In the afternoon, Erica fills the basket for Lem. “I’d come with you but I’m still waiting to hear from Donna and Clara,” she says. The knock comes as she speaks.
“Fraser!” I cry when I open the door. My joy surprises even me. He blushes but looks pleased. “I—I wasn’t sure you’d be safe,” I say, trying to excuse the outburst.
“They stuck me in school with the little ones, guessing I’d be safe there,” he says, looking a little rueful. “It worked.”
“I hoped you would be, Fraser,” Erica says. “You’re only fifteen, aren’t you?”
Fraser frowns. “Fifteen and a half.”
“Of course. Come in. Tell us what happened.”
But because he spent the day in the school, Fraser missed most of it. “Carson, Mark, and the others were already rounded up by the time school let out in the afternoon,” he says. “I saw the weavers stand their ground, though. Fierce as mother bears, they were. It would have done your heart good to see them.” He smiles at the memory. “They insisted their apprentices be spared and they’d put headscarves on every young woman in the place. So they were all released.” Then he stands. “But I’ve come to see you back to town. We should be going.”
“Just tell me where to go, Fraser. I don’t need an escort in broad daylight,” Erica says. “You can stay and visit with Blake.”
This is kind of Erica, but I can’t wait to climb Ski Slope now. “Maybe you’d come to Lem Howell’s with me,” I offer.
“Oh, what a good idea,” Erica says.
Fraser stiffens. “No, thank you.” His voice is tight.
“Oh, Fraser, are you sure?” Erica is coaxing. I wonder why. I remember how Carson and Mark teased Fraser. If she wants him to come with me, maybe I could help.
“You’re not afraid of Lem Howell, are you?” I ask, gently mocking him.
Something behind Fraser’s dark eyes goes dead. “That I am not,” he says. “The subject is closed. Now, missus, if you’re ready, I’ll see you safe.” And he leaves without another word. Erica gives me an apologetic glance and follows.
I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. I wait until I know they will be far ahead of me before I leave for Ski Slope. Why was Erica pushing Fraser to come with me? Why did he react so badly, and why do I hurt so much? I try to push the ache aside. If Lem has discovered something about my past, that will make up for any amount of hurt. At least, that’s what I tell myself. When I pass the path that branches off to Kildevil, I relax a little. I can’t imagine what Fraser and I will have to say to one another the next time I see him. I climb the path to Ski Slope as fast as I can.
But the house is empty. I leave the basket in the kitchen and poke around the small, cluttered rooms as if someone as big as Lem could be hidden. As I do, my disappointment gives way to alarm. What if the Commission came here? But the house doesn’t look like it’s been disturbed. Suddenly I know where Lem might be. I take the path that leads to the garden and there he is, taking his aeolian instruments down for the winter. I call to him from well across the garden so I don’t startle him. He turns and smiles. “Little Wheat, you’re home.” Then he adds, “I guess I should call you Blake now.”
“No, Little Wheat is fine,” I say, unwilling to give up his special name for me. “Can I help?”
“Sure. An extra pair of hands would be great.”
We work in silence, untying the lyres from trees, putting them in a box at our feet. I know he would tell me if he’d found anything and he hasn’t so I try to make the moment before I’m disappointed last as long as I can.
“All hell broke loose while you were gone,” he says in a matter-of-fact way.
“How did you find out?”
“My brother came up from Kildevil to make sure I was okay.”
“You have a brother in Kildevil?” Will this place ever stop surprising me?
Lem nods. “Not that we’ve ever seen eye to eye, but he does what he can for me. Now you’ll want to know if I found anything. The answer is no. But I’ve worked at it steady. All the way through June of 2354. I’m just starting on July. If you’re there, I’ll find you. And the tape machine’s coming along. The cassette moves at the right speed now. I just have to get the magnetic playing device right.” The determination in his voice reassures me.
“That’s wonderful.”
“Don’t get too hopeful. What’s left is the tricky part.”
