Sundry Days

by Donna Callea

  “See what happens? Isn’t a baby what will happen?”

  “Maybe. I might not get pregnant right away.”

  “But you want to?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “You’re sure you want to procreate with someone who’s unlikely to pass on peaceable qualities to the next generation of men?”

  “No,” I tease. “But you’re the only husband I’ve got. And I like having sex with you. And I’m tired of sticking in the stupid sponge.”

  “Well, those are good enough reason for me.”

  I really don’t know what’s come over me. Until recently, I never even thought about getting pregnant. But two days ago, I assisted at a difficult birth. The labor was long and extremely painful. Alex had no choice but to cut the woman open, using a local anesthetic. I held the newborn while her mother was sewn up, and then, a little later, watched the two of them come together again, skin to skin. And something just sort of shifted inside of me. There was a wanting. A wanting took hold of me.

  Now, in this moment, I only want David. I want us to be wholly one, like Zora says. And if we happen to make another, and possibly better, person, well, isn’t that what men and women everywhere have always been meant to do?

  Chapter 42

  Susannah

  All in the Family

  As if things aren’t bad enough, Mama shows up with Matt, Jeff and Lars. Because she’s bored, I assume. She has been, ever since she lost the last election to the crazy politician from Kitchener, who no one thought could win.

  Of course, he never could have won under normal circumstances in ordinary times. Unfortunately, there’s nothing normal or ordinary about our situation. And, in the end, it’s probably not going to matter much who’s in charge anyway.

  “Why don’t you ever bring my fathers with you when you visit?” I ask Mama. They’re getting very old, and none of the three is doing too well lately. It probably doesn’t help that Mama ignores them completely. She only ever goes out with Matt, Jeff and Lars.

  “Oh, your fathers are just fine where they are right now,” she says. “You know, Susannah, you really ought to have gotten yourself some new young husbands while you could still pick and choose. It would have done you good. Plus they’re good protection. Now you’re going to have to take what you get, and spend your last few fertile years in bed with unpleasant strangers, who probably aren’t even handsome. You should have listened to me.”

  She never stops. If there’s a way to annoy me, she finds it. Not that I’m her only target. If I knew she was coming over, I would have told Simon—who made the mistake of opening the door—to find somewhere else to be. Simon, though, tolerates her better than the rest of us.

  “You’re being a good boy, aren’t you Simon? You know, you’ve always been my favorite grandson.”

  He smiles and allows her to kiss his cheek.

  “What about Ethan and Aaron? What’s wrong with them?” I challenge.

  “Oh, they’re still too little. Who can predict how they’ll turn out,” she says. “There are too many unknowns now, Susannah.”

  Well, she’s right about that.

  “Have you thought about what I told you, the last time I was here, Simon? You should join the Community Guard. Lars, Jeff and Matt have signed up. They’re doing defense training in their spare time, aren’t you, my sweets?”

  “The three of them only have spare time, and Simon is not joining the Guard.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t take that much time,” says Lars, as he, Jeff and Matt plop themselves down, and get comfortable.

  Everyone except Sam is home today, but they all found things to do in other parts of the house when they heard my mother’s voice. Smart men. And since I see no reason to subject innocent people to Mama, not even Simon, I tell him to take his step-grandfathers to the garage to see his new sun-cycle. If they proceed to tell him about how much fun he can have in the Community Guard learning how to defend his mother, so be it.

  “Seriously, Susannah, the Guard could be our sex’s only hope,” Mama tells me when we’re alone, as she watches me make tea.

  “Well, if it’s our only hope, then there is no hope. What makes you think that overgrown puppies like Matt, Jeff and Lars, and bred-to-be-mild boys like Simon can suddenly transform into fierce protectors of womankind?”

  “Why are you always so negative? We’ve got to do something.”

  “There’s nothing we can do, Mama. I think this is the end.”

  The Community Guards have been formed in case bands of Lost Boys decide their time has come, and descend upon cities and towns to forcibly take what they want, on a first come, first served basis, instead of waiting their turn. I think that’s highly unlikely to happen.

  So far, we’ve been lucky. There were marches and rallies before the elections. Lots of talk and lots of bluster among unattached men. And huge, but mostly peaceable, celebrations after Mama and the other powerful females were ousted from office.

  Now everyone is just waiting for directives to filter down from Chicago and Toronto. It’s not clear yet how the Equal Access to Women ordinances will be enforced.

  The great male hope from Kitchener, the crackpot politician who now holds the highest office in the land, believes—and has others believing—that, based on his own personal experience, the more husbands in a family, the better the chance of producing a girl. He ran on the slogan: Give Men a Chance. He won because, this time around, single men demanded the right to vote.

  They figured out that there’s strength in numbers. It’s not just a cliché. It also happens to be true that men, generally speaking, have more brute strength than women. That’s just biology. So here we are, at the mercy of hordes of so-far patient males, waiting for their chance to procreate and give the world more girls.

  My guess is there will be some kind of a lottery or other system set up for assigning additional men to families. Women will become highly regulated baby-making machines, even more than we are now, until there aren’t any of us left.

