Recompense (Recompense, book 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “Jack.”

  He turned to look, a single wrinkle splitting his brow.

  “You asked my name.”

  He smiled at me then. “It’s warm under the hay,” he said, gesturing to the feed piled in the corner. “But you don’t have to be frightened of Opal. She’s about the best there is.”

  That’s when I decided to stay. I took a chance on Opal in great part because Will had reached out to me. After eight years of friendship, how was I supposed to say goodbye? How could I endure his absence for two decades?

  “When do you leave?” I ask him when Opal’s room falls silent.

  “I report the first Saturday in July. They’re sending a ship.”

  Macron City is situated on the eastern seaboard. It’s changed names more than once, but it has been the same seat of government for hundreds of years. It will take a good day for Will to reach it by water.

  “You?” he asks.

  I shake my head. I have no idea.

  “It will likely be a week at least,” he tells me. “The kids are between school terms. The weather’s beautiful. We’ll make every moment count.”

  I find I can’t hold all my secrets apart from Will. “This man, Willoughby?” I tell him. “He wasn’t completely honest with me.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But he knew things, Will. He knew I’d been in foster care. He knew I’d run away.”

  “That’s a matter of public record.”

  “Yes, but he said it like he’d been observing me.” I pick up a spoon that had been left on the table and look at myself upside down in its bowl. “If he knew what was happening to me, if he knew I was fighting and running, why didn’t he bother to investigate the reasons? Why didn’t he do anything to change it?”

  He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. I’ve told Will bits and pieces of my early years. I’ve dropped hints. But I’ve never shared with him in full. He puts no pressure on me to speak. Just gives me the opportunity to do so if I want to. I think I’m ready.

  I clamp onto the hand he offers and shudder as my mind reaches into the past to the years before Opal. It’s harder to pull the story out than I thought it would be. “I lived in twelve different houses before I turned eight, mostly in Mountain Zone,” I begin. I only know this because I’ve seen the court documents. Miss Whaley helped me look up the record from my trial one time. “I don’t think I stayed in any of them long, but I don’t really remember. Babies get shuffled around a lot. Once I turned six, families brought me in to help with younger children. I was discarded if I misbehaved or complained or if they didn’t need me anymore. Then I’d end up back at the orphanage.

  “No place was better than any other. Everywhere I went, I was given scant portions, hard work, and often the firm side of a hand. I started thinking I’d be better off on my own. I must have run away half a dozen times, but I was always caught and brought back. Until they sent me to live with Judson Wilfert.”

  Another shudder runs through me as I picture the face that still haunts my dreams. “Jud was about fifty the first time I laid eyes on him, skinny as a snake and ornery as one too. He had a record, mostly for poaching and disorderly conduct, but nobody cared. Because he had a reputation for keeping kids well in hand.

  “There were a mess of us living with him. Five or six. He collected the money for our care but spent every dime of it on himself. Mainly on liquor. And he wasn’t much for work. If there were any chores that had to be done, like fetching firewood or cooking meals, he set us at them, but mostly we were just locked in the cellar where he didn’t have to put much effort toward our keep. He’d throw bread at us sometimes. Enough to keep us alive, though not one of us had a pound of extra flesh. And every inch was black and blue. He had a mean streak wide as a mountain range.

  “I remember the first time he beat me with a birch rod and locked me in a closet for three days. It was my first day at his house. I’d asked him where the privy was located. I got to know that closet well. The rod too. And the strap. And the rope. He liked to tie us up sometimes. Bent over so the whipping hurt more. Sometimes he’d leave us that way for hours.

  “One of the older boys warned me about running. The opportunity arose sometimes, and I figured even if I got caught, the punishment couldn’t be worse than what we suffered every day.” My lip twists. “I was wrong.”

  I lift the back of my shirt where two scars are still visible. Will runs a finger along one ridge. He’s seen them before. I told him I cut myself crawling out a broken window.

