Tomma
and Vernie each seized one end of the long handles of the log
tongs.
Horses and oxen were needed elsewhere,
as the spring weather had come early and stayed long. The gardens
were not plowed, but planted from hothouse starts through a yearlong
mulch of straw, to conserve water. Such methods were not practical at
field scale, and those in charge of barley, oats and wheat favored
the traditional moldboard plow, harrow, and manure cart. If weather
favored the field hands, as it did this year, the woods hands must
supply their own labor unaided.
The tongs,
like a pair of ice tongs, consisted of two long hooked bars of iron,
joined together like a pair of scissors, suspended from a wooden rod
that extended three feet on each side. Any fir tree from the lower
slopes of Maggie's Hill, less than a foot in diameter, might be fair
game. It would be cut down with a pair of axes and limbed, then
de-barked with an iron "spud," a kind of large chisel on a
long handle like that of a hoe, so that the log would slide easily.
Two loggers would choose and cut a tree together, then one would limb
while the other rested, and the other would spud while the first
rested, and then, with the tongs, they would skid the tree down to
one of the farms, to be added to a pile near the sawbuck.
In this way were loggers warmed out of doors in all weather, and the farmers and families warmed in the kitchens.
Larger
trees were left until a team of oxen could be assigned to the task.
New land for farming, should enough labor be found to do it, was
added to the Creek's inventory in this way.
"Left! Go left, dang it!" said Vernie in exasperation.
"I am!" replied Tomma. "Just do it; I'll stay with
you."
"I can never tell if you're
going to, that's the trouble."
"S'cuz
I'm taller and don't take as many steps."
"Well, bully for you. Oka-a-y, we're going through these
huckleberries here, then slip over the ash log and down to the
hedge."
"I'm there; step high,
Vernie, there's trailing blackberry all through here."
"Save your breath."
"Let's sit
down and I'll catch my breath."
They dropped the tongs and sat in the sunshine. Below them, folks at
Maggie's were hitching the big Belgian to a new tooth harrow; far to
the right, new smoke rose from the kitchen at New Ames', formerly
known as Savage Mary's.
"Mrs. A. and
Mrs. M. have started dinner," noted Vernie. "Last year's
oatmeal and some dandelions, I bet."
"Well, that would be my fault; I let all those trout get out of
the trap."
"Things happen,
sweetie."
"Y'think Karen's gonna
make it to th' table?"
"Dunno,
busy, busy gal these days."
"Yah,
don't even know half of what she's – whoa!" Tomma was staring
into the slash and brush uphill.
Vernie was
quick on the uptake. A bear, or wolves, or coyotes, or even a cougar
would not have provoked such stillness in Tomma's manner. "Arm?"
Vernie asked.
"Yes. Now." Leaving
the tongs where they lay, both ran sidehill to where their bows and
quivers leaned against a tree, and made cover behind an "ox-sized"
log before slipping into their quivers, which also bore their short
swords. Vernie watched as Tomma lay down and braced himself to string
his bow, then Tomma nocked and watched while Vernie followed
suit.
Vernie came up nocked and ready. There
had not been time to don armguards; this was an issue for Vernie, who
had a lot of scar tissue on his bow forearm and stood to rip flesh if
it came to loosing an arrow. So it goes, he thought. "Whatcha
got?"
"No idea, but it sounded to
me like a two-legs on the sneak."
They
stared uphill. For some time, there was nothing; then a crow squawked
peculiarly; it was seeing something it neither expected nor liked.
Both men drew their fletching back to their cheeks and aimed uphill.
A very large dog, wearing a leather collar, bounded up onto a log,
looked at them briefly, gave two sweeps of its tail, and
disappeared.
"What the –" breathed
Vernie.
"Gee, a dog. Cheery-looking and
belongs to somebody."
"Tomma,
why is it always you and me that have these alien encounters?"
"It's not; remember Mo-reen. Keep sharp."
They waited. The crow continued with its conniption fit. After a long
interval, a young man with long yellow hair, dressed in buckskin like
Maggie, slowly and deliberately walked to a stump, climbed it, and
stood up in full view, both hands in the air, palms out.
"Hiya."
"I'll be damned. I
guess that means 'parley'," said Tomma.
"Now what?" asked Vernie.
