Seed

by Lisa Heathfield

  “Of course. I mean your old one, though.”

  “My past life?” He turns his head away from me.

  “Yes,” I say. But he doesn’t answer and we keep on walking. “Do you like it better here?”

  “Mom does. And Sophie likes it too.”

  “But do you prefer it?”

  “I don’t know.” He moves the bag onto his other shoulder. “But if I hadn’t come here I wouldn’t have met you.” His words stumble into me and I don’t know what to say. Silence speaks for me instead.

  “Do you like it here?” Ellis eventually says.

  “Of course.”

  “But do you really like it? Like Papa S. and all that.”

  “I love Papa S.,” I say. I feel that sharpness settling in me again.

  “That’s OK, then,” is all he says as we head toward the edge of the orchard.

  Kate and Jack are sitting by one of the farthest trees. They don’t see us at first. Jack is lying in the grass and Kate sits, looking over him. As we get closer, we see her lift her hand. She starts to run her finger from the top of Jack’s head, down over his forehead, his nose, his mouth. She doesn’t stop at his neck, his chest. All the time, Jack is looking at her.

  When Kate notices us, she pulls her hand back quickly, as if she’s touched something hot. The spell that danced around them has been broken.

  “We’ve brought you beans,” I say, pointing to the bag on Ellis’s back. Jack sits up awkwardly. I don’t think Kate wants us here. Suddenly I wish we hadn’t come.

  “So, what have you been up to?” Ellis asks, laughter dancing in his eyes.

  “Just talking,” Jack says, but his cheeks color slightly. Ellis sits down beside Kate.

  We are here, but nothing is right.

  Ellis tips out our bag of food. The bread lands in the grass and we’ll have to pick the strands from it.

  “We’ve already eaten middle meal,” Jack says.

  “We’ve brought you fresh beans, though,” I say. It feels like Jack wants to get up and go, but I don’t want him to leave. I want him with his happiness back.

  Ellis passes some bread to me. “How’s your wound?” he asks Jack.

  “Getting better.” Jack smiles and my little knot of worry begins to unravel.

  “How come they didn’t take you to the hospital for the stitches?” Ellis asks, eating chutney straight from the spoon.

  “They didn’t need to,” Jack replies. He reaches for the bottle of milk that we’ve brought. “Linda made it better.”

  “Not properly.”

  “She did it perfectly. Nature will do the rest,” Jack says. He opens the bottle and the white liquid disappears as he drinks.

  “You could have had proper pain relief. You wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

  “Why would he want that?” Kate asks. She stops shelling the beans in her lap. “To feel pain is to feel alive. It is a gift.” She’s looking hard at Ellis.

  “That’s mad. The doctors would have given him an injection in the arm. Numbed the pain.”

  “Now I think that’s mad,” Jack says, shaking his head. “An injection of what? Doctors are just the devil in disguise. Messing with Nature like they do.”

  But I had wanted it. I had wanted someone to take his pain away.

  “Are you serious?” Ellis asks, his eyes wide.

  “We know it’s true,” Kate says, putting a bean into her mouth and crunching on it, hard.

  “Jack’s fine, so that proves we’re right,” I say. I wish my bad thoughts had never happened.

  “Then you’re all mad,” Ellis says. He takes a bean from where it nestles in its pod, pulls it out, and throws it high toward the tree next to us. It hits an apple hanging there.

  “Bull’s-eye,” he says. When he smiles at us, I think about his ability to make me so angry one minute and almost love him the next. Does that make Ellis bad, or good? I don’t think I want to know.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kate has been asked to take Nana Willow her tincture. Heather does it most days, but as Kate says she still can’t work, she’s been given the task. I’m glad I don’t have to. Recently, Nana Willow has slipped into my dreams and sometimes, even when I’m sure I’m awake, I hear her rattling breath creeping around my bed.

  Elizabeth and I are cutting up tomatoes in the kitchen. She pops a piece in her mouth and smiles at me. Today she has knotted her hair high up on her head. The skin on her neck has burned slightly from the sun.

