Back to the Garden

by Clara Hume

  "But there is one thing we have to do, and that is to visit Pastor Gregory. I must meet this man who is running the operations that brought Clinton and Turner to us after our car died," said Barbara. "They saved our lives."

  Barbara kept talking and talking, as was her character. "Funny how society takes shape when there's such primitive methods of communication," Barbara said. "Imagine, in times like these, that there's a real distribution center for southern oranges. More than you can say for Idaho. And it's amazing how a preacher is doing that. I wonder if he's, you know, a real genuine man or if he's like the religious zealots that marked the beginning of the resource wars."

  "We'll have that good life again, Mom, up in Idaho." Fran said.

  "We just have to do it right," Leo added.

  "Dudes, like the First Nations did. Like all the natives everywhere did," Buddha said. "They never took more than what they needed. We've got to do that. We have to."

  We agreed and toasted.

  "We've got to teach our children to be that way," I said. "To do the right things. What children are left, that is."

  Willy said that he'd heard billions of people had died. Word got around, he said, from those on the road. Maybe not exact numbers, but we had seen up close the effects of too much pollution, too much resource-extraction, too many emissions, not enough fresh water, not enough soil capacity to produce food for everyone—we saw what all that did eventually. We'd spent weeks driving through it, seeing the best and worst of humankind reveal itself along the highways of what was left.

  That night, I slept in a real bed upstairs in that South Carolina house and hugged Elena tightly. Above the bed was an old-fashioned canopy, and a silky drapery fell around us. In some ways it was creepy with its ghost-like netting. In other ways practical, as it kept the mosquitoes out. With moonlight flowing in through the southern room, Elena was illuminated, her dark hair flowing down her back. We were spooning.

  "When we get back, let's get married, what do you say?" I said.

  "I think we'll have a big wedding, after all," she said, referring to our new friends who seemed to want to come back to Idaho with us.

  "Is getting married necessary, though? Do we know any preachers? Maybe we can make up a new pact of marriage. For the new world."

  "I know," she said. "On our wedding day, let's establish that old rule where it took a village to raise a child. We could just stay in bed for a whole day."

  "Sounds good to me." I smiled and pulled her close to me.

  Caine—Chapter 26

  We spent two weeks in Beaufort, but now we had a slight problem. We had to take more people back with us than we'd brought to the coast, even though Jimmy had decided to stay in Mississippi. We took wood from Aunt Reece's old garage and built up the wagon so we could fit in more people, including Elizabeth Sands and her son Nathan, Fran's mother, Elena's father, and Johnny. We secured fresh water and food in the storage of our wagon, and left all the China, candles, and linens behind as we drove out from the roots of Fran and Elena's ancestors and headed to Savannah.

  Barbara said, "It was a fun go, but the important thing is to come back with the rest of my family now that my sister's gone. These material things can stay behind. I wonder if they'll mean something again someday?" She had hope in her voice, but the rest of us didn't care much.

  Before we left, Elena asked me if I wanted to go plant my feet into the sea. She said she kept having dreams of Moby-Dick and felt that there was an elusive thing to catch the one time she was on this coast in her lifetime.

  "What's that? A sperm whale?"

  She laughed. "No, just a glance at the ocean."

  She talked us all into it.

  Along the way, we edged as close as we could to an ocean view and found one as we crossed the Okatie Highway Bridge. Below was our sea. I was driving and stopped the wagon so Elena could get out and put her feet into the ocean. She had to hike down a hill a ways, and Daniel, Kristy, Fran, and Mei went with her. They stayed for a while looking out at the ocean with dreams in their eyes, but as far as stepping into the ocean they did not as the water was smelly and strewn with debris from the fallen city's edge. The ocean had always been our dumping ground, and it had only gotten worse.

  When they got back to the wagon, I saw tears in Elena's eyes.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Well, there was nothing but old rotten water at our feet, but as I looked at across the ocean I at least imagined."

  "Imagined what?"