"Now
you watch the brush really, really good, and if someone
stands up to shoot, put your arrow right through him, is what."
"You gonna break cover?"
"He
did. That's brave and it asks for trust; if they get me they must
know you might get away and raise the Creek on 'em. To prevent that,
they would have had to shoot us while we were sitting ducks."
Tomma laid aside his bow and shucked his quiver.
"Ah-h-h-h, I hate this," said Vernie. "Let's
hope it's better'n that Lawson fellow -- and better'n what happened to him."
"Sharp eye, that's all. Here goes." Tomma stood up and put
out both palms. "Hey," he called out.
The blond youth grinned relief. Either that or he was a superb actor.
"Sir, I must admit your friend there really, really scares me, "
he shouted. "He looks like he knows what he is doing. I, uh, I
am shaking like a leaf."
Tomma shouted
back. "Well, so am I; I don't know how many of you there are but
I can feel eyes. I'm guessing I'm covered by some weapons too."
"Well, everyone must do what they must do. I do not mind telling
you I have not done this before. We are a people, as you are, and we
have had talks about how to meet you."
"Umm, well, for starters, don't rush things. We've been
through a lot of hell lately and we're a trigger-happy bunch. And,
'course, we don't know but what you've got diseases we don't have,
and vice versa."
"Yes, that makes
sense. Suggestions?"
Without taking eyes
off the woods, Vernie whispered. "Tomma, if they're on the
level, see if they'll send one rep for quarantine."
"Sounds good." Tomma raised his voice. "Ahh, so, we do
have a procedure in place, and it has worked for us before. Ya got a
name?"
"You may call me
Josep."
"'K, well, I'm Tomma. So,
let's say well met, provisionally; are you prepared to come, alone,
and stay in isolation in our clinic for two weeks?"
"Clinic! Is this a city? But I should not pry. So,
quarantine. You are very wise. Would I be able to talk with
anyone?"
"Yes, the doctors and
maybe a few specialists at first. Then we could see 'bout getting you
back home with greetings and who knows, maybe some proposals."
"May I have a few moments, please?"
"Consultation, eh?"
The young man
grinned engagingly. "It is wise to travel in company. I will be
right back." He hopped down from the stump and disappeared.
Tomma immediately realized his unilateral exposure and did the same,
gasping for breath. "Jeeah, this is scary stuff. Like
painting myself with a target and subbing for the archery butts."
"Tomma, I think there are at least three, with the dog."
"And a 'people,' somewhere, if they're being straight with us.
Presumably not on Decker Creek; we come up snake eyes every time we
look there."
"Next valley over,
then; we should have gone to see."
"Well, can't do everything, y'know. And you're right, somehow
it's always you and me, and if we had blundered into dogs who
knows how it might have turned out?"
"He's back."
Tomma checked; the
palms-out stance had been resumed. He clambered up and did the
same.
The stranger called out. "How
about an exchange? One to come to our place and one to come to
yours?"
Tomma felt there was an answer
to this but felt woolly-brained.
Vernie saw
the difficulty and prompted him. "Tell him we'll set a date;
full moon or something, for a second go-round. That we have to
consult, too, 'cuz the two of us don't have the authority for an
official decision."
Tomma made the
suggestion, and it was accepted with surprising speed.
"We like it," said the stranger. "If your people agree
to meet and exchange visitors, how about we use the little clearing
by the steel barn in the valley to the north of here? In, say, six
days?"
Full moon. "I can't
guarantee it, here and now, but I know of no reason why not. Assuming
it happens, say three people from each side meet, exchange one? We'll
have to quarantine our crew when they come back with you; and you
might want to do the same."
A short
delay. Then: "This is good. We will be there. Going now; please
do not follow."
"Follow a crew
that's got a watchdog? Trust me; nobody's coming up that
hill."
The blond guy laughed a hearty
laugh and jumped down from the stump. Vernie caught a glimpse of a
large black man, or perhaps mulatto like himself. And then the woods
were quiet.
"Huh." Vernie kept his
stance and his lookout, but relaxed his arrow arm a little. "I
think that was on the level."
"That
or they are damned good actors. Think I gave away too much?"
"Well ... that was properly cagey, but they do probably
know now that the Creek has no dogs."
