Orphan Island

by Laurel Snyder

  Ess watched as each of the older girls pulled a frame and laid it flat on the clean sheet they’d spread on the ground. Each of them gently brushed the bees from her frame with a stick, and then when the bees were gone, they took turns with a small knife, cutting the rectangles of dripping honeycomb from the wooden frames. In no time at all the frames were back in the hive, and the sheet had been folded up, with each comb nestled cleanly inside. Then the folded rectangle of cloth went into Jinny’s fetch bag, and they had to run home fast, so that Ben could put it all in the honey pot before it oozed through the sheet.

  “Come on!” Jinny called to Ess, who was walking home more slowly than the others. “We don’t want to lose you.”

  “Go slow,” called Ess. “I go slow, for Fuzzy.”

  Jinny fell back to see what Ess was talking about, and she found the girl with a bee cupped in her hand. With a gentle finger, Ess was stroking the bee’s back.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Ess,” shouted Eevie from farther ahead. “Let the bee go.”

  “Fuzzy wants to stay,” said Ess with a sharp little nod. She looked up at Jinny and Nat, who stood just behind her.

  “Fuzzy needs to fly home to her family,” said Nat gently, reaching out to uncup Ess’s hand. “Nobody’s meant to go off alone, away from her family. Families stay together. This bee needs her family too.”

  Jinny watched, wishing she’d thought to say that. Nat had a way with Ess. She was so calm. And now Ess was letting the bee go and taking Nat’s hand instead. Inside, Jinny felt a tiny burn, and it surprised her.

  But the burn wasn’t just about Nat and Ess. In Jinny’s mind, there was a picture suddenly. Of a tiny green boat in the distance. Of a boy, shouting something she couldn’t hear. “Sometimes, people do go off alone,” she muttered to herself as she kicked through the grass, carrying her bag of honey, which was now beginning to ooze. “Sometimes people do leave their families.”

  Even though Jinny loved her time with Ess, she found it was hard work having a Care. Each night at the fire circle, she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open long enough to read a story. She found it was generally more difficult showing Ess how to do a chore than it had ever been to just do it herself.

  There were so many things it had never occurred to Jinny a kid had to learn, so many things Jinny felt she’d always simply known but that it turned out Ess needed to be taught, things Deen had neglected to point out in his Elder lessons—to fetch water from the well in the smallest bucket when the kettle ran dry, because Ess couldn’t carry the big one when it was full. Or how to pick swinks, the green berries the kids ate every day, from the brambly bushes up above the cabins on the ridge, without getting pricked. Jinny taught Ess to set the table and scrub the dishes with wet sand. She taught her to dig for clams along the beach and to pluck the fish from the nets and the crabs from their traps without squealing. Jinny taught Ess to gather the eggs the chickens laid in the prairie without spooking the birds. “Respect the ladies,” she told Ess, as the little girl stared up at a hen roosting in the low branch of a tree. “We owe them a lot.”

  Now and then, Jinny would find Ben lurking nearby, when she was teaching Ess something. “Go away,” she told him. “Shoo. You’re making me nervous, always looking over my shoulder, spying on me.”

  “I’m not spying,” said Ben. “I’m trying to see how to do it, so that I can be ready, next year. You said you’d let me know when it was time for each lesson. But you never remember, so I’m not learning anything. I don’t even know if we need to do the wiping, when they wish—”

  “Ew!” shouted Jinny. “Ew, no, Ben. No. They wipe themselves. Anyway, Ess does.”

  Ben shrugged. “Well, see, how would I know that if you don’t tell me?”

  “Oh, Ben,” Jinny groaned. “Because you’d figure it out. Every single moment is a lesson, don’t you see? You’ll be fine when the time comes. You’re a natural Elder! It’s all just common sense. There’s nothing for you to learn, really.”

  “It would still be nice if you taught me, like you’re supposed to,” said Ben, looking hurt. “Deen taught you, didn’t he?”

  “Sure,” said Jinny. “Some of it, anyway. But that was mostly just because Deen and I spent so much time together. I just happened to be there a lot. It wasn’t extra work for him.”

  “I didn’t know it was extra work, spending time with me,” said Ben.

