“I do, too,” I answer.
“Even though he isn’t here, I knew he could be. Someday. Or that we could be there,” he continues. “But please don’t tell Dad! I don’t want him to think—”
“Bent, it’s okay,” I interject. “Loving another person who helped you, mentored you, and loved you, doesn’t take anything away from the love you feel for your Dad.”
“But what if…” he starts, then trails off, pondering. “What if I didn’t get all of my memories back? With Dad, I mean?”
“Nick assured me he was thorough—”
“But we only had a few days to take care of everything,” Bentley insists. “And Nick was stressed—we were rushed. What if...the reason I miss Nick so much is that I’m not as bonded with...Dad,” Bentley asks, a deep shame echoing in his question.
Taking a moment to think, I pull him close again and run my hands through his hair. “I’m not going to pretend that that’s not a possibility,” I say softly. “Though I think the chances are low. Even with all of your memories properly restored, you still missed that time with your Dad. You grew and matured a lot during that time with Nick, and that’s not a bad thing, Bent. Love isn’t exclusive. Loving one person doesn’t mean that you love another person less, nor does it mean that there’s a certain amount of love that is acceptable. If there’s anything I’ve learned the last few years, trying to deny or ignore emotions won’t actually get rid of them.” I lean down and meet him at eye level. “Bent, let’s name what you feel.”
“I feel sad,” he starts. “Sad that Nick is gone and...bad that sometimes I wish he could be my Dad, too.”
I nod. “Great job. Now what can we say to that? Instead of trying to hide?”
“It’s good that I love Nick and Dad. It’s good to miss someone I love,” he offers, searching my face for approval.
“That’s a great start,” I say. “Do you know what else will help you process all of this?” I ask, smiling. “Food! Do you want to help me with breakfast? It takes a lot longer to prep everything for this many people.”
He perks up, wipes his eyes, and energetically joins me at the counter. I don’t even have to pull up a chair anymore; he’s tall enough to see everything. I sigh, momentarily missing his pudgy arms, slipping pants, and childlike movements. A pang of sadness pierces my heart as I remember that I’m currently missing all of that with Beth and Leah. The loss just never goes away. Everywhere I turn, everything I do, reminds me of them.
Wiping a tear from my cheek, I hand Bentley the salt and pepper. “Can you season those for me?” I ask, pointing to the potatoes in the cast iron pot.
“Sure, Mom,” he says gently, his other arm reaching up to lightly rub my back.
As soon as breakfast is ready, the children on the floor are awake, and more kids begin stumbling out into the hall, still rubbing their eyes.
“We made breakfast!” Bentley announces excitedly. Almost in unison, their hands drop to their sides and their sleepy eyes open wide in surprise.
“We don’ ha’ cooked breakfast,” a little boy with sandy brown hair says slowly.
“Well, now you do,” I say warmly.
They move quickly to the table, all except a young girl who approaches me. “Can I help?” she asks innocently, and my heart melts.
“I think I’ve got everything ready to go, but you could really help me by telling me everyone’s names. I need to learn them sooner or later.”
She beams. “I’m Reya, and this is—” she rushes, but I stop her with a hand.
“Whoa, you’re going to have to go slower than that,” I laugh. “I’m going to need a lot of repetition, too.”
She blushes. “Okay, I’m Reya,” she says slowly.
“I got that one,” I confirm.
“This,” she points to the boy who spoke earlier, “is Pete.”
“How old are you, Pete?” I ask.
“Seven, I think,” he answers.
“Are you the youngest?”
He nods.
“Reya, how old are you?” I ask, realizing I haven’t been the best at predicting just by height and body size.
“I’m ‘leven,” she answers proudly.
She does not look eleven. If I had to guess, I would have said nine at the most.
I smile. “Okay, who’s next?”
She slowly moves around the table and I try to repeat each name in my head three times. I know I’ll still forget, but at least it’s something. It seems that the older kids—including Tal—are still sleeping, but everyone else is present. Doing a quick count, there are nine children between the ages of seven and eleven. With the older four, plus Tal, that gives a total of fourteen kids. Sixteen of us total. This number takes my breath away.
Eric appears in the doorway, a smile on his lips as he observes the happiness and excitement in the children’s faces. Walking around the table, he greets me with a warm embrace.
“Tal still asleep?” he asks, collecting a plate from the counter and dishing up.
“Seems like it,” I answer.
“He’s not asleep,” Bentley says and my eyebrows furrow.
“What do you mean he’s not asleep?”
“The older kids were all gone when I woke up,” he answers matter-of-factly.
Setting his plate down, Eric moves down the hall and peeks into the room. “They’re not there,” he confirms.
Looking out the window, I search for movement in the yard. The lighting still isn’t great, but I don’t see any obvious signs of life.
“I’ll go check the workshop,” Eric says calmly, recognizing my distress. He rubs my shoulder as he passes—ignoring his breakfast completely—and slips on his boots and coat.