"Damn. Well, didya see that guy that accidentally showed
himself?"
"Yes. Tomma, to me his
presence is reassuring; surely these people are not Kluxers."
"That would be nice; anyway, they're sure not skinheads."
Tomma re-armed himself. "So let's wait till the crows calm down;
they're our watchdogs. Then one of us can stash the tools
under a cedar and we'll hie us home to supper and see about getting
word to Hall of this thing."
Vernie
gripped Tomma's shoulder. "Let's do that; I was ready for a
short day and this is as good an excuse as any I've seen – in a
long time."
:::
Karen
of Ridge hiked down the mountain's road in her cedar-bark rain cape.
Not that it was raining at the moment, but it might at any time, and
there was still a bit of winter's chill in the air. She felt her
sword belt pulling around to the left as she walked, and adjusted it
with her hand. The cape was twisting as well. This came, she knew, of
having a lopsided body. Perhaps she should learn to walk without
swinging her hand.
As she came round one of
the hairpin turns in the cart track, she met an ox team huffing up to
Ridge. It was led by Yamaguchi, a particular friend. She stepped out
of the way, and Guchi led the team past, then stopped the cart beside
her.
"Hey, you," he said. He
patted one of the animals on the head, and sat down, leaning against
the bole of a bent fir tree.
"Hey,
yourself. How many loads are left?" Karen flexed her knees, but
didn't sit; she still felt awkward getting back up, and preferred
keeping things simple.
"It's going to be
about six, maybe seven. Savage Mary had a lot of stuff down
there."
"So, we're almost
done."
"Yah-yah. Your family is all
moved in now, by the way. The rest of this stuff will be from
outbuildings."
"So I heard."
"They've kept you up here this whole time; what do you do all
day?"
"Well, a lot of it is reading
and recitation; I'm studying chemistry and metallurgy."
"Has Old Mary got special plans for you, then?"
"Not this year; we have power for manufacturing, for the time
being, so we're going to see if we can make some things we might
need, 'down the road.'"
"Uh-huh, I
hear what you're not saying. Some of that is war stuff.
Why do you all think that guy's coming back?"
"Well, I'm the only one who saw him go. Except maybe Mr.
Angle."
"And?"
"He didn't walk like a loser."
"Woo, so, readiness regime."
"'Everyone always prepares for the last war.' We're trying to
learn new stuff and be ready for the next one."
:::
It
was almost dark when Karen reached New Ames. She'd seen the porch
before, of course, several times, but she'd never gone up the walk.
There was no railing for the wooden steps, so she took them
mindfully, and let herself in by the whitewashed front door.
"Home? Ho, ho house?"
"Karen?
That is really you?" She heard Juanita's voice from down the
hall, kitchen-way. "Come straight back; I am up to here in
flour."
Karen hung up her wide-brimmed
rain hat and pulled the thong of her cape. She slipped the buckle of
her belt as well, and found a spare nail in the wall on which to hang
her belongings. Walking down the dim hallway, she found an open door
on the right, and looked in. Quick, small Juanita, as absorbed in
kitchen things as ever, stood by a work counter with her hair in a
bun and a large bowl in front of her,
much as Karen imagined she would find her. The bowl was rotating as
Juanita stirred.
Karen stood beside her.
"Hold that for you?"
For a split
second, Juanita seemed hesitant; their eyes met. Karen put into her
own eyes an expression that said: I will not be treated as an
invalid.
Juanita's
eyes replied, no, indeed. "Please, yes. Around to the
back. And as I stir with this hand, I tip in a bowlful of flour, so!
And the dough is stiffening, so I put both hands to the soup spoon,
so. And now it is like old times."
"Barley?"
They both laughed.
"Yes, but Mr. Avery has sent down extra wheat this year, and so
in spite of the troubles, we feed everyone easily. Now hand to me the
big jar with the veg flakes, and we will put some in – "
"Turnip greens and kale?"
"Also
beet greens, a little chard, dandelion, cabbage. To keep sickness
from the door." Juanita twisted off the lid, poured a half cup
of the dehydrated, crumbled foliage into her hand, dumped most of it
in, and returned the rest to the jar.
"So
now, it is a little thicker, and the dough cleans the sides of the
bowl, and we set aside the spoon. What do you do?"
