The Duty and the Gone (The Fertility Plague Book 1)

by Claire Vale

  Jessie was my kindred spirit. We were always going to rise or fall together. So it was no surprise that, a short while later, the flask was bouncing between Jenna, me and Jessie as the talk returned to tomorrow and graduation.

  “Do you think one of us actually could be the First?” Brenda asked, her gaze going on from us to include everyone on the small beach.

  “When pigs fly,” I scoffed, then immediately slapped a hand over my mouth. I’d never voiced that doubt aloud, not once, not to my mom, not to my best friends. This white rum was trouble. “Sorry, I mean, there’s no reason any one of us couldn’t be.”

  There’s every reason we’d never be. I swallowed hard on the treacherous thought. I had to believe it would happen one day, and mostly I did. It was the foundation of our society, after all.

  But would I be around to see it?

  Would my children?

  My faith didn’t stretch that far.

  The Puritans proclaimed it as, The Coming of the First. The rest of us just thought of it as the First couple to conceive naturally. We had one year to try, one year to devote ourselves to producing that miracle, then we had to start the treatments and IVF.

  “I just hope to God it doesn’t turn out to be Lisa,” Jessie said, pausing to swig from the flask. “She’s already so full of herself. Can you imagine her being the First?”

  “That’s if there’s any glory left for her,” Brenda said with a laugh. “When my brother Ben got married a few years back, I overheard him and his friends bragging about it. They seriously think when it happens, it will be all down to them and their stallion genes.”

  “Just one of the many reasons I’m not getting married,” Jenna declared brazenly.

  Yeah, right… I accepted the flask for another sip. This one seemed to tip some sort of scale inside me. My thoughts scattered and I had to chase after them. When I handed the flask over to Jenna, I missed completely. It was hilarious. The funniest thing I’d ever seen.

  “But, you can’t not get married,” Brenda argued, taking it all far too seriously. “If you don’t marry, you don’t graduate. You’ll be removed from society.”

  “That’s kind of the point. Remove me. Please, please…” Jenna put her hands together, begging some unknown entity. “Please remove me from this society.”

  “You have no idea what that entails.”

  “I know! Isn’t it exciting?”

  “You’ll never be able to marry.” The scowl above Brenda’s brow cut deeper and deeper. “You’ll never be allowed to have a child.”

  “I don’t want to marry a stranger or grow another woman’s egg in my belly.” Jenna smirked “I’d rather be worked to the bone in The Smoke for measly rations.”

  Brenda shuddered. “You think they’ll send you to The Smoke?”

  Jenna shrugged.

  “You’ll be little more than a slave!”

  “And yet I’ll have more freedom that you,” Jenna shot back.

  Brenda turned that scowl on me. “A little help here?”

  I smiled wonkily. “You’re doing fine.”

  Jessie gave her a thumbs up. “Great job.”

  “Oh, my God,” Brenda groaned dramatically. “You’ve all lost your freakin’ minds.”

  Jessie and I crashed shoulders, giggling hysterically at her drama. My mind was not lost. I knew exactly where it was. Floating, just a little above my head, floating and tugging on an invisible string. My gaze followed, up to the twilight skies and—

  “Georga!”

  I snapped my gaze back down to Brenda. “What?”

  She shook her head, letting out a noisy breath.

  “Listen,” Jenna said, “I don’t blame you girls for settling for husbands and shackles and rosy gardens and whatever, but that’s not for me. I don’t care what they do or where they send me. Anywhere, anything will be better than this.”

  Jenna held the flask out for any takers. As Jessie leant in to take it, Brenda lurched forward. She snatched the flask and tossed it in a nearby bush.

  “Hey!” Jenna protested.

  “Shut up,” Brenda hissed. “The Guard is here.”

  The Guard? Even in my mellow, floating state, I knew that was bad. My mind sharpened and my gut tightened as I peeked over my shoulder. Only one guard, stepping out onto the beach. Neatly pressed charcoal trousers and starched grey shirt. The same man I’d passed on the way here. Of course he’d followed. Or maybe this was just on his patrol route. I should have been more observant, double-checked which direction he’d taken. Then again, when I’d cycled past him, I hadn’t been planning on doing anything wrong.

