But I’ll come back, Iris thought. I can do what I want and then come back. She could not yet imagine cutting herself off from Lincoln forever.
“I have to think of our line,” Angharad muttered. “It’s my responsibility now, and it’ll be Iris’s later.” She glared balefully at her mother. “You might have thought of your own responsibility to it earlier.”
Iris’s family had always lived here. All of the residents of her house shared equally in the farm, but Iris’s ancestors had owned the land and were considered the traditional leaders of that household. Angharad, although she consulted with the other women, had the power to make decisions whenever there was disagreement; she represented the views of the household in town meetings and town council sessions with the heads of other Lincoln farms. If Angharad had no more children and Iris left Lincoln, the leadership would pass to Angharad’s cousin Elisabeth, and Iris knew that her mother thought Elisabeth was not up to the task. She couldn’t leave for good, in spite of what Julia might think; the farm would need her.
Iris had to speak up. “If I learn things,” she said, “wouldn’t that help the farm?”
“Useless knowledge won’t help,” Angharad replied angrily. “I’ve made my decision. You are not to continue these studies. If you must learn something, learn practical things — how to keep the land fertile, when the best times are for planting, what new strains are available, how to assess the weather.”
“I can still give her some of my credit,” Julia said. “What she does with it is her concern. You can’t stop me.”
Angharad swung her legs over the bed and stood up swiftly, nearly hitting Iris with her arm. “I’m in charge now, I’ll decide matters.” She clenched a fist, looking as though she wanted to strike the other woman.
“It’s true I turned everything over to you,” Julia answered calmly. “You can make us both abide by your wishes if you think the farm’s interests are at stake, and I suppose you could argue that they are, since Iris is your daughter. Of course, I won’t accept your decision now. I’ll want to discuss it with the rest of our household. Maybe they’ll agree with you, and since we all dislike unpleasantness and have to get along together, it would be hard for me to go against them.”
Angharad smiled, looking triumphant.
“But maybe,” Julia went on, “I can get some of them to agree with me, as long as Iris promises that her studies won’t keep her from her chores or other obligations. And they might not take kindly to seeing you tell me what to do with my own money. It sets a bad precedent. They’ve always been free to spend theirs as they wish and they might wonder if you’ll come up with your own ideas for their funds. You might produce bad feeling. In all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen an argument about this sort of thing.”
“They’ll agree with me,” Angharad insisted.
“Perhaps. And it will certainly give them a fine topic for talk at parties. They’ll say that Angharad Julias can’t even control her own child without dragging her whole household into the fight. They’ll say that Angharad Julias tells her own mother how to spend her credit and shows ingratitude and disrespect for the old. That would be a pity, especially since you dream of being elected mayor someday. I don’t think Lincoln would want such a leader.”
“They won’t want a leader who lets her daughter get above herself.” But Angharad’s smile had faded; her arms hung uselessly at her sides. “You old bitch,” she whispered. Iris blinked, shocked by her mother’s harsh expression.
Julia ignored the insult. “They might praise one who has a daughter with a brain. You can tell them that the studies will make her a better leader and a credit to the town. You can show that we’re not the dullards Linkers and city folk take us to be. It’s all a matter of how you present it, daughter.”
Angharad sighed.
“Show some wisdom,” Julia said. “A leader should know when she’s lost, and accept it gracefully.”
Iris felt torn. She climbed off the bed and went to her mother’s side, looking up at Angharad’s mournful, round face. “I’ll do my chores, I promise,” she burst out. “I always finish them, don’t I? I won’t talk about Bari to anybody.” That, she knew, would be the hardest promise to keep. “Angharad, please.”
Angharad took her hand. “I’m afraid Julia’s left me no choice.” The girl’s chest swelled with happiness. “But if you slack off, I’ll have to bring the matter up, whatever happens. Just remember that.”
Angharad was smiling again. For a moment, Iris almost believed that her mother was glad she had lost. Was that why she was smiling? Or was Angharad only thinking that she would win out over Iris in the end?