  “How long now, do you think?” I ask her.

  “A month? Maybe less, maybe more.” She rubs her stomach gently. “You just come out when you’re ready.”

  “Is the baby heavy?” I ask, scraping tomato seeds from my finger.

  “No, it’s fine,” she says.

  “Does it hurt at all?”

  “It’s too beautiful a thing to make me feel hurt.” Elizabeth scoops up the tomatoes and puts them in a bowl.

  I want to ask her what it felt like when she carried me. If she carried me.

  “You’ll know it one day,” she says, standing up to take the bowl to the side. But instead of happiness, I just remember the worms in that circle of dirt.

  Kate comes in, not looking ill at all. It’s been less than a week since her accident, yet Nature has healed her almost completely.

  “Mm,” she says, taking a chunk of tomato before Elizabeth can swat her hand away.

  “How is Nana Willow?” Elizabeth asks.

  “Barely awake,” Kate says, sitting down next to me. She picks the knife up, puts its tip into the wood and gently twists it around.

  “Did she call you Sylvie?” I ask.

  “Why would she call me that?” Kate laughs. Elizabeth stops moving.

  “Because she thought I was someone called Sylvie,” I say.

  “Stop doing that with the knife, Kate,” Elizabeth says. So Kate does, but Elizabeth still looks unsettled.

  “Who’s Sylvie?” I ask her. I’m looking right at her, so I don’t miss the hesitation that crosses her face. “Do you know who she is?”

  Elizabeth turns from us and starts to wash her hands in the sink.

  “What are you talking about?” Kate asks.

  I watch Elizabeth as she rubs her fingers through the water. She takes her hands out and dries them gently with the cloth hanging on the tap. She breathes in heavily. “Sylvie was Nana Willow’s daughter,” Elizabeth says finally.

  I don’t understand, and by the look on Kate’s face, I don’t think she does either.

  “Where is she? How come we’ve never heard of her?” Kate asks.

  “She died,” Elizabeth says quietly. She’s looking toward the kitchen door, but it’s still closed.

  “When?”

  “A long time ago.”

  “How?” I ask.

  Elizabeth looks like she doesn’t want to answer, but she does. “She died giving birth,” she answers. How? How is that possible? Elizabeth must see the panic growing in me. “It is very unusual. I will be fine,” she says.

  I know she wants to reassure me, but the thought is there now, and I feel sick with dread. I never knew you could die having a baby. “What went wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing went wrong. It was just Sylvie’s time and Nature wanted to take her,” Elizabeth says. I look at her pregnant belly and I imagine the child curled safely underneath.

  “Did the baby die?” Kate asks.

  “No,” Elizabeth replies.

  “So where did it go?”

  “It stayed at Seed.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. Nothing she is saying makes sense. Nana Willow had a daughter called Sylvie. And Sylvie had a baby. I try to piece it all together in my mind.

  “So it could be one of us?” Kate asks. She is totally still.

  And I begin to understand Kate’s words. That there was another mother. That her baby was one of us.

  Kate is staring at Elizabeth. “Was Sylvie my mother?” she asks.

  “We are all yo
ur mother. And Nature is your greatest mother,” Elizabeth says.

  “But I want to know if she was my real mother,” Kate says, her voice rising.

  Then the door opens and Kindred John is standing here. How long has he been behind the door?

  “Kate,” he says. “I need you to help me in my room.”

  Kate doesn’t move. If anything, she sinks lower into her chair. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I am not well enough.” She doesn’t smile.

  Something like anger is in his eyes. “I’m sure you are,” he says.

  “No, I’m afraid I’m not.”

  “Kate still needs to rest,” Elizabeth says.

  “Well, then,” Kindred John says. “I shall just have to ask Pearl.” But he’s still looking at Kate, with a strange smile on his mouth.

  “Pearl is helping me to prepare evening meal,” Elizabeth says as she begins to drag a bag of earthy potatoes toward the table. I take the edge of the bag from her and heave it across the floor. “And if we don’t start peeling these soon, no one will be eating anything.” Her voice is lighthearted, but there’s a slither of something sharp in her words.

