by Tarah Benner
A low swell of murmurs had begun to rise again, filling the air with the sound of swarming bees.
“We need to make GreenSeed pay,” Lark continued. “And we need to rebuild.”
She took a deep breath. “In your box you’ll find a packet of all the seeds we’ve managed to track down. They’re just like GreenSeed’s in every way, but they won’t kill pests, and they won’t make you sick. Take those seeds home and plant them — or help someone else plant them if you don’t have enough space. When the crops come in next fall, you can collect the seeds, share them, and start all over again.”
A few of the women were staring dumbfounded at Lark, and she began to worry that they would not accept her plan.
“We can do this,” she said after a beat. “We all have the experience to make this work. There’s nobody in the world who could do this better than us.”
It sounded like an exaggeration, but it was true. The revelation she’d had in Ojo Caliente was that GreenSeed had inadvertently trained up an army of agricultural workers. Nearly all of the inmates who passed through San Judas had experience preparing the soil, planting crops, and evaluating them for signs of pests or disease. They already knew what to do. They just needed to be mobilized.
For a moment, the anxious muttering died away as the inmates reached under their seats to pull out their boxes. Lark caught a glimpse of several carefully wrapped packages that she, Bernie, and Simjay had put together in the days leading up to the inmates’ release. They were each the size of a large bible wrapped in plain brown paper, but each package contained thousands of seeds that would help save the world. The seed was a small piece of a much bigger picture, but it was something they could do.
There was a long moment of silence as Lark stared out at the women’s tanned, weathered faces, and she was astonished to see that several of them wore expressions of determination that perfectly mirrored her own.
“If we do this — I mean really do this — then no one will need GreenSeed’s patents. They’ll have nothing. They’ll be finished. But this isn’t just about them . . .” Lark paused and took a deep breath, trying to steady her shaking voice. “This is about taking back our lives and rebuilding everything we’ve lost.”
As she watched, a few women turned to whisper to each other. She noticed that many of them seemed to have softened since emerging from the prison walls. They were no longer the callous inmates who were only looking out for themselves. They were free. Many of them had families. They were looking for a chance to start over and build something real for themselves.
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Lark finished, staring out at the women with a renewed sense of strength. “But if we don’t do this, no one else will.”
SPRING
31
Lark
By the second week of May, change was in the air. The Baileys’ farm was teeming with new life, and each morning carried the breath of spring on the wind. Starlight’s grave was covered in wildflowers, and new colors seemed to appear every morning when Lark looked out her window.
The trees around the house were already in bloom, showering the yard in a gust of white petals every time a strong wind came through. A couple of the does had given birth, and several more were very close. Tiny baby goats were toddling around the pens, and Quinn and Clara were sitting up on their own.
The morning of the wedding, Lark and Thompson got up early to weave fresh wildflowers through the wrought-iron archway leading to the garden. Axel had mowed a path from the guesthouse to the ceremony site, and Soren had dragged a couple of chairs out to the yard and arranged them around the flower beds.
Katrina was already seated on the wooden bench that Walt had built in Starlight’s honor. She was strumming softly on her guitar, preparing what she would play for the ceremony.
It was a cool, bright, sunny day, and Lark felt a stir of restlessness. She couldn’t believe the day had finally come. They were getting married. Things were changing all around them, and that day was just the beginning.
Heart racing, she followed the path from the garden to the guesthouse and knocked softly on the door. Portia’s voice answered, and Lark pushed her way inside.
The little house that Katrina’s brother Mitch had once shared with his family was occupied by Portia and her daughters. It was not at all the house that Lark would have pictured her in. An old-timey pink-and-green quilt lay over the lumpy double bed, and the windows were covered in homemade lace curtains. The table had a lime-green gingham tablecloth, and the entire place seemed to be covered in doilies.
The one thing in the guesthouse that seemed very Portia was the full-length gilded mirror propped up next to the bureau. A tasseled footstool was situated in front of it, and on the footstool stood Bernie.
