The Fallow

by Alicia Britton

  He took Hannah from her arms so she could do just that.

  It was clearly a book. And she had quite the collection of banned and unbanned New Age and Dark Times classics already. But this one had to be special.

  “The Great Gatsby,” she read upon opening it. It was old and used, so she flipped open the cover and held it up into what was left of the late afternoon light. She knew exactly what to look for. “F. Scott Fitzgerald. Looks real,” she said in regard to the signature.

  “I’m assuming you’ve read it?”

  They stopped at the place they usually did the few times he had walked her back and their conversation wasn’t quite complete. Their paths would diverge after that. Maybe that night they’d at the very least converge before that happened. It was his only Christmas wish. And since she was already granting wishes. . .

  “I have read it. It’s one of my favorites. . .” she trailed off, as if she had more to say.

  “Well, good then, it’s. . .”

  Her expression became pained as if she was withholding damning information.

  Law dropped his head in dismay when it came to him . . . the most probable reason why. “You already have a signed copy as well.”

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted after a great deal of hesitation. “It was probably expensive. And I. . .”

  She looked about to give it back.

  “Keep it,” he insisted. “This one’s from me.”

  He smiled. It was all he could do. Someone had done their job of giving her nice, thoughtful gifts, and he could only hope that she’d make room for his contribution, which, no doubt, paled in comparison.

  She nodded. “Thank you,” she added, pocketing the book. Then she reached for Hannah.

  He dismissed the handover by shifting her closer. “That’s all right. You have things to do, I’m sure. I’ll take her for the night.”

  “She’ll be asleep in a few hours,” Bernie said, undeterred. “Blasphemy is expecting her to be here in the morning. Don’t worry. I can manage.”

  “I know you can. But you’re overwhelmed and I’m offering help.”

  “I appreciate that, and I wish I could take you up on the offer, but . . . you live on the other side of town. It isn’t safe for you to travel with a child. Or ever, really. You’re too recognizable.”

  She had a point there.

  “Come on,” she said after a sigh, urging him to follow. She began traipsing up the hill in the snow. “I have a room. Thick curtains. Nice and remote. No one will ever know you’re there as long as you keep her fairly quiet.” She glanced at Hannah, still in his arms. “Blasphemy sometimes stays there when things run late. She’s doing research for me.”

  Was she inviting him inside? For the whole night? Did she trust him to take care of a child and exist under the same roof, all without incident?

  “I know. She told me.”

  They were working on a story about birth rates, fertility, and life expectancy, and sifting through fifty or more years of medical records. Portsmith claimed all three were still lower than the historical averages, and they used it to validate their marital and Fallowization practices. It was still God’s Will.

  And they hoped to refute that with cold hard numbers.

  Bernie glanced around the edge of the house. She returned to unlock a remote side door. She led him past a kitchenette and down a drafty hallway. There was something sad and lonely about this side of the house. The clinic was on the opposite end. Her living quarters were centrally located. Where they were passing through seemed as if it may have had some life—once—but it had since been deserted, and more than just physically.

  At the end of the hall, she opened a door on the right.

  There was a single bed and a crib. It had a few toys in it and a mobile with farm animals dangling. The curtains were already drawn, so she didn’t hesitate to switch on the bedside lamp.

  Law set Hannah down in the crib. He took off her coat, and his own, and draped them over the foot of the bed. And Bernie was in a frenzy, straightening up, which was unnecessary. It was a mere puckered pillow over here or a crooked blanket fold over there. She was detail oriented, though. Meticulous.

  And nervous.

  He could have watched her fuss all night, but he strolled to the bookshelf to ease some of the tension.

  “The bathroom across the hall has running water. Diapers should be in the drawer. The kitchen down here isn’t well stocked. Sorry. If you need anything else, I can stop back before bed if—”

  “We should be fine until morning,” he edged his way in casually, turning around with a book in hand. “Unless you’d like the company, then by all means. . .”

  He had to put that out there, just in case.

  He received a raised eyebrow for that. At least she was amused.

  At that moment, Hannah pulled to standing in her crib. She was observing their awkward goodnight with unblinking dedication, adding in a few baby murmurs of her own. Perhaps it meant something along the lines of, Nice try.

  “All right, then. Sleep well.”

  “You too,” he managed, his voice smooth and calm, despite the overwhelming angst.

  “The room’s yours. Or whoever’s. I’ll leave a key under the mat.”

  “Thank you. You’re a Godsend. I mean that.”

  She looked up. Her blue eyes filled with appreciation. Then came a shift to what appeared to be doubt and regret.

  A rare moment of vulnerability, revealed to him for the second time that night.

  From his gut downward, he felt compelled to go for it already! His mind, however, recommended caution and restraint. She’s not there yet.

  Law had the highest respect for that. If he wanted what was typical, he would have moved on already. But he couldn’t. And that said something. What he felt was real.

  He nodded once, making sure to secure her eyes for an added moment, and then he turned back to the bookshelf.

  She took that as her cue and left after closing the door softly. Her footsteps tapered off and disappeared.

