The People of Sparks: The Second Book of Ember (Books of Ember)
Page 22
Someone clapped. Doon turned around and saw his father, clapping with his hands held high in the air.
“There is much to be worked out,” Mary said. “It won’t be easy, but we’ll talk about it together.” She paused for a second, and a change came over her face—the beginning of a smile. “One more thing,” she said. “We will no longer speak of ‘the people of Sparks’ and ‘the people of Ember.’ From now on, we are all the people of Sparks.”
A rustle swept through the crowd. Both Doon and Lina felt a pang of sorrow. To call themselves people of Sparks meant leaving behind the last trace of their old home—its name. The villagers, too, felt a pang; for them it was a pang of fear. These were their people now? Could they really live peacefully together?
But the sorrow and the fear lasted only a few seconds. Everyone was tired of sorrow and fear. Whatever lay ahead, they thought, would probably be better. They were willing to try it.
After that, they turned to the practical details.
“Actually,” said Alma Hogan, the storehouse manager, “there’s a fair amount of food in the storehouse. It’s just that we never like to use it all up. This year, we’ll expect to use it all and hope we can replenish it next year. I’m afraid a great deal of it is pickles, though. By the end of winter, we may all be eating more pickles than anything else.”
Doon’s father mentioned politely that the hotel residents would have to have decent houses sooner or later. Mary said they would start building some of them now out behind the meadow. The best of Sparks’s builders would be in charge, and they would teach the Emberites construction. “The houses will be small,” Mary said, “and we’ll be able to build only a few before the rains come. Most of you will have to spend the winter in the hotel.”
Clary stood up to announce that her garden was producing well; in addition to cucumbers, melons, and peppers, she had grown nearly a hundred butternut squashes, which would keep well through the winter. That would help a little. The villagers looked at her curiously. Butternut squashes? They had never heard of them. “I grew them from seeds I brought from Ember,” Clary said. “I brought all the seeds I had, all kinds. Next year I’ll be able to grow more.”
Mrs. Murdo said she had learned a great deal in her time with the doctor. She would like to be Assistant Doctor. “It’s clear that this community needs more than one,” she said.
“I know something about plants,” said Maddy, speaking up for the first time. “I wish to be Assistant Hotel Gardener, with Clary Laine.”
Edward Pocket said he demanded to be made Official Librarian. Mary looked surprised. “We don’t have a library,” she said.
“Exactly right,” said Edward. “You have a dis-orderly heap of books. I have made great progress with them, however. I invite you to come by and see.”
Ben Barlow kept muttering dire warnings about crop failures and vitamin deficiencies and epidemics, but Mary said they would cope with those problems when and if they actually occurred.
Little by little, people began to feel interested in how this new arrangement was going to work. There were endless questions. What if there were arguments? How would they be settled? Would the Emberites go back to eating with their lunchtime families? Would they get enough for dinner and breakfast? What would happen when they needed things other than food, like shoes or soap or hats?
“The trouble is,” said Mrs. Polster, “we don’t have anything. We can’t trade for the goods at the market because we don’t have anything you’d want.”
But Doon saw the solution to this right away. “We do!” he said. Mrs. Polster raised her eyebrows at him. She wasn’t used to being contradicted. “We have one thing that you need,” said Doon. “Matches! We still have a lot left. We could use them to trade with, at least for a while. Two matches for a pair of shoes, say.”
People laughed and clapped—it was perfect. Ben said in his opinion a pair of shoes was worth at least five matches, but no one paid much attention.
“All of this has to be worked out,” Mary said. “It’s going to involve disagreement, and it’s going to involve hardship. But we have endured hardship before. We can do it again.”
Wilmer sighed. “It’s just that we hoped we wouldn’t have to,” he said.
Mary shot him a stern look. “We can do it again,” she repeated. “And we will.”
CHAPTER 29
Three Amazing Visits
Lina gave up on trying to persuade Mrs. Murdo to move to the hotel. Since they’d all have their own houses sooner or later, they might as well stay at the doctor’s house until then. Besides, Mrs. Murdo was so intent on learning to be Assistant Doctor that it seemed unkind to take her away.
Lina and Maddy took on the job of harvesting and preserving the produce from the doctor’s vegetable garden. Every morning they picked baskets of tomatoes and beans and peppers and corn and squash. Every afternoon, they sliced tomatoes and laid them in the sun to dry; they took dried beans out of their pods and put them in jars; they cooked peppers and packed them in olive oil; they tied bunches of herbs with string and hung them up to dry. Poppy puttered around their feet, “helping” by sprinkling dry leaves here and there or banging spoons on pots. Even Torren, whose feet were healing, often chose to hang around with Lina and Maddy. He said he knew how to make a garlic braid, so they gave him a basket of garlic, and he made one.
One afternoon, as she and Maddy were cutting green beans for dinner, Lina heard wheels crunching on the road outside. The next moment, she heard the whuffling of an ox, and then Torren sprang up and limped as fast as he could to the front of the house. Uh-oh, thought Lina. Is it who I think it is?