Noticing that the children have all but finished eating, I decide to set some ground rules. Just as I’m about to open my mouth, one child after another picks up their place setting and sets everything in the sink. Though they have a difficult time reaching, they also attempt to wash their hands. Turning the water on for them, I show them how to use the soap. Pete smells his hands after drying them and grins. Then he moves to his sleeping area and carefully folds his blanket, setting it against the far wall. The other children follow suit.
“Go ahead and get dressed for the day,” I say, completely amazed by their behavior thus far. “You can play outside for a bit before chores begin. Does everyone have a coat?” A row of little heads nod in unison, then scatter to their various piles of belongings.
“Thank you,” Reya says softly, then runs to join the others.
I wonder what it must be like for them. To have depended on themselves for so long, and then suddenly to have someone there to help. I’ll have to remember to avoid jumping in and unintentionally stealing their hard-fought independence. I also can’t help but hope it will be a learning experience for Tal and Bentley. While they have always been good about contributing, this self-reliant mentality is something completely foreign. We’ve never asked Tal or Bent to take full responsibility for the success of our family. While I appreciate the new perspective, there has to be a way to find a healthy balance.
The door swings wide and Eric is trailed by Tal, Root, Caleb, Lila, and Rose. Removing their shoes, they move excitedly toward the food still on the table.
“How in the world did you leave without me noticing?” I ask.
“I didn’t know you were up, but I did think it was strange that there was light coming from the pantry,” Tal says. His voice sounds lower this morning and it throws me off.
“That explains it,” I say. “I was menu planning in there so I didn’t wake anyone. We must have just missed each other.”
“Sorry if w’scared you,” Rose apologizes.
“I wasn’t scared, just confused.”
Tal raises his eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe I was a little bit nervous,” I admit, and Eric laughs.
“They were out working on Tal and Bentley’s experiment.”
“Oh?” I ask, taken aback.
&
nbsp; “Yeah, when we were walking back here, we were telling Rose about our experiment. She asked if we had tried adding in these seeds,” Tal says, pulling out a handful of what look like tiny leaves—thin and paper-like, with a round black center.
“What kind of seeds are those?” I ask, confused. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“They’re from a tree in the woods,” Tal answers. “These are some that Rose had with her, but she knows where to get more.”
“So, what do they do?” I ask.
Rose speaks up. “We use them in our drinking water at home. You crush them and let them sit in the water, then drain it. My mom said it makes it safe.”
“Huh,” I say, looking at Eric. He shrugs. “So you’re going to try it?”
“Yep,” he answers, shoving a bite of potatoes into his mouth. “We already have the carbon filter, the sand filter, and the charcoal filter. Our main problem is that, even with those filters, the heavy metal level is still too high. Specifically iron and arsenic. We haven’t found anything that will lower those. We’re going to add this and see what happens.”
“Wow, I had no idea that you had already added all of those other filters. You weren’t kidding when you said you were seeing progress,” I comment, impressed.
“Yeah, but people have known how to do all of this forever,” Tal counters.
“Right, but what Berg doesn’t know how to do yet is remove these metals in a sustainable way. They have chemicals that will do it, but those have their limitations, as you boys have already discovered. Unintended consequences,” Eric says, looking pointedly at Tal.
“I know, I know,” Tal says.
“I’m just saying, you shouldn’t minimize this project. It’s really important,” Eric says.
“Thanks, Dad.”
The other children don’t say a word, their mouths filled with food.
“You can play for awhile,” I say, “but then it’s time for chores. We have a lot to get done.”
They all nod obediently.
“The sooner we can get that addition up, the sooner you’ll all have your own beds to sleep in,” Eric adds. I turn to the sink to start washing dishes, though there’s hardly anything left to wash. They must have licked their plates clean.
“Can we start building beds today?” Tal asks.
“I think we better get a roof up first. Otherwise the beds will get rained on.”
Agreeing, the children slip their shoes back on and run into the yard.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tal and Bentley so happy,” I sigh, watching them through the window.
“I know, I hope it lasts. I’m sure they’re going to start getting on each other’s nerves at some point.”
“I’m so impressed with their behavior,” I say, setting a plate in the drying rack.
“I agree. When we went back to get them the other day, their level of organization was impressive. And their willingness to leave things behind. Remember when Tal used to cry if he was ever missing his blanket?”
I laugh, remembering.
“There was none of that. If I said that something needed to stay, there were zero complaints. I have to admit, I was initially worried about what this was going to do to our family culture, but seeing that—”
“I don’t think you have to ‘admit’ that,” I tease. “You were fairly vocal about it.”
“Ha, ha,” he laughs sarcastically, then leans over to kiss me. “I know we haven’t had a lot of time to ourselves lately. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” I say.
“Truly?”
“I mean, as well as can be expected. I’m kind of worried about the girls,” I start, but physically saying the words out loud opens a floodgate of emotion and tears begin to stream down my cheeks, my face contorting. Eric pulls me to him and my hands, wet with dishwater, soak the back of his shirt.
“We’re going to figure this out,” Eric murmurs.
“How?” I whisper. “How, Eric? Nick is gone. I have no control over what happens to them at this point. And our resources—”
“I promise,” he states firmly. “One day at a time.”
I sink into him, letting the burdens lift in his confidence, if only for a brief moment.
