by Ison, S. A.
They hoped to can what they could, and enjoy what they could not. They would harvest the seeds from this garden and keep it going, if possible. Pearl had promised all the women that they would set up a canning day or two and get everything set for the winter months. The tomatoes in her garden were ripening fast; they had already canned sixteen quarts last week, and there were more to come. They’d also canned twenty quarts of green beans. The beans were still producing, and they’d wait now until they had more to can.
Pearl was thankful she had the jars for canning. They were stacked neatly in the garage, waiting to be used. Randal had told her once that she had too many, that they’d never use them in their lifetime. He’d called her the canning hoarder. A smile touched her lips; hoarder indeed.
“Roy found some found blackberry plants growing wild. He dug a bunch of plants up and is transplanting them around our yard and Clive’s yard,” Laura said enthusiastically.
“Oh wonderful. Tell him he can plant some here, too. I’ll clear an area near the trees.” Pearl took the damp towel and twirled it to cool it down, then replaced it around her neck.
“He’s also found wild raspberries and palm dates; he said he was going to plant them in everyone’s front yards.”
“I know a wonderful recipe for palm jelly. I love those fruits. I used to eat them right off the trees when I was a kid. I’ve not had those for years,” Pearl said, smacking her lips. “If Roy can find enough dates, maybe we can try to make jelly, or at least can the fruits like an apple sauce.”
Laura and Pearl both made noises of appreciation, their eyes crinkling in amusement. The sweet palm dates grew in abundance on the island. The succulent flesh of the date was sweet and addictive to eat.
“Roy said he also found some fig trees; he said they were loaded with fruit.”
“Wonderful. We will have lots of fruit this fall. Maybe we can rig something up to dry the fruit, and keep it long term as well. Maybe this fall, if the trees have offshoots, we can transplant some of those in the back yards. Then we can have fig trees close to hand. I can prepare a spot with some of the chicken poo, and some of my soil from the garden,” Pearl mused.
“May said that David found a ten-pound bag of raw peanuts. She said he was going to boil them, but she stopped him. Next spring we can plant them, and have lots of peanuts. Good protein. We can roast them, and maybe try making peanut butter,” Pearl continued.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. We could use that with our homemade jams and jellies,” Laura cooed.
Pearl grinned at the woman’s dreamy face.
Becka squirmed to get down, and tottered around the back yard. A warm breeze blew and lifted the child’s reddish blonde hair. Laura smiled down at her daughter.
“I worry that she will be alone when she grows up,” Laura said suddenly, her face twisting with doubt.
Pearl thought for a few minutes, watching as the little girl put blades of grass. What would the future be like now? No school, no drugs, no alcohol, no other children to play with. Sighing deeply, Pearl placed a hand on Laura’s shoulder to comfort her. “We can’t know what our future holds, sweetheart. We do know that there are people left, here and on the Isle of Palms. It is close enough, I think, that in time, people will travel for visiting and trading. In a few years, we may meet other families with children her age. It isn’t perfect, but I don’t think she will ever be alone. She has all of us as her family,” Pearl said, warmth creasing her face.
“I hope you’re right. I just wish there were children closer,” Laura said, biting her already short nails.
“Well, we will figure that out, won’t we? Let’s just take one day at a time, okay honey? And in a couple years, who knows, you might have another baby and we can go and visit others and see who is here. I’m sure there are a lot of families still left on the island, and also the Isle of Palms. For now, we just need to stay close to home.” Pearl didn’t want to give her false hope, but no one knew the future or who was left on the islands. To think too far ahead was defeating. They just didn’t know.
She really liked Laura, and Becka was the grandchild she might never see again. Her heart hurt, so she turned away from that subject. It didn’t do anyone any good to dwell on things that were beyond their control. She could only hope her children and granddaughters were safe.
Bridgman, Michigan
Mike and Stephen stacked branches and firewood near the cottage. They’d found a rusted ax and branch cutters in the shed of an abandoned home up the shore. They’d begun to cut and gather and stack anything that would burn. Alisa was in charge of most of the cooking, or burning, which was what happened most of the time. Cooking on an open fire was much more challenging than cooking in a kitchen.
