A Stranger in Town: a Rockton novel

by Armstrong, Kelley

I believe human nature led them to experiment, and the result was a drug that made people placid and easy to control. An invaluable bonus for the right leader. Turn your followers into drone workers, contentedly gathering berries and chopping wood all day.

  Continue down that experimental path with the Second Settlement’s ritual tea, and eventually you might get something that lowers inhibitions, increases aggression, and induces a hallucinogenic state. Again, the right kind of leader—or, more accurately, the wrong kind—would see true Yukon gold there. Between the two narcotics, the leader and shaman could control their followers, making them both complacent worker bees and the aggressive hunter-warriors that terrified everyone around.

  Dalton, Maryanne, and April agree this is the most likely scenario. It makes far more sense than hypothesizing that a group of people in the forest just happened to concoct a narcotic with many of the exact same ingredients as the Second Settlement’s teas.

  Where does that take us? Nowhere really. We can’t blame the Second Settlement and ask them to clean up “their” mess. My hypothesis only answers the question of how hostiles were created.

  But now, holding a jar of the tea, I have another question.

  How was this created? My hypothesis about a botanist or pharmacist or natural-drug enthusiast works, but are there other possibilities? There’s another answer, one only raised now, during our discussion on the back porch.

  I look at Dalton as he comes inside. “The last time we spoke to Tomas and Nancy, they said they were going to camp by Lynx Lake when the weather got warmer.”

  He nods. The couple had asked our permission, the lake being a few kilometers from Rockton.

  “Do you think it’s warm enough for them to be there now?” I ask.

  “It is. I’m guessing you want to take a hike?”

  “Please.”

  22

  Lynx Lake is an hour’s walk from Rockton. It’s not the same lake where we found Sophie. There are several bodies of water within what we consider easy walking distance, and Lynx Lake has nothing to recommend it over the closer ones. Not unless you’re looking for more privacy or, well, lynx. That doesn’t mean you can expect to see the felines. The Yukon isn’t a zoo. That can be hard for southerners to understand. I’ve seen maybe a dozen lynx since I arrived, and ten of those I would have missed altogether if Dalton hadn’t pointed out a brown shape moving against a brown backdrop.

  We walk to the lake and find three tents of varying sizes, along with fish racks and a food-storage system rigged up in the trees. Food left on ground level is a sure way to get an unwanted wildlife sighting, particularly of bears. You especially don’t want to attract them if you have young children, as Nancy and Tomas do.

  This afternoon, the kids are up and out. Miles and Becky, ages seven and five, both have their fishing poles in the lake. They’re at the edge where the ice has receded. Tomas is out on the ice itself, fishing through a hole. Nancy sits on a log bench, working her embroidery magic on a new garment. There’s another woman with her, maybe in her early fifties. That gives me pause until I remember Nancy mentioned that her aunt wanted to come with them to help with the kids. To support Nancy and Tomas, I suspect, with the childcare being an excuse.

  Nancy and Tomas are breaking away from the Second Settlement. It’s as amicable as a divorce can be, which means that while it’s friendly enough to maintain trade ties, the settlement isn’t exactly thrilled with their decision. The reason for that parting? While we think of the Second Settlement as the more liberal one, it still prohibits homosexual relationships.

  At eighteen, Nancy was caught with another girl and forced to marry a man. She chose Tomas over her intended groom. He knew about the girl and decided if he was a good husband, he’d be enough for her. He’s since seen his mistake, but they have children and Nancy loves him. She wants them to be a family, and they’ll work out the rest. Part of working it out is leaving the settlement to spend the summer on their own before deciding their next move.

  As we approach, we hail Nancy and her aunt, Josie. The Second Settlement practices communal living, so the “aunt” honorific is given to all women who helped raise you.