  “You know that’s not what I meant,” said Jinny. “Jeez, Ben,” and she punched him lightly on the arm. “Anyway, the boat was just here. It won’t come again for a long, long time. Right?”

  “Maybe,” said Ben. “But you’ll forget things once you’ve done them. Now is when the lessons happen, in the beginning. This is my chance to see how it’s done.”

  “Well, here,” said Jinny, grinning. “This is how it’s done.” And she turned Ess upside down in the sand until the girl burst out laughing. “When in doubt, make your Care laugh. Laughter is the best medicine. Deen told me that!”

  All in all, Jinny felt like she was doing a pretty good job with Ess, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to teach the girl to swim. Deen had told Jinny that swimming was the most important lesson of all. He’d explained to her that an Elder was only really required to teach a Care three things—to cook a meal, to swim like a fish, and to read a book. “I don’t know why those three,” he’d said. “That’s just what Tate told me.”

  So that was something Jinny explained to Ben. “The three things we really need to survive. Or that’s what Deen said Tate said. When I figure out how to do any of them, I’ll be sure to teach you the trick,” she added with a laugh.

  But it wasn’t entirely funny, because when it came to swimming, Ess absolutely refused to learn. Each day after lunch, Jinny waded into the cove with her Care, their tunics billowing in the water, the big pockets inflating like balloons. Ess was fine with that part—the wading, as long as Jinny was holding her firmly. She even laughed when the fish swam by and tickled her bare legs. But the moment Jinny tried to let go of her, Ess screamed like she was being pinched by a crab. She shrieked and clung to Jinny’s leg or arm or neck, whatever part she could grab. “Nooooooooooo,” she’d moan. “Ess no, no, no, no like swimming.”

  “Look, Ess,” Jinny tried to explain, as Ess clung to her neck, “I know you’re scared, but you have to learn to swim.”

  “Why?” Ess wanted to know.

  “Because,” said Jinny.

  “Why?”

  “Because you have to,” said Jinny.

  “Why?” Ess begged again.

  Somehow, Jinny managed not to shout, Because you’re driving me absolutely crazy! Instead, she pointed at Sam, off swimming by himself in a circle. “Hey, look!” she said to Ess, and then called out, louder, “Sam, hey, Sam! Tell Ess how much fun it is to swim!”

  Sam heard her and paddled over, an eager smile on his face. “Sure, it’s easy,” he said. “I’ll help you, Ess.”

  “See, Sam can do it,” Jinny said to Ess, “and he’s just a little bit older than you. If Sam can do it, you can do it too.”

  “Otay. I do it.” Ess nodded, looking very earnest.

  Jinny felt hopeful as Sam paddled around the two of them, and Ess kick-kick-kicked in her arms. But a few minutes later, when Jinny tried to let Ess loose in the water, Ess shrieked as usual. So Jinny stomped back up onto the beach again, dragging Ess behind her. “Enough for today, I guess. Bye, Sam.”

  “Oh. Okay,” said Sam, in a small voice. “Bye, Ess. Bye, Jinny.”

  Then, the day after that, Jinny got so sick of the shouting and moaning and the tiny fingernails scraping her skin, she marched out of the water almost immediately, with Ess clinging to her neck. But this time Jinny looked up and shouted at the sky, “I quit!” as she plunked Ess back on the sand. The girl stopped wriggling and shouting.

  “Look,” said Jinny, standing over her Care. “If you really don’t want to swim, then I really don’t want to teach you. Have it you
r way. We’ll just keep you away from the water for now.”

  Ess grinned up at Jinny. She’d won, and she knew it.

  “Yeah, well, don’t look so happy just yet. If you don’t want to swim, I’m finally going to pick the prickles out of your hair!” said Jinny, as she reached down to comb at the messy snarls with her fingers.

  “Nooooo,” shouted Ess, popping up and dashing off down the beach.

  Jinny sighed. She knew this was an empty threat. She wasn’t really going to deal with Ess’s hair today either. It had gotten tangled, and there were sticky burrs in it from the prairie. It would take hours, and patience. Jinny didn’t have either today.

  9

  Nice Work

  The next afternoon, Ben handed Jinny a basket and said, “Hey, will you and Ess go to the tide pools for me? I need snails for dinner!”

  “Really?” said Jinny. “Well, I mean, can’t someone else?”

