by Hannah Ross
The Wild Children Trilogy
Box Set
By
HANNAH ROSS
This volume contains unabridged editions of
Wild Children, The Hourglass, and Freeborn.
These books in this box set are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, persons, or anything else is entirely coincidental
No part of these books may be used, reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any manner by any means, known or unknown, without express written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by Mason Marshall Press.
Copyright © 2019 by Hannah Ross
Cover copyright © 2019 by Mason Marshall Press.
All rights reserved.
For information, please contact:
Mason Marshall Press
P.O. Box 324
Medford, MA 02155
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
WILD CHILDREN
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Epilogue
THE HOURGLASS
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
FREEBORN
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
About the Author
Questions for Book Clubs and Discussion Groups
WILD CHILDREN
By
HANNAH ROSS
~ ~ ~
Mason Marshall Press
Medford, Massachusetts
Wild Children series:
Wild Children
The Hourglass
Freeborn
________________________________
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, persons, or anything else is entirely coincidental
No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any manner by any means, known or unknown, without express written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by Mason Marshall Press.
Copyright © 2017 by Hannah Ross
Cover copyright © 2017 by Mason Marshall Press.
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 1-63247-027-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-63247-027-0
For information, please contact:
Mason Marshall Press
P.O. Box 324
Medford, MA 02155
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To my children, who taught
me the power of mother's love.
1
________________
____________
________
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"
Rebecca clenched her teeth and steeled herself as another wave of pain washed through her as she shook her head. Of this, at least, she was certain. She was healthy and strong. She would pull through. She must.
"We can't go," she told him in a ragged whisper. "You know we can't."
Her husband sighed and fell silent. He knew well what would happen if they should go.
"Help me to the bathroom," she gasped.
He nodded, white-faced, his lips pursed, and held her by the elbow as he followed and helped her climb into the tub. "Be careful not to slip."
In the apartments above and below, people were eating and watching TV, talking and laughing, fighting and making love. Bedtime stories were told, children were put to bed, a dishwasher steadily hummed. But here, in this enclosed, private, steamy little space, Rebecca Hurst was having a baby.
"It's happening, Daniel." Her voice was steady, her body still, the pain gone.
Something even greater and more terrible was going to happen now, something that would require all her strength and endurance. And though she felt she had none left, she knew there must be something still, deep within her. In the mirror, she saw her husband's helpless expression. He, too, knew he would have to do what must be done. As she threw back her head and let out a low, guttural cry, he bent, reached between her thighs and saw the baby's head making its appearance. Seconds later, his son was born into his hands.
Smiling and crying at once, Rebecca sank into the tub and leaned back. She reached out and her husband laid their son upon her bosom, still attached by the umbilical cord. His cry echoed off the hard walls of the small room until Rebecca put him to her breast.
"He's here," she said. She was exhausted, but feared to close her eyes, afraid to discover when she opened them again that it was all a dream. "Our son is here, Daniel."
She examined him from top to bottom, counted every tiny finger and toe. He was pink and perfect. It seems like a miracle.
Daniel helped her to bed with her swaddled newborn, then took up the mop and began putting the apartment in order. He mopped and cleaned and sent evidence down the incinerator chute until every trace of the birth was gone. Only then was he able to let out a sigh of relief and take a peek at his wife and new child. A son. Another son.
When he entered the bedroom, he was surprised to find her awake, staring at the sleeping baby with a dreamy, loving smile.
"You know this isn't over, Becky. It's just beginnin
g."
Her smile faded. She knew he was right. They long ago fulfilled their allowed quota of two children. Jordan was ten now. Kate was nearly eight. Their family was perfect, complete. And they never even thought of asking permission to have a third child.
Some did, they knew, particularly if there was a known problem with either of the existing children – if one was seriously ill, or suffered from a permanent handicap. If a child was tragically lost, authorization was usually given to have another, provided the couple was still of childbearing age. In other instances, valuable individuals who displayed uncommon inherited talent or rendered important services to the government were allowed, and even encouraged, to have more than two children, though such prodigies were unlikely to encumber themselves with even one.
After the War, the population had to be strictly regulated. Resources not destroyed by nuclear and chemical bombs were scarce and precious, and had to be distributed in a very controlled, very rational manner if the country was to survive and maintain a civilized society. Such was the explanation behind the Decree of Population Control that was issued so many decades ago as a temporary measure, it was said, but somehow its necessity had never been questioned since.
If a woman was pregnant with an unauthorized baby, she was immediately referred to the local abortion clinic, where her problem was swiftly and conveniently disposed of. In the first years of the Decree, the number of forced abortions caused a wave of public protest until the practice ceased. Now, the parents of illegal children had to pay such heavy taxes it inevitably led to the financial destruction of the average-income family. For the poor, no government assistance was given unless the woman consented to the placing of an IUD or tubal ligation.
Rebecca knew all that when she found herself unexpectedly pregnant, but she could no more contemplate abortion than suicide. That meant concealment, no doctor visits, and when her pregnancy became visible, she removed herself to an isolated Country Island, as farming areas were called, where her parents lived, ostensibly to write a book, which she actually had to sit down and do in order to avoid suspicion when she returned. When her time got close, she chose to return home under cover of night.
Now the baby was here, and his destiny became the most pressing concern.
"Say what you will, Becky, it was madness." Daniel sighed as he stroked the newborn's downy head. "A week ago I calculated all we own and all we're likely to own in the future. There's no way we can ever pay the taxes for a third child, not without ending up begging in the streets. And we work in government-assisted institutions. We'll both lose our jobs, and then what?"
