Clover Blue

by Eldonna Edwards

  Tears well up in my eyes. “Kind of.”

  “And who is making you suffer?”

  I sigh. “I am. It’s my choice.”

  “And can I end your suffering?”

  I drop my chin to my chest. “No.”

  Goji takes the book from my lap and leans in so our bowed heads are touching. “Breathe through your pain, Clover Blue. Be the clay and let the fire make you stronger.”

  * * *

  Willow, Wave, Sirona, and Doobie pass Harmony and me on their way toward the Sacred Space, laughing and reeking of pot. Harmony and I are headed in the opposite direction, toward the manure bin. This afternoon’s job is to wheelbarrow poop to the garden area. We’ll spread it around the beets and chard, then hoe the rest into the ground for next year’s crop of broccoli, beans, potatoes, peas, and tomatoes.

  Harmony watches the olders disappear into the Sacred Space as a dark row of clouds edge their way east toward us from Bodega Bay.

  “What do you think it feels like?”

  “What?”

  “Screwing. Fucking. What they do in the Sacred Space.”

  I don’t like to talk about sex with Harmony. One, because she’s like a sister and, two, because talking about it is one of the things that gives me a boner. I never used to think about it all that much, like the actual doing it. But lately I pop up at the weirdest times and it’s embarrassing. I’m usually able to hide it by turning away and pretending to be interested in a bug or a stone.

  I shrug. “I dunno.”

  Harmony giggles. “I once sneaked a peek when Ruth was still living here. It’s bogue. All those bodies slithering around, moaning and pumping.”

  I’m a little bummed that she’s seen inside the Sacred Space and I haven’t. Plus that she never told me about it until now.

  I pull my work gloves out of my pocket. “Can we talk about something else?”

  Harmony sets down her end of the wheelbarrow and hands me one of the shovels that hang on the side of the chicken coop. “Like what? You’d rather talk about shit?” She scoops a pile of composted manure and drops it evenly along the base of several bushy beet plants.

  I catch sight of our newest sister coming out of the brambles behind the chicken coop. “Looks like Rain is coming.”

  “Oh, so now we’re going to talk about the weather?” Harmony rolls her eyes. “You are such a prude.”

  I give Harmony a shove. “Hah, not that rain, our Rain.”

  I point to where Rain stands holding a basket of fresh eggs. Her hair is mussed and her hands are covered with tiny scratches, some of them still bleeding a little. I’m glad she’s not headed to the Sacred Space with the others. The sisters have been very protective of Rain. Ever since she showed up the brothers have been tripping over themselves being extra nice to her. It’s kind of embarrassing to watch.

  Rain carries the basket toward us. “Those hens sure are good at hiding these things. I just found an egg in the middle of a bunch of blackberry bushes!”

  “I once found one under our dining table,” I say. “Went right from the floor to the frying pan!”

  Rain giggles.

  “I found one in my bed. I sat on it every day and tried to hatch it.”

  We both turn toward Harmony, who’s resting her chin on the handle of her shovel, grinning. “Just kidding! But you believed me for a minute, didn’t you?”

  “Naw.” I nudge her. “I knew you made it up.”

  Rain smiles. “That was a good one, Harmony.”

  Harmony sticks her tongue out at me before plunging her shovel back into the load of compost. As much as she claims to dislike her mother she sure is a lot like her. Gaia used to love fooling the family with tall tales of her travels. She once told us that Jerry Garcia invited her backstage and she ended up spending three days smoking dope, getting it on with the band, and dropping acid. She said they even let her on stage to play the tambourine for one of their songs.

  I miss Gaia. Harmony won’t admit it but I think she misses her, too. I know she keeps a picture of the two of them hidden in the back of one of her old books. It slipped out one time when I was looking for something to read to Moon. In the photograph Gaia is laughing, her mouth wide, holding a joint in one hand and a pinwheel in the other. Harmony stands beside her naked mother with her little hands to her cheeks, also laughing, as if they both just heard the funniest joke in the world.

  A dry clump of manure hits me in the arm. “You going to just stand there and let me do all the work while you make googly eyes at her?” Harmony juts her chin toward Rain, who’s walking down the path with her basket of eggs.