  For the last year, I’d been allowed a small glass of red wine with Sunday lunch. But this was hard liquor. Unsupervised. Without my father’s approval.

  I closed my eyes and saw the numbers dancing their way right off my scorecard.

  When I opened my eyes again, Brenda was marching up to the guard, calling out to Carolyn’s group, “Girls, we really need to start packing it up.”

  She moved around the guard, drawing his attention away from us. “Good evening, sir, is everything okay?”

  “Ladies.” His gaze swept over the scene, resting briefly on Jenna, then on me.

  My breath caught, blew up in my mouth like a balloon, until his gaze moved on and then I could breathe again.

  “I heard voices,” the guard continued, “and just stopped to check it out.”

  Carolyn walked over to him. “We have permission to be here.”

  “I should hope so,” he said, his deep voice kinder than most. “Curfew’s in half an hour.”

  “We were about to leave,” Lisa said, sauntering across the sand to join them.

  Jessie clutched my arm, giggling. “We are so busted.”

  I shushed her, maybe a little too loudly, biting down on my own sudden urge to giggle.

  The guard’s head swiveled to us, swiveled back again as Lisa yelped, “Oh! Ouch!” and crumpled to her knees.

  “Lisa,” Carolyn cried, going down beside her.

  “Miss Bickens?” The guard stooped over Lisa. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh! Ouch!” Lisa whimpered. “I think I…I think I twisted my ankle. Carolyn, you and the others should go or you’ll break curfew. I’m sure this sweet guard will see me home. Sir?”

  “Yes.” The guard cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. One of your friends should walk with us. It wouldn’t be proper for us to be alone.”

  Brenda hurried back to us but I just stared, mind boggling at Lisa’s performance as they fussed over her and made arrangements. My thoughts kept drifting, didn’t seem to want to stay inside my head, but when I concentrated really hard I put together the pieces that didn’t fit. Lisa was not a whimpering, simpering—it hit me. Performance. She’s putting on a performance. This was all a distraction.

  “She knows we’ve been drinking,” I whispered in awe.

  “Everyone knows,” Brenda said in a low, scrabby voice. “You’ve been passing a silver flask between you and giggling like hyenas.”

  My heart swelled. Brenda. Lisa. Carolyn. They’d jumped to our rescue without a second’s hesitation. A tear leaked from my eye. “St. Ives girls are the best.”

  “The bestest,” Jessie agreed. “You saved our bacon.”

  “Nothing’s saved yet,” Brenda muttered. “Come on, I still have to get you home.”

  4

  The reception hall of the Capra Foundation Building had been transformed into some kind of serviceable chapel for a mass wedding. Chandeliers dripped from the tall ceiling like clumps of diamond clustered grapes. Rose petals were scattered down the long aisle that ended in a large trellis arch covered in rambling ivy. On the grooms’ side, white-linen buffet and drinks tables lined the wall. There were already a fair number of boys and their parents standing around with glasses in their hands. On the brides’ side, eleven tables set with silver and crystal and beautiful flower arrangements.

  There were a host of similar ceremonies taking plac
e throughout Capra tonight, but none as grand as the St. Ives Graduation. We were the privileged. We were the elite. We came from prestigious families and we attracted the highest caliber of Offers.

  And yet, as I paused at the entrance and glanced down the aisle, as my stomach pinched and my hands felt suddenly sweaty, I was no different to any other girl in this town. My night would end in marriage to a practical stranger. I would be a wife in every sense of the word. I would be expected to clean, cook and provide a happy home. I would be expected to bear as many children as our allotted four eggs permitted. My future was mapped out just as surely as those rose petals mapped out a path to the other side of the marriage arch.

  “Georga,” my mom whispered at my ear. “I know this seems daunting now, but you’ll be fine.” She squeezed my arm. “I promise.”