Winter had come to Lincoln. The wind whistled through the streets and came to a howl as snow fell steadily; icy white dunes covered the fields and clogged the roads. The townsfolk rarely ventured outside during this season, preferring to socialize with the aid of their screens. Each house was well stocked with provisions, and the shops were closed until early spring. The climatic changes that had brought tropical springs and scorching summers to the Plains had also given the land brief but extremely harsh winters, as if in compensation for the high temperatures the Plains usually endured.
Iris had opened her window. She rested her hands on the sill, listening to the murmur of voices below. Her room overlooked the courtyard, which was surrounded on all four sides by wings of the house. The heated courtyard, protected by an invisible shield, was immune to winter, and the household often preferred to gather there instead of in the common room downstairs. Most of Lincoln’s houses had only domes over their courtyards; installing the force field had been Julia’s idea and she had spent a lot of her credit on it, yet she rarely sat in the courtyard with the others, whose talk made her impatient or irritable. Iris often wondered if giving the house the luxury of a force field had been Julia’s way of making up for her lack of warmth and friendliness. Her grandmother, whatever her feelings, was stilll a Plainswoman and had tried to treat her commune fairly before turning it over to Angharad.
Iris sat down on the window seat. She was too tired to study and not tired enough to sleep. She had to get more rest; it was her turn to help in the kitchen tomorrow and her room needed cleaning as well. Angharad had already scolded her for allowing it to become so disorderly, and Iris had not forgotten her mother’s threats.
The winter, imposing isolation, had given her more time to study. The afternoon hours that she usually spent with her friends during other seasons were her own. She still spoke with the other children occasionally over her screen, or joined them outside for games in the snow when the wind died down long enough; if she hadn’t, Angharad would have counted it as another mark against her.
She stretched out on the window seat, pillowing her head on her hands. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, the sound of talk below would bring on drowsiness, soothing her until she drifted off there or stumbled hazily to her bed.
She knew why she could not sleep. Another teaching image, a man named Muhammar, had appeared with Bari that afternoon. He had said that he would be guiding her in some of her studies, and Bari had looked pleased, saying that this meant that Iris had done well. Iris had run to Julia with the news, longing to share it, but even her grandmother had frowned before offering a few words of praise.
Iris pressed her lips together. She now knew enough about customs in other places to realize that such news would have been cause for celebration elsewhere. No one in her household cared. They all knew her secret now; Angharad, knowing it couldn’t be kept, had been the first to reveal it, saying somewhat defensively that the studies might help her to manage the farm when she was grown.
Most of the women had been amused, though Iris supposed that mockery was better than outright hostility. Eric, the only child in the household who was her age, kept asking her silly questions she could not answer and then made fun of her when she did not reply. “Why don’t you ask the image?” he would say as he sneered, or “I thought you knew every
thing by now.” He had nearly baited her into hitting him that morning; only the thought of Angharad’s warning had kept Iris from striking out.
She sat up and peered out at the courtyard. The women below had spread blankets on the grass; most of them wore sweaters over their long dresses or tunics. The house homeostat had been erratic lately, one of the reasons why the dust that the system usually cleared from the air was beginning to form a film on Iris’s furniture. The women would have to retreat to the common room later that week unless the man visiting them managed to repair the homeostat soon. Iris reminded herself to dust her room in the morning.
Wenda poured herself more whiskey. She was the oldest of the women, nearly ninety; she had been a friend of Julia’s grandmother. Her silver hair gleamed in the courtyard’s soft light; her stocky body was still sturdy. Rejuvenation might give the old woman another three or four decades of life, and she had always been strong. She had not only survived her old friend but had also outlived Julia’s mother, Gwen; the people of Lincoln, unaccustomed to seeing death carry off anyone before the age of ninety, still talked about Gwen’s tragic end. Disease might be forestalled or evaded, but a foolish accident had taken Gwen’s life.