"I cover this bowl, and set it out back to stay cool overnight,
so as not to rise too quickly, and bake tomorrow."
"It is so! Our Karen forgets nothing. So do that, please, and
come back and we will set table for – eight, I think; make that
nine, as there is a guest – bowls! Spoons! Soup, and we can dip in
it last week's bread. Yah?"
Karen pulled
the big bowl to her, covered it with its lid, gripped it against her
ribs with her hand, and moved to the back door. For a moment she
puzzled over the doorknob, then leaned the bowl against the door,
turned and pulled the knob shuffling backwards, put her foot in the
gap, returned her hand to the bowl, kicked the door open, and carried
her burden to the cooling shelf in the back mudroom. Here was yet
another puzzle, for the shelf was higher than the one at Ames, but
she solved that by discovering a small stepladder. By ascending the
ladder and crouching against the ceiling a bit, Karen was able to
shove the bowl into place one-handed.
Where there is a will ...it was slow, it was more work, but all
things would have to be done so.
When
she returned, she found dishes and utensils for nine on the counter,
and Juanita by the pump, cleaning her arms and hands in a washbowl.
Karen set the kitchen table, which was an old one with leafs at the
ends, which she puzzled over for a moment, then pulled them out to
make room for everyone.
"See," said
Juanita, "you are always at home everywhere! I am still not used
to this place; I liked our old farm and kitchen the best, yah? Warm
in winter and cool in summer."
"Yes,
the sunken kitchen was the best way. Perhaps we could take up this
floor and rebuild more to our liking?"
"When the farming is caught up, maybe, you think? But when,
ever, is farming caught up?"
Mrs. Ames
put her head around the door. "Oh, my, who have we here?"
Karen felt a shock; Mrs. Ames had visibly aged in the last two moons.
"Umm, me."
"'Umm, me,' she
says. "Honey, may I hug you?"
Hugging was never Karen's strong suit; but she had made an exception
for Mrs. Ames almost from the day she'd met her. The large woman came
in, with a bit of a wobble in her step, and swept Karen into one
long, farm-red arm, handing a basket to Juanita with the other.
"Here's y'dandelions, 'n some garlic greens, is there time to
steam that for dinner?"
"There is a
sunchoke soup, today; I will cut them up small and add them to it and
they will wilt in time for everyone to come in, I think, and
enjoy."
"Thank you, dear; I have to
sit down! Whew! Karen, girl, stop looking like you need something to
do and sit and let me just look at you a bit!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"'Yes, ma'am.'
That's all I ever heard from you at Ames, but now you're th' biggie,
and th' guest of honor, too. How do ya like our new digs?"
"I'm sure there is more space here than before."
"They must be teachin' ya politics. It's not as comfy; colder in
th' cold, so it'll be hotter in th' hot, I'm thinkin'. Cows wouldn't
care for th' pasturage as much, neither."
"Wouldn't?"
"Well, Florence up
and died on us; th'mastitis whipped us. And th' rest had found homes
– y'know; spread th' joy. I'm too tired these days t'do much of
that stuff any more anyhow." Mrs. Ames propped her elbow on the
table, almost knocking over an empty glass. Juanita brought over a
pitcher of water, and moved the glass away unobtrusively. "So –
whatcha been doing?"
"Me? Math,
chemistry, metals. We're re-learning how to analyze materials –
spectroscopy."
"Huh? Girl, that's a
ten-Amero word if I ever heard one!"
"Oh
– well, Dr. Savage took a prism from a smashed pair of binoculars
and mounted it on a frame. I burn known things over a spark gap,
observe the rainbow on the wall, and list its "lines" –
we're going to try to duplicate some compounds
from before the Undoing. It's not quality spectroscopy but we're
learning."
"Ya, well, ya got me,
honey. Nita, ya got everything under control?"
"Yes, Mrs. Ames, the soup is ready and I will ring the bell."
Juanita hung up her apron and stepped out the back.
"Thank you, honey." Mrs. Ames returned her attention to
Karen. "They all think I'm on my way out, for cryin' out
loud, but I at least offer to pull my own weight. C'n do it, too, if
I don't rush it." She looked down at her hand-sewn moccasins.
"'It's these fool things; can't always tell where I'm puttin' my
feet, in 'em."