It was. There was Caspar’s battered truck, and there was Caspar just climbing out of it. He looked grubby. His mustache drooped. Torren ran toward him, crying, “Caspar! Caspar!” And Caspar smiled in a tired way.
“Hey, brother,” he said. He thumped Torren’s back a couple of times. Then he started toward the house. Lina and Maddy went out to meet him.
When he saw them, he stopped and glared. “Deserters,” he said. But he didn’t seem to have the energy to berate them further. He trudged into the house and plunked down on the couch. Torren plunked down beside him.
“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you,” Torren said. “Why didn’t you come back with them?” He flicked his hand toward Lina and Maddy.
“I had important work to do,” said Caspar. “Which they didn’t want to help with.”
“And what happened with your work?” asked Maddy, standing by the door. “Did you find what you wanted to find?”
Caspar didn’t even look at her. He closed his eyes and slumped against the back of the couch. “My numbers,” he said, “need readjusting. They were completely right except for one thing.”
“What thing was that?” asked Maddy.
“Wrong city,” said Caspar, still without opening his eyes. “I have reworked the numbers. Tomorrow I head north.”
Maddy and Lina exchanged a look.
Caspar turned his head toward Maddy and squinted at her. “I don’t suppose you want to come,” he said.
“No, thank you,” said Maddy. “I plan to stay here, where something with real potential is beginning.”
Torren tugged on Caspar’s arm. “Did you bring me something this time?” he asked.
Caspar opened his eyes. He looked at the ceiling for a while. “Well, yes,” he said. “I did.”
“What?” shrieked Torren. “What is it? Can I have it now?”
“It’s out in the truck,” said Caspar. “I found a whole crate of them, very unusual. You can have one.”
“One what? Let’s go get it!” Torren darted to the door.
Caspar heaved himself up and they went outside. Lina watched as Caspar rooted around in one of his crates. He came up with something she recognized with a start. She hadn’t seen one for a long time—it was like seeing something that belonged to an old friend, now dead.
“What is it?” said Torren.
“But what does it do?” Torren asked, peering into the light bulb as if he expected to see something alive in there. He tapped the glass with his fingernail.
“It gives light,” said Caspar. “If you have electricity.”
“But we don’t have electricity.”
“That’s right,” Caspar said wearily. “So you hold on to it, in case someday we do.”
Torren went to the window seat and sat there turning the bulb around and around in his hands. Lina watched him, thinking about Ember. People had figured it out once, she thought. They could figure it out again.
A few days after Caspar left, there was another visitor to the doctor’s house. Lina was out in the courtyard at the time, cracking walnuts with a rock. She saw someone approaching the gate, a bent figure walking slowly and somehow crookedly. She stood up. The person seemed to be having trouble with the gate latch, so she went to help, and that was when she realized it was Ben Barlow. His injured arm was bandaged and strapped to his side, and the jacket he wore was draped over it with the sleeve hanging empty. That was why he looked lopsided.
“Good afternoon,” said Ben. “I wonder if Torren is here.”
“He is,” said Lina. “I’ll get him.”
She found Torren out in back of the house, sitting under a tree, eating a hunk of bread. “Your uncle has come to see you,” she said.
Torren stared at her. “My uncle?” He sounded both excited and scared. He jumped up, shoving the bread into his pocket.
When Ben saw Torren coming toward him, he frowned. Then, as if catching himself, he changed his expression to a smile. “Hello, nephew,” he said. “How are you getting on?”
Torren looked wary. “Fine,” he said.
“Good,” said Ben. He stroked his beard. Lina wondered if that was all he had to say.
Torren filled the silence. “Is your arm still attached to you?” he said.
“Yes,” said Ben. “Just barely.” He started to frown into the air again and then thought better of it. He sat down on a bench. “Well,” he said. “I thought I’d just come and see you. Haven’t seen you for a while.”
“Years,” said Torren.
“Well, yes. Busy life, you know, being a town leader. Many decisions to make. Matters of right and wrong to . . . to grapple with.”
“Oh,” said Torren. Lina could tell he was thinking the same thing she was: Why has he come?
“Sometimes one makes the right decision,” said Ben. “Sometimes not.”
“I guess so,” said Torren.
Ben readjusted his bandaged arm. Lina saw that his beard was not as neatly trimmed as usual. Probably he had a hard time doing it with his left hand. She was pretty sure Ben didn’t have a wife—she’d never heard mention of one.
“Well,” said Ben. “You were fortunate, weren’t you, getting pulled out of that tree?”
“Yes,” said Torren.
“I am forced to acknowledge,” said Ben, “that it was my fault. That fire.”
“I guess so,” said Torren.
“An accident,” said Ben, “but one that did not have to happen.”
“Uh-huh,” said Torren.
Ben got to his feet with painful slowness. “So,” he said. “Enjoyable talking with you. No doubt we should get to know each other. You must come by for a visit sometime, though of course I’m rarely home.”
“You’re very busy,” said Torren.
“That’s right,” said Ben. He made his way toward the gate with his limping step. As he went out, he waved over his shoulder with his good hand, but he didn’t turn around. Slowly, he started back toward the village.