  She quoted from Melville, "Consider all this; and then turn to this green, gentle, and most docile earth; consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself?"

  I nodded. I thought I understood.

  "We've got to have faith that the ocean will be restored," Fran told her.

  "And us, we have to restore ourselves," Elena reminded her. "Or the ocean will never be."

  ***

  We got to Savannah just in time for Pastor Gregory's Sunday morning service, which was about loving thy neighbor. He was a tiny black man with sweat running down his face. He had a congregation of five people before we showed up. He was dressed in old blue jeans and a t-shirt that said "Jesus Loves You," and though he was a small man, he was a loud preacher.

  None of us except for Buddha really believed in a deity up there—at least we felt if there were a grand creator, we had, as a human race, been vastly ill-equipped to truly understand it. Rouge-like religious armies quoting "god" as their leader had led to zealous, gun-filled revolutions, killing many and leaving us no other choice than to figure that "God's Word" had been corrupted by people—and that if there were a grand creator, we had failed to understand it or abide by how that Big Dude intended. Personally, though, I quite liked Song of Solomon and thought there should have always been more ideals adopted from that book of Hebrews than any other book.

  I couldn't tell if Pastor Gregory shared my thoughts about life, but he was not a fire and brimstone preacher. His lungs were filled with love, and he was different than any preacher I'd ever heard before. He didn't act high and mighty and didn't ask for anything in return. That was something.

  These days most of us trusted in what we could see and taste and feel. I knew—at least for Maisie and me, and I suspected also our fellow travelers—we'd been raised with a scientific education instead of a religious one. Bible-reading had been the same as reading fiction or prose or historical literature. But I also felt that Pastor Gregory had his heart in the right place. After the church service he invited us to a large picnic in the sweltering heat of his parish property. His goods were plentiful, unlike any we'd seen in these times. He had chickens galore and a catfish hatchery. He fried up fowl and fish, and his wife had baked chocolate cakes and brought watermelon, tomatoes, and greens of all kinds. I felt that if we ate that way all the time, we would in no time balloon up like butterballs. But Buddha said that's why potlatches were rare; you couldn't eat like that all the time.

  When Pastor Gregory looked at him funny, at his large body size, Buddha said, "Hey, I am big-boned."

  Pastor Gregory said, "Yes, that you are, young man." And then he passed Buddha a large bowl of mustard greens. "Eat this; it'll help that figure of yours."

  Buddha just grinned like a kid; it made us all smile when he was happy.

  I was sitting there thinking that mustard greens didn't taste too bad at all. They'd been cooked in some kind of bacon fat. As I was playing with the strange, sinewy vegetables, Maisie sat down next to me and said, "Howdy, darlin'."

  I scooted close to her. We hadn't officially established a relationship, and the lack of finding her mother had stalled us, but by now we were comfortable flirting and touching.

  "What do you think of this get-up?" she asked.

  "Haven't seen so much food since back at my pop's ranch when old Derain threw together a bog-in. Even that was mostly beans and some coldies."

  I knew the way I talked made her soften. I liked the
way her large, violet eyes would grow languid and the way her long lashes flicked nervously.

  "Tell me, what's your destination after this trip? Back to Idaho?" she asked.

  "Hadn't thought of it too much," I lied. In fact, I had fancied that I might go wherever she might go. "What about you?"

  "I’ve realized that Idaho would be a better location than Silver City. Fran said there's several old ranch cottages to build up. But the big old place where I'm from tugs at me. What if Mother came back someday after all?"

  "Leave her a note?"

  Maisie laughed, and her naturally pale skin blushed heavily.

  "What's really on your mind?" I asked. I felt like a wimp because I was putting all the pressure on her to tell me what she thought. Of us. Of something in the future. But, then again, she had brought it up, and I knew what she was aiming for.

  She cocked her head and looked me straight on, not afraid of the question, "I'm wondering if you and I...have something here. Or if it's just a passing fancy. That's what I'm wondering about, Caine Robinson."