The bell, which was the
old iron pipe from Ames, sang under the poll of the hand axe. David
Molinero, looking bigger and older than Karen remembered, came in
through the door with a load of firewood. He nodded to Karen, who
nodded back. It wouldn't do to fuss over the boys, even if Karen were
the fussing kind. They were at that age, sensitive to adult scrutiny.
And what about me? Have I never left "that age?"
Juanita, who'd held the door open for him, came in briskly, closing
it behind her. "There will be no need to feed the fire; we are
done for the day, I think. Drop those in the woodbox and wash up,
yah?"
He did so, morosely.
Footsteps, with the scraping noises that accompany mud season, began
to resound from the mudroom.
Errol came in,
followed by Emilio, Raoul, and Vernie. They greeted Karen, each in
his own way, washed their hands and faces and came to the table. A
brief offering of the bland, but sufficient, meal was made to Jeeah
by Mrs. Ames, at the head of the table.
"So,
where's Tomma?" asked Mrs. Ames, ladling out soup with a shaking
hand. Vernie kept his bowl in motion beneath the ladle, so that none
would spill.
"Well, we had an
adventure."
"He's not hurt?"
Juanita paused by the stove, where she was fetching barley cakes from
the warming shelf.
"No, he's at Hall, on
the phone to Mr. Avery. We've been debriefing all afternoon. We met
some people."
Karen stopped,
spoon halfway to her mouth. "So, not Creekers?"
"No, apparently the valley north of Decker Creek has a group,
not so different from us. We only met a patrol, but they say they are
about fifty, I think."
"Please.
Tell it from the beginning," requested Emilio.
"Umm, maybe between bites?" Vernie picked up a cake and
held it in the steam from his bowl.
"That
is to be expected; who isn't hungry?" asked Emilio. "The
days are longer and we are feeling it in our bones. This farm was
somewhat neglected."
"Okay, and
it's maybe the fifth time I've told this today."
Vernie recounted the encounter with the party from Roundhouse, with
interruptions, over the course of the meal. Karen could see that
everyone had their own reaction, mostly apprehensive, to the story.
What would it mean to make extended contact with a group who had
obviously developed a parallel culture, alike but different? Did they
have anything, besides potentially dogs, to offer? What about
diseases? Points of conflict in belief?
"You're looking thoughtful." Errol was watching Karen, as
the others were getting up from table and moving toward the front
room.
"Lots to think about. Clashing
religions, maybe." She rose and picked up his bowl and hers.
"I'll help clear." Errol began
reaching for bowls and utensils as well. "Tell me your own views
– I've never heard you make an offering to Jeeah."
"I think I get what that's about – didn't Elsa Chaney start
it? Something about being grateful to the Earth."
"So it is, but it's growing into a real religion, somehow."
"But you don't seen over-enthused."
"Well, I like straight-grained ash for some jobs, curly maple
for others. I'm guessing you're a bit like me."
Karen lowered the bowls into the warm water in the sink, which was
mildly foamy from the lye-soap that had been shaved into it. "Maybe
so. I was brought up on books and magazines and discussion. One of my
father's regular sayings was that one should not seek additional
explanations."
"Occam."
"You know about him! Well, okay. So I was reading in a magazine
about birds."
"Birds?"
There was a – a photograph of an albatross chick that had been –
raped by an adult male, because he couldn't find a mate in the
colony. And so its neck was bleeding. And the smaller birds,
mockingbirds with special beaks, came and pecked at the wound to
keep it bleeding, so they could have blood to drink. They had in
fact evolved to do this – to live on the blood of raped
chicks."
"An arid island, I
presume."
"Yes! An arid island.
Gaia – Jeeah – doesn't provide. The blood provides.
What's there is what's there, and what isn't, isn't in it. It's
sufficient explanation."
"Gotcha."
Errol, privately pained by Karen's struggles with the washing up,
edged across and took over the bowls. Karen seemed preoccupied enough
that he was sure he could get away with it.
"So," she began, looking over her shoulder toward the front
room. "Mm, what's with Mrs. Ames?"
"Parkinson's. Marcee – she's been studying up – told
us."
"Oh."
Juanita came in from the front room and strode over to the wood
stove. She held her hand palm down over the soup, nodded her head in
satisfaction, and looked over to them. "Karen, this has cooled
enough for our other guest, perhaps you would take him his
dinner?"