Wenda passed the bottle to Sheryl; the slender, dark-haired woman poured her whiskey daintily, as if measuring how much she could swallow without getting drunk. Angharad whispered to LaDonna, who giggled and then murmured to Constance. The three young women had always been close, more like sisters than friends; LaDonna had left her old commune in Lincoln to live here.
Sheryl handed the whiskey to Lilia, who took only enough for a swallow. At fourteen, Lilia was old enough to sit up with the women, though she rarely had much to say; she had the large brown eyes and tentative manner of her mother Elisabeth, who was absent from the gathering. Iris had seen Durell, the man who was repairing their homeostat, enter Elisabeth’s room after dinner.
Iris didn’t like Durell, who had stood aside with a grin on his face while Eric taunted her about her lessons. Iris didn’t usually care for the presence of men in the house. The women would begin to act silly, batting their eyes and whispering invitations to their beds, and the handsome Durell was worse than most men. He strutted around the house, using any excuse ro remove his shirt and reveal his muscular, dark brown chest. He joked with Eric, called the boy a “little man,” and laughed and clapped whenever Eric wrestled with LaDonna’s son Tyree, even though Tyree was younger and smaller.
Sheryl looked up at the north wing of the house. “Elisabeth’s light just went on,” she said.
Constance craned her neck. “Do you think they’re getting up?” She jumped to her feet, shaking back her long, blond hair. “Maybe a man like that’s ready for more than one woman.” She rolled her slim hips. Angharad, giggling, tugged at her friend’s trouser leg as Constance sat down again.
“I wish I didn’t have this belly,” LaDonna said. She rested her back against a slender tree trunk, rubbing a hand over her abdomen; she was pregnant, and her second child would be a girl. “He wouldn’t be with Elisabeth now.” LaDonna was telling the truth; with her feathery black hair, blue eyes, and rosy, clear skin, she was the most beautiful of them all.
“If I were twenty years younger,” Wenda said, “and not repenting of my sins, he wouldn’t be with any of you.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should try my luck anyway. He might like a woman who knows a few things.”
“She just turned out the light,” Constance said, heaving a sigh. “I know Elisabeth. She’ll keep him there all night.” The blond woman grinned. “She could at least have given Lilia a crack at him.” Constance poked the girl while Lilia blushed and covered her mouth. “You can’t fool me — I’ve seen you looking at him when you think no one’s around.”
Lilia shook her head.+569
“Come on. Now that Jacob’s left town, you’re looking, aren’t you?”
Iris tried not to laugh. Lilia had talked of nothing except Jacob when the boy had been living next door; he had been her first love before he had taken up a man’s life of traveling from town to town. Most men wandered, finding work as mechanics or repairmen in other Plains towns; some even left the Plains or Earth itself. Jacob had promised to come back in the spring; Lilia had told Iris that. Now she was ogling Durell, who wasn’t nearly as kind and gentle as Jacob. Lilia was a fool.
Lilia hung her head; her pale bangs hid her eyes. “Durell’s all right,” she said in soft, slurred tones, “but I’m too young for him. I haven’t even had my ceremony yet.”
“A mere technicality,” Wenda said, tripping a bit over the long word, “but it’s probably best to respect custom.” The old woman chortled. “Didn’t see such modesty when Jacob was around, though.”
“Maybe I should try my luck with Durell,” Angharad said. “I’ve been missing a man lately.”
“When don’t you miss one?” Constance asked, to a chorus of laughter.
“I’ve been thinking,” Angharad continued. “There’s no reason not to have another child now, as long as our Counselor has no objection. I was putting it off until Iris got older, but maybe I shouldn’t. I might like a pretty dark-skinned daughter.”
Iris wanted to scream, unable to bear the thought of a sister who might be like Durell. How could her mother even think of it?
“Another daughter?” Wenda shook her head. “That might not be wise. You’d have to turn the farm over to one of them eventually, and the other might resent it.”