  "Feeling clucky, eh?"

  I thought she would slap me, but I hoped the twinkle in my eye would loosen her up.

  "Let's take a walk," I said, feeling brave suddenly.

  We both stood up, and I hovered over her by at least six inches, yet this red-head could be fiery and stubborn, despite her normally pleasant character, I reminded myself. I took her hand and walked with her away from the picnic area. We got a good distance away for some privacy, something we normally did not get, due to perceived dangers lurking outside our campsite. We stopped behind the church. Its light yellow brick contrasted sharply with the cloudless sky. Nobody else was around as far as I could tell.

  I faced her and said, "Here's what I think."

  And then I bent down to kiss her soft lips. As I zoomed in on her petal face, I closed my eyes in a sea of her lavender. The way she responded, well, I knew. I knew she felt the same way. We couldn't get enough of each other and snuck off to the unoccupied wagon, but when we got inside, she said, "I think we should wait for a better place."

  We had to pull apart from each other.

  "You're right," I agreed.

  The wagon was a mess with months-old sweat and clothing strewn about its seats and flooring.

  "So, I guess we should decide," I said. "If we're to head back to Silver City they'll drop us off somewhere, and who knows how we'd get back. Or we can just go straight to Idaho."

  "Fran already told us all we're welcome to her mountain," Maisie said. "I vote Idaho. We could go to California, but I don't think even Joe will go back there."

  "Don't think so?"

  "No. I think he'll go somewhere new."

  We climbed back out of the wagon and kissed for a while longer. We kissed and chatted until the rest were done eating and came back to the wagon to find us in a passionate embrace.

  We got lots of ribbing, but I didn't care. I knew from then on out, this was my lass. I might even love her, but that could be decided in time.

  "Off to Idaho!" Maisie yelled with abandon. Fran looked at her and then me, and then gestured a thumbs up.

  We got on up into the wagon and waved happily good bye to Pastor Gregory and his friends who'd picnicked with us. We drove away from that southern town by the sea with Barbara rattling on about the nice young pastor and the wonderful catfish. I held Maisie's hand and closed my eyes, dreaming of where we'd find a perfect place to consummate this growing passion.

  Fran took photos as we drove away from the church, and I noticed everyone waving except for Elena, who looked mournfully toward the sea-side paralleling our journey.

  ***

  It wasn't until we reached Oklahoma, which was brutally hot, that we took a one-week break to once again take time patching up tires and fixing engine problems. We stopped off at a little town no longer alive, called Desert Holly. As with a lot of small places that were no longer inhabited, there were dry dirt roads crossing through the town. Flanking these roads were ramshackle homes and stores, which, like seemingly every place in the country, had been looted at least once.

  Inside one of the stores we found a few canned goods and then wandered around until we found a home that looked to be about the sturdiest on the street. There were only a couple broken windows in the basement, and the roof was still solid.

  Maisie and I went out back to discover a little pond that was healthy, and we bathed there before joining the others in a supper of canned beets and bread dipped in broth.

  The house was large and had no dead bodies in it. That was always a plus. Maisie and I retired to one of the several bedrooms upstairs, which faced out the back, overlooking the pond. A hot breeze swept in the open windows of the room, and we fell onto the bed, mostly in exhaustion, but when I realized our sudden privacy and freedom, I removed my shirt and beckoned her to me. She was shy, but let me remove her simple dress.

  We made love that early hot evening twice, before deciding there was no reason to go back downstairs to be social that night.

  "That was...very hot," Maisie told me, as she lay next to me on the bed. A dying day's light shadowed her face.

  "You are hot," I told her.

  Joe—Chapter 27

  "What are you going to do, Joe? Where will you go?" Maisie asked me as we continued our western journey.

  It was dusk, and an endless array of stars emerged from a blazing hot day. I was driving Buddha's bike. Maisie hadn't left Caine's side in days, but now she and I had time together, as she relaxed in the sidecar.

  "Well, I don't know. Will it bother you if I also come to Idaho?"

