The Book of the Unnamed Midwife

by Meg Elison

  “Of course, sweetheart.” They gazed at each other with a syrupy sweetness that Dusty could not believe was real. She decided to change the subject.

  “So I’d like to get my hair cut. Can any of you tell me who does all these neat cuts?”

  Brother Everly pointed with a forkful of egg to another table. “Brother White. He cut hair for the navy for fifteen years. Just ask him, he’ll fix you up.”

  Dusty finished off her corn muffins and excused herself from the table. She walked over to Brother White and made arrangements for a haircut right after breakfast.

  Brother White sat her in an old barber’s chair in his kitchen. The house was dead quiet. His tools were laid out on a clean white towel. His shears were very old-looking, with mother-of-pearl handles. She told him she thought they were handsome.

  “They were a gift from my mother, when I got assigned to barbering by the navy. She said I needed something with a little class. Just the standard cut?”

  “Sure, I just want it cleaned up and off my neck.”

  “Shave, too?” He grabbed her by the chin, rubbing a little with his thumb. The sudden contact shocked her, and she jerked her head away.

  “No!” She settled back down as fast as she could. “No. I don’t grow much facial hair. Or much chest hair. My father didn’t, either. Just lucky.”

  The old barber seemed unruffled. “My beard keeps my face warm.” He combed her hair out with a wet brush and started cutting.

  “So is there a sporting goods store in Huntsville? I’d like to get some snowshoes or better boots, if I can.”

  “Sure, sure. There’s a Cabela’s that I’m sure will have something. You’ll have to ask the bishop about it, though.”

  “The bishop?”

  “Elder Comstock. Bishop Comstock. You’ll just need permission to take something from the bishop’s storehouse.”

  “What’s the bishop’s storehouse?”

  His cold steel scissors slid along the back of her neck in a perfect straight line. “It’s everything that belongs to the town. He’s in charge of making sure that people get what they need.”

  Of course.

  “All right, I can do that. Where would he be around now?”

  “Probably over to the courthouse. He’ll be busy, though. All finished.”

  He pedaled the release to drop her back to the floor. She slid down on a cushion of air, and he handed her a mirror. She took it and looked.

  “Without a beard, you look like a little boy,” Brother White laughed. “Or a grown-up tomboy.”

  “Thanks.” Dusty patted the stray hairs off her shirt and walked out the kitchen door.

  The courthouse was located at the opposite end of Main Street from the stake center. It wasn’t a grand civic affair with columns or a dome, just a small-town courthouse. Plate glass in front with cement pillars to prevent an angry someone from driving through the facade. Useless metal detectors stood beside every entry point, and the freshly laundered American flag stood on an eagle-topped pole in the corner of the foyer.

  A guard stood posted at the inner door, another bearded old white man, and she started to feel very tired of seeing the same face. He let her pass.

  Bishop Comstock was sitting on the judge’s bench, wearing the same dark suit. He was listening to a man standing in front of him tell a long, whining story about a series of books he wanted to read that the other man in the room had not finished yet and wouldn’t give up.

  “I got to read the first half of the first book, and then he got permission to take the whole series. I don’t want the whole series, just the first couple when he’s done with them.”

  The man standing on the other side shook his head, his short, dark curls shining in the sunlight that came through the windows. Snow had stopped falling, and the day was cold, but bright. “I told him, I want to keep the whole series until I’ve finished them all. What if I need to go back and look something up? I don’t want to have to track him down to get it back. I’ll finish soon, and then he can have them.”

  Bishop Comstock looked thoughtfully down on them. “What are these books called? What are they about?”

  The two men looked at one another, and then quickly away. The light-haired man spoke first.

  “They’re about a . . . a spy. A female courtier who spies . . . for a queen.”

  The man with the dark curls nodded.

  The bishop looked from one to the other, understanding dawning on his face. “Are you brothers following the admonition of Paul? Would you say that this material is in keeping with covenants you made when you accepted the rights and responsibilities of the priesthood?”

  Both men stared down at their shoes. “I want to withdraw my complaint,” said the lighter man.

  “It doesn’t matter. We can work it out.”

  The bishop drummed his fingers on the desk. “I see. Would you say that this book is virtuous, lovely, of good report, or praiseworthy? I know you both, and I think you’re both better than this. Turn the books in to the elders at the stake center after dinner tonight. Neither one of you needs them.” He tapped his gavel lightly and dismissed them with a look.

  Dusty wasn’t sure if there was an appointment system or a way to ask to be heard, so she just walked up the center aisle to stand before the bench.

  “I was told to ask you about snowshoes.”

  Comstock looked up and then down at her. “What’s that?”

  “I came to Huntsville looking for snowshoes or other winter gear. The barber told me there was a Cabela’s somewhere in town, but that I’d have to ask you. So here I am. Asking.”

  Comstock took an old-fashioned pocket watch out of his blazer and looked at it. Then he pulled on his overcoat. “Brother Dusty, will you take a walk with me? I don’t have any more cases to hear today.”

  “Sure.”