  And Hannah, perhaps realizing that she was alone with him—and hence, stay quiet wasn’t at the top of her priority list—began to whimper.

  Law, in every effort to be the best house guest possible, picked her up and held her there, so they could see each other eye to eye. “She’s gone. I know! I’m not happy about it either. But. . . ” Hannah patted his cheek with her little hand, and quieted down as if eager to hear more. “She let me in! And I’m welcome to come back at any time. Do you know what we call that? Progress.”

  With her propped on his arm, he went back to the bookshelf. What else were they going to do to pass the time? Sing songs? She’d definitely end up crying if that were the case.

  “Oooh! Good one. Perfect for the occasion.” He selected Dicken’s A Christmas Carol. After slipping his shoes off, he adjusted the pillows, and settled down with her in his lap on the bed.

  He flipped through the pages until he found a quote he recognized. “‘Spirit!’ he cried, tight clutching at its robe, ‘hear me! I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!’”

  Hannah looked up at him when he paused and smiled. He had earned it fair and square. That was definitely a first for him. “You like books. Good girl!”

  “Dada,” she replied brightly.

  “No, not dada. Cous-in,” he over-annunciated.

  “Dada,” she repeated, as if it was settled. She reminded him of her mother . . . uncompromising once her mind was made up.

  He let out a resigned chuckle and kept reading.

  Hannah’s father was out there, somewhere, as far as he was aware. Was no news, good news?

  The Braintree camp hadn’t uttered a word. Neither had they. The Divinity Daily seemed completely in the dark as a result.

  Wherever Caleb went, whatever he was doing, he was keeping a low profile. That was probably the best for everyone. Unless, of course, th
e Braintrees were to blame for that.

  There could always be a day when they came knocking on Bernie’s door. . . .

  Blasphemy was also gone. On Christmas Eve, no less. She rushed out. No word on when she would return.

  He didn’t want to jump to conclusions or worry needlessly. Any number of things could have gone wrong.

  But . . . this did not bode well.

  Not for Caleb. Not for anyone.

  ***

  Herald yawned. He took a moment to gaze through the blear in his eyes. There was an intricate pattern of ice on the window, which seemed to swirl in the candlelight and as a result of his exhaustion.

  An hour or so ago, he could see nothing out there beyond a deep black darkness. At that moment, their piece of the Maineland forest had a purplish backdrop and there was the beginning of an orange sliver.

  The night was almost over. Another year was almost over. Where did the time go?

  He set his pen down. His mind zoned out and spiraled back. He couldn’t remember the specifics of most of his past Christmases. Those he spent with his “family” weren’t much brighter than the ones he had endured on his own. He felt alone either way and they all blended together. But he did recall the previous year’s quite vividly. It was a kind of awful that was relatively new to him.

  He wasn’t sleeping on that night before Christmas, either. Why? He had had too much coffee that day. It was his effort to drown his sorrow in work. And he vowed not to make a habit of it, but he hit the bottle that night, hoping to turn his mind off. It was the perfect occasion and heartbreak was a fine excuse.

  In the place he called “home” at the time, the mice were running rampant, nibbling through what was left of his food. He had lost all will to stop them. That was for many reasons, though mostly because the ancient radiator, which was finicky at best, had bowed out on him on one of the coldest nights of the year. Wrapped in every sweater and blanket he had in his inadequate collection—even the liquor wasn’t helping to keep him warm—he should have known that things could get worse.

  And they did.

  Not one but two of his neighbors—one next door and the one above him—were in the deep throes of passion with the female companionship they must have purchased with the nickel and a half they likely had to their names. Through the thin walls and ceilings, Herald could pretty much hear everything. It was a chorus of lewd. A percussion performance of rattling, squeaking, and banging. Even a pillow over his head wouldn’t make the noises stop.

  And Virtue wouldn’t leave him in peace, either. She was all he could see . . . hear . . . taste. Lipstick and snowflakes. When and if he could concentrate, which wasn’t possible amid the ruckus, it was almost as if he could still feel her.

  He kissed her, once, and what did she do? She quit on him. It was his own damn fault and the replay of every detail, over and over and over again, was his punishment. Or his salvation? It was both! As much as he wished he could rid her from mind, he hoped more than anything that he could cling to what little he once had.

  Another year older, another year wiser. The fresh blanket of snow kept everything silent and still outside. Although jumbled from fatigue, he could hear his own thoughts and Virtue’s deep breathing as she slept.

  And for the first time ever, he felt truly blessed.

  Despite everything he had been through and done to get where he was, he refused to let it eat him up inside. Not anymore. They had much still to fear, but today, he was alive. And so was Virtue. It all happened for a reason. It all brought him to this exact time and place. Virtue was as warm and safe as she could be in their circumstances. She was sleeping soundly in the bed they shared—when he wasn’t burning the midnight oil to redraft her Christmas gift—and she found comfort resting on her side. It wasn’t her preferred position for slumber, but she was carrying his child and nothing would ever be the same. And that was fine by him. He never wanted to go back to a before where he thought he had failed her so profoundly.

  He looked over the letter one last time. He couldn’t quite process his own words anymore, not with a sharp editor’s eye, anyway. And so, he gave it a pass. Last minute changes had to be incorporated and it was the best he could do with such short notice.

