictures might have been stood a framed picture of Earth Mother. On each nightstand there was also a copy of the little green book, placed in those days in all public buildings and offices, Sayings of Earth Mother. Every schoolchild knew the fifty sayings of Earth Mother: “Cooperation makes it happen.” That was one. “We’ve got the whole world in our hands.” That was another. And, “You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.”
The only difference between the girls’ house and the boys’ house was that the girls had green blankets on their beds and the boys had blue. The girls had Mrs. Edwards to watch them and the boys had Mr. Edwards. Mrs. Edwards had wavy blond hair to her shoulders, but to Honor her hair looked dyed. Mr. Edwards had just a little gray hair and glasses. Both the Edwardses were short, but Mrs. Edwards looked much sturdier than her husband. The two had no child and lived in a tiny house of their own attached to the back of the Boarders’ Houses. One door opened into the girls’ house and one door opened into the boys’ house so they could come in at any moment.
“Heloise,” said Mr. Edwards. “Quintilian. Welcome to your new home. As you can see, our orphans come from all years, but everyone is equal here. Our work uniforms, for example, are all hand-me-downs.” Mr. Edwards gave a pair of overalls to Quintilian and one to Honor too. “We share chores and we share food. We eat here every day.” He pointed to a pair of picnic tables under a large green awning. “We hold a morning meeting, and then at night we have evening circle here as well.”
“Why don’t you go inside,” said Mrs. Edwards, “and meet your new friends.”
Quintilian and Honor stood together. Honor was holding her work uniform with one hand and Quintilian with the other. He was holding tight, and she didn’t know what to do. She really didn’t know how Quintilian would sleep at night or how he would get along. He could barely dress himself. He often put his pants on backward. How many times had she reminded him that the zipper goes in front?
Mr. Edwards didn’t seem concerned. He approached Quintilian with
a smile and pulled him off Honor as fast as if he were ripping off a bandage. Quintilian yelped with surprise, but Mr. Edwards ushered him into the boys’ house and left Honor to follow Mrs. Edwards.
The other girls were named Fanny, Gretel, Eva, Elspeth, and Eglantine. They were all big girls. Even though Honor was thirteen, she would be the youngest orphan. Gretel was fourteen and Fanny fifteen. Eva, Elspeth, and Eglantine were sixteen. They were sitting at their desks doing their homework. Honor shuddered as they all looked up at her. Together they had that look the girls in H had labeled orphanish. The look was a quick, hungry glance and then a ducking away, as though someone might hit them. Honor didn’t want to go anywhere near those orphan girls. Wildly she thought, This is a mistake; I don’t belong here.
Mrs. Edwards pushed Honor forward. “This is your bed, dear, and this is your desk. After homework there will be table setting and dinner, then table clearing, dish washing and kitchen cleaning, evening circle, and time for sleep.”
Honor slumped down at her desk. She didn’t even take out her books. What was the use? The worst had happened.
Eglantine was staring over at her from the next desk. She had a worried orphanish face, short brown hair, and round blue eyes.
Honor glared back. “Staring problems?” she demanded in her haughtiest voice.
Instantly, Eglantine turned back to the Advanced Climatology text in front of her. “You’d better do it,” she whispered.
“Do what?” asked Honor.
“Your homework,” said Eglantine. “They’ll give you extra chores if you don’t get it done.”
Honor drew herself up. She sat in her chair and stared at the bare cinder-block wall in front of her. She did not take out her books. She was a prisoner. She knew that was what orphans really were. They were just prisoners who went to school. That was why no one talked to them.
An hour passed and Honor felt stiff sitting at her desk. Her mouth was parched and dry; her mind was numb. She did not know what to do. She had no ideas left, only the fear that she would not be able to protect Quintilian. At least Quintilian was with Helix in the boys’ house. Quintilian loved Helix, and Honor knew Helix would look out for him.
“Heloise,” said Mrs. Edwards when she came to check on the girls, “I am concerned that you have not completed your homework. Why is that the case?”
“Because I haven’t started it,” Honor whispered.
“Are you being facetious with me?” asked Mrs. Edwards.
“What does facetious mean?” asked Honor.
“You may look that word up in the dictionary,” said Mrs. Edwards. “I will not punish you today,” she added kindly. “But this will be your first and last warning. Every night your homework must be completed. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Honor whispered.
“And I have brought you something as well,” Mrs. Edwards said cheerfully. She handed Honor a small envelope.
Honor felt the other girls staring. They were all trying to see what Mrs. Edwards was giving her.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Mrs. Edwards asked.
Honor opened the envelope and saw a brand-new identity card with her picture and her correct name, Heloise.
“There you are,” said Mrs. Edwards softly. She touched Honor lightly on the shoulder and then took Honor’s old identity card from her pocket. The card was stiff plastic, but Mrs. Edwards bent it one way and then another, and at last the card with Honor’s old name broke in two. In place of the Inaccurate card, Mrs. Edwards slipped the new card into Honor’s pocket. “Look at you now,” said Mrs. Edwards. “You won’t have to worry anymore.”
Dinner was leftovers from the school lunch. The food was exactly the same: fried fish, rice, green salad, and stewed prunes. Two orphans wheeled the leftovers from the school kitchen to the Boarders’ Houses.
The boys and girls ate together at one big table, and Honor sat next to Quintilian. “Eat the fish, at least,” she whispered.
He looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. “No,” he said.