“This must be taking all your time. How can I ever thank you?”
He looks off into the distance. “So many children lost parents in the technocaust, one way or another. So many bonds were broken. I can’t mend my own life. But helping you makes things better, somehow.” He picks up the box at his feet. “That’s all of them. Come on, I want to show you something.”
In the house, Lem hands me a book. “Here,” he says.
“You like poetry, and maybe you were named after Blake, so I thought you’d like this.”
“Thank you,” I say. It’s a real book. An old one. I read the spine. Complete Poems of Milton and Blake. “I’m glad they didn’t call me Milton.”
Lem laughs, a big, barking laugh with no sorrow in it. “You don’t look much like a Milton to me. I’ll make some tea.”
I almost open the book but decide to wait. Instead, I go to the music keyboard. It’s easy to switch on but very disappointing. Single notes sound uninteresting but when I press many notes at once, it sounds terrible. The harder I try, the worse it sounds. “Why can’t I make it sound like you did?” I ask when Lem brings the tea.
He laughs. “That takes a long, long time. Lots of patience and years of practice.”
“You make it look so easy.”
“Well, it isn’t. Not at first. Even people with natural talent have to work hard.”
I think about Fraser and his concertina. “I know someone like that. A boy in Kildevil named Fraser.”
A shadow passes over Lem’s face. “So you know the boy Fraser,” he says, but quietly, as if speaking to himself.
I wonder if Lem knows why Fraser wouldn’t come here, but I can’t ask him. “Do you know him, Lem?” I ask instead.
He shakes his head. “No. Only what Erica and my brother tell me. Now, Little Wheat, if you’ll excuse me, there’s things I have to do.” I find myself out the door before I can ask another question, the tea untouched. Another of those Kildevil mysteries.
The afternoon is almost over but Erica is not home.
Marrella’s probably in her room. I’ll have to face her sometime. It might as well be now. She is sitting on her bed with the note in her hands. “Were you going to give this to me, ever?” she asks. I’m surprised she isn’t angry.
I answer truthfully. “I don’t know. I guess I would have sometime.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “You must despise me.”
I don’t seem to be able to lie to her now. “I don’t like you very much but I wouldn’t go that far.”
The note flaps in her hand like a bird with broken wings.
“He wanted to see me. I was supposed to send you with a note. I’ll probably never see him again.” Tears spill down her face.
“His mother is upset, too,” I tell her.
Her eyes widened. “You know his mother?” I nod. “Madonna Walsh. She’s a weaver.”
“Do you think she’ll like me?” Marrella asks. She’s pleading.
I can’t imagine that Donna would want this spoiled brat for Carson, but I say, “I don’t know.” There are limits to my honesty. I leave her miserable. My thoughts chum as I go downstairs. Erica has been gone too long. Maybe I should look for her. But when I open the door to the kitchen, she is already cooking the evening meal.
“I’m glad you’re back.” I do not ask what she’s been doing. It’s better not to know.
“How was Lem?” she asks. “Fine.”
“Do you want me to explain about Fraser?”
I’m surprised. “I thought it was some kind of secret.”
&n
bsp; “No, it’s not, though no one would talk about it without reason. But I think you should know. Maybe you’d better sit down.” When I sit, she continues. “Lem went into a state of shock when he lost Michelle. I’ve told you that. He wasn’t anything like himself for years. He needed treatment but that wasn’t possible during the technocaust. People here just hid him and did the best they could. His recovery was slow. Lem can function now but everyone who knew him before says he’s just a shadow of the man he was. And there are, well, holes. In his memory. The months before Michelle was taken are just a blank for him.”
I imagine how much easier things would have been for me if I didn’t remember Hilary’s death. “It’s a blessing in a way, isn’t it?”
Erica sighs. “It might be but Lem can’t remember one really important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The birth of his son.”
Slowly, I realize what Erica is saying. “Fraser?”
She nods. “He was only six months old. Lem has no memory of him at all. The soldiers left him in his crib, crying. People from Kildevil got him as soon as they could.