  He rolled it up and tied his gift to it with the thin red scarf, the one she used to wear at the bottom of her braid. He had saved it and kept it in a secret place until he reached the day. Was he ready to tie the bow and place everything in her stocking?

  His second thoughts and self-doubt were interrupted by a whimper. It escalated. And so did the twitching against the sheets.

  Virtue was in trouble . . . or so she thought. It was still a state of distress and that was its own danger.

  Without delay, he went over to her. Only when he sat beside her on the bed did he realize he still had her gift in hand. After dropping it into his breast pocket, he stroked her cheek. Not enough to rescue her from the nightmare, he took a firm grip of her shoulder.

  She awoke with a jolt. Though she wasn’t crying—at first—the tears burst from her as she sat up and reached for him. She buried her sobs in his embrace.

  “The baby,” was all she said.

  She didn’t have to say more. He knew. Their faces and the morbid details would likely vary, but at the core of her psyche, she was afraid of being discovered . . . of going back rather than forward.

  They all were.

  And she couldn’t run, she couldn’t put up much of a fight, and now she was with child. They would relish the opportunity to rid her of the blessing that in twelve hours she had already grown very attached to.

  They both had.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her, taking her cheeks in his hands. He smoothed away her tears. “We’ll get through this.”

  Seven more months. It was possible, wasn’t it?

  And then they would do what she had requested from the very beginning and after the fact as well. They’d get as far from Portsmith as possible. She had been right all along. No degree of principle was worth the risk to their lives. He had learned that the hard way. It was something he took from his experience with the Captain. Yes, he was dead. It was a victory, thanks to Gospel. But things did get out of hand. They could have just as easily gone in the other direction. This was not something Herald could ever forget. It was his nightmare.

  With a nod, Virtue eased out of his hands and returned to his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder and then turned her head toward his collar. “I’ve soiled another shirt of yours.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s not one of my favorites.”

  Despite herself, she broke into a laugh. What a relief! It meant he was actually funny or she was able to find some cheer.

  Whatever it was, a gag put an end to it.

  She gave herself some space. To dry her face—for what appeared to be the final time—and for a chance to breathe and think. To measure distance, it seemed, from the calculating look in her eyes.

  Not one to take any of that personally—especially in her condition—he strained to reach the nightstand.

  At Bernie’s suggestion, Virtue went to bed well prepared. He grabbed the wrapped piece of leftover bread. Once she took a bite, he followed it up with the glass of water.

  While she gulped everything down, her eyes narrowed in on his pocket. “What’s this?” she asked, tapping the parchment. She set the food and drink aside.

  By then, the light shining in from outside was a touch brighter than the candlelight coming from the desk.

  They had made it to Christmas morning.

  “It’s for you.” Their eyes met. Hers were concerned, as if she had spoiled a surprise. “You can take it,” he said, already unable to contain his smile. “And just open it. I want it out of my hands, because if I look at it again, it’ll never be done.”

  She followed his suggestion, smiling back. And she adjusted herself into a more comfortable sitting position, bringing her legs in and crossing them at the ankle on the
bed. “Is this my—?” she began as she fiddled with the bow.

  “Uh-huh,” he answered, but by the way she was beaming, he could tell that she had figured that out for herself.

  “I didn’t know you had it!” she exclaimed as if that alone were the surprise. “I—”

  Her other hand went into the side of her charmingly short, but no longer too short head of hair as she tried to recall where she had lost the scarf.

  “You must have given it to me for the eye,” he filled in for her. “Don’t worry. I washed it.”

  She giggled again. “You wanted me to wear it, that first day, so you could find me.”

  “I remember.”

  “And I wore it whenever I was thinking of you. Which was often.”

  Her mouth twitched playfully. It was amazing, just that, and he lost his good sense. He suddenly had the overwhelming desire to slip his hands up her nightshirt. Toss it to the floor. And then kiss every swollen, sensitive, fruitful part of her body.

  “I always hoped that was the reason.”

  He somehow found the words. And some forbearance. He had a gift to give and she had been so unwell. It was unlikely she felt the same compulsion to undress.

  He kissed her lips, which would do well enough to hold him over.

  “It’ll be a while before I can wear it again, but. . .”

  She tugged open the bow and her jaw dropped when two rings fell between her knees.

  His and hers.

  “You don’t have to put it on yet,” he was quick to mention. “I just wanted you to know that I have them, ready, whenever you are.”

  Virtue, as if she hadn’t heard him, had retrieved both rings and was already slipping the smaller of the two onto the correct finger. It was an exact fit. She was sleeping the time he measured it and he had been overly careful. Perhaps too careful. He was worried that he didn’t get a good reading as a result. But it appeared he had measured correctly.

  She gasped as she admired its simple beauty.

  Both rings were a yellow gold. Herald’s was just a touch wider. It was tradition to “notch” the wedding bands based on how many wives a man had and what place a woman came in. But he decided to leave them both solid. Pure. Unifying. There would never be another. So why mar and weaken something that’s perfect as is?