  Josie is a tall woman, strikingly beautiful, her dark skin glistening with sweat under the strong sun. She’s Dalton’s height and towers over me as she rises. I clasp her hand between mine and bow my head, the proper greeting for an elder. Tyrone Cypher calls the Second Settlement a cult. I wouldn’t go that far. There’s no charismatic leader. No slavish devotion to dogma. To me, they resemble a faith-based back-to-nature commune. I obviously don’t agree with all their customs, but I will grant them the respect of a proper greeting, especially Josie, who has been Nancy’s staunchest supporter.

  Dalton goes to join Tomas on the ice, pausing first by the kids to chat. When he leaves, a gesture grants Storm permission to stay with the children, and she does, lapping up their hugs and pets.

  “Tomas wants to get them a dog,” Nancy says as I settle in. “I don’t suppose you’re thinking of breeding her.”

  “We are, actually. Not this year, though. A litter next spring would be nice. You’re welcome to one if you’re still around.”

  She smiles. “Tell the kids that, and we may need to stay.”

  She sets aside her needlework and rises to make tea. While I settle on the log, I look out at Dalton and Tomas.

  “Is it different now down south?” Josie asks.

  When I glance over, she laughs softly. “Oh, I’m sure it’s very different, in very many ways. But you were thinking of our division of labor, weren’t you? The man out fishing while the women sew.”

  I try not to look startled. “Actually, yes.”

  “Chores are less gender-based down south, I presume. I hope so. It had been changing when I left, but it moves so slowly.” Her bone needle glides through leather. “For myself, this is fine. I would rather sew than fish. It’s good to have choices, though. That is what I want for them.” She nods at the children. “Let Becky choose to sew or fish. Let Miles choose, too. The old ways can be just as hard on the boys, if it is not what they want.”

  “True. It’s easy to see what choices the girls lack, but sometimes it’s tougher to see that the boys lack some, too.”

  Nancy brings me a cup of tea. It’s regular herbal tea from ingredients found in nature, the bitterness of the brew cut by dried berries. Unlike the hostiles, the Second Settlement doesn’t drink their narcotic brew regularly. This cup does, however, provide the perfect segue into the subject that brought me here.

  “We’ve had some potential activity by the wild people,” I say.

  I’m about to tell them what has happened when I stop. Tell them seven people are dead? That would be national headline news in Canada. It is shocking in a way I haven’t fully allowed myself to process.

  This might be the biggest crime committed in the Yukon since the gold rush. And for these women, still reeling from a single murder in their community, to have me nonchalantly inform them that seven people were attacked nearby just last week?

  They need to know about the danger, of course. That’s what Dalton is speaking to Tomas about. I suspect, though, that he’ll also realize the enormity of what he’s saying before he numbers the dead. So I do the same. I tell the women that there was an attack on a group of tourists.

  “And you think it is the wild people?” Josie asks.

  “It seems to be, but we’re investigating all possibilities. Right now, we’re warning everyone to be careful. We came by today to do that, but also because I have more questions about your ritual tea. I realize I didn’t get enough information the last time I spoke to your settlement about it. Specifically, I’m interested in the person who created the tea.”

  “The tea man, hmm?” A smile twitches the corners of Nancy’s mouth. “You don’t know anything about him, do you, Auntie?”

  Josie sighs and shakes her head.

  “He was a handsome tea man, wasn’t he?” Nancy elbows Josie. “That�
��s what I heard. Did you hear that, Auntie?”

  “Are you done, child? I can wait if you aren’t.”

  Nancy’s eyes dance. “I think Josie can tell you a bit about the tea man.”

  “I got that impression,” I murmur.

  “Yes,” Josie says. “I knew the . . .” She cuts a look at Nancy. “Tea man. As you can probably guess by Nancy’s tittering, I had a relationship with him. A fling. I’d been in the settlement for a year, and the other men all had wives, so he was a welcome arrival.”

  Nancy snickers.

  Josie only shakes her head and continues. “It was no great love affair. I was young. He was young enough. When he left a year later, I was sad to see him go, but not heartbroken. I could tell the settlement had only been temporary for him.”