The moment she saw her, Lark felt tears spring into her eyes. Bernie was a vision in an old white lace gown and a crown of wildflowers that matched her bouquet. The dress had belonged to Katrina’s mother, but Bernie had altered it herself and added a few personal touches.
She’d kept the high neckline and long lace sleeves, but she’d carefully removed the panel behind her shoulders to leave her slender back exposed. Her long blond curls tumbled wildly down her back, and Lark had to admit that the mixture of yellow, purple, and fuchsia flowers suited Bernie perfectly.
“Well,” she said, eyeing Lark nervously. “What do you think?”
“I think you look . . .” Lark shook her head, trying to find the right word. “Amazing.”
At those words, Bernie broke into a wide grin and turned back to her reflection. She raised her hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and Lark caught a glimpse of the ring. It was an art deco white opal from the 1920s nestled in an ornate silver setting. It was old, it was funky, and it was totally Bernie.
Apparently, Simjay had found it tucked in a glass case at the thrift store where they’d held Annalisa Stein. None of them had noticed Simjay slip it into his pocket that day, but Lark thought it was absurdly sweet and romantic that he’d been thinking of proposing way back in December.
“So you’ve got your something old,” said Portia, eyeing the ring like an ugly baby she was supposed to compliment. “Something new — flowers, obviously. Something borrowed . . .” She bent down to straighten Bernie’s train.
“Something blue,” Lark finished. “Bernie, where’s your something blue?”
“I’ve got it covered,” said Bernie slyly. “Or should I say . . . not covered.” And then, without warning, Bernie hitched up her dress and flashed them.
Lark and Portia let out a yell of protest, and Lark saw that Bernie was wearing a powder-blue lace thong. Bernie dropped her skirt and doubled over with laughter, and baby Clara began to fuss in her basket.
“Are you sure you should be wearing white at your wedding?” Portia grumbled, walking over to pick Clara up before she woke her sister.
“Oh, don’t be so judgy,” Bernie quipped. “You should know that white was not originally meant to symbolize purity. White became popular for weddings after Queen Victoria wore white at her wedding in 1840.” She stuck out her tongue. “Blame pop culture — not the patriarchy, bitch.”
Portia rolled her eyes, and Lark knew that Bernie’s wedding day was the only thing keeping her snide comments at bay.
“Here,” she said, tossing Lark the dress that she would be borrowing for the ceremony.
It was a deep-blue sheath dress that came down to Lark’s knees. Portia was already wearing a blush-pink boat-neck number with flared three-quarter-length sleeves. That one looked as though it had belonged to Starlight, but oddly enough, it seemed to suit Portia.
Once they were ready, Lark helped Portia gather up the twins, and she waddled out to the ceremony site with a baby in each arm. Lark watched her go with a slight stab of fondness. She and Portia wouldn’t be braiding each other’s hair and having heart-to-hearts anytime soon, but in six short months, Portia had gone from a whiny, spoiled diva to a pretty kickass mom.
/> Lark glanced around the garden and saw that everyone was waiting for the ceremony to begin. Simjay and Soren stood beside the archway with Walt, and Axel was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest.
The groom and the best man had scavenged their dress clothes from Mitch’s closet. Axel, who was much wider, had had to hunt down his dress pants at a department store in Carlsbad, and he’d reluctantly donned a tie over his Harley Davidson T-shirt. Walt was dressed in a smart blue suit that he’d probably owned for decades, and Simjay was wearing navy slacks, a gray blazer, and a funny yellow bowtie.
Thompson looked radiant in a pale yellow dress and a crocheted white cardigan. She was seated directly across from Katrina, who’d ditched her usual studded leather for a pretty fuchsia halter dress.