“But a girl could stay here with us,” LaDonna said. “I’m glad this one’s going to be a girl. Tyree will have to leave us when he’s older, but I’ll still have his sister, and she’s bound to be a lot like him, after all.”
The other women were silent for a moment. LaDonna had reminded them all of an awkward fact; LaDonna, who could have chosen almost any man, had become pregnant by the same man who had fathered Tyree. No one could understand such unconventionality; it made no sense. Having two children by only one man was almost like having a bond with him.
“I think you ought to wait,” Constance said. “You know what it was like with Iris and my Eric born so close together. We wouldn’t want to lose the labor of two women at the same time. We were exhausted trying to keep up with everything.”
“You’re right,” Angharad replied. “I’ve got time. I’m twenty-four now — I could even wait until Iris is grown, see how things are then. I don’t know.” An odd, unhappy look came over Angharad’s round face; her brown eyes seemed to be staring into a secret place only she could see. Iris had caught that look on her mother’s face when Angharad had not realized she was present. “I wonder.” She shook her head and smiled again.
“You sound worried.” Old Wenda waved an arm. “What are you thinking — that Iris will grow so addled by her learning that you’ll need another daughter to tend to things here?”
Iris held her breath, wishing that Julia were awake and in the courtyard to say something in her defense.
“Of course not,” Angharad answered. “Iris isn’t addled. She’s better behaved than a lot of children.” She glanced at Constance; Eric sometimes beat the walls with his fists or shrieked when he was denied a game or treat, and since he wasted his own allotment, his mother often had to refuse his requests for part of hers. “Iris will do very well.” The eavesdropping girl loved her mother at that moment, wishing Angharad would say such things to her more often when they were alone. “Besides, it’s a stage. She’ll get tired of it soon enough, especially when it starts getting hard. When she gets old enough for a man, she’ll find other things are more interesting.”
The women chuckled. Iris’s eyes stung. Was that true? She couldn’t believe that she would ever want someone like Durell, loud and boorish and full of himself. A man would never take her away from her studies. She would prefer not to have a man at all. She tensed, surprised at the thought. There were a few women in Lincoln who had only other women as lovers or took no lovers at all, and though they were tolerated, most of the townsf
olk disapproved of them.
“You’re probably right to let her go through it and get past it,” Sheryl murmured. “Best to let children do some of these things instead of forbidding them.” Sheryl, who had no children of her own, always seemed to know what other women should do with theirs. “Children are drawn to the forbidden. Anyway, it’s probably just a game to her.”
Iris pressed her nose against the raised windowpane, then drew back, afraid someone might look up and see her even though her light was out. Bari had praised her, yet Sheryl was calling her studies only a game.
“Maybe she’ll be chosen,” Lilia said in a high, quavering voice.
“Chosen!” Constance slapped her thigh. “Mother of God, Iris chosen! Wouldn’t that give Lincoln something to talk about! We’d certainly seem grand then — why, we’d be invited to every party in town.” Constance struggled to control herself. “Chosen! Why, if that happened, she might even become a Linker!” She shrieked with merriment.
“It’s nothing to laugh about,” Sheryl said, covering her own smile with one hand. “Linkers are strange folk — they’re almost more like Habbers than other people.”
“Shut your mouth,” Angharad said, clearly shocked by Sheryl’s words. “They may have Links, but they’re nothing like Habbers.” She looked around uneasily, seeming to think that a Linker might suddenly appear in the courtyard — as if such a person were likely to have any business there. “They go out of their way to show that they aren’t.” Iris wondered how her mother could possibly know that.
“When I was a child, a boy from Lincoln was chosen,” Wenda said. “Once his mother got over the shock, she couldn’t stop bragging. Of course, she knew the boy would end up leaving Lincoln anyway, and there was a rumor that she had a Linker cousin.” The old woman paused. “That’s really the point, you see. Some think anyone can be chosen, but it isn’t true. You need strings somewhere.” Wenda shrugged. “As it was, it brought only grief to the boy’s mother.”
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