by Jordan Rivet
They reached a long, low structure with a thatched roof and sides mostly open to the air. A porous wire netting enclosed it. At the far end of the structure was a small log house with narrow, high windows. It made Esther think of an upside-down houseboat, with a roof instead of a hull attached to the cabin.
Rustling and squawking sounds came from the structure. As they neared, they could see that the open part under the roof was divided into smaller squares, all enclosed in wire netting. A narrow path cut between them to the small log house. Each square housed several black-and-white birds.
“Chickens!” Simon exclaimed. “You’re raising poultry. What a sight for sore eyes that is.”
“This is one of the first structures we built here,” Bole said proudly. “The camp was basically a rustic resort for dudes on fishing trips. We found some supplies, but we knew we’d need to figure out how to be self-sustaining. We captured some wild chickens, and we’ve been breeding them ever since.”
Esther leaned close to the nearest cage. The creatures inside regarded her with beady black eyes. The eyes were sharper and more intelligent than that of a fish, and they looked mean. The birds weren’t much like the cartoonish chickens she had seen in books and pictures on the Catalina. She had never seen a real chicken, as far as she could recall, back when they lived on land. These ones were scrawny rather than plump, with ratty feathers and sharp talons. They pecked at the ground and at each other in an aggressive fashion.
“Do they produce eggs regularly?” Simon asked.
“More or less like clockwork,” Bole said. “We can ask my sister. Hang tight for a second.”
Bole left them by the edge of the chicken habitat and disappeared into the little house.
Simon crouched down. “I’ve been wondering whether the disaster would have disrupted the reproduction cycles of any surviving creatures,” he said. “I’m sure there must have been extinctions, but this is wonderful!” He reached out to touch one of the chickens. It snapped its sharp beak at him. Simon just laughed; Esther stepped back until she was out in the sunshine again.
“We’ve been at sea a long time, Simon,” David said. “The land seems to have recovered a lot more than I thought it would.”
“Yes.” Simon studied the chickens. “It certainly has.”
Bole returned from the log house, followed by a young woman with long black hair tied in a braid over her shoulder. She wore a rough-spun skirt decorated at the hem with a multitude of embroidered flowers. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled back, and in her hands she carried a tiny yellow bird.
“This is my sister, Yvonne,” Bole said. “Yve, this is Esther. She’s the one who needs the clothes. And this is her father, Simon, and Cody and David.”
“Nice to meet you,” Yvonne said. She had a high, soft voice, and there was something birdlike about her. She held out her cupped hands. “Adam said you were interested in the chicks. I thought you might like to meet one.”
The little bird twisted its tiny, fluffy head back and forth to look at the people gathered around it. Simon stepped forward, and Yvonne tipped the little creature into his outstretched hands. It looked up at him and then pecked at his finger with its sharp little beak.
Esther gasped, but Simon didn’t flinch. He brought the creature up to his eyes and began to coo nonsensical sounds to it.
“This one hatched last week,” Yvonne said. “I think he’s kinda sweet.” She bent over Simon’s hands and stroked the bird’s fluffy, delicate head.
“Do you want to hold it, Esther?” Simon asked, turning toward her.
“No!” Esther said, then blushed when everyone looked at her. “I mean, I don’t think so.”
“It’ll be fine. Here.”
Before Esther could stop him, her father took her right hand and plopped the little bird into it. The creature was warm and soft, except for the tiny scratching of its feet against her palm. Esther stood frozen with her left hand beneath her right in case it fell. The feathers tickled her hand as the little bird shifted around to look up at her. It didn’t look as mean as the others, but those eyes were definitely too sharp for its own good.
“Please take it back,” Esther said.
David laughed and held out his hands for the little bird.
“Esther,” he said, “I’ve seen you fight pirates, battle storms, and confront men three times your size armed only with a wrench, but I’ve never seen you look so scared.”
“I didn’t want to drop it,” Esther mumbled, wiping her fingers on her grimy trousers. That bird definitely looked like it was up to something.
She watched the other chickens pecking around in their cages while Simon asked Yvonne about feed and hatching ratios. She explained the hatchery operations in her trilling voice. She looked impressed at how much Simon seemed to know about chickens. Esther was always surprised at her father’s random knowledge. He had been a college professor before the disaster, and he still read every book he could find.
“Why is it yellow?” Cody asked. He stroked the bird’s head and smiled shyly at Yvonne.
“They’re yellow when they’re born, but they lose their soft baby feathers as they mature. This one will be black and white like the others within a few months. He won’t be quite so cute then.” She smiled at the little bird.
Esther cleared her throat. “So, Bole said you might be able to lend me some clothes.”
“Oh yes. Let me put this little guy back, and I’ll grab some things for you. I’m nearly done for the day anyway.” Yvonne took the chick back from David. “Why don’t you all head down to the bathhouses, and I’ll meet you there?” She walked back into the hatchery with the chick.
“Great,” Esther said, retreating further from the full-grown chickens in their wire enclosures. “Come on, guys, let’s get moving.” She spun to head down the path and as far away from the creepy rustling of the chicken house as she could get.