  “Have you heard any more news from David?” my mother asks.

  “No. Nothing more.”

  She knows about the packet of letters we received almost a year ago. There was no point in keeping it a secret from her.

  “Well, here’s the thing, Susannah. I’m thinking I might take a little trip to Winnipeg with Matt, Jeff and Lars. Maybe I’ll see David, if he’s in the vicinity. And I’ll need you to look after your fathers.”

  “What?”

  “Winnipeg. I think I’ll be safer there.”

  “Safer? What are you talking about? What do you mean safer? No one’s going to force unwanted additional husbands on you. You’re an old woman now.”

  “Do you always have to be so nasty, Susannah? The Designer willing, I still have many years ahead of me. The problem is, I’m a persona non grata in the Coalition now that there’s a new power structure. I’ve received anonymous hate male from castrati, and if Lost Boys come barging into town, who do you think they’ll attack first?”

  “Oh. I thought Jeff, Matt and Lars are becoming trained stalwarts of the Community Guard so they can better protect you.”

  “Yes. Well, we all have to try to be prepared. The Guard is important, as I’ve told you, and my boys are doing their part now. But it’s in my best interest to go to Winnipeg.”

  She confides that before the election, the Coalition sent scouts to investigate the territory between Thunder Bay and Winnipeg.

  “They haven’t been able to find out much about the monogamist cults,” she says. “They’re mostly run by religious fanatics, and probably harmless. So you don’t need to worry too much about David. But the really good news is, Winnipeg is fairly civilized, despite the lack of government oversight and ordinances. Must be because of all the drugs they make. In any case, people of substantial means tend to do very well there. All it takes is money. So I’m in the process of making arrangements.”

  I don’t know whether to strangle her, or be g
lad that she’ll finally be out of my hair and too far away to drive me insane on a regular basis.

  “It’s probably for the best,” says Seth, after she and her entourage leave. “And it won’t be so bad having your fathers move in with us. We’re a family. No matter what happens we’re still a family.”

  Then Sam comes home, and we start to think that maybe Mama is on to something, and we should all move to Winnipeg, although that’s never going to happen.

  “Things are going to get bad, very bad,” Sam announces. Because of his involvement in the Easter-Esther Festivals, he knows lots of single men. People tell him things. He moves in different, wider circles than my other husbands.

  “I heard that the ordinances now being drafted are going to be a lot more draconian than anyone ever anticipated,” he says. “Girls are still the goal, of course, but women are going to be expected to do more than give additional men the chance to father a female. Every house is going to turn into a pleasure house of sorts.”

  The balance of power, if you can call it a balance, has shifted. Men are in charge, women are just commodities to be distributed.

  “It’s not going to be pretty,” says Sam.

  Already, more babies than ever are being born, almost all of them male. But there are only so many babies a woman can deliver. I figure I may be able to get pregnant two more times tops, before menopause. And then, I guess, like every other remaining woman, I’ll be an unwilling pleasure lady for the rest of my life.

  Unless The Designer changes His mind and decides to fix whatever’s wrong with our reproductive systems, I suppose it really doesn’t matter what we do while we wait to die as a species.

  Maybe people will fade away more pleasantly in Winnipeg. But there’s no way we can all go there. I’ll leave Winnipeg to Mama, and pray for at least a peaceful demise.

  Chapter 43

  Rebekah

  Life Goes On

  I play with my nipples, waiting for sleep to come—squeezing, stretching. I work on both the left and right at the same time. I remember what Susannah told me a long time ago, about toughening up nipples so that breastfeeding doesn’t hurt. But this time, my manipulations result in drops of colostrum leaking out. I’ve made wet spots on my nightgown.

  I nudge David, who’s sleeping soundly, of course. I nuzzle him. And when that fails to wake him, an elbow to the rib finally gets results.

  “Ow. What? What’s the matter?” It’s the middle of the night. He’s groggy, and just wants to go back to sleep.

  “David,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering. “David, I can’t sleep. I need you.”

  “Why? Is the baby coming?” He’s fully awake now.

  “No. The baby won’t be coming for another two months. I just can’t sleep. And I need you.”

  “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  “I need you to put your mouth on my nipple.”

  “Huh?”

  “Put your mouth on my nipple.”

  “Which one?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I’ve already pulled off my nightgown. We haven’t had sex lately. Not for several days. I think he thinks he might hurt the baby.

  David leans over me and kisses my left nipple very lightly.

  “Why is it wet?”

  “It’s colostrum. It’s the thin yellow milk that comes in before the regular breast milk.”

  “But why do you have milk now if the baby isn’t coming for two months?”

  “I’ve been toughening my nipples, and it came out.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

  “No. It’s fine. It just means I’ll have milk for the baby when the time comes. But I want you to taste it. I want you to put your mouth all the way over the nipple.”

  I know he thinks this is a strange request. Not that he’s a stranger to my nipples. We’ve always both enjoyed what he does with my nipples during sex. But this is the first time I’ve ever elbowed him out of a sound sleep and asked him to taste my colostrum.