  “I’m sure Pearl can help me tomorrow then,” he says. “Can’t you, Pearl?”

  I smile. “Of course.”

  “Unless you’re better by then?” Kindred John looks at Kate.

  Her confidence seems to have melted away. “I’m sure I’ll be better by then,” she says.

  “Good,” Kindred John says, and he goes and touches her lightly on the head before he walks out to the garden.

  “I’ll help him if you’re not up to it,” I offer Kate. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t look at me as she gets up roughly from the table, storms toward the door, and slams it hard behind her.

  The thoughts of Sylvie being her mother chase after her.

  It’s when I’m taking the plates to the table for evening meal, the day still warm enough to eat outside, that Ellis comes up to me.

  “I’ve persuaded Kindred Smith to let me do the market with him tomorrow. He says you’re coming too.” Ellis takes some of the plates from me. “You and me together in the outside world.” He laughs. “Maybe I’ll steal you away and we can run off together.”

  “You’ll never get me away from Seed,” I say.

  “You wait till you’ve seen the temptations of the Outside.”

  “I’ve been to the market many times,” I say. “There’s nothing tempting about the Outside.” I put the last of the plates down in their places and turn to go and get the pans of food.

  “You haven’t been with me before, though.” He catches up with me. “You never know, I might just tempt you.” He says it so close to me that his lips almost touch my ear. A current shoots through my body, but I won’t let it show.

  “Hurry up, Pearl,” Elizabeth calls as she comes out of the kitchen door.

  Ellis runs to take the heavy pan from her. I watch him and I know he’s right. Because there’s a part of me, just a tiny spark hidden away, somewhere deep within me, that would be tempted.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Everyone else is sleeping. There’s no wind, no noise, just the sound of our shoes in the gravel as we walk to the van, and the songs of the birds. It’s getting light, but the chill is still in the air, nipping at our faces. Ellis steps up first, and the seat squeaks slightly as I sit next to him.

  Kindred Smith walks around the front of the van. He gets in, closes the door, and seals us off from Seed. I’ve never liked the van—its gasoline smell, the noise of its engine, the metal surrounding me. Carrying me away from Seed and all that I love, to the Outside and all that I fear.

  “Excited?” Ellis looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

  “No,” I reply. Because I’m not. I’ve done this too many times to know that the Outside is full of poisonous things, which take days to wash away.

  “I’ll look after you,” he says, reaching over to tuck a strand of my hair underneath my headscarf. Kindred Smith must notice. Even as he starts the engine, his hands fixed on the steering wheel, he must know. I move away from Ellis, but I can’t go far. He looks at me silently. So I stare at Kindred Smith long enough for Ellis to know that he must not touch me.

  I always have the same feeling when we drive from Seed to market. It’s as though a thin blue thread attaches me to my home. It winds through the lanes, past the hills and houses, a thread that will never break and will always keep me safe. If I am lost, I can always follow it back again, to Papa S. And attached to it, he will always be able to find me.

  Kindred Smith and Ellis talk about engines and water and oak trees until the van finally reaches the town, and we get to the street where we set up our market stall. As soon as we open the van doors, the smell of Outside rushes in. A dusty metal that sticks in my throat and clings to my clothes.

  The only people around are the other market sellers. They all look so tired and worried and they move so quickly, always rushing. Kindred Smith speaks to them, but I only nod hello. It is safer that way.

  I wish I had bought some gloves. The sun hasn’t warmed up yet, and the boxes scratch at my bare skin as I lug them from the van to the tables that Ellis is setting up. Our food looks remarkable, though. Even the peppers have grown bigger than ever this year, and the colors are striking—the marrows against the tomatoes, next to the cucumbers and small baskets of red currants. Kindred Smith catches me as I pop a raspberry into my mouth, but he only smiles. It tastes of the morning and if I close my eyes, I’m no longer surrounded by buildings and noise and man-made fumes. I’m back in the fields of Seed for just a few seconds, until I swallow the sweetness and it is gone.