Thank God for the lake, Mike thought. With all its water, they could at least still use the toilet. Both men took turns filling empty gallon milk jugs with lake water, which was kept in the bathroom, ready at hand. Alisa had delegated them to pissing outdoors and away from the cottage when it was daylight and weather appropriate. It also kept cleaning the toilet to a minimum.
Mike kept a sharp eye out for toilet paper when he and Stephen went foraging around the area. No one wanted to run out. Lately, Mike had taken to rooting around under the house, where there was a dirt basement: the cottage had been built well over a century ago. He’d just pulled several large boxes of his family’s and ancestor’s possessions out into the sunlight.
He wiped the dirt and cobwebs from his sweaty face. He hoped there weren’t any spiders. He sneezed, and wiped his nose on the tail of his blue checkered shirt. Turning his face to the clear sky, he squinted toward the sun and sneezed once more. Wiping his face once more, he took a long drink of water.
Taking a deep breath, he returned to the basement. He found books and old documents. He also found some toys he would clean up for the baby. He removed an old water-stained mattress leaning against the wall, and found an old wooden door.
“Hey, Stephen, come down to the basemen., I found something!” he shouted loudly.
Stomps from above crossed the wooden floor; he squinted and put his hand up to ward off the dust falling into the basement. He heard the upstairs door open, and turned the flashlight to the stone steps for Stephen to navigate safely
“Look, I found a door. Help me open it,” Mike said excitedly.
Both men shoved and pulled on the heavy wooden door. The wood had swelled with the moisture from the lake, and was stuck in place. Dirt rained down on both men, and old cobwebs crowned their heads. Stephen batted frantically at them as Mike watched with a slight smile on his dark handsome face.
“See if there’s a crowbar or something over on the tool bench,” Mike directed, his flash light moving around the basement.
“It isn’t a crowbar, but I think this big-ass screwdriver will do,” Stephen grinned, waving the large screwdriver above his head.
“Yeah, that’ll work,” Mike laughed.
Digging the thick flat metal head of the screwdriver into the door’s seam, Mike used the tool to pry the door loose. Stephen tugged on the doorknob, and the door creaked. Mike moved the screwdriver up and down the side, loosening it. Once again, dirt and dust rained down upon them, and both coughed and spat. It was dirty work.
Stephen gave another hard yank, and the door opened suddenly, sending Stephen to the dirt floor of the basement. Mike barked out a laugh and helped Stephen up. Taking his flashlight, he illuminated the dark room beyond. Stepping in, the air was noticeably cooler, musty, and very old. It looked to have been dug deeper under the earth, below the frost line. It was an old root cellar.
Mike moved the flashlight around the room, the beam of light reflecting off numerous jars. Stepping into the small room, they noted shelves lining three of the walls. The room was about six by six-foot square, and roughly six feet high.
“Holy shit, I think that’s food,” Stephen said.
“Yeah, but I don’t know if we can eat it. It must be a hundred years old!” Mike sai
d doubtfully.
“Well, there is only one way to find out,” Stephen laughed, and grabbed a jar. He tried to twist the ring off, but it was stuck tight, rust heavy around it. Mike reached over and plucked the jar from Stephen. Taking a pen knife out of his pocket, he worked the small blade around the bottom edge of the ring.
Stephen picked up and old rag from the floor and handed it to Mike. Mike took the rag and wrapped it around the lid, then twisted it as hard as he could. The lid finally turned and came off. As he then lifted the flat top off the jar, a sucking pop sounded loudly in the small room. Inside was golden liquid.
“Peaches! And it smells okay!” Mike took a tentative sip of the juice.
Stephen watched, then took the jar and took a sip. “Holy shit, this tastes good.” He grinned, stuck his fingers in and pulled out a chunk of peach. Popping it into his mouth, he chewed.