The women cared for him until he was old enough to live with Lem’s brother, Rob.”
I remember what Lem said this afternoon about only knowing about Fraser from Erica and his brother. “But why haven’t they met? This is crazy!”
“Rob’s a difficult person. People in Kildevil say, if you call something white, Rob Howell will tell you it’s black. Even before the technocaust, he and Lem were always at odds. He never accepted Lem’s love of technology. And he refuses to believe Lem can’t remember Fraser. He says Lem’s only pretending to avoid responsibility. And Rob has managed to pass his bitterness along to Fraser. He hasn’t met Lem because he won’t. And Lem isn’t strong enough to insist.”
I recall how Lem looked when I mentioned Fraser. “But he would like to! I know he would. He talked about kids lost in the technocaust today. I didn’t understand then.”
“I think you’re right, Blake. I think that’s the reason he’s trying so hard to help you. But most people feel it might be too much for Lem. They think it’s best, for Lem’s sake, to leave things as they are.”
“Do you?”
Erica shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?” William says as he enters the room. “I was telling Blake about Lem and Fraser.”
William frowns. “Rob Howell is a bitter man. Always was. Poor Fraser. There’s so much of Michelle in him. What’s this?” William says, taking the book from the table. “Complete Poems of Milton and Blake.”
“Lem gave it to me. Because I like poetry. Because of Blake.”
William opens the book. He looks surprised. “This was Michelle’s,” he says. “Look.” Her name, Michelle Blanchette, is written inside in a bold, firm hand.
The Sweater and the Dress
The week passes quickly. There’s no word from the boys who were taken away. We watch the children perform military exercises in front of the Grand Hotel every morning, but otherwise life is disturbingly normal. There’s a rumor that the Commission is not strong enough to maintain a presence outside St. Pearl, but it’s hard to tell how much of that is wishful thinking.
Marrella spends her days with William preparing for the investiture and the Sacrifice. She’s learning what she wants to now and needs no help from me. Erica disappears each afternoon and returns looking more troubled every day. Aside from household chores, my days are idle. For the first time in my life I can read all I want. I take science books from William’s study. I read the poetry of Milton and Blake. I lose myself in books. I visit Lem as often as I can, but he makes no progress with the tape player, and the archived computer lists yield nothing. But that doesn’t bother me as much as it might because it’s my future that occupies me now, not my past. What will happen to me after the investiture? I won’t return to the workcamp, no matter what. Maybe Erica can find me a place in the resistance, working against the Commission. I will talk to her when the ceremony is over, even though the thought of leaving Erica and William makes my heart ache.
As the day of the investiture draws near, excitement spills up from Kildevil. It reminds me of the days before Memory Day, back in my distant past a few weeks ago.
“The dress will be here tonight,” Erica says on the eve of the ceremony, “for Marrella to try on.”
“Have you seen it?”
She nods. “It’s beautiful. They even made a turban to go with it when I explained it was needed.” Erica runs a hand through my hair. “Your hair could be lovely. Why don’t you wash it and I’ll cut it for you?”
I shrug. “Nothing about me is lovely and no one will look at me tomorrow night.”
To my surprise, Erica looks hurt. “Blake, don’t talk that way.”
“I’m sorry. Of course you can cut my hair. I’ll wash it.” When I return she’s waiting with scissors and a mirror. As I watch, she carefully layers my hair so that it falls in curls around my face. Even I have to admit it looks better. But as I help Erica prepare supper I find my heart won’t stop hurting. I can’t bear the thought of leaving Erica, but I don’t see how I can stay.
There’s a knock at the door. I answer without thinking. If I had thought about it, I might have realized that Fraser would be the one to deliver the dress.
“Wonderful,” Erica says. “I’ll just take this upstairs.
Blake, why don’t you make Fraser a cup of tea?” And she is gone in what seems to me a highly deliberate move to leave us alone. I scarcely know where to look. I expect Fraser to be sullen, but he’s not.