  Ellis lifts a bag of potatoes onto his shoulder. It must be heavy, I can tell it in the concentration of his forehead. I try not to stare at his arms. Instead, I busy myself with finding the prices to put in all the boxes.

  “Right,” Kindred Smith says. “Ellis seems perfectly capable. I won’t be gone long.” He kisses me on my head before he picks up a large cardboard box and walks off, disappearing around the corner of a red-bricked building.

  “Where’s he going then?” Ellis asks.

  “He likes to go and spread our knowledge about purity, about Nature,” I say. I don’t want Ellis asking any more questions, because I think the box holds our skirts with the messages sewn into the hems.

  Ellis goes to get another bag of potatoes and lowers it with a thud on the floor. “You’re very quiet,” he says to me as he unthreads the top of the bag and rolls it down. A potato escapes and I stop it with my foot before it rolls away. Ellis bends to pick it up. “Don’t you speak much on the Outside?” He wipes the mud from his thumb onto his jeans.

  “I’m not here to speak. I’m here to sell our food. To let others share in the beauty of Seed.”

  “Right,” he says. Then he goes to the van to get the last of our boxes.

  The selling starts quickly. It’s Ellis’s first time, so he fumbles with the weighing scales, makes mistakes adding up. But it is good to have him by my side. I watch him as he picks up the fruit and puts it in the paper bags. I listen to him talk to the people, so easily, and I know I am proud of him too. He is ours now. He is part of us.

  “What’s your secret to making these grow like this, then?” It is a man speaking to me. Why does he need to ask such a question? Why can’t he just pass me the bag like most of the other people? There is always someone who makes me feel even more uncomfortable than the rest. He looks about the same age as Kindred John, but he doesn’t have a beard. I try not to stare at his smooth chin with the spot sticking out like a button on the end. I smile at him, but I can tell it’s not enough. “Cat got your tongue?” he asks. I don’t know what he means, so I look to Ellis for help.

  “You should answer the man,” Ellis says to me. “You know more about growing the food than me.”

  I stare at him. He must know that I don’t want to. When I look back to the man, he is looking at me and I can’t tell whether he�
�s angry, or being friendly. “We just grow them,” I say finally.

  “With what, though?”

  “With thanks,” I reply.

  The man looks like he will laugh, but he doesn’t. “Oh, right. It’s like that, is it?” He reaches over and picks up a sweet potato. His fingernails are ragged. “What do you recommend then—these, or your normal potatoes?” he asks me.

  “You should have both,” I say. I stand tall and look him in the eye.

  “A natural salesperson.” He laughs. Then he looks at Ellis. “She’s good,” he says.

  Ellis smiles at me. “She is,” he says.

  “I’ll have a bag of each, then.”

  When the man has gone, I turn away from Ellis. He touches me gently on the arm. He knows I’ll look at him, and I do. His head is tilted, all serious and smiley at once.

  “Sorry?” he says. I don’t answer. “I thought it would be good for you.”

  “You have no idea what’s good for me,” I say.

  “I think I do,” he says and he grins in his way. I feel something flutter deep within me. I want to stop the feeling, but at the same time, I don’t.

  “It won’t hurt you know, to talk to them,” Ellis says.

  He’s wrong, though. I know what I’ve been taught.

  “I grew up on the Outside and no harm’s come to me.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I say, loud enough for him to hear. He laughs, but I don’t know if I’m joking.

  I’m glad of the distraction of a new customer. Someone young, not much older than us. He passes me a full bag of mushrooms and I put them on the scales.

  “Where’s Kate?” he asks. I look up quickly. How does he know her name when he’s from the Outside? Has Kate been talking to him? I glance at Ellis and he’s looking at the boy as though he wants to say something.

  “One pound fifty, please,” I say, passing the boy the bag.

  He reaches into his jacket, pulls out some change, and counts it out. Who are you? His fingers touch my palm as he passes me the money and I pull quickly away.

  “Is she back at your home?” the boy asks.

  Does he know where we live? He doesn’t move away. He won’t go until I speak to him.