  The thing is, I desperately need to have his warm, wet mouth on my breast—not because a baby will be suckling there soon enough, but because my entire body is demanding to have sex with him right now. Maybe it’s hormonal.

  “How does it taste?” I ask him.

  “Sweet.”

  He licks my nipple, all around the areola, but doesn’t suck. I think he’s afraid of getting a mouthful of milk. And I reach for his penis.

  “What if I poke the baby?”

  “You won’t poke the baby. It’s not anatomically possible.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I mount him backwards, I’m very wet, and I ease myself over him, my legs akimbo over his hips, my hands on his ankles.

  He strokes my back and bottom as I come, very quickly—then again. And once more with him.

  I dismount, wipe us both off, try to get comfortable on my back, and snuggle against him. He rolls on his side toward me, kisses me, rests one hand on my belly and immediately closes his eyes.

  “Do you think The Designer, the Holy One, is really a she, David?” I ask him.

  “Are we not sleeping tonight?”

  “Please. Just tell me what you think.”

  “I don’t know. Everyone here says She. But when I pray, I don’t envision any kind of shape or substance. For me, The Designer is just kind of there—everywhere. Sort of a presence, a comforting presence, that can be accessed anytime.”

  “Oh.”

  “I love you,” he says.

  “I love you, too.”

  He yawns, and in an instant his even, deep, breathing tells me he’s asleep.

  I let him sleep. He works hard. He needs to be well-rested, but probably won’t be tomorrow.

  New Eden isn’t perfect. People here are like people everywhere, I suppose. Zora sometimes reminds me of Keira, who saved me in Kitchener. They’re both old women—wise women—who are very kind to others, though the lives they’ve lived are very different.

  Zora has never had sex with anyone but Abraham. Keira has had sex with countless men. But I think they would like and understand each other.

  I don’t much care for Lily, Miriam and Edward’s nubile young daughter. She’s one of those people who knows exactly how beautiful she is. She flirts with David sometimes. I’ve seen her do it.

  He says it’s just my imagination. But David is an extremely good-looking man. And I’m pretty sure Lily wishes he were single. She asked him specifically to fix some of the play equipment for the little children she and Shayla care for during the day, while their parents work. She should have asked his team leader to assign someone to the task.

  It’s very warm now. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Lily goes around all day without a top on. Not just when she’s in the pond.

  Why am I being so jealous? I know David would never be unfaithful to me. Still, I don’t like Lily very much. And when our baby is a toddler. I sincerely hope there will be someone other than Lily to care for him while I’m working at the infirmary.

  Maybe Lily will get married soon. Why am I obsessing about Lily?

  The other day, a young man I know only slightly was sent to another monogamist settlement to live because he hadn’t found anyone here to love. Or, more likely, no one found him.

  That happens sometimes, I’m told.

  There are other places in the northwest like New Eden. Good places, not like Eden Falls.

  “Are they having girls in those places?” I ask Zora.

  “Yes,” she says. “I think the Holy One smiles on Her creation wherever she sees fit.”

  “Do they make wine like ours in those places, too?”

  “No. Not all of them.”

  So maybe it’s not the grapes that are responsible for girls getting born in sustainable numbers.

  Zora says she’s been to a few of the monogamist settlements that have ties with New Eden. But she wouldn’t ever want to live anywhere but here. Here is home.

  I ask
her if she thinks I’m carrying a boy or a girl.

  “Now how am I supposed to have an opinion about that?” she laughs. “Do you think these tired old eyes can see inside of you?”

  It doesn’t matter here what sex our baby happens to be. I think our baby is a boy. I don’t know why. David and I have been thinking of names, but haven’t settled on any yet.

  Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in the world beyond New Eden. The last time Miriam, Edward, Zora and Abraham went to Winnipeg with the wine, a few months ago, there were no letters waiting from Seneca Falls, but they brought me back a letter from Dora.

  I think some part of me has forgiven her. I think maybe she does love me. So I’m going to write back to her and tell her about the baby. It will be her grandchild, after all. She won’t get the letter until after he’s born, when it’s time to trade wine again. And she’ll probably never see him. But I’d like her to know.

  I’d also like my fathers to know—and Susannah. David and I will send them letters, too. And maybe Captain Blinn will be able to deliver them before the baby is all grown up. They haven’t responded to the first packet of letters we wrote before we left Winnipeg.

  Dora writes that Captain Blinn and The Lady May crew haven’t been back lately. But she’s heard from other traders that there have been big changes in the Coalition—changes that are very bad for women.

  I hope Susannah is alright, and my half-sister in Rochester.

  I wonder why all the women in the Coalition are being ignored by the Holy One. Aren’t they Her creation, too? Why is She just favoring New Eden and a few other remote settlements hidden away from the rest of the world?

  I guess it’s not for me to know—or anyone. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to say a prayer or two.

  Chapter 44

  David

  A Dry Spell

  Everything is good. I watched our baby come into the world. I cried tears of joy when Alex, the chief tender and mender, pulled him from Rebekah, cut the cord, and then put him, still wet from birth, in my arms.