  Ben looked surprised. “Why should someone else? You’re not doing anything right now.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s just that I’ve been fetching a lot lately, and I’m busy with Ess. She won’t be any help in the tide pools, and she still can’t swim.”

  “Oh, perfect,” groaned Eevie from the other side of the kitchen. “Because you’re too lazy to teach Ess to swim, you also get to be lazy about snail duty. That seems very fair. . . .”

  Ben ignored Eevie, but he also shook his head at Jinny and handed her a sack. “The tide pools aren’t deep,” he said. “I need your help.”

  “Fine, fine, okay, sorry,” grumbled Jinny as she stomped off to collect Ess, who was digging happily in the sand with a stick.

  “Hi,” said Ess brightly, looking up at her Elder. “I digging.”

  “Yes, I see that,” said Jinny. “And you’re doing a great job, but Ben needs some snails for supper. I want you to come learn how to gather them.”

  “Otay,” said Ess amiably, brushing sand from her knees and following Jinny down the beach and off to the tide pools.

  Of course, Ben had been exactly right. Ess was delighted with the tide pools. Jinny showed the girl how to be careful not to cut her feet on the rough patches of coral and the barnacles, and she pointed out that the purple jellyblobs would sting if you let them brush against your legs when they floated by. Ess spent a while gazing at the beautiful petalfish, and then together the two of them gathered snails, setting them gently in the sack over Jinny’s shoulder. After a few minutes, Ess looked up thoughtfully and held out a delicate shell. “When we eat them, dey get sad?”

  “What?” Jinny wasn’t sure what Ess meant.

  “Dis!” said Ess. “Snail get sad, when I eat him up?”

  “Oh,” said Jinny. “Well, no, he won’t be sad. Because he’ll be dead.” Was this something she needed to explain? She didn’t think Sam had ever asked as many questions as Ess.

  “Dead?” Ess looked into the shell closely.

  “Yes, dead. He’ll . . . stop moving. And be gone. He’ll be chewed up and finished. Dead. Like a fish or an erster or a dried-out scuttle. Dead.”

  “Oh, no,” said Ess. “Poor snail.”

  “Yes,” said Jinny. “But the thing is, if they didn’t die, we couldn’t eat them. And then we’d be hungry.”

  “Oh,” said Ess.

  “Or if we did eat them, and they didn’t die first, they’d wiggle in our guts and feel like this!” Jinny reached out and tickled Ess, grabbed for her little round belly.

  Immediately Ess let out a barking cheerful laugh. She couldn’t help it. “Hep!” she squealed. “No, Dinny! Stop it!” But she looked happy, so Jinny kept at it until Ess fell and splashed into the tide pools, laughing and wiggling.

  “Anyway,” said Jinny, looking down at Ess, sitting in the water up to her belly, “wait and see how good they’ll taste with garlic and seaweed. Mmmm. Now, let’s get back to work.”

  But the moment Jinny turned her back to pluck at a fresh batch of shells, Ess let out a shrill, earsplitting scream.

  Jinny whirled around. “What? What is it?” All she could see was that the girl was thrashing and flopping, churning the water in the pool.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” shrieked Ess as Jinny reached in to grab her. But Ess was moving too quickly, like a fish herself, slippery.

  “What?” shouted Jinny. “What is it? Ess? What is it?”

  Then Jinny saw the eel, moving, slithering, trapped in the shallow water of the small tide pool, with Ess. Jinny’s hands darted before her brain could catch up, thrust themselves into the water and grabbed for the thick dark muscle of a creature, lifted it from the water, and hurled it out to sea. Its twisting body looked like a bird in the sky for a moment before it smacked back down on the surface and was gone.

  Jinny turned to Ess, scooped up the sobbing girl. “You’re okay, Ess, you’re okay, little fishy. I promise, you’re fine. Nothing can hurt you. You’re here, with me.” She held the crying girl to her chest, amazed at how strong her own arms were, at how light Ess felt in this moment, even heavy with her drenched clothes. Ess continued to sob. “Shhhh,” said Jinny. She stood, holding Ess, until the girl was only sniffling, trembling. Not knowing what else she could do.