“You all set?” Lark asked Bernie, anxiously double- and triple-checking that everyone was ready. Portia had just taken her seat and laid the babies on a blanket. They were still half-asleep and seemed content to loll around, but Portia was armed with pacifiers and the girls’ favorite toys.
“Yeah,” said Bernie, sounding slightly breathless.
Lark turned to look at her. “You look beautiful,” she murmured, bending down to straighten Bernie’s train.
Beautiful might have been an understatement. Bernie was absolutely stunning in her borrowed lace dress. And with the flowers arranged in her flowing blond locks, she looked as though she’d stumbled out of a fairy tale.
“Let’s go,” said Bernie. “I’m ready.”
And Lark knew that she was. Bernie hadn’t even known Simjay for a full year, but they were a match made in heaven. Simjay had dialed back his obnoxiousness ever since they’d gotten together, and Bernie seemed to glow whenever he was around.
Lark poked her head out the door one last time and signaled Katrina that they were ready.
When she heard the first few notes of Bernie’s processional music, Lark held out her arm, and Bernie took it with an excited squeal. They linked arms and stepped out of the cottage, Lark digging in her heels to slow down Bernie’s frantic gallop toward the archway.
The path before them was already scattered with flower petals, and Bernie seemed to float across the lawn on a cloud. Simjay turned his head to look at them, and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. Bernie gave a feverish little shake, and Lark realized that Simjay was trying hard not to cry.
The music swelled as they reached the archway, and Simjay hurriedly wiped his eyes. Lark hugged Bernie and took the bouquet, and she realized that Bernie was crying, too.
Walt cleared his throat when the music stopped, and everyone’s eyes snapped on to him.
“Dearly beloved,” Walt began. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Bernadette Ava Mitchell and Simjay Kapoor. Today, as they take their vows, they will join their hands and their hearts and begin one of life’s greatest journeys together.”
Bernie let out a dainty little sniff, and Simjay reached out to take her hands in his.
“The past few years have been hard for all of us, but since you all turned up, my home and my heart have been full. I think we can all agree that the past year has brought us much to be grateful for — new friends, good food, a roof over our heads, two beautiful babies” — Walt looked over at the twins, who were still rolling around on their blanket — “and a wedding.”
At that moment, Lark chanced a glance at Soren and caught him staring right at her. Lark smiled back at him and felt a familiar surge of butterflies that she always got when he was around.
Walt turned to Bernie. “When Simjay first told me that he was going to propose to you, my first thought was that it was a very odd time to be getting married. The future was and still is uncertain, and I thought for sure that you all might be arrested one day.” He smiled to himself, and Thompson grinned. “But then Simjay reminded me of something very important . . . a lesson I had to learn myself as a much younger man — a lesson I’m ashamed to say that I’d forgotten since my dear Shelley passed: There is never a good time for a wedding.”
This statement earned a chuckle from Axel, but Katrina’s eyes filled with happy tears.
“But,” Walt continued, “it is always a good time for love. Love is what we need when things are at their worst. And maybe, just maybe, the best time for a wedding is when we need to be reminded of that.”
Walt cleared his throat. “This is what life is all about — the gathering of friends on a beautiful day, the promise of a brighter future . . . These are the things that we live for, die for. These moments of joy are fleeting, so we must grab on to them with both hands whenever they present themselves . . . no matter what this crazy world is doing.”
Bernie nodded, her bottom lip trembling.
“But enough of that,” said Walt. “I know you all don’t want to listen to the nonsense this old man has to say . . . Bernie and Simjay, would you like to recite your vows?”
“Oh . . . right,” said Simjay, wiping his eyes and fumbling in his pocket for a crumpled piece of paper. He cleared his throat and smoothed it out, looking as though he’d been caught off guard.
“I, Simjay, take you, Bernie, to be my wife, my partner, my best friend . . . and my one true love. I promise to love you and cherish you from this day forward . . . as long as we both shall live.”