  “He flogged you?” he asks, his eyes both fierce and incredulous.

  “Nine lashes. One for every year I’d lived.”

  The muscles in his jaw tense like bowstrings. “You never told me this.”

  I shrug. “What good would it have done?”

  “I’ll kill him,” he says, cold and low. And I believe he would. He’s quiet a long time. “I guess I understand why you were such a frightened little thing. Like a helpless kitten the first time I saw you.”

  Frightened, yes. Helpless, not so much. But I have remembered as much as I care to.

  My hand clenches his. He squeezes mine back. “I’m glad Opal took you away from all that.”

  I smile, letting myself emerge from the past. “I don’t know what would have happened to me without her.”

  Leaving Opal is almost as hard as losing Will. I have to admit to myself, however, that the money Willoughby has offered appeals to me on more than one level. Food and comfort for my family, of course. But enough of it also brings independence and security, a safe buffer between myself and people like Judson Wilfert.

  I keep my hand in Will’s as I walk with him to the underbrush that separates our yards. He stops me in a pool of moonlight and pushes a lock of hair away from my eyes. “I would have been happy right here, working my own trawler, coming home to you.”

  My breath catches in my throat. It’s the clearest statement Will has ever made concerning his feelings for me. We have trained together. We have chored together. We’ve prowled for food in the woods, in the streams, on the shore. We’ve spent hours with books open between us. But Will has never vocalized what kind of future he envisioned for us. He’s never even stolen a kiss.

  He does so now.

  His lips are soft as wild rose petals as they touch mine. The hands that cradle my face, as gentle as falling leaves. There’s warmth, a sweet breath, and then Will is gone.

  I watch him walk away with the feel of him still on my skin. It is only after he goes inside that a full understanding of Will’s words strikes me. When it does, it immobilizes me where I stand. I’m the one who wanted to become a Bluecoat. I’m the one who always pushed for it. Will only took that test and passed it because he thought I would too. He did it for me.

  Guilt and loss hit me like falling rock and nearly drive me to my knees. I have failed, and because of me Will is now locked into a career he did not want. Because once you become an Initiate, the moment you pass the Examination, there’s no going back. You belong to the Military.

  My footsteps drag across the dirt of the yard. I cry myself to sleep for the second night in a row. Only this time, not all my tears are for myself.

  ***

  I jog down to the Sweenys’ early in the morning and commandeer their telephone while they’re still eating breakfast. They don’t seem surprised to see me. Mrs. Sweeny shows me how to work it while her husband watches imperiously. My fingers tremble so badly beneath his gaze that I can hardly push the buttons. The room falls silent as the call connects. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Sweeny’s ears have grown to the size of trashbin lids.

  “Hello?” comes a voice through the line. I can tell right away it’s Willoughby’s.

  “Um, hello,” I say. “This is Jack Holloway.”

  “Oh, good morning, Jack. I didn’t expect your call so early. Have you reached a decision?”

  “Yes.”

  There’s
a moment of uncertainty. “Yes, you’ve reached a decision, or yes is your decision?”

  “Both.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear it. In that case, you’ll begin training a week from Monday. We’ll send an aeropod for you the day before.”

  “All right.”

  That’s the extent of our conversation. When I hang up the phone, Mr. and Mrs. Sweeny have both stalled with their mouths full of half-chewed food. Mrs. Sweeny swallows. “Well?”

  The secrecy is killing them. My mysterious summons and now the call. Despite my nervousness, I’m rather enjoying their discomfort. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m under strict orders. Thank you for the use of your phone.”

  Mrs. Sweeny snorts as I go out the door.

  For the next week, I spend every daylight hour with my family. I sip tea with Opal out on the porch and ask her a million questions about her childhood just to hear her talk. I take the kids swimming and hiking and fishing. And I bring Hoke with me on a special afternoon picnic to the lighthouse, just the two of us. They’re precious hours I will cherish. But my evenings I reserve for Will.