  "Of course not," she said.

  "I saw you with Caine. I'm glad things worked out that way." I didn't have sarcasm in my tone. I was happy for her. Ever since we'd left Silver City, I had let go of my stupid love for her. When I first saw Mei, I also realized I could feel something for someone else.

  She ignored my statement about Caine. "I want you to come there too, Joe. You've been one of my best friends, and it would be kind of cool to grow old around someone who remembers my parents and my past."

  "Yes, I think so. But I feel I should go back to Silver City for a little while first. Can't just leave our old home like that. I should get some photos and stuff. What about you. What should I grab from your place?"

  "The same. Photographs. My father's papers. My mother's letters and recipes. Let your Uncle Frank keep the place if he wants." She was quiet for a little bit, but finally said, "I do love you, Joe. I always have. It just was never that kind of love. I don't know why. I knew you since I was little, and well, I think it was hard to see you as a partner like that."

  "I understand, Maisie."

  "I didn't want you to be upset. I feel you have to know I care for you very much. I think Mei feels something for you too. But she doesn't speak. At least one of us has to say what's on our mind. With things the way they are, you never know if one of us will be gone tomorrow."

  She choked up a little, and I put my hand on hers. "Don't cry, Maisie." I didn't think she had it in her to cry. She was always stubborn and feisty. "I am glad you told me, though. It's good to know."

  I felt happy inside, but also wished she would have told me this a long time ago. I didn't think she'd ever cared that much. I diverted the subject. "What about Caine? Do you love him?"

  "I guess so. Yes, I am sure I do. I just haven't told him yet."

  "I think he feels the same way," I said teasingly.

  "I think so too."

  Buddha was driving the wagon for a change. Mei sat beside him. She was like his puppy. And like a puppy she never argued back. Buddha just talked and talked about his old life, his old friends, his dreams of potluck dinners. She listened endlessly.

  "And her," Maisie said, gesturing toward the wagon. "The quiet one. Why don't you think she has ever said anything?"

  "I think she was hurt badly when we met her. Some people turn inward to lick their wounds."

  "I wonder i
f she'll ever come out of it."

  "I hope so."

  "You like her, don't you?"

  "I tell myself that. But I don't really want to fall for anyone else who may not feel the same way," I told her. "No guilt trip meant."

  She chuckled. "I think she feels something for you. I see her staring at you. It's like, there's something there that she wants to tell you, but is afraid to say it. Maybe she's afraid if she starts talking to any of us, she'll have to tell us what she's thinking and that's too hard?"

  "You have a winded way of analyzing things, Maisie, but maybe you're right."

  "I think I'm just tired," she said.

  I felt my lifetime friend rest her hand on my knee. It felt good, and it felt even better that the reason it felt good wasn't sexual but deeper than that.

  Maisie was tired but didn't sleep. Instead she said, "I wonder what happened to my mother. Let's say she left Athens. Maybe she did get back to Silver City somehow. She could have gotten back the day after we left or something."

  "If she's there, I'll bring her with me. And if she won't come, I'll at least be able to tell her you're okay."

  "So what's your plan on getting to Silver City?"

  "Buddha and I've been talking. We may part ways from the rest of you in Nevada. Leo wants to head in a straight shot on up to Idaho. I'm not about to ask him to go out of the way in this old rickety wagon to get us to Silver City."

  "I'm not sure I approve of this plan. You saw what happened with a dozen bikers together. Just you and Buddha traveling alone together?"

  "We will have guns and ammo. And we're wiser than we were before that first terrible incident."

  "Not sure I like it."

  "What other choice is there?"

  Maisie argued with me for half an hour, but in the end she agreed Kristy was too young to deal with a longer trip than needed. They wanted to get back to their mountain before snow fell, which the wagon would have a hard time getting through.

  Two mornings after I drove the bike with Maisie, I got a letter from Mei. It read: "Joe, will you come to Idaho after your stop in California? Please be careful."