By now, tears were streaming silently down Bernie’s cheeks, so Lark handed her a tissue along with the folded piece of paper upon which she had written her vows.
Bernie dabbed at her eyes and then took one of Simjay’s hands. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. “I, Bernie . . . take you, Simjay . . . to be my husband.” Sniff. “My partner, my best friend . . . my one true love.” Sniff. “I promise to love you and cherish you from this day forward . . . as long as we both shall live.”
Walt cleared his throat again, and Lark suspected that he, too, was having trouble controlling his emotions. “You may now present each other with the rings.”
Bernie waited for a beat and then realized that Simjay was supposed to be marrying her with the ring she already had on. She gave a tiny cringe and slid it off her finger, handing it to him with a grin.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
This was all too much for Bernie. A fresh wave of tears sprang to her eyes, and she dipped her head forward in a long silent sob.
It wasn’t pretty. Bernie’s face was red and frozen with tears, and just when Lark thought she would get it together, she succumbed to another wave of hard ugly sobs.
They all waited in uncomfortable silence, and a few seconds later, Bernie gasped and wiped her eyes. Lark handed her a tissue and passed the ring. Simjay’s brows lifted expectantly, and Bernie finally took his hand.
“With this ring, I th-thee wed,” she stammered.
Walt sighed. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”
At those words, Katrina cheered, and Axel clapped loudly.
Simjay, it seemed, had been making a great effort to restrain himself throughout the entire ceremony. He grabbed Bernie around the waist and pulled her to his chest. Bernie gave a little squeal, and Simjay planted an enormous wet kiss on her mouth.
Soren caught Lark’s eye and raised both eyebrows, and Lark had to fight a laugh as Simjay made a not-so-sneaky grab for Bernie’s ass. As the rest of them clapped, he pulled away long enough to mutter “Ohmygod. I have such a hot wife!” before diving back in for another sloppy smooch.
After the ceremony, they all ambled over to the other side of the house to start the reception. Lark and Katrina had been roasting chickens all morning, and the boys had managed to salvage an ample amount of wine and hard liquor.
The outpouring of emotion seemed to have left everyone parched, and as soon as Simjay popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, the booze started to flow. Axel was the first to break out the whisky, but soon Walt and Soren followed suit. Bernie reached for the pink wine, and Katrina started mixing cocktails.
Lark sensed the day careening into drunken-mess terr
itory if they didn’t get some food in their bellies, so she walked back around to the front of the house to see if the chickens were ready.
As she ducked around the porch and headed for the front door, she saw something out of the corner of her eye that made her heart stand still. She turned slowly, hoping she’d imagined it, but the nightmarish vision was one hundred percent real: A black sedan was parked in the driveway, and Agent Cole was standing beside it.
32
Lark
Lark’s breath caught in her chest. At that moment, she was wearing a pair of borrowed heels and holding an empty bottle of wine. She wasn’t exactly prepared for a fight.
She glanced up the hill toward the barn. Axel had moved the vehicles up there for the ceremony, and they were too far away to make a quick getaway.
“Lark Roland,” said Cole, cracking a sly grin. “Long time no see.”
Lark took a deep breath, surreptitiously slipping off her heels. Breaking the bottom off the wine bottle would make a decent weapon, but she was sure Agent Cole had a gun.
“What are you doing here, Cole?” Lark called, trying and failing not to seem rattled.
“I have to say . . . I was a little offended that I didn’t get an invitation.” Cole nodded at the homemade banner stretched over the front door: Congrats, Bernie and Simjay! “I’d like to pay my respects to the happy couple, if that’s all right.”
“They’re a little busy right now,” Lark snapped.
“Right,” said Cole, swinging his arms awkwardly at his sides. “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
Lark swallowed. She didn’t understand what Agent Cole was doing. He hadn’t struck her as the sort of agent who liked to play games. He seemed like more of a straightforward, get-it-done sort of guy, and Lark didn’t understand why he was stalling.