  They walked together, quietly. Bishop Comstock led them away from the courthouse, down one of the residential streets in town that Dusty hadn’t seen yet. Covered with snow on a clear day, the houses looked cheery and well cared for. They also looked empty. Dusty thought about empty houses in little towns like this all over the world, with men going and gone and no women left inside. Houses without housewives. No cooking and cleaning, no humming and apron-wearing wives and mothers like in the old sitcoms. No rushing minivans driven by lithe women in yoga pants whose children were well behaved and spoke Mandarin. No soap-opera-addicted, overweight, neglectful trailer trash with a dozen kids running around screaming, their mouths always stained with Kool-Aid. Every man in Huntsville remembered another life, expecting to come home every day to find someone there. All the empty houses sat. No one numbered the silent days.

  Comstock walked with his hands clasped behind his back. His chin was down near his chest, and his white beard made him look very solid, like a block of ice. His brow furrowed.

  “Brother Dusty, you seem like a sensible man. May I be frank with you?”

  She crossed her arms and looked at him as they kept walking. “Please.”

  “I’m glad you came to Huntsville. We need a little excitement here and there, and we certainly need a reminder that there are other people out in the world.”

  She didn’t see a reason to respond to this. She could tell he was working up to something.

  “The plain fact is we are not looking for more young men. The reasons must be obvious. We are especially not looking for young men who are not of our faith. We have a delicate balance here, with very few women and a lot of frustrated and upset brethren who aren’t married. Do you follow me?”

  “I follow, yes. Frankly, I don’t know that I would stay even if I was wanted. I’d prefer to be on my own, back in Eden, until I’m ready to move on.”

  Comstock nodded, a short dip of his head into his beard, but kept his gaze down.

  “I’d like to know that you’re there through the winter, in case we need another medical man. You’re not too far to get someone to you, even in the worst weather. A few men he
re have snowmobiles. Would you be all right with that?”

  “Of course.” She was thinking fast, trying to figure out how she’d deal with visitors without warning. “I’d . . . It’d be good to have a warning. Have you got flares, or a crank siren? So I could be ready when they arrive?”

  “I’m sure we can find something.” Comstock was looking at her a little oddly. She frowned and looked ahead, trying to seem concerned with practicality.

  “So I’ll be heading back to Eden then. Any chance of snowshoes or other useful gear to get me there?”

  “Slow down, son.” Comstock gave her a warning look. “No need to take off half-cocked. I want to make sure everyone knows this is your choice. With all the gossip about you—”

  “Gossip? I’ve been here one day.”

  “Now, Brother Dusty, you know women can’t help but gossip. The relief society told everyone you were flirting with them, asking questions when their husbands weren’t around, trying to help with kitchen work.” He smirked a little.

  “I wasn’t! I was just—”

  “Oh, it’s only natural, son. We all want to spend as much time around the sisters as we can. I understand that. I just don’t want anyone to think anything improper happened and that you hied out of town.”

  How was I flirting? I made the most polite conversation I know how. Feel like I stumbled into Saudi Arabia.

  “Uh-huh,” she said noncommittally.

  “So here’s the plan. I’d like you to stay one more night. Have lunch with the ward, stick around for missionary assignments. Have dinner, stay another night with Elder Anderson, and in the morning I’ll have one of the brothers take you back by snowmobile. How’s that sound?”

  “That’s fine.” She gave up on the idea of snowshoes. Comstock wanted to be able to come to her but didn’t care for the idea of her being able to cross back into Huntsville during the winter.

  She liked him a little less, but she understood.

  “Good. Now that’s settled, you may do as you like for the rest of the day. I’m going to drop by the greenhouse and watch the work there, if you’d like to walk with me.” He made a left turn at the next street, and she followed.

  “Bishop Comstock, what were things like here when the plague got going?”

  His hands let go behind his back. His bearing changed. He seemed to be drawing into himself, shrinking. “We’re very isolated here.”

  She waited.

  “We received instructions from Salt Lake while we could still communicate with them. The first presidency was very clear about preserving the ward and administering the sacrament and ordinances as usual. President Duncan spoke prophecy confirming that the plague would pass and children would be born again in the covenant if we had faith and were patient. There were instructions to ward presidents and bishops like me, and to all holders of the priesthood . . . but then nothing. Everything shut down. Many people fled for parts more remote than these. And so many died, so many. We tended to them, and some of us lived. So we obeyed. And we have been blessed. If we continue to obey, we will continue to be blessed.”

  The talk about hierarchy went past Dusty, who did not know this church well. She understood the gist of what he was saying. They had been lucky here. He believed their luck would hold out.

  “What happened to Chet’s friend? Do you know? Have there been many disappearances?”

  Comstock stopped in the street, his boots crunching on churned-up snow. “You’re talking about Elder McCarthy.” He gave her a hard look.

  “I think that was the name. Chet said he just disappeared one night. Do you lose a lot of people that way?”

  He turned away from her to look at the greenhouse at the end of the lane. He clasped his hands behind his back again. “A few, yes.”

  She waited, but he did not elaborate.

  “Did you send out search parties?”

  Comstock looked deeply uncomfortable. “We did. Of course we did.”

  She was mystified, watching him for signs. “A lot of your people are locals, they must know the area. Where could these people be going? Do they just want to find another community?”