“You’ve done something with your hair,” he says.
My hand flies up to my head as if this is news to me. “Erica cut it. For tomorrow. So I would look respectable.”
“So you do,” Fraser says. He’s still holding the bag he carried the dress in. He glances around the kitchen. “Did someone say something about tea?”
“Sure. Of course. Sit down. Please, I mean.” I seem to have forgotten how to talk. I feel like a complete fool. I turn my back while I put the kettle on.
“I’m sorry I was short with you the other day,” Fraser says quietly.
“No. It was my fault. I didn’t know, you see, about you and Lem. I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me if I had.”
“Missus Townsend told me so,” he says. The kettle is on the burner, but I still stand with my back to him. It seems I literally cannot face him. I stay like that, knowing how awkward I must look, hoping the kettle might boil. It does not.
“Aren’t you planning to turn around?” Fraser finally asks, so I do. There, on the table, is a knitted tunic of the finest, whitest wool I have ever seen. He holds it up. “I made this for you,” he says. “Would you try it on?”
The tunic falls to just above my knee. It feels like a cloud.
The pattern is incredibly intricate. “It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “I’ve never owned anything like this. How can I thank you?”
“Just wear it after the ceremony tomorrow night for me. That will be thanks enough.”
William walks into the kitchen a few minutes later. “My goodness, Blake. You look—beautiful.”
I feel myself blush. “Erica cut my hair and Fraser made me this.” I run my hands over the sweater, feeling the fine texture of the wool.
William frowns. “Fraser offered you the sweater and you accepted? Fraser, do you think she understands what this means?”
Fraser reddens as he stares into his tea. “I expect so. She’s not uncivilized.”
“You’re right, she’s not. But she’s not from here and our ways are unfamiliar to her.” They are talking as if I’m somewhere else. “I’ll tell you what, Fraser. Erica and I will speak to her tonight and perhaps you can talk to her again tomorrow.”
Fraser looks hurt, his face closed. “Will she be giving me back the sweater, do you think?”
“No!” I say, but William holds up his hand to stop me. “We�
�ll have to see.”
Fraser stands abruptly. “I’ll take my leave then.” And he is gone before I can stop him.
For the first time I can remember, I don’t try to hide my anger. “What was that about? Why were you so mean to him?”
“Blake, what’s wrong?” Erica comes back into the room. “My goodness, you look beautiful.”
William turns to her. “It’s the sweater. Fraser made it for her.”
“Oh, my.”
“Won’t someone tell me what’s going on?”
Erica puts her arm around my shoulder. “In Kildevil,” she explains, “when a boy designs a sweater for a girl, it’s a token. If she takes it, it’s a sign.”
“What do you mean?”
“A token of love,” William says. “If you accept the sweater, everyone in Kildevil will understand that.”
The embarrassment is more than I can bear. I burst into tears and rush from the house. It’s cold outside but the heat of my shame and the running and Fraser’s fine sweater keep me warm. I don’t even know where I’m going until I catch sight of someone on the path ahead. I’ve caught up with Fraser. When he sees me, hope lights his eyes.
I am still crying. I can’t stop. “Oh, Fraser, I didn’t know,” I pant. “I had no idea what the sweater meant. How could I?”
He puts his arms around me. Instead of pulling back, I lean into his frail, bird-boned body, somehow unafraid. “Hush, now,” he says. “I never meant to make you cry. You seemed so happy when you saw the sweater I thought you knew what I was about.”
I shake my head and try to speak. Instead I sob and hiccup all at once. Fraser laughs softly. “Don’t break your heart, Blake. The first time I saw you, right there in the Master’s kitchen, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Remember how Carson tormented me? And then on the boat, when you told me about your life, it seemed to me that we were just the same. I decided to make you the sweater that very day.”
“But William told me what the sweater means.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I don’t know if I can love you—or anyone. I’ve never tried.”
The Secret Under My Skin Page 15