  “I wasn’t making googly eyes. I was just deep in thought.”

  Harmony sways her hips playfully and snorts. “I have a pretty good idea about those deep thoughts.”

  I plow my shovel into the pile. “No you don’t.”

  In truth this is one of those times I wish Harmony could read my thoughts. That she could see what I see and feel safe talking about missing her mother. Maybe then I’d feel safer telling her how much I wish I knew mine. I know she remembers the good times with Gaia, lots of them. She has real memories but I have to make up stories in my head about my birth parents. Sometimes I imagine good ones, where we’re a normal, happy family. Though I’m not really sure I’d like normal, whatever that is.

  10

  The thunder rumbles closer and louder. On nights like this I feel a little sorry for Doobie. He’s the only one who doesn’t have a roommate in our gigantic tree house. Sirona and Jade sleep in the same room with Moon and Aura. Harmony shares a room with Rain. Willow and Wave have always slept in the same bed, even though it’s against the guidelines written in The Book. I think they started before the rule was made or maybe people just ignore it since they’ve been together for so long. Goji sleeps in his shack but even he’s not alone because he sleeps with his cat, Ziggy.

  Coyote’s army hammock hangs empty across from my bed. He’s an insomniac and often disappears on walks at night. On nights like this, you’d think he’d want to take shelter in the tree house, but Coyote loves storms. Nobody knows where he goes but he usually comes back long after I’m asleep.

  Blinding light followed by a deafening crack of thunder hit at exactly the same time. A yelp escapes from my mouth. The branches sway with the howling wind and the plastic we tack over the windows every winter, tears off the nails and flaps noisily. It feels like the tree house might just crumple into a pile of mattresses and sleeping bags on the soggy ground. Fear rolls through me and I pull the covers over my head. I’m warm but my body is shaking like a wet dog.

  I don’t say a word when Harmony climbs in next to me, just like when we were little. She snuggles against my back as the storm moves over us, turning to a steady rain. Within minutes I drift off to sleep. When I wake in the morning Harmony’s gone. Her ratty old stuffed bear, Boo-Boo, is in her place. Coyote is back, sound asleep in his hammock. I hide the bear under my pillow and tiptoe down the ladder for sun salutation.

  It seems odd to salute the sun on a rainy day, but Goji reminds us that the sun is still there behind the clouds, blessing us, and deserves our blessing in return. We move the picnic table aside so we can do yoga under the canopy, where the ground is mostly dry. Goji faces us as we mirror him through the familiar poses of mountain, downward dog, cobra, and back to mountain. The stretches help to warm my body and stop the shivering.

  Coyote and I slide the table back under the canopy while Wave and Sirona make scrambled eggs with spinach and goat cheese. Wave lets Moon break the eggs into the bowl and toss the shells into a pail we’ll mix in with the compost. He’s pretty good at it for a six-year-old. Sirona hums as she whisks the eggs. We’re not supposed to talk before breakfast so that we remain in a quiet, peaceful place until we break our overnight fast. Humming doesn’t count as talking.

  After breakfast, Rain carries the pail of eggshells and other food scraps toward the compost box. I walk behind her on my way to the outhouse.
A branch cracks and I look up to find where it came from. I can’t see him but I recognize the moccasined foot disappearing up the trunk. Goji is like a squirrel the way he floats from branch to branch sometimes. He’s always loved climbing trees but ever since Rain arrived he’s like a shadow over her, watching. I don’t think she notices because she wasn’t raised to be aware like the rest of us at SFC. But I do.

  Harmony knocks on the outhouse door while I’m inside. I know it’s her because of the rhythm. We have a code we made up when we were little kids. She taps out four times, the first one the loudest. THUMP thump thump thump. We got it from Doobie, who pounded on Coyote’s big drum for one of our dance ceremonies. Doobie said it was an Indian drumbeat. Goji told Doobie that he’d lived in India and never heard it. This was his way of dropping a hint on Doobie. Goji prefers to call the local Indian tribes Native Americans. I thump back with my foot against the floor so Harmony knows it’s me in here.