Bole cleared his throat loudly. “The bathhouses are the other way, Esther.”
Chapter 21—Bathhouse
THE BATHHOUSES SAT RIGHT on the shore of the lake. The sun sinking lower over the trees left long shadows across the water. A few boats still floated on the indigo surface, fishing poles spiking out of their sides.
The two identical structures were made of wood like the rest of the town, but with raised roofs. Faint wisps of steam drifted through the gap between the tops of the walls and the eaves. A large mill wheel turned in the gentle current of a small tributary running into the lake. Smoke rose from an enclosed structure between the two bathhouses, and a series of pipes wound in and out of each building.
“This is hands down the best part of the town,” Bole said. “We still have running water in some of the original cabins, but we have to filter it in case of contamination. It’s wasteful to run the showers, so we set up the bathhouses by the lake. Everyone uses them.”
“How does it work?” Esther asked, examining the pipes. She carefully brought her hand close to one to test the temperature. It was much hotter than she expected.
“The flow of the stream powers the wheel, which heats the coils inside the pipes. The water coming into the pipes from the stream gets heated up and then distributed into the two bathhouses. There’s a constant supply of freshwater coming through, so it’s always clean. And, more importantly, it’s always warm!”
“This is a neat setup. Nice and simple,” Esther said. “Any chance I could see the original building plans?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Bole said.
“All I care about right now is a hot bath,” David said.
“Well, help yourself,” Bole said. “There’s a supply of towels on a shelf inside. I’ll grab something for you to wear while your scrub is being cleaned.”
“May I come with you?” Simon said. “I don’t think I need a bath just yet.”
“Sure thing. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. Esther, Yve will be here soon, so you can go ahead. That one’s the women’s bathhouse.”
&nb
sp; Bole, Simon, and Cody headed back toward the village. David grinned at Esther. “See you on the other side?”
“Can’t wait,” Esther said.
She pulled open the flimsy door of the women’s bathhouse. It was warm and muggy inside. A screen made of reeds separated the entrance from the rest of the bathhouse. A wooden bench sat just beside the door, and there was a tall shelving unit stocked with rough-spun towels in the far corner.
“Hello?” Esther said. “Is anyone in here?”
No answer. She peeked around the screen. The inner part of the bathhouse contained a large rock pool with benches along the edge. The water bubbled slightly, and a layer of steam rose from the surface. Sweat immediately sprung out on Esther’s forehead. The room was empty, but there was space for quite a few people.
Esther retreated to the outer area again and sat down on the bench to ease off her boots. She hid her knife in the toe and set them beside the door, checking to make sure it was firmly shut, and peeled off the rest of her clothes. Her trousers were molting like a day-old fish carcass. She grabbed a towel from the shelf and found cakes of hard, gray soap and curved wood implements shaped like tail fins. She took one of each and brought them with her to the inner part of the bathhouse.
She set the supplies at the edge of the rock pool, removed her towel, and stepped into the bath. The water was very hot. She sank into it slowly, the steam rising around her face. She lowered herself down to sit on the floor, the rocky surface rough on her bare legs. Sweat soon dripped from her hair and ran down her neck.
A slight current in the water pulled the dirt from her body and washed it away. She crawled through the pool to examine the apparatus and found only a single pipe leading into it and single hole draining out of it. The flow was constant, though, and it felt amazing on her skin. Maybe they should think about staying here after all! She leaned back and floated beneath the surface. The heat worked wonders on her muscles, soaking into them and releasing the tension that was a near-constant presence in her body. She dipped her head back and allowed the water to swallow her ears with a gentle roaring sound.
Esther hadn’t taken a real bath in nearly seventeen years. She remembered how she used to fill the tub with bubbles and give herself a beard and a bubbly white hat. She’d spend hours in the bath, soaking until the water grew tepid or the bubbles dissipated. She’d had a little collection of bath toys, she remembered, two boats and a rubber fish with a hole in its belly that she could squeeze water in and out of. She remembered how her sister would stick her head in the bathroom and tell her to hurry up because it was her turn already. Esther would sink down until the bubbles surrounded her face like a lion’s mane and pretend she couldn’t hear Naomi. She was remembering more of her sister every day, peeling back the layers of memory.
“There you are!” said a voice directly above her.
Esther bolted upright, banging her elbow against the edge of the rock pool. Yvonne had appeared in the bathhouse. She was stark naked, with one hand on her hip and the other around a towel.
“I got you some clothes. I want to bathe for the feast tonight before the crowds arrive.”
Esther retreated to the far corner of the pool, right by the hot input pipe. What did Yvonne mean by crowds? She curled into a ball to cover herself a little bit. Yvonne didn’t seem to notice. She set her towel down, bending over the bench. Esther averted her eyes.
“So, what do you think?” Yvonne asked.
“About what?”
“The bathhouse, of course. Have you ever seen one like it?”
“No, this is a first,” Esther said. “It’s shared, I see.”
“Of course,” Yvonne said. She unwound her braid and shook out her long, dark hair. “The Code is very strict about modesty, but it’s not the same in the bathhouses. Relax.”
