by Meg Elison
At his word, the three women stood up and went back to the kitchen. The teenage boys were sent right after them. They came back with huge bowls of Jell-O in every color and laid them on the tables as before. Dusty helped herself to a large humped spoonful in bright green and began to eat it. Conversation began again around the room, but it was more subdued this time. The mention of children had made Dusty look around the room, as if she had missed them. She shook it off, not sure what he had meant.
Elder Comstock spoke to her. “Someone can drive you back into Eden if that’s what you want. But we’d like to offer you a place among us. We could use another man with medical skills. We have Brother Beaumont, but he’s a dentist. You say you’re a physician’s assistant?”
“Yes, that’s right. I specialized in obstetrics and gynecology.”
Comstock nodded, pleased. “Stay here tonight, spend tomorrow with us. It’s too dark to go back to Eden now anyway. Let us try to convince you to join us. There’s no need for you to be all alone over in Eden with all of us here. We’d much rather you stayed with us.”
She couldn’t think of a good way to leave, and she was tired. “All right. No promises. But I will stay tonight.”
He nodded as though there had been no doubt in his mind. “Wonderful. Brother Anderson?”
A young man a few tables away from them stood up and approached. “Yes, Elder?”
“Brother Dusty, this is Brother Chet Anderson. He’ll be a missionary soon, won’t you, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Chet, this is Dusty. He’s going to stay tonight with us. Can you put him in your companion’s bed since it’s empty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent. Dusty, Chet here will help you with anything you might need.”
Comstock turned from them in wordless dismissal, speaking to Elder Johannsen. Dusty stood up to follow Chet. Around them, the women and boys were clearing the tables, bustling back into the kitchen. The whole system looked neatly organized, as if everyone knew his role without ever being told.
Chet was tall and thickly built, the sort of kid you would expect to play football. He was clean shaven and golden blond. His eyes were small in his face and a brilliant green. His skin had no hint of acne whatsoever.
Handsome boy. Probably broke some hearts back when there were still hearts to break.
He led her to a small house close to the center of town and opened the unlocked front door. “This is the house I was sharing with my companion. The bathroom is good for washing, and there’s a pot on the stove to heat up water. The toilet’s useless, so there’s a latrine trench out back. We’ll have to dig a new one soon. Kitchen’s there, bedroom’s there.” He pointed from the living room down the hallway.
“Who’s . . . Where’s your companion?” She watched him as he sat down on a blue couch.
“My companion was Elder McCarthy. Bruce. We were supposed to go on a mission together. One morning, I woke up and he was just gone. He was my best friend.”
She sat down next to him, leaving a whole cushion between them. “Oh. I had someone do that to me. It hurts. I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “Yeah. I hope he’s ok. Sometimes I think he just wanted to go find batteries for his Game Boy without getting caught.”
She smiled at him. “Maybe that’s it. So, are you from Huntsville? Or Eden?”
“I’m originally from Ogden. Some missionaries from Huntsville found me. I left home after my mother and sisters died. I wanted to go to Salt Lake, but they told me they had been there and it wasn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“They said part of town had been burned and there were gangs of guys on motorcycles riding everywhere. I can’t imagine Salt Lake City full of motorcycle gangs, but I’ll take their word for it. They brought me here instead.” He looked disappointed.
“Did you not want to come here?” She watched him closely. She wasn’t sure they’d try and hold her, but she was anxious to hear what he said.
“No, I mean . . . I don’t know. I wanted to be around people is all. There sure are people here. I was just hoping . . .”
“What were you hoping?” He wasn’t a prisoner. Just a kid.
“Hoping that all the girls hadn’t died everywhere. Every family I knew in Ogden had daughters, more girls than boys. I had four sisters. I had a friend who had six. School seemed like it was mostly girls. The girls in my ward were brats with braces, and they weren’t even that cute. But I miss them so much, all of them. I keep hoping the missionaries will bring back a bunch of girls who just got lost, but they’re ok and happy. But most of the guys who leave don’t even come back.” He sat with his arms curled in, palms of his hands turned up in his lap. His face pulled down at the corners, and he looked old.
“I’ve seen girls.” She said it quietly, but his head whipped toward her.
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. Not many, but they are out there. Girls your age, even. What are you, like, eighteen?”
“Seventeen. As soon as they find me another companion, I’ll be sent out.” He didn’t look excited.
“So what does that mean? You go out and . . . convert people?”
He laughed a little. “That’s what missionaries used to do. Now all missions are service missions. We’re sent out to find survivors and help them, bring them back if we can convince them to come. Lots of the people here came from around Ogden and Hyrum and Brigham City. But the guys that are sent far away . . .”
“They don’t come back, right?” She leaned on the arm of the couch, watching him.
“No. Anybody sent to Idaho or Nevada . . . nobody has made it back from those missions yet.”
“Are they going out armed?”
He looked shocked. “No. We can only take our scriptures and a few things. Like the apostles. If we had guns, people might think we were dangerous.”
They’re not coming back. He knows that, he just doesn’t want to believe it.
She blinked at him. “A lot of people out there have guns. The world is full of guns. You just have to find them. These guys . . . you might have a better chance if you found one.”