  She’s waiting outside the door when I come out. “Doobie wants everyone in the pot patch. We need to help harvest and trim before the plants get moldy from the rain.”

  “Right on,” I say, and follow her down the path. Neither of us brings up her snuggling with me during last night’s storm.

  When we arrive at the patch, the others have already gathered. We grow the marijuana between rows of sweet corn to hide them. Doobie and Wave have cut down all but one of the towering plants.

  Doobie wipes his brow with his forearm. He hasn’t been the same since Gaia visited. He still jokes around but there’s a sadness inside his laughter.

  He hands me the machete. “Would you like to do the honor, little brother?”

  I almost drop the machete. It’s much heavier than I thought it would be.

  Doobie steps behind me. “Hold it with both hands. Swing it like a bat.”

  I’ve never played baseball but the Olders took me to a drive-in theater a few years ago to see a movie called Bang the Drum Slowly, so I get the drift. I heave the machete behind my shoulder and everyone jumps back. I swing and miss.

  Coyote laughs. “Easy, Blue. Keep your eyes open or you might cut your foot off.”

  I try again. This time I manage to topple the plant, but higher than I should have cut it. Doobie lays a hand on my shoulder. “Good job, buddy.”

  We spend the rest of the day trimming the biggest leaves from the plants and storing them in paper sacks. Doobie and Wave hang the main stalks in the attic of Goji’s shack to dry out. In about a week or so we’ll trim them again and store the pot in mason jars, hidden around the compound. The Olders usually have enough to last until the next harvest since they keep most of it. Doobie only sells to a few people he personally knows.

  Sirona makes a special soap to clean the sap from our hands but we still have to scrub and scrub. I’m the last one still scrubbing when Mrs. Fuller pulls into our driveway. The passenger door opens and Stardust, the tarot card reader from Sebastopol, climbs out. Mrs. Fuller must have picked her up hitchhiking. Or maybe Stardust really is psychic, since she’s one of the few people Doobie sells pot to and she just happens to show up on harvest day.

  Stardust starts up the pathway toward us, her bangles and bells jangling. The sister-mothers exchange eye rolls as Stardust approaches wearing big hoop earrings, a colorful head-scarf, and a jingly belt on her hips. I’ve heard the Olders poke fun at Stardust’s claims that she can communicate with the dead. Coyote joked that he’s heard voices when he does mushrooms but it doesn’t make him a psychic. Goji doesn’t like us to judge other people, but even he laughed at that.

  Moon and Aura race toward our neighbor lady. Mrs. Fuller has been teaching Aura her alphabet. She sometimes brings Moon crossword puzzles and she gave Harmony a set of charcoal pencils. Mrs. Fuller used to be a teacher, but they closed the old Freestone school about ten years ago. She’s invited me to come with her to help out in a classroom in Sebastopol where she volunteers. I’m working up the nerve to ask Goji for permission. He’s not a fan of the American educational system, says it teaches all the wrong things and leaves out the important ones about philosophy and living in harmony with nature. But I’m still curious.

  Stardust plants herself between Goji and me next to the metal water basin. She’s wearing a big white flower in her hair.

  “Aloha, friends! I just got back from Hawaii. I brought you all some puka shells.” She hands a bag to Willow, who peers inside, then looks at Wave. They both shrug. Stardust turns to Goji. “I want to join Saffron Freedom Community. I just love you all and I want to be part of the group.”

  Goji smiles sweetly. It’s obvious he doesn’t think she’s a good fit but he’s the most open-minded person I’ve ever met.

  “Why do you want to become part of this family?”

  “My old man apparently found a new girlfriend while I was in Kauai. I need a new scene.”

  Goji shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. Saffron Freedom Community is a home one is called to, not a place to land because you’re backed into a corner.”

  Stardust turns her mouth into a pout. “Well, how does it work then? What do I have to do?”

  Goji motions for her to join him. “Come, let’s go for a quiet walk.”

  Stardust breaks into a huge grin. They take just a few steps before Goji pauses and points to her belt. “Please take off the noise.”

  Stardust furrows her eyebrows but loosens the belt and drops it in her big purse.