Chapter 109
It’s been a week. I have survived another seven days and slowly, I am beginning to feel a little more like myself. At least, I can see that my normal could potentially exist again. Somehow, even though I still feel Nick’s loss acutely, I seem to be managing my emotions better than I have in the past. When I mentioned this to Eric, he suggested that it could be because we have had to deal with so much loss—and adjust to such extraordinary circumstances. We have honed our resiliency muscles, so to speak.
I have been mulling this idea over and over in my brain. Wasn’t all of our Tier 1 conditioning supposed to accomplish this exact end result? Yet I feel the difference here, ironically, where we have no safety net. Where life is so much harder and less sure. Could it be that hardship and physical struggle actually build emotional strength? And not in a superficial sense, but in a true, better sense. Obviously, we know that our predecessors were strong. They had to be in order to put food on their tables and protect their families. However, we also know they dealt with illness and disease that have since been proven to be exacerbated by stress. Tier 1 belief is that the life our ancestors led made them sick. But what if that was simply correlation? Those early pioneers also had no education, no leadership, and no surrounding community.
Something clicks as a thought coalesces. Diversity. They had no diversity. No divergent ideas or variety in life situation. Sure, they had individual uniqueness within their groups, but life was just perpetually difficult, leaving no excess time or energy to personally grow from opportunities that may have organically existed. It was simply survival. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. What if it’s actually that breadth of experience—the very recognition of what we have and what we’ve lost—along with unique qualities in the people around us that builds resilience? Is it even possible to have both? To be enlightened and struggle? Are they incompatible?
I’m stronger now because I was thrown into a new circle. I learned from Nick. Not only from his research, but his very outlook on the world. I learned from betrayal—something that individuals in Tier 1 don’t normally have to experience. I grew from losing my family and then finding it again. I continue to learn how to be patient, how to hold strong and trust, and how to cope with situations that are outside of my control. What if that sadness is what actually helps to bring me peace? What if I need to watch myself struggle through things to trust that I can do it again in the future? Isn’t that what resilience truly is?
Of course, there’s always the chance that this added “stress” will make me sick eventually. But, even in that case, I’m not convinced that one absolute is better than the other. If I do die earlier than I could have, it was a direct consequence of me leading a fuller life. Would I rather live longer, but in a more protected, less vibrant state?
I sit on a stump—the yard humming around me—staring above the heads of the children who are diligently working alongside Eric to put the final touches on the sides of the addition. The roof should be finished by tomorrow morning, if not by tonight. These children—the worst of the worst by Berg’s standards. But just look at them. Despite my longing to remain in the easy comfort of blind acceptance, I’m beginning to question everything. And it’s terrifying.
“Mom! Mom, you have to come see this!” Bentley shouts, tearing through the front door into the kitchen, not even stopping to remove his shoes.
“I’m making dinner, Bent. Can it wait?”
“No, this absolutely cannot wait,” he insists.
“Alright, alright. Let me just put this in the pot,” I say, scooping up a handful of chopped fennel. Rinsing and drying my hands, I slip on my shoes and follow him out the door. Running quickly ahead of me, he continually stops, waiting for me to catch up.
“Just c’mon, Mom. Hurry up!”
What could possibly be making him this antsy?
“Okay!” I laugh, lengthening my stride. He opens the door to the workshop and I step inside. All of the older children are beaming. Eric is leaning on the crude, wooden counter, smiling and shaking his head.
“What?” I ask as they stare at me.
“Mom,” Tal says, pausing for emphasis.
“What?” I repeat with more agitation.
“Are you sitting down, Kate?” Eric asks softly, his eyes twinkling. Immediately, I am transported back to our kitchen in Tier 1.
“I am obviously sitting down, Eric.”
“No, I mean mentally. Are you mentally sitting down.”
“ERIC! Just say it already!”
Tingles shoot up my spine. My eyes fill with tears unexpectedly, the gravity of the moment adequately expressed in such a simple question.
“Tal, what is it?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“It’s clean,” he says simply, holding up a beaker. My eyes dart between him and Eric. Back and forth, not knowing how to respond.
“I tested it, Kate. The arsenic levels are below 10 micrograms per liter.”
“I don’t even know what that means. Someone please explain, and use normal words,” I snap, then realize how my tone is being interpreted by the kids. “Sorry, this is just a lot to take in,” I apologize. “I know you are trying to tell me something important, but I’m not understanding. Can you explain it to me?” I ask, keeping my tone kind this time.
Bentley steps forward before anyone else can answer. “You know that Tal and I have been using different filters.” I nod, and he continues, “But, we couldn’t ever solve the heavy metal problem. I tried varying the pH levels when applying different treatments and it helped a little, but never got them down to a number that was truly safe. The truth is, the chemical treatments that Berg has used up until now are not very effective—I mean, they are in the short term—but considering the negative side effects they aren’t sustainable. They cost a lot to manufacture and, as our population grows, that simply won’t be an option. Plus, we are obviously still being exposed to a lot of this stuff since cancer levels are still high, even in Tier 1.”
Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3 Page 56