  He’s quit his job at the docks. After dinner, we roam the woods, the heights, the shore. We revisit every one of our old haunts, every place that carries some memory of the past eight years, and finish each evening on the tidal rocks. The air by the water carries cool moisture. We wrap up in blankets, listening to the restless water and talking long into the night. There is no curfew here where the patrol cannot see us, and Opal says nothing about our late hours.

  The day before he has to leave, Will surprises me. He walks me to town an hour before dusk, straight to the marina where rows of fishing boats are tucked in snug for the night. Mr. Mansley waits for us on the dock. Will hands him a wad of money, and he gives Will a key.

  “Fine weather for a cruise,” Mr. Mansley says with a wink. Then he disappears down the dock, whistling a tuneless song.

  “Will, what are you doing?” I ask. The payment is an extravagance I can hardly fathom.

  “I’m taking you sailing. Hop in.” He begins unwinding the ropes binding the trawler to the dock.

  I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Your family could have eaten for a week on what you gave him.”

  “Money is no longer an object.”

  Of course. Stupid of me. “But what about curfew? It’s only an hour away. We won’t have time to get home.”

  “Will you get in?” he says. “Mr. Mansley doesn’t need the boat back until dawn.”

  It takes me a minute to work out what he’s saying. Then my cheeks go hot. “Will—”

  He stops what he’s doing and gives me a long, solemn look. “Jack, do you trust me?”

  There’s no one I trust more. “With my life.”

  “Then get in.”

  I step over the side and drop into the boat. Will’s right behind me. He fiddles a moment with the engine, then it roars to life and we’re heading out past the mouth of the cove. It’s a new sensation, bobbing over the swells coming in off the ocean. I grip the side of the boat, not certain I like it.

  Will grins at me, relaxed and untroubled. “Isn’t it freeing?” he calls over the hum of the motor and the splash of water breaking at the bow. “The sea has no boundaries. Nothing to hem us in.”

  I’ve seldom seen him like this, so loose, so comfortable. His manner soon sets me at ease and I find myself enjoying the wind and the spray and the motion. The air is crisp and settling into the mellow tones of evening. I close my eyes and let our momentum throw back my hair. When I am not looking, the bow spits water full in my face and I shriek with surprise. Will’s laughter loosens the last of my reserve.

  We travel the coastline for miles as the sun sinks behind the western horizon. I have never viewed the woods from such an angle before. I’ve never seen the shape of the land. There’s so much of it, dark and indistinct, stretching out in either direction. It’s humped up in some places and stretched thin in others.

  “That’s Settlement 55,” Will tells me, pointing to another inlet. I can see the dusky headlands jutting out into the water. “There’s a dozen of them before you reach the first city. You can see the lights off to the south.”

  He points, and I become aware of a faint glow on the horizon, like when the moon rises behind a mist of clouds. I’ve been told that cities have a million lights, but I can hardly even imagine what that means. Now I catch the barest hint of understanding.

  “Have you ever been there?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Never wanted to.”

  I’m reminded that Will also never wanted to join the Military. My joy fades. “Will, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For pushing you into a decision against your will.”

  “You mean the Exam?” His eyes widen slightly. “You think you’re at fault?”

  “You never would have taken it if I hadn’t encouraged you. You practically said so yourself,” I say miserably.

  His brow furrows. “Jack, come here.”

  I go to him, and he centers me in front of the controls, placing my hands on either side of the steering wheel. But he doesn’t let go. I stand within the circle of his arms, holding on as he makes minor adjustments to keep the bow in line. I can feel the pull of the waves on the tiller, but he has total control.

  “Who’s the one steering this boat?” he asks.

  “You.”

  “And if we crashed into something right now, whose fault would it be?”

  I giggle nervously. “Yours.”

  “Exactly. I don’t want you to think for one minute—not one minute—that you have ever caused me to veer off course. I’ve steered my own ship.”