He shook his head sadly. “We’re doing God’s work. That’s not the right tool for it.”
“Ok. Good luck then. I hope you get sent somewhere close.”
He stood up. “I’ll put on the kettle so you can have some hot water to clean up with.” He walked into the kitchen, but she followed.
“How many of you are there here now?”
“Fifty-nine. Fifty-two men, three women.” He kept his back to her.
“That’s fifty-five. Are the other four trans?”
He looked over his shoulder. “What?”
“Who are the other four?”
“Oh.” He turned back to the kettle. “The kids.”
“I didn’t see them at dinner. Where are they?” She walked up to stand beside the stove, to look at him. “Where are the kids?”
“They’re kept away from everybody, as a precaution. They’re the only ones who made it.” His face was distracted, giving nothing away.
“Do you know them? Are they boys or girls?”
“Two boys, two girls. All under ten. The sisters take care of them, and they’re in a special house. Everyone’s afraid they’ll get sick or hurt or someone will try to take them. They have to be protected.”
“Why? Why can’t they be out in public?”
The fire in the stove caught, and he put the kettle on the black iron top. “I’m never going to get married. Neither are you. Neither are any of the brothers here, unless the missionaries bring home girls. Those kids can marry each other, have kids of their own. Nobody can get in the way of that. They’re the only thing we have that looks like a future.”
His eyes blazed as the room warmed up. He closed the door to the little stove and stared her down, daring her to argue.
Hidden children. Flowers in the attic.
“Have any of the women here ha
d babies in the last year?”
Blazing still, he did not look away. “Not yet. But they’re all married, and it will happen. Children will be born in the covenant.”
“Since I was working in gynecology, I can tell you that’s going to be harder than it sounds. This sickness, this virus or whatever it was, seems to complicate pregnancy. Every pregnancy. I haven’t seen a child born in more than a year who lived a day.”
“God has not abandoned us. We’re just being tested. We’ll come through.”
She watched him for any sign of doubt, for the melancholy doom that had crossed his face when he thought of his mission. She saw nothing but stubborn belief. “I hope you’re right.”
With a candle burning, she locked the door to the bathroom and stripped naked. She took the pot of water into the tub and carefully soaped from top to bottom, using the precious hot water to wash it all away. She washed her short hair and was shocked to look at all she had grown in her underarms. She’d been shaving there since she was thirteen. Her leg hair had come in long and dark, but fine. It felt so alien to be naked, she could not quite own or inhabit her body. It was becoming a stranger to her.
I used to live here.
The compression vest was yellowed and dingy from constant wear. She saved a little water when she was clean to soap and rinse it out, too. She hung it up on the showerhead after she had wrung it out. She’d have to put it back on wet, but it was already much improved. She stepped out of the tub and stood on a clean towel, stiff from line drying inside the house. In the candlelit mirror, she looked at herself for a while. She thought she looked older. Her breasts were smaller than she remembered. She thought that was the result of weight loss, but maybe constant compression had something to do with that, too. Her hair was a little shaggy. She thought someone could give her one of the smart side-parted cuts from the 1950s barber shop poster that everyone in Huntsville seemed to have.
She got the compression vest back on. Chet had given her a set of long underwear that were close to her size. She put them on and checked to see that the lights were out before crossing the room toward the bunk beds. Chet was on top and did not look up. She set up her clothes right beside the bed; she planned to put them on over the long johns. The bunk was narrow, but the comforter was down filled and the pillow smelled fresh and clean. She sank right into it and fell into a dreamless sleep.
When she woke, Chet was already up and dressed. It was still dark out.
“I’ve got seminary. Do you want to come?”
She sat up slowly, mindful of the top bunk overhead. “No, you go ahead. I’m going to get dressed and walk around a bit.”
He shrugged with a brief grin. “Ok. See you later!” He bounded out the door like a big kid.
Dusty looked after him, thinking that he must be pretty used to such early mornings.
She got dressed quickly and went out the front door without locking it. She walked slowly back toward the center of town. Men were coming out of their doors and flipping up their collars against the cold. Many of them waved to her as they split off toward their day’s work. She headed back to the stake center, where smoke was coming out of the chimneys. The door was open, but no one was posted as guard this time.
She walked in through the long hallways, past the chapel and the paintings of Jesus. She headed through the auditorium to doors through which food had come the day before. She knew that back there somewhere was a kitchen.
Behind the swinging café doors, three women worked. They were pulling long muffin trays out of a large wall oven and setting them down to cool on a wide gleaming stainless-steel countertop.
Dusty smelled cornbread. They looked up as she entered but did not stop their work.
The oldest woman spoke up first, her hands still busy and her eyes on her task. “You’re not allowed to be back here, stranger.”
“I’m sorry,” Dusty said. “I just didn’t get the chance to speak with any of you yesterday.”
The woman with the gray at her temples set down her corn muffins and put her hands on her hips. “I’m Sister Everly. This is Sister Johannsen and Sister Obermeyer. And I’m afraid that’s all the speaking we’re going to do without our husbands present.” She gave Dusty a pointed look and went back to her work.