  “Did he become a settler?” My mind leapfrogs forward, thinking of my theory.

  “No, no. He returned to Rockton and requested passage south.”

  “So he was from Rockton?”

  She nods.

  “How long had he been there?” I ask.

  “A month or two? It didn’t suit him. After a year, he decided this wasn’t quite what he wanted either and went home.”

  “That was . . . okay? With Rockton and your settlement?”

  She shrugs. “It was a different time. He wanted to try life out here. Rockton suggested us, and we allowed him in. After he returned, I found a pair of his boots and took them to Rockton, but he’d already left.”

  I double-check the times with her, confirming that he’d been in the Yukon for less than his two-year minimum before they allowed him to return down south. Is that significant? Maybe. But also, as she says, it was a different time. Rockton certainly wouldn’t be recommending the settlements to residents now, no more than Josie would feel comfortable walking in with those boots.

  “Can you tell me more about how he created the tea?” I ask.

  She can and does. He’d spent a lot of time in the forest. He’d often be gone for days, and when he returned, he’d brew teas for himself.

  “He was the only one who drank them?” I ask.

  “He would allow a few others, after he’d tested the brew. Most of our teas come from him.” She points at the cup in my hand. “Including that one. That’s why he’s known as the tea man. He didn’t just invent the peace and ritual teas.”

  He did invent those, though, through a trial-and-error methodology, until he had the right blend with ingredients found close by. There’d been other formulations, according to Josie, but he wanted one with easily accessible components.

  “Did he have any obvious expertise in botany or medicine?” I ask.

  “Hendricks was obviously very well educated.” She gives a gentle smile, dark eyes softening with old affection. “He reminded me of a college professor, and I would worry when he went so far into the bush. But he knew what he was doing, both out there and with his teas.”

  “Did you get a sense of why he was developing teas with . . . medicinal effects? Was it a . . . hobby?”

  She looks at me and then bursts out laughing. “You mean was he the kind of guy who grew weed in his backyard and mushrooms in his basement?” Her dark eyes glitter. “I wasn’t born in the settlement, Casey. I did my share of pharmaceutical experimentation down south.” She catches her niece’s confusion and pats her back. “You missed out on many things, child. For better and worse, and I’m not sure which that is. A little of both, I suspect.”

  Josie turns to me. “You’re asking whether Hendricks was a hobby grower. Maybe even a small-time entrepreneur. My laugh may have answered the question. He was as far as I can imagine from the type. Like I said, he reminded me of a professor. A hot professor.” Her brows waggle. “But a professor nonetheless. Science major with a liberal arts minor. Serious and academic. He would drink the tea to relax, but only sparingly. So why create it? Boredom.”

  She settles back and sips her own tea. “He had a mind that needed constant stimulation. While he insisted that he’d been an office worker, I suspect he was a scientist. I have a couple of degrees myself.” She shrugs. “I was restless, couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do. So I know the type, and I know the feeling. He was looking for something he didn’t find in Rockton and didn’t find here. He bored easily and creating teas became his pet project.”

  “You said he created most of your teas—the regular brews and the narcotic ones. Did you feel as if the peace tea and ritual tea were his goal? That he was looking for something more than a soothing afternoon brew? Or did he stumble on them by accident, and it was the community who wanted those perfected?”

  “Hard to say. We might have shared a bed, but Hendricks was not an easy man to read. Nor was he one to share his thoughts. We argued about that. I took offense. Accused him of thinking the color of my skin meant I wasn’t smart enough or educated enough to converse on his level. That wasn’t it, though. We talked about many things, big ideas and esoteric trivia. Just nothing personal.”

  Another sip of her tea before she continues. “I’m not sure whether he intended to create the peace tea, but he seemed happy with it. We had a few residents who wanted to ban it. They worried about reefer madness—the fear that marijuana would turn people into lunatics. He argued against that, with enough facts that told me if he wasn’t a practicing scientist, he definitely had the education for it. The other tea, though? He wasn’t as happy with that.”