“That was an apology,” Lina said to Torren when Ben was gone. “He’s sorry for doing what he did. I guess he’s sorry for not being a good uncle, too—for not taking you to live with him.”
“Live with him?” said Torren. He made a horrible face.
“Well, I thought you weren’t happy living with Dr. Hester,” Lina said. “You never seem very happy.”
“I am too happy,” said Torren crossly. He sat down on the bench that Ben had just left and pulled the hunk of bread from his pocket. A few little birds were hopping nearby. Absently, Torren tossed them some crumbs. He seemed to be thinking. “I like it here,” he said to Lina, and he looked up at her with his eyes all round, as if he had only just discovered this himself.
The next day, Doon came to the door of the doctor’s house carrying a sack. Kenny was with him, standing slightly behind Doon and peering curiously past him into the room.
“I have to show you this,” Doon said to Lina. “I made it with the present you brought me.”
“He’s kind of a genius,” Kenny said. “He already showed me.”
Doon set the sack on the window seat. It was only just after dinnertime, but the days were shorter now, and the sun was nearly down. Dr. Hester had already lit two candles. She and Mrs. Murdo and Maddy were sitting at the table shelling lima beans. Poppy was sitting with them, tearing the bean pods into little pieces. All four came over to see what Doon had brought.
Torren came, too. He was actually more interested in showing Doon what he had than in seeing what was in the sack. “I got a present from Caspar,” he said.
“Great,” said Doon, but he wasn’t really listening. Lina could see how excited he was about whatever he had in the sack. His eyes shone in the candlelight, and his hands fidgeted impatiently with the string around the sack’s neck. When he got it untied, he reached into the sack and brought out a small device made of wood and metal—some sort of machine, Lina thought. It had a coil of wire, and inside the coil she saw the magnet she’d given Doon. There was a handle that looked as if it would make something turn. Lina, not being much interested in machines, was a little disappointed.
It was clear that Torren was disappointed, too. “Want to see my present from Caspar?” he said.
“In a minute,” said Doon. “Let me show you this first.”
“What does it do?” Lina asked.
“Is it some kind of a can opener?” asked Mrs. Murdo.
“Or maybe it’s a sort of mixer?” said the doctor.
“Or a drill?” said Maddy.
“Nope,” said Doon happily, and Kenny, his face shining with the shared secret, whispered, “Nope,” too. “You won’t believe it,” Doon went on, “but it makes electricity. I found the directions for it in a book called Science Projects, but I couldn’t try it out before because I didn’t have a magnet. I didn’t even know what a magnet was. But then you brought me one, Lina! And just the other day I remembered about this project.” He took the machine over to the table and set it down. “What you do is, you turn this crank, and that turns the magnet, and that generates the electricity and runs it down these wires. It’s supposed to be enough to light a light bulb. The trouble is, I can’t test it because I couldn’t find any light bulbs that weren’t broken.”
Torren started jumping up and down. He pounded on Doon’s arm. “My present from Caspar! My present from Caspar!” he yelled. He bolted into the medicine room.
“What’s the matter with—” said Doon, but Lina broke in.
“Doon!” she said. “His present from Caspar was a light bulb! Unused!”
Torren came out of the medicine room carrying the light bulb encased in both hands, walking now, fast but with stiff legs, being extremely careful. “You won’t break it, will you?” he said to Doon. “Your experiment won’t blow it up, will it?”
Doon gazed at the light bulb as if it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. Gingerly, he reached for it. “I’ll be very, very careful,” he said. “You can help me, Torren. Hold the light bulb right here.” He showed Torren where to put the bulb, and he wound two loose wires around its metal end.
“Now,” he said. “Blow out the candles.”
Lina blew them out. The room went dark.
Doon began turning
the crank of his machine.
At first nothing happened except that the magnet turned around. Doon cranked faster. And faster. And a glimmer appeared in the light bulb, first a glimmer and then a glow, and then the bulb shone with a faint but steady white light.
Lina shrieked. Poppy shrieked, too, because Lina had, and both the doctor and Mrs. Murdo gasped and broke into applause. Kenny beamed, glancing between the light bulb and Doon’s face. Torren was being too careful to make a noise, but his eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open.
For almost three minutes, until his hand got tired, Doon turned the crank of his machine around and around. The doctor wagged her head in wonder, Mrs. Murdo turned her face away to hide her tears, and Torren held on tight to the light bulb even though it was getting very warm. Lina gazed at the light shining on everyone’s faces. Full to the brim with hope and love and joy, she watched the little light bulb shining like a promise in the night.
Acknowledgments
My gratitude to my patient agent, Nancy Gallt, my skilled editor, Jim Thomas, and my unfailingly supportive friend Susie Mader.
JEANNE DUPRAU is the bestselling author of The City of Ember, The People of Sparks, and The Prophet of Yonwood. She lives in Menlo Park, California, where she keeps a big garden and a small dog.
To learn more about Jeannie, visit her Web site at www.jeanneduprau.com.