  Goji doesn’t move. “And the jewelry.”

  She frowns. “Why?”

  He doesn’t answer. She glances toward Willow, who nods.

  Stardust is down to a skirt and sleeveless top when they finally leave for their walk. The two of them amble down the path toward the main gate, then veer off toward Goji’s shack.

  We haven’t added new people in years and all of a sudden we get two joiners in the space of a few months. I liked Rain from the moment she stepped foot into SFC. Stardust, I’m not too sure about. From the shocked looks on everyone else’s faces, I don’t think I’m alone in my opinion.

  When Goji and Stardust drift out of sight, Harmony and I walk toward Mrs. Fuller and the other Youngers, who’ve gathered at the community table. Harmony stops to stomp in a puddle, covering both our legs with muddy water.

  “Stardust isn’t one of us.”

  I step back from the puddle before she completely soaks me. “Goji says we should build doors, not walls.”

  She stomps again, this time missing me. “Why do you always repeat everything he tells you? Goji also says we should think for ourselves.”

  “A paradox.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “A pair of what?”

  “Paradox. It means two conflicting ideas.”

  She starts walking again. “Whatever it is, you need to come up with your own ideas once in a while. You’re starting to sound like Goji’s parrot.” She glances at me. “Sorry. That came out meaner than it was supposed to. I’m not as good with words as you are.”

  When we reach the picnic table Harmony throws her arms around our neighbor’s shoulders. “Hi, Mrs. Fuller.”

  “Hello, dear. How’re your charcoal sketches coming along?”

  “Pretty good.”

  Mrs. Fuller squeezes Harmony’s hands. “I’d love to see them when you’re ready to show me.” She glances at her watch. “Oh shoot, I have to run. I’ve got a pork roast in the oven.”

  Moon looks up from his crossword. “What’s a pork?”

  Harmony makes squealing and snorting sounds. “It’s a pig, silly.”

  Moon glances at me to see if our sister is telling the truth. She’s known for trying to pull the wool over people’s eyes, especially with the Youngers. I nod at him.

  Moon looks back at Mrs. Fuller like someone just stole his favorite blanket. “You eat them?”

  Mrs. Fuller picks nervously at a paint stain on her sleeve. “I’m sorry, honey. I forgot that you’re veg . . .”

  I quickly move next to her and take her
arm. “I’ll walk you to your car, Mrs. Fuller.”

  “Thank you, Clover Blue.” She glances back at Moon as we head toward where she parked. Under her breath she says, “That was stupid. I’ve upset him.”

  “He’ll be okay. We’re all about diversity and nonjudgment here. The Olders will explain it to him.”

  She opens her car door and pauses. “You’re such a smart young man. Have you thought about college?”

  “I’m only twelve. I don’t really know much about college.”

  She laughs as she settles behind the wheel. “It’s where you get to learn a little about a lot of things and a lot about the things you’re most passionate about. Do you have any ideas of what you might like to study?”

  “I kind of hope to be a writer someday.”

  She pulls the door closed and rolls down the window. “If you want to be a writer you don’t have to wait for someday. Just write.”

  “I don’t know if I’m any good.”

  “You’ll never know if you don’t take that risk. And the more you write the better you’ll get. That much I do know.” Mrs. Fuller starts the engine.

  “That’s what Goji says about meditation and . . .” I stop myself mid-sentence. Harmony’s right. I need to stop quoting him.

  “And what?”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about how Harmony’s sketches have gotten better the more she draws.”

  “Exactly!”

  Mrs. Fuller’s eyes dart around the community, looking for Stardust. “I don’t know if that girl needs a ride back to town.”

  “Don’t worry. One of the others will drive her back.”

  Mrs. Fuller looks up at me. “I hope you’ll come to the school in Sebastopol with me next week. Those kids need to meet someone like you.”

  “I’ll ask Goji.”

  “I already discussed it with him. He said it was fine.”

  “He did?”

  “In so many words.”

  “What did he really say?”

  She grins. “He said it would be good for you to see how lucky you are. I’ll pick you up next Wednesday morning. Around eight?”