"Oh! Was that what the
ninth bowl was about?"
"Yes; he's
not well; but insisted on visiting with us so as to see you when you
arrived."
Errol added, unsmilingly,
"Upstairs in bed, door at the end. I've got it covered
here."
Karen took the half-filled bowl,
with a spoon, from Mrs. Molinero. Why all the solemnity? Well, she
would go and see.
A
gesture from Errol found her the door to the staircase, and she made
her way up toward such light as the landing afforded. Here there was
an unadorned hallway, with assorted sacks piled along the walls.
These no doubt contained goods from Ames which had not yet found
homes. Karen tapped at the last door, which was cracked open, with
her foot, then kneed the door open and looked in.
The room was half-filled with boxes, barrels and sacks. Among them,
Karen saw her yew bow and Aleesha's compound bow. In the other half,
Allyn lay in a straw tick bed that had been made up on the floor.
Outside, the last light was fading from a gray day over Maggie's
Hill.
Allyn
looked up from his pillow. "Well, hey. I wondered, was I going
to be fed." He smiled.
Karen was struck
by two things: one, that she had always liked that smile, for its
gentleness. The other was that there was a pervading "sourness"
in the air. It reminded her forcibly of the war. "Of course you
are. Juanita didn't want to burn your lips, I guess."
"K, well, c'n you help me sit up? There's an extra pillow."
Karen knelt and set down the bowl. She arranged the pillows and
Allyn, shoving against the mattress with his feet, scrunched himself
up to a sitting posture. His right stump flailed to help him keep his
balance. The left, which was wearing fresh bandages, he held away
from himself, stiffly. Karen reached for the nearby tin-can alky lamp
and lit it with one of the ubiquitous new strike-anywhere matches
she'd helped design. Then she pulled the bowl closer to her knees and
lifted out a spoonful of the soup.
"Dinner?"
"Yes, please."
She gave him a spoonful.
"Ack.
Jerusalem artichoke."
"'S'good for
you. Hang on a second."
Karen found it
difficult offering the spoon from the right, and moved round to the
left side of the bed. They spoke between his swallows.
"Adjustments," observed Allyn. "We learn fast."
"Mnh. Eat."
"Yes'm."
"What's with the bandages?"
"You
never did beat around the bush. Dunno, they can't keep it clean. We
tried the pross – pross –"
"Prostheses."
" – hook
things, and I guess it was too soon. There's stuff going on in this
one." He waved his left stump, then blanched visibly.
"You try too hard. I said, just teach."
"Well, I was always hands-on." He smiled again.
She gave him the last bite, and set the spoon down in the empty bowl.
Drawing a bit of cloth from her possibles bag, she dabbed at his
chin. "So, you came up to see me? Where were you?"
"Rogers' – New Wilson, I guess. I was working at the old
Wilson's, showing the kids how to prune, and came down with fever.
Went home, and now I'm just the boy next door."
Karen's knees began to bother her, so she switched to squatting on
her heels. "Didn't you go to the clinic?"
"Oh, yeah, they've seen more of me than anybody else. 'Sick' of
me by now. 'Specially Marcee, I think she thinks I'll give the baby
something."
"What are they doing
for the arm?"
"Everything they can,
which is damned little. They have a smallish stock of old-time mouthwash, which they use as a topical when a wound opens. And there's a 'pungent ungeunt', which I think is
mostly bear fat, soldier-weed and poppy juice, and lots of comfrey. And they say I shouldn't move around too much; the bad stuff
travels more in the bloodstream. I had myself brought up here in a
stretcher, actually. Everyone's been very kind."
Was that sweat? Karen felt his forehead. "Damn it. I'm
not liking this at all."
"I was
kind of hoping you'd say that. Listen, uh, shit, I don't know how to
say it."
"Just be direct, like
me."
They looked at each other.
"Okay, I will. What, umm, what time of the month are
you?"
For three heartbeats, Karen said
nothing at all. Then she made up her mind. "Be right back."
"Not going anywhere," he smiled again, radiant this
time.
Karen stood up, crossed over to the
open door, peeked into the hall, then turned back into the room,
kicking the door shut behind her.
(To be continued)