“Forgive me, ladies. I meant no disrespect.” Dusty managed this very formal apology without missing a beat, despite it feeling like an antique phrase out of the attic of her brain. She turned to leave.
Sister Obermeyer, the young one with the strawberry-blond hair, called after her. “Breakfast is in less than an hour. See you soon!”
Dusty saw herself out and went back into the large auditorium. She walked the walls, looking at the children’s pictures. Many of them were colored and filled-out pages of activity books. Others were freehand drawings, but Dusty thought they were probably directed by an adult. Every picture had four examples of the same thing, and every single one was rosy and happy and envisioned a perfect world. If children of the plague were allowed to draw what they felt, Dusty imagined the room would look different.
But all the children’s pictures had smiling mommies in them.
She was still moving around the room when the three women emerged from the kitchen, green tablecloths in their hands.
“Can I help?”
Sister Everly pursed her lips. “Well, we always run a little behind while the boys are at seminary. I suppose you can.” She broke her stack of tablecloths in half and handed them over to Dusty. Dusty moved about efficiently, grabbing them by their edges and flipping them out over the tables. Coming to the last cloth, she saw that all the others had finished and were bustling back through the swinging doors.
Sister Johannsen came back out first. Her shining black hair was done up in braids that looked elaborate and difficult. She was carrying two centerpieces.
“So, are you Elder Johannsen’s wife?”
She did not look up, but laid her two centerpieces and kept moving. “I’m his daughter-in-law.”
She went back through the doors.
Can’t one of them hold still for five minutes and talk to me?
Sister Everly was next, with four centerpieces held together in her hands like a practiced waitress carries drinks.
“I don’t believe I’ve met your husband, ma’am.”
Sister Everly looked at Dusty, but did it with the kind of look a woman gives a troublesome vacuum cleaner. “Mr. Everly sat beside me at dinner last night. He’s a farmer.”
“Oh, I saw the chickens and cows on the edge of town.”
“My husband farms peas and beans. He’s in charge of them year-round.”
“How nice,” Dusty said to the swinging doors.
Sister Obermeyer came out with four centerpieces, carrying them the way Sister Everly had. “And what does your husband do?”
Her brows furrowed a little, and her pink mouth flattened. “He’s a missionary. Serving in Colorado.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Five months. They’re due back like any day now.” She disappeared again.
The two older women emerged together, and Dusty was not yet ready to give up. “Where are the children? Are any of them yours?”
“Yes,” said both women.
“I’d love to meet them. I haven’t seen a child in a long time. I have experience treating children, if they need any medical help. I’d love just to hear stories about them.” Dusty had years of experience talking to mothers. Patients and nurses alike couldn’t stop themselves from telling these stories, showing their pictures, or sharing their worries.
Sister Everly was as stony faced as ever, but Sister Johannsen softened around the eyes. “You can’t meet them,” the younger woman said. “They’re kept separate. But I could tell you—”
“You could, when your work is done. Mind yourself, Anne. Come along now.” Sister Johannsen looked back at the older woman like a child who was promised a treat and then denied it. She followed meekly, however.
>
Dusty sighed, exasperated. She flopped into one of the chairs and let them buzz around her, laying silverware and making last-minute preparations for breakfast. When the men began filing in, Dusty watched and sat at the table with the largest number of empty seats, intending to sit with the women when they finished. She noticed she got a few sharp glances, but she wasn’t told to move. She patiently folded her arms for prayer and sat politely passing food and waiting for conversation to begin. The couples at her table served one another scrambled eggs and corn muffins and steamed broccoli.
When she thought it was safe to try again, she went back to work on Sister Johannsen. “So, tell me about your children.”
Her husband looked up, shocked. “Our two boys died during the sickness, Brother.”
“But your wife said some of the children here were hers.”
He frowned at her. “The Law of Consecration doesn’t really make them ours, honey. They’re still sealed to their own folks.”
The law of what now?
She smiled at him, and it made her beautiful. “Sure they’re ours. They’re everyone’s! There’s Patty, that’s the oldest. She’s a beautiful little girl, nine years old. She loves to sing and draw pictures. I’m reading Where the Red Fern Grows with her right now, and she wants a puppy so bad. Then there’s her sister, Mikayla, who’s very strong willed and stubborn. She’s just seven, and she loves Barbies. She’s got dozens, but we had to sort through Barbie’s clothes to find some that were modest.” She giggled a little here, her eyes alight. “Then the boys, Ben and John. Ben’s seven, too, and John is six. They’re both so smart, already reading and writing, and Ben can name all the books of the Old Testament in order. John is very shy and affectionate. He’s a cuddly one! I wish I had pictures. The sisters and I all teach them and care for them. They’re having their breakfast now, too, with Jodi.”
“Jodi?”
“Sister Obermeyer. It’s her day to eat with them.” Sure enough, the youngest woman was missing from the table.
The redhead. Right.
Brother Johannsen was still clearly uncomfortable, but he was pleased with his wife. “Anne was a wonderful mother. I’m glad she’s helping to care for the stake’s children. But soon enough, she’ll have my baby to take care of. I guess I’m just a little selfish that way. I want my own boys back, and I can’t wait to have our own again.”