“Kind of rubbery, but it tastes fine. Maybe your mom did this? I don’t think it’s a hundred years old,” Stephen said, smacking his lips.
“Oh wow, man, more food. This is really good for us.” Mike said.
They went up to show Alisa. She was dubious, and sniffed. “Smells okay, but I think I will wait a day or two. If neither one of you drops dead, I will know I can eat it.” A smile crossed her features.
22 July
Sullivan’s Island, South Carolina
The nine were becoming closer in their relationships, each working hard to contribute to the whole. Everyone pitched in to collect firewood and save water when the rains came. Even Clive was warming up to Jimmy and Reed, especially since Jimmy had saved his life. Clive had no children and had never developed deep relationships other than with his late wife Rita. He and Randal got along, but had rarely spoken over the years. Each neighbor staying to themselves was the norm these days, but now they all depended on each other.
Clive had always considered himself a man of the world; he’d been in the military and had seen a bit. He couldn’t understand how two men could love each other, and so did not understand Jimmy and Reed, but as he got to know them, he found he liked both men; aside from the sex thing, which he totally didn’t get, but was none of his business anyway.
He found both to be honest, kind men. He’d been surprised that Reed was a retired Marine Gunny Sargent. He found himself talking about military strategies and Reed’s experiences in Iraq and his own in Vietnam. He was impressed, and glad Reed was a part of their little group. He thought how funny life was. He would never have become friends with a homosexual, yet here he owed his life to one and was becoming close friends with him. He supposed that people were people. He was a little sad it had taken him this long to figure that one out, but was glad he had.
Jimmy was a nurse, and very useful for their group. Knowing they had someone with medical knowledge gave him peace of mind. Jimmy actually boasted a fully-equipped first-aid and trauma kit, a really nice one. David was a retired doctor, but hadn’t practiced in twenty years; he’d had a mild stroke that had ended his practice.
His wife had pulled him through and kept him going. There had been many dark days after the stroke, but David had gradually found other interests, and hobbies he could do. The stroke had affected his memory, but he still had the ability to play the piano.
They’d started having a music night once a week at the Parks’ house, and the group sang old songs and new songs and made up songs. Little by little, unused talents were being taken out and dusted off. All families had books and a range of interests, so books were pooled, and idle times were spent reading and learning new skills.
Clive walked up the road to find Roy and Randal smoking fish. The pair sat brandishing fly swatters over a low fire.
“You ladies look like you’re working hard,” he said, lifting his hand in greeting.
Randal laughed and saluted. “It’s hard work, but someone has to do it.”
“You lazy bum, is that all you’re going to do today, fan fish?” Clive razzed.
“’Course not! Already been crabbing with Roy here early this morning, and boiled ’em and peeled ’em. Pearl is canning the crab meat for winter,” Randal shot back good-naturedly.
Clive whistled. “I’m impressed. That’d be nice, to have some crab cakes in the winter and not have to freeze our tails off trying to catch some.”
“She said she didn’t want me out in them waves when it was too cold or stormy,” Randal explained.
“Smart woman you got there. Why’d she ever marry your sorry butt?” Clive laughed.
“Have a seat, young man, and have some tea. Pearl made it fresh this morning.” Randal indicated the vacant lawn chair. He reached over and filled a glass with sweetened tea from the glass pitcher Pearl had left them.
Clive grunted as he eased himself in the chair. It was a hot one. The tea was good, but it was lukewarm; at least it was sweet. He noticed a stack of fishing magazines, picked one up, and looked through it. He didn’t have this edition.
He looked up, and noticed Roy looking up the road. His eyes followed the young man’s gaze.
“Randal,” he said, his voice sharp.
Randal looked up, and then looked in the same direction.
“Looks like a kid,” Randal said, getting up. The person was about half a mile down the road.
The figure moved closer, sometimes stumbling. They waited. They saw it was a child; he looked to be about six years old, maybe seven. He was filthy, and thin as a blade of grass. His face was blank, and his feet moved on their own volition, as though the child was completely unconscious of his surroundings and state being.