  At last, when Ess seemed calm, Jinny stepped out of the tide pool, wincing at the barnacles under her own feet. She walked back up onto the sand. “It’s fine, she said. “You’re back on the island. The island is safe. Ess is safe.”

  Ess looked up at her, rubbed at her eyes, and asked, “Safe?”

  Jinny nodded. “Always and forever. The island is safe. You can fall and bump and scrape and even bleed a bit, but you’ll be fine.”

  “But,” said Ess, “that fish—”

  “Eel,” said Jinny. “That was an eel. And it wouldn’t hurt you either. It might nibble a little, but that’s all. I know it scared you, though.”

  “Out dere.” Ess eyed the water—the tide pools and the waves beyond. “Dat’s safe?”

  “Well, no, not exactly,” said Jinny. “That’s a little different. The sea . . .” Jinny looked out at the water, at the miles of gray-blue that ended at the wall of mist. “The sea . . . can hurt you, if you don’t learn to hold your breath and float and swim like the rest of us. Do you understand? The sea is different. It isn’t . . . safe. It doesn’t give second chances.”

  “The sea . . . ,” said Ess, “will dead me? Like a snail?”

  Jinny tried not to laugh. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose the sea can kill you. But that’s why you need to learn to swim. Because then it’ll be fine. Then you can keep yourself safe. No matter what. Okay?”

  “O-kay,” Ess said. Though she still looked nervous.

  “Now, that’s enough talk about that for now. Let’s get back to the others. I think we have enough snails, don’t you?”

  Ess nodded, and the two of them headed back, their snail-gathering lesson over. Jinny thought perhaps that was enough adventure for a few sleeps.

  Walking back, Jinny tried to remember exactly how she’d learned about the sea. When she reached back in her memories, she couldn’t find a single story. Probably Emma had told her this, had warned her of the sea, and taught her to swim, as all Elders taught their Cares to swim. But Jinny could conjure no memories of that lesson. Certainly there was no drowned child in her memory, no specific tale. She couldn’t even picture what that would look like, a drowning. When she tried, she only managed to see a dead wet baby bird, like the ones that sometimes fell from their nests in the plomm trees. Still, Jinny knew it. They all knew it—that the sea was a danger, stronger than anything else. It fed them. It surrounded them. It kept them and defined their world. The island was only an island because the sea was there, all around. But the way the waves crashed against the cliffs and tossed spray into the air was not safe. Just the opposite. The sea was wild.

  “How were the tide pools?” Ben asked, as they trooped into the kitchen, soggy and silent. “Did you have a good fetch?”

  “Maybe better not to talk about it right now,�
� replied Jinny, setting her sack of snails on the table. “I’ll go back for more later, okay? Ess needs to dry off and rest a bit. It was . . . eventful.”

  Eevie, reading a book at the table, looked up at them as they passed. “What happened to you two? She looks like you drowned her. Nice work, Jinny!”

  Jinny was in no mood. “I’ll drown you if you don’t shut up, Eevie,” she hissed.

  Ess gasped at that. “No, Jinny! No downing!”

  Eevie smirked. “Like I said, nice work.”

  That night, after their dinner of snails and a quick story by the fire, Jinny took Ess back to their cabin and tucked her into bed. But she found she couldn’t go to sleep right away herself. Restless, she rose from the bed, but when the springs beneath the old mattress creaked, she heard a small clear voice. “Dinny, pease stay?”

  “Oh,” said Jinny, “I thought you were asleep, Ess.” She reached out to pat the girl’s head, but when she did, Ess grabbed hold of her hand and wouldn’t let go. “Pease stay. Or the sea might come. Don’t let the sea get me, Jinny.”

  “Oh, Ess, the sea can’t come here. You’re safe on the island, I told you.”

  After a bit, Ess settled down, and her eyes closed, but Jinny stayed awake for hours, thinking. She had an anxious feeling of having done something wrong, though she wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

  “I’ll do better, Ess,” said Jinny. “I’ll watch. I’ll stick close. I’ll be like that tree in the story. I promise. I’ll give you everything.”

  10

  Swim or Sink

  The next day, Jinny and Joon were down at the dock, pulling up the nets, when Joon asked, “Where’s Ess?”

  “Oh, she’s back in the cabin, resting,” said Jinny. “I think it’s better she not spend too much time near the water right now.”