  “The ritual tea? The hallucinogenic one?”

  She makes a face, and I hurry on with, “I mean the tea that induces visions.”

  Josie laughs. “My expression didn’t mean I was offended by the use of the word ‘hallucinogen.’ When it comes to our faith . . . Well, down south, I went to church for the picnics and the luncheons and the singing. The sense of community. My church wasn’t fire and brimstone. It was love and peace and mercy. That’s what I wanted, and it’s what I have here. If there is a force in the world that I think deserves our respect, it’s nature, so I’m good with that. I’m just not . . . as wrapped up in the specifics of our faith.”

  Nancy nods, and Josie leans against her briefly, murmuring a word or two I don’t catch. A shared moment of understanding.

  Then Josie continues. “Hendricks didn’t like the ritual tea. I don’t think he’d have shared it with us except . . . Well, the original formulation didn’t affect him in that way. It only caused a stronger euphoria. Others experienced mild hallucinations, so he tried to rescind it, but people already knew the recipe. After he was gone, they strengthened the hallucinogenic qualities.”

  “How strongly did he argue against it?”

  “It concerned him, but not enough to do more than impart educational warnings about the dangers of hallucinogens.”

  “How soon after that did he leave?”

  “Quite soon. He perfected the first tea, tinkering a bit, mostly with the taste. Once it was done . . .” She shrugs. “He lost purpose. He’d given us several drinking teas and the ritual one, and after that, he seemed at loose ends. Within a month, he was gone.”

  23

  I ask more questions about Hendricks. I presumed that was a surname, but it seems to have been the only one he divulged. I get a physical description, too. That part confuses Josie. It’s been over thirty years. Am I hoping to find him? No. I just want all the details I can get.

  I have another question after that. One designed to zero in on the genesis of the hostiles. When the “wild people” first appeared, were any of them recognizable former members of the Second Settlement? This is not the first time I’ve asked. The elders avoided my questions with platitudes about how everyone has a right to choose their own path in life.

  This is how their commune views hostiles. These aren’t savage settlers lurking on their borders. They’re just “wild people” with a different belief system and traditions, and we are in no position to judge them for it. It’s a lofty ideological goal. A bit hypocritical, I’d argue, considering their views on homosexuality, but
people often argue equality for one group while failing to see how they’re denying it for another.

  In this case, there’s a weird blinkered vibe to it, too. Like knowing your neighbor beats his wife and kids, but not reporting the abuse with the excuse that it may be a “cultural difference.” The settlement adopted a “live and let live” attitude while failing to admit that the hostiles are dangerous and growing their ranks through kidnapping and brainwashing.

  So I ask the question while knowing there’s nothing I can do if they block me. Nancy and Tomas have a more realistic view of the hostiles—having befriended a former one—but that doesn’t mean Nancy can overcome her background to speak where the elders wished silence.

  Nancy looks at her aunt with obvious discomfort. Josie sips her tea, her gaze fixed in the distance, and I think this is my answer. Then she says, slowly, “Some of the early wild people were former members of our settlement. I realize the elders object to you knowing that, but they haven’t forbidden it. Nancy has spoken to me about her friend, pushing me to see that the wild people may be in need of help in a way we didn’t realize. In a way that makes the other elders uncomfortable.”

  Josie sips her tea again before continuing. “Down south, I had a cousin who took his own life, and my family insisted it was heart failure. To admit the problem would be to face our own failure to help him. The same principle applies here. If we are reluctant to admit a link between our settlement and the wild people, it is because we fear we are responsible, if not for creating them, then for treating them as fellow settlers, composed of only willing members, and turning a blind eye to anything that would suggest otherwise.”

  Josie wraps her hands around her cup. “They began as a group of settlers. Three of our own had left peacefully, and we traded with them. Others joined them. From Rockton, I believe. We expected the group would become a third settlement, and that seemed to be their intention. Then . . .”

  “Things changed?” I say. “They changed?”