The group had made the hard rule that they would take no strangers into their fold, but this was something they had not anticipated. A lone child, a helpless child; possibly a dying child. How could they turn this little one away? Where the hell had he come from, Clive wondered.
***
Randal walked toward the child. The closer the boy got, the more Randal took in his appearance. The boy’s ragged clothes were coated with dried blood. His arms and legs were also covered in scratches, scrapes, and a couple of crusted-over gashes. One of the gashes was a five-inch slash across his throat.
The child’s large gray eyes were wide and blank; he walked like a jerking puppet whose strings had been severed. Slowly, Randal reached out to the child, gently grasping the upper arm. As if an electrical current flowed from hand to arm, the child let out a piercing high-pitched scream, long and loud and wavering, like a steam whistle.
Fear shot into the child’s large eyes, and so did waking comprehension. He jerked wildly, but Randal kept a tight hold on the boy. He was trying to talk to the child, but the boy heard none of it. His steam-whistle shrieks felt like glass being shoved into Randal’s head, but he held firm.
“Son, son. We’re not gonna hurt you. Please, we won’t hurt you,” he tried to tell the child over the loud screaming. Looking up, he saw Laura and Pearl running toward them, little Becka clutched to her mother’s breast.
Randal motioned Pearl to him and the boy. Pearl bent down and took the boy into her arms and began to rock and shush him. Randal heard her whispering soft lovey words into the distraught child’s ear. The boy’s rigid body began to relax, his screams began to slow, and finally they stopped.
Randal gently laid his palm on the child’s back. He seemed so fragile and thin, and he could feel the trembling that ran up and down his body. Pearl sat on the ground and pulled the boy fully into her lap
He looked into his wife’s eyes and could see the questions there. He shrugged; he didn’t know what to tell her. The boy was making an odd humming while he cried. It sounded so forlorn and broken-hearted, Randal had to blink rapidly to keep his tears at bay. Pearl rocked rhythmically back and forth. The boy smelled of sweat, starvation, fear, and dried blood. Randal shrugged once again. He had no answers.
Clive came closer. He was trailed by Jimmy and Reed. David arrived with May in tow, baseball bat at the ready.
Everyone stood around Pearl,
watching as she rocked the small bit of humanity. The child’s cries began to wind down, and he hiccupped with broken sobs.
“Who is he?” Clive asked the group. Everyone shrugged.
“We can’t keep him,” he said, and all eyes turned to glare at him.
Backing up with hands up protectively, Clive said hastily, “I thought we all agreed not to take in anyone else?”
“This is a lone child, for Christ’s sake. You want to send this baby out and just let him die? Or better yet, you can take David’s bat and bash his head in,” Pearl said hotly.
“Hold on! Hold on!” Randal said, stepping in before world war three started. “I think we can agree that we meant adults and not stray children. We will take him and give him part of our ration of food, so no one has to give up theirs.”
Everyone stared at Clive, waiting. “Oh, for hell’s sake. I wouldn’t hurt that kid. I was just surprised. I’m not a monster, for Pete’s sake. And he can have some of my food as well. Jesus Christ, Pearl, I didn’t mean it, really.”
Satisfied, Pearl nodded. Randal helped his wife up, as she was not relinquishing the child, and carried him back to their home. The others trailed behind, speculating about where the boy had come from and what had happened to him. Whatever the story was, they all knew it wasn’t good.
Arriving home, Randal went to the back yard, got the pot that held hot water, and brought it into the house. Jimmy came in a short time later with his first aid kit. He opened it up and took out anything that might be needed. Pearl gently stripped the boy of his bloody clothes and began to wipe him down with a warm soapy rag.
Randal watched his wife; her voice was soft and soothing as it murmured lovely words and encouragement. She rinsed and wiped away the dried blood and dirt. The boy, it turned out, was a blond little thing. His hair had been so dirty and matted with blood and dirt that it had appeared nearly black.