Esther stayed where she was as the other woman joined her in the water. Yvonne sighed and leaned back, her hair spreading out around her body.
“Ahh, that’s so nice after a long day of work.”
“I guess.” Esther studied her own knees, which still bore a stubborn film of green.
“My goodness you’re tense,” Yvonne said. “You haven’t even really started, have you?”
“I’ll be quick.” Esther spotted her soap, far enough away that she’d have to stand up to get it.
Yvonne noticed her discomfort and giggled.
“Here,” she said kindly, retrieving the soap and the curved wooden instrument. “You ever used one of these before? You scrape your skin with it. Gets the dirt off a lot faster, especially once you’ve worked up a sweat. I can help you.”
“That’s okay,” Esther said quickly. She reached for the soap and the piece of wood. Yvonne had one too and she demonstrated how to scrape it along her arm after lathering up with the grayish soap.
It was a little awkward, but as Esther sloughed away the grime from her trip into the muddy bank of the river, she felt much better. Soon her skin had returned to its normal color. The swift current through the bath drew most of the soap and dirt away immediately, leaving the water clear.
Yvonne chatted about the town as they bathed, telling Esther what seemed like a year’s worth of gossip about people she had never met. Esther listened carefully for any mention of her sister.
“So, who was the tall blond with you?” Yvonne asked after a long story about some girl making eyes at some guy at the last soccer game. “He’s kind of dreamy.”
“That’s David. He’s . . . my boyfriend I guess you’d say.”
“Really? Are you going to get married?” Yvonne perked up, leaning forward through the layer of bubbles swirling around the surface of the bath.
“I don’t know,” Esther said.
“Have you ever—you know?”
“What?”
“You know . . . kissed?” Yvonne dropped her gaze and blushed, which was surprising coming from a woman who had no problem standing naked in front of a stranger.
“Well, yeah, of course. We’ve been together for a few months.”
“Together . . . as in sleeping together?” Yvonne’s eyes were suddenly as round as a fish’s.
Esther nodded, starting to wish she hadn’t said anything.
Yvonne gasped. “Don’t let anyone hear about that, Esther. You’re not married!”
“What’s the big deal? We’re adults.”
“But that’s one of the worst things you can do under the Code,” Yvonne whispered. “We have to save ourselves for our husbands. It’s God’s will for our protection. You’d better marry him soon.”
“But I’m not from here,” Esther said. “I don’t live by your Code.”
Yvonne sucked air between her teeth and looked furtively around the bathhouse. She leaned closer, her breasts dangling in the water.
“You need to be careful if you decide to stay here, Esther. I mean, I won’t judge you, but don’t let people hear you talking about your fornications.”
“But—”
“I’m serious. People found out about my friend meeting a man in secret and now she’s locked up.”
“What?”
“If you break the Code, you could be—”
Suddenly voices exploded in the entryway. It sounded like an entire engine crew had decided to come in for a bath all at once. Their laughter echoed around the bathhouse.
“Yvonne, what’s the punishment for breaking the Code?” Esther asked, her stomach lurching.
Yvonne shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The babble of voices grew louder, and a few women came around the corner of the partition, towels in hand.
“What’s your friend’s name, Yvonne?” Esther said quickly. The chances were vanishingly slim, but she had to be sure.
Yvonne shook her head and whispered, “Just be careful.”
Then more women were flouncing around the edge of the partition and hopping into the pool, all their nakedness on display. Esther scanned their faces as quickly as possible.
Why had she been so certain she would recognize her sister when she left the Catalina? It had been so long. Were any of these women even the right age to be Naomi? At least one among them could be around twenty-five, but her hair was golden and straight. She stopped dead when she noticed Esther.
“I told you there were strangers here!” She grabbed the arm of the older woman next to her. “Didn’t I tell you, Sue Ellen?”
“This is Esther,” Yvonne said. She shot Esther a warning look, as if she expected her to start shouting about her immoral behavior. “She came up the river on a ship.”
“Didn’t I tell you there was a ship?” The golden-haired woman shook her friend’s arm hard. “My Johnny went out to meet it.”
“Okay, okay. Hold your goats, Jemima,” the older woman said.
Then all the women started talking over each other, their rapid-fire voices drowning out the sound of running water. Esther scrutinized their faces, tried to catch familiar tones of voice, but the chatter threatened to overwhelm her.
“Where did they come from?”
“Is there really a ship?”
“It’s been a while since there were strangers in town.”
“It’s only been two years.”
“No way!”
“Three at least.”
Esther should have realized there would be multiple people in the town who could easily be her sister. She picked apart their appearances, eliminating possibilities one by one. That woman was too old. That one too young. Two were black. She didn’t think any of the others were Naomi, but how would she know her for sure?
The golden-haired woman jutted out her lip. “Two, because Johnny and I have been here for three, but Thompson and them—”
“You’ve been here for three years, Jemima, or I’ll eat my gardening gloves.”
“Two. I think I’d know.”
“How many people are with you?” demanded a woman with smooth, dark skin and tight braids cascading around her face.