  He looked at her quickly, appraising her. He looked at his shoes again. “We’ve found . . . some of them.”

  She struggled for a minute, not sure what to say. “Oh. Suicides.”

  She waited for him to confirm it or deny it. He did neither.

  Shit, he can’t even say it.

  “That’s happening everywhere. You know that, right? Living this way is hard. People are going to opt out.”

  Comstock breathed in quickly as if to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at her.

  “You should tell Chet,” she pressed him. “He needs to know it’s over. Everyone does.”

  “No.” He shook his head, not looking at her. “No. That’s not how we’ve chosen to handle this issue.”

  He doesn’t want anyone to know. Bad for leadership, bad for morale. Unsustainable.

  “How many?”

  “It’s not important. It’s going to stop the minute we find just one more woman or girl out there. That will be enough to bring hope. She will come. She was promised to us.”

  She wanted to get as far away from him as she could. “Enjoy the greenhouse. I’m going back to the stake center.”

  He smiled again, reverting back to his public persona. “I’ll see you later then.” He turned away from her and walked toward the greenhouse with a jaunty step. She watched him for a moment before going back the way they had come.

  In the stake center, the women were bustling as always, preparing lunch. Dusty didn’t try engaging them this time. She sat and watched.

  Jodi Obermeyer spoke to her first. “Don’t you want to help us?”

  She arched an eyebrow at the younger woman. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think I was flirting.”

  Jodi blushed. In her fair, freckled skin, it was like the rising of mercury in a thermometer. She hurried back into the kitchen.

  Sister Everly appeared in her place. “Brother Dusty, I heard you liked my rolls yesterday.”

  “That was amazing. I haven’t had bread in a while, or butter. It was really something.”

  She nodded approvingly. “You’re so thin! I wish I could butter you up all winter, but I’m afraid there’s no more of that. Still, there will be more rolls at dinner tonight. They’re rising now.”

  “Thank you. That’ll be nice, since I’m leaving in the morning.”

  “Oh, so soon?” She looked crestfallen.

  “Yes, I want to be back in Eden. I prefer to be on my own. But I’ll be close by.”

  “Oh.” She turned sadly and walked back into the kitchen.

  Dusty watched the women set the tables without speaking again. Men filed in like figures in a cuckoo clock, right on time. She didn’t try to sit with the women this time. She chose a random table and sat with her fingers woven together against her forehead. She stayed that way through the prayer.

  Lunch was shepherd’s pie, and it was rich and heavy and meaty and delicious. The men at her table ate quickly, taking seconds happily, talking very little. Dusty was glad; she wasn’t interested in talking. She did as they did and enjoyed another helping. When the dishes were cleared, Elder Graves stood and held his hands up for silence. The only beardless leader, he somehow seemed much older than the others. His face was deeply lined, and he had the shrunken appearance of a tall man who has been pulled downward by time and work and sadness.

  When the room quieted, he began to speak, gently. “As you all know, all our recent missionaries have returned except the last two. Elders Langdon and Obermeyer were assigned to Colorado to serve a mission. They have not returned on the appointed date, but we know they will be back soon, with the help of Heavenly Father.”

  Across the room from him, Sister Obermeyer put her face in her hands and started to cry.

  Graves cleared his throat. “Despite the setbacks we have experienced, we know that the directive to complete a mis
sion is still asked of us, and we must fulfill it. We know this to be true with every fiber of our being. So today, we call forth six new missionaries to serve.”

  The room tensed up. She swept her eyes across the faces around her, looking for Chet. He was there, pink in the cheeks with his eyes full of fear. The moment seemed to stretch out for a long time before Graves spoke again.

  “Elder Cubner and Elder Grim.”

  Two young men rose from the same table and waited.

  “You are called to Flagstaff, Arizona.”

  They both sat down again, slowly.

  “Elder Behr and Elder Smith.”

  A fat teenager arose at Dusty’s table, and another across the room joined him. The other missionary seemed older, maybe twenty-five.

  “You are called to serve in Albuquerque, New Mexico.”

  The older man sat down fast, disappearing from view. The chubby kid sank slowly, his lower lip quivering. No one near him touched him or looked at him or said a word.

  “Elder Anderson and Elder Flint. You are called to serve your mission in Billings, Montana.”

  Chet had stood with his back to her, and she couldn’t see his face. The tension in the room relaxed slightly.

  “All those who will sustain these brothers in their callings, please indicate by the uplifted hand.” Comstock looked out over the room, and everyone lifted their right hands as though they were taking an oath. Dusty, startled, didn’t move. She didn’t understand what she was seeing. She watched Jodi Obermeyer raise her hand, still sobbing.

  “We believe that Heavenly Father will protect you and help you reach your intended destination. We believe that you will render aid along the way out of the goodness of your hearts. We believe that you will meet women and children and offer them succor. We believe you can lead those who belong here back to Zion. We believe you will return with honor.”

  Jodi Obermeyer sobbed aloud.

  Graves ignored her. “The missionaries will leave tomorrow, so tonight will be their farewell dinner. Let us all show them love and kindness and keep them in our prayers.”