“What’s this I hear?” asked Mrs. Edwards, swooping down on Quintilian. “You don’t eat fish?” She put her arm around him. “Are you allergic?”
Honor said, “He doesn’t like the taste.”
“Oh, is that all?” said Mrs. Edwards. And Mr. Edwards took his tongs and placed a large helping of fried fish on Quintilian’s plate along with a scoop of rice, a tangle of salad greens, and a spoonful of prunes.
“You’ll need to eat everything on that plate,” said Mrs. Edwards. “We don’t have taste here.”
After dinner and table clearing, the girls and boys sat in chairs under the awning for evening circle. Mr. and Mrs. Edwards led the children in “Safe We Shall Abide” and then the Corporate Creed. Nervously, Honor looked across the circle at Quintilian. There he was, sitting next to Helix. He was mouthing some of the Creed. He didn’t know it well.
“We welcome Heloise and Quintilian to our circle,” said Mrs. Edwards, “and we welcome them into our hearts as well.” When Mrs. Edwards said “into our hearts,” she touched her heart with her hand. Honor was startled to see Helix mocking Mrs. Edwards by putting his hand on his own heart.
“A moment of silence to reflect on the day,” said Mrs. Edwards, and she closed her eyes.
The children bowed their heads and closed their eyes as well. Honor signaled anxiously to Quintilian to bow his head, but he wasn’t paying attention.
After the moment of silence ended, Gretel spoke up. “Mrs. Edwards, Heloise wasn’t closing her eyes.”
“Is that true, Heloise?” asked Mrs. Edwards.
“How could she know my eyes were open if hers were closed?” Honor demanded. “Her eyes must have been open too!”
“Your eyes were open, then,” Mrs. Edwards said sadly.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” added Mr. Edwards. “There will be laundry duty tonight for you.”
Eglantine was right. When orphans did anything wrong, they got more work. Extra chores were hard, because the orphans did so many to begin with. The orphans were part of what was called the Old Colony Work-Study Program.
After dinner, when the others were getting into their pajamas, Honor had to go to the laundry room. Eglantine showed her the way.
In the tiled room Honor separated white from colored laundry and Eglantine helped her. Together they loaded clothes into a giant washing machine. Honor struggled to lift and tip the enormous jug of detergent. When she poured it into the special hole in the top of the washing machine, she spilled, and clear detergent slid over the face of the washer and onto the floor.
“Here, mop it up with the dirty clothes,” said Eglantine.
Honor grabbed a dirty pajama top from a bin and started mopping.
“Don’t get it on your hands,” Eglantine warned.
Honor nodded; she knew detergent was dangerous. Once Quintilian had gotten Planet Safe on his hands and rubbed some into his hair and face. For a day he was so memory-sick he couldn’t even remember his own name.
Honor threw the pajama top back in the bin and washed her hands at the utility sink. She was tired and stiff, and she didn’t want to talk. All she wanted to do was lie down and rest her head.
“I was just six,” said Eglantine as they walked back to the Boarders’ Houses. “I was a young orphan, so I’ve had more chance to get used to it. It’s not so bad. The meetings are boring, and the work is hard, but you can earn prizes.”
“What kind of prizes?” asked Honor.
“Chocolate, for one thing. And sometimes little toys.”
“Aren’t you too old for toys?” asked Honor.
Eglantine flushed. “Sometimes they’re stuffed animals; sometimes they’re miniature puzzles or games. Eva has Community. Gretel has travel Babble. We get three hours’ recreation every Errand Day and then we can play.”
“Could I ask you something?” Honor broke in. “Did you ever know any orphans who . . . Is there ever a mistake? And then the parents
come back and get their kids?”
“Oh no, there’s no mistake,” said Eglantine. “But it’s really not so bad. We have our own special birthday parties with almost any kind of cake. You can pick two friends to help you bake it in the Edwardses’ kitchen. We get outings once a month.”
“Where?” asked Honor.
“Usually the Central Store,” said Eglantine. “Sometimes concerts.” She paused and looked at Honor. “Well, I’m lucky,” she admitted. “I was so little when I came that I don’t miss my parents. I don’t remember what they looked like anymore.”
When Honor and Eglantine got back to the girls’ house, Honor saw a pair of faded pajamas folded on top of her bed.
“Hurry,” said Fanny, whose bed stood next to Honor’s. Quickly, Honor took off her uniform and hung it from the hook above her nightstand. She pulled her pajamas on as fast as she could. Mrs. Edwards was already standing in the doorway when Honor climbed into bed. Honor pulled up the covers just in time.
“Peace, love, and joy,” said Mrs. Edwards. “That’s how we earn each day.”
Earn? Honor thought. How could you earn a day? Each day came whether you wanted it or not.
“Lights out,” said Mrs. Edwards, and the room went dark. Honor heard the door close and there was silence for several minutes. Then a shuffling whispering noise as girls sat up in bed to talk. Fanny scrambled right onto Honor’s bed and sat cross-legged on it.
Honor was amazed. “But you can’t get out of bed after lights-out. That’s Not Allowed.”
“Nothing fun is,” Fanny pointed out.
“What if Mrs. Edwards comes back and turns on the lights?”
“The bulbs are Extra-Energy Savers,” Fanny explained. “It takes over five minutes for the lights to come on—and by that time everyone’s tucked in fast asleep again.”
Honor almost laughed. “How long have you been . . . how long have you lived here?” she asked Fanny. She couldn’t bring herself to say the word orphan.
The Other Side of the Island Page 12