  I ran my damp palms down the seams of my gown and started moving again, following the coordinator to our assigned table. Mom was a step behind me, my father a step behind her. They hadn’t attended the preceding balls. No parents had. This was the one and only choice I truly got to make in my life and the council did try to keep up appearances in that regard—no parental influence or judgement.

  Of course, it didn’t really work out like that behind the scenes. Mothers and fathers on both sides of the aisle surely had plenty vocal opinions on their sons’ and daughters’ choices this evening.

  I knew mine had.

  Mom was obviously ecstatic over my prospects with Daniel Edgar. And only three weeks ago, my father had given me the names of three boys I was not to consider under any circumstances. When I’d asked why not, I’d received his boilerplate response. Trust me in this, Georga. Respect my wisdom in these matters. I’d almost asked what I should do if I only got offers from those three boys, but I’d decided not to stir the hornet nest. I hadn’t even recognized two of the names, so it was unlikely they would offer or that I would accept.

  While the boys were given dossiers with all our stats and updated scorecards before each ball, we didn’t even get a list. We had to rely on names and faces as we met them at the balls, and whatever we could find out afterward. Mom had been a gem with that. If she didn’t have all the gossip, she invariably had a friend of a friend of the family who did. The information I’d gleamed was probably far more relevant and valuable than the stats recorded in those dossiers.

  Now, as we settled around the table set for three, Father looked at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “You look beautiful tonight, Georga. So grown up,” he added with a hint of sadness. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I laughed softly, but my smile turned wobbly with guilt as I thought about last night. True to her word, Brenda had fed us breath mints to hide any traces of alcohol and delivered us home safely. My father had no clue how miserably I’d failed him. Except, not miserably. That’s where most of my guilt came from. Maybe I would’ve regretted my flash of rebellion if we’d been caught, but we hadn’t.

  I glanced around as another family arrived. Brenda. She looked stunning, her black hair swept up into a twisted bun that emphasized her slanted eyes, flawless skin and elegant neck. Her gown was red silk with simple lines, cut in to a high collar that left her shoulders bare. The style suited her petite form and paid homage to her Asian heritage.

  We exchanged smiles and a small wave as she was led past me. The table arrangements were spaced far apart for privacy and, probably, to discourage frivolous socialization.

  I felt eyes on me and looked. From across the aisle, Daniel’s gaze warmed my skin. He cocked his head at me, a silky wedge of blond hair falling across his brow, a crooked grin sliding over his jaw. The tension inside me melted as I met his grin with a smile.

  When Daniel looked at me like that, like I was the only person worth looking at in the room, I could feel it everywhere. A whisper brushing my skin. A flutter teasing my pulse. A thrill curling into my toes.

  Warmth pulsed in my heart, a reminder of where this had all started, the moment I knew Daniel could be more than just a handsome, prestigious husband. We’d been standing on the edge of the dancefloor, sipping punch and observing the Waltz in progress.

  “Your friend is an excellent dancer,” Daniel said, his eyes on Jessie.

  “Yeah, Jessie is a natural.” I watched Jessie dip in her partner’s arms and smiled. “She’s also the reason Brenda and I don’t stumble completely over our own two feet.”

  “You’re not too bad yourself.” His gaze slanted to me. “Your friend—Jessie? She taught dance at St. Ives?”

  “Goodness, no, of course not, Jessie only practiced our steps with us. Mrs. Galveston was our ballroom teacher,” I assured him. “She tried her best, but it was all just textbook moves and counting.”

  Not that I blamed the poor woman. She was seventy-plus in the sun and walked with a cane. The academies for girls were the only places women were allowed to work (uncompensated) and they were required to be widows with full grown children, women who’d served their town admirably and no longer had their own responsibilities other than helping raise the orphans at WOE. I was pretty sure there was an age requirement as well. I’d never seen a teacher who wasn’t grey, wrinkled and bent.

  I sighed. “But can you imagine the wonderful graduates Jessie would turn out if she were allowed to be a ballroom teacher?”

  Daniel sipped from his glass of punch, looking at me with a thoughtful expression.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He gave a slow shake of his head, still looking at me, then he said, “It’s just, you sounded wistful, as if you wished Jessie could really do that, be a teacher.”