  I take in what he’s saying. It’s an absolution of sorts, though I still feel a twinge of responsibility. I don’t have long to think about it, however, as Will takes his hands off the wheel.

  The first wave turns me toward shore.

  Will grabs hold again and straightens us out. “You have to anticipate the waves,” he says. “Watch for them and steer into them.”

  Another purple crest hits us and I feel the way he holds the boat against it. “Try again,” he says and lets go.

  This time I’m ready. My hands aren’t quite as steady as his, but the shoreline stays to starboard.

  “Very good!”

  I grin, feeling warm inside at his praise.

  He lets me steer while he turns on the running lights. Daylight is all but gone when he takes over again and directs our nose toward shore. We enter a little bay, and he cuts the engine and throws the anchor overboard.

  “Is this another settlement?” I ask.

  “No, this bay is too shallow for ships. We’re the only ones here. There isn’t another soul around for miles.”

  I squint against our lights and look out at the land, very near now, and a strange feeling of isolation washes over me. It’s an odd sensation for someone who loves to be alone in the woods, but alone feels totally different on the water.

  Then Will cuts the lights.

  Suddenly we are one with the night. The stars blink on above our heads, and the waves rock us like a baby’s cradle. Will grabs a pair of seat cushions and a blanket, climbs a short stairway, and emerges on the boat’s bow. He holds out a hand. “Come on.”

  I let him pull me upward.

  He spreads the blanket over the cushions and pats the space beside him. “We have a front row seat for the show.”

  “What show?”

  “Just wait.”

  Before I even sit down, a meteor slides across the sky. I catch my breath. It’s not the first shooting star I’ve seen, of course, but living at the edge of the woods, I’ve never had a window like this. Nothing obstructs our view. No trees. No upthrust of land. Not even a cloud. I watch in wonder as it fizzles out far to the west. “I could have touched it,” I murmur.

  Will pats the cushion again. I can feel the contentment radiating off him. I lay down, my head cradled in the crook of his elbow,
and we just watch.

  An hour passes. Perhaps two. I don’t know. But I’m so blissfully happy just lying on the deck of an old fishing trawler and watching the heavens. Finally, I break our silence. “I wish I had a time machine—a magic ring I could twist or a lamp that would carry us back here any time I rubbed it. If I could meet you here, if I could just see you sometimes, I could get through the next years.”

  I shiver then, a tremor that runs the entire length of my body. I’m chilly, but that doesn’t fully account for it. My words have opened a chasm of loneliness so deep, so vast, I’m sure it can never, ever be filled.

  Will’s arm shifts me nearer. “Come here.”

  I snuggle into his warmth, and he wraps the edge of the blanket around us both.

  I reach out and touch Will through the fabric of his shirt. The planes of his body are familiar to me. We have often sat together on his parents’ porch swing or the ledge on the heights. Sometimes we have embraced. But my fingers do not know him. And our lips are not well acquainted. When mine meet his for the second time, I am surprised again how warm they are. How gentle.

  The contact drives out my sadness. It cannot stay in the same space as Will. He fills it completely. He is all I know. There is only us, locked together in this single moment.

  Our kisses take on an urgency, a desperate need to reclaim lost time and hold it against the yawning chasm of the future. We are twined together like the strands of a fishing net. Will is comfort. He is desire. He is happiness. He is companionship. He is now.

  I am the first to break away. I must. This is not the time for the kind of complications that could arise if I do not. And Will proves my trust well founded. I lay my head against his chest, my legs still entangled with his, and listen to the rhythm of his heart. We don’t speak, but we both feel the empty ache of what tomorrow will bring.

  Will strokes my hair with one hand, and our watery cradle lulls me toward sleep. I sigh in contentment and sink down into his warmth. As I’m drifting off, I catch his faint whisper, like a breeze, like a dream.

  “Twenty years is not forever.”