  “Before she’s too old to twirl and dip and glide?” I said lightly, intending to laugh it off, but for some reason I felt safe going a little further with Daniel. “Well, would that really be so terrible? I mean, I’m not suggesting she should be independent or anything, but I don’t think teaching dance a couple of hours a week as a hobby would interfere with her abilities as a wife and mother.”

  “There are scientists and doctors who’ve been studying the Fertility Plague for many decades who disagree,” Daniel said, as expected, but his tone was conversational rather than abrupt and darkened with undercurrents of dire consequences if I didn’t desist with the line of thinking. That was less expected. “It’s well documented that stress was likely a leading contributor toward the plague. As much as I admire the women back then who made time to raise a family in addition to working, they were pulled from too many sides. Being a mother, attending to relationships, working, running a household, trying to fit in a social calendar for sanity and giving back to the community with charitable events. It’s remarkable, seriously, everything women achieved, how much they could be, but in the end it was too much.”

  “And we broke,” I murmured, having heard all this before.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Daniel said softly, looking into my eyes, smiling. “But maybe this is just a time for simplicity now. Don’t you think?”

  As with most society-related issues, I was torn. I wasn’t a scientist or a doctor or a psychologist. How could I possibly know better than our brightest, trained minds? But I was a woman and simplicity meant no decisions, no options, no autonomy. Simplicity meant being an empty shell waiting, waiting, waiting to be filled with the dream of fertility one day. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

  I shrugged and smiled instead of pushing more, because Daniel hadn’t ended this conversion on a final note. He hadn’t brought judgement down on me for speaking my mind.

  He’d ended on a question, an invitation to open discussion.

  We’d probably never change the world together, Daniel and me. But maybe we’d talk about changing the world, maybe we’d dream about it together and then laugh at our silly dreams.

  For me, for now, that was enough and in this moment, gazing into his blue eyes, my heart opened to him.

  Mom was right.

  Everything would be just fine.

  I could feel it in my
bones.

  A server arrived, blocking Daniel from view. I shifted to look around the skinny, red-haired boy bearing a tray of hot and cold finger foods, and caught one last sight of Daniel’s rakish grin before Jessie blindsided me.

  “Oh, my God,” she gushed, wrapping me in a hug before straightening again. “You look amazing.”

  “Thanks.” I twisted a finger through my hair, self-consciously making sure a thick chunk still fell over my cleavage. It was the reason I’d insisted on wearing my hair down. “So do you.”

  She really did. Her hair was pinned up one side to push a waterfall of curls down her left shoulder. And her dress. Wow! The style was plain, sleek and straight, but the silvery material that looked like metallic mermaid scales had an ethereal effect. I’d been skeptical when she’d pulled it out of that bin in Dust & Must, a relic store in the Bohemian Quarter. But seeing her wearing it now, well, that was clearly just another prime example of my uninspired eye for fashion.

  “You do look lovely, my dear,” Mom said as they exchanged greetings. Her sharp gaze raked over Jessie. “Not Mr. Burnier, I presume?”

  “Dust & Must,” Jessie confirmed with a chuckle. “After some sprucing up and minor alterations…” She gave a slow spin, revealing the dainty silver chains crisscrossing the deep V cut almost all the way down to the small of her back. “Voila!”

  “Jessie,” Mrs. Drakensburg called, waving her daughter over.

  Jessie pulled a face, but I mouthed, “Good luck” and pushed her off with a smile before she made a blistering comment about the no socializing rule. We knew the reason according to Mrs. Brownfield: Graduation is a serious event, girls. Your choice will shape the rest of your lives and demands your complete attention. As if we were so scatterbrained, a little chatter beforehand would obliterate our focus for the rest of the evening.

  “Oh, dear,” Mom murmured, tilting her head closer to me. “Is the family having financial difficulties?”

  “Not that Jessie’s ever mentioned. Why?”

  “Dust & Must, darling.”

  “Oh, that’s just Jessie, she wanted something old world for Graduation. She thought it would be ironic, and the dress worked out well, didn’t it?”