Rebecca frowned. "We could retroactively apply for permission to have a third child. It's seldom done, but sometimes it works."
Daniel shook his head. "Retroactive permission is frowned upon, to discourage people from breaking the law. And there's nothing exceptional about our family. Our chances of getting such a permit would be very, very low."
"Then nobody can know."
"How can we pull that off? Always keep this poor child within four walls?"
"We'll see. We'll think of something."
The children returned ten days later. The turning of the key in the lock threw Rebecca into a flutter of spirits. She was seated in an armchair, her son at her breast, as they rushed over and looked down in earnest curiosity.
Breathless, Kate asked, "Is this the baby?"
Rebecca smiled and nodded and held him so both could see him better.
"Your new little brother."
"What's his name?" asked Jordan.
For ten days he was the baby or the boy. Daniel and Rebecca shared a look before she said with sudden certainty, "Benjamin. His name is Benjamin."
Kate reached out. "May I?"
Rebecca rose, allowed her daughter to sit, then gently placed him in her arms.
"And must it still be a secret?" Jordan looked as solemn as he sounded. "Can't we talk about him to anyone except Grandma and Grandpa?"
"No," said Daniel, resting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Never."
A few weeks later, late at night, they had another of their conversations. Jordan and Kate were sleeping in their room. Benjamin slept next to his parent's bed in the crib made by Rebecca's father, who took to carpentry after his retirement and soon became extremely skilled at it. Sending it with Daniel was the only thing he felt safe doing for his daughter. Shopping for baby supplies was, of course, out of the question.
Rebecca's spirits were weary. Daniel, with what she felt was needless cruelty, pressed her about what they ought to do next.
"We can't hide him for the rest of our lives, Rebecca," he repeated for the third time.
She sighed. "I can retire from the city and go live with my parents."
He struggled to keep his voice from rising. "But what about us? What about the children?"
"You could all come on weekends. Jordan and Kate are old enough to understand. We won't all be together every day, but we'll still be a family. And the children always enjoy going to the Country Island."
"What about your work?"
"I'll have to quit my regular job, but I can still write. I can do it anywhere." As she spoke, she envisioned the life – the quiet satisfaction of it, the peaceful rhythm so unlike what she experienced in the past years. On Sundays, we'll all sit around the big scrubbed wooden kitchen table and eat and talk and laugh. Three generations of a happy family. And my baby will be with me, safe and well.
Daniel rubbed his brow. "It won't do. The children need more of you than just the weekends. Yes, they enjoy visiting the Country Island now and then, but make them go every week, and soon they'll grow tired of it. They have their friends here, and the soccer and swimming teams. They won't want to always miss out on things."
Such objections seemed insignificant to Rebecca. She was about to open her mouth to say so, but Daniel cut her off. "And most important, even there you won't be able to conceal this child forever. Somehow, you succeeded in hiding your pregnancy. But it's a small, close-knit community there. There are visitors. People hear and see things, and the older this child grows, the more difficult it will be to hide him. Besides, think of him. What kind of life would he lead? A life of isolation, without friends, without belonging to a society. Officially, he won't even exist."
"My parents' neighbors would not report us," said Rebecca in the most assured voice she could muster. "They've known me all my life."
"You can't trust people with something like this. It's too serious. It will come out eventually that we broke the law and had an illegal child, and when it does, our lives will be turned upside down. We will lose everything, Becky, everything, and so will Jordan and Kate."
"What do you suggest we do, then?" Rebecca looked up at him, fearing the answer she knew would be coming.
Daniel struggled to meet her eyes. "Sometimes illegal children are born anyway and…"
"Don't say that word," she snapped. "Illegal. I hate it. As if being alive is a crime!"
"Alright. All I meant was that sometimes, unplanned pregnancies do happen. Most of those are terminated, but not all. Some children get retroactive permits, but not all. So what's to be done about the rest? In the first years of the Decree there was a wave of infanticide. Yet we are civilized people. We could not let that go on. So the Bureau of Excess Population Management was formed and an unplanned child could be given up anonymously, without any negative effects for the mother. Her identity wasn't sought after, she was not followed. To all intents and purposes, it would be as if she had never been pregnant."
Rebecca's eyes were wide and accusing. "I know that. And I know what you're getting to. I can't believe you would bring up those…those institutions."
"They're far kinder than they used to be in the first years after the war, when they were all but concentration camps. Now the conditions in them are tolerable, almost like any boarding school. A little bleak, to be sure, but…"
"Bleak!" Rebecca took a breath and calmed herself as the
baby stirred in his crib. "Have you ever visited one of those places? The children are torn away from their families and grow up without love or proper care, or even knowing their true identity. That's no way for a human being to live."
Daniel sighed. "Some are adopted by couples who have reproductive permits but turn out to be barren. As for the rest, they still have a life." He saw she was about to interrupt him again and raised his voice. "Yes, Rebecca, a life. They're given basic education and sent to Country Islands or Industry Islands, depending on which has the need for extra hands at the time. Those who display increased abilities are sometimes given a place in regular boarding schools. If they're especially successful, they may even get a permit to reproduce later on. Yes, it's a sad destiny, but still it can't be compared to what people suffered during the War."
Benjamin opened his eyes and made a little whimpering sound, and Rebecca picked him up. She slid down one strap of her nightgown, baring a breast, wincing as he latched on. His suckling still caused her uterus to contract every time she fed him, and the cramps were sometimes painful. She knew she should see a doctor, but that, of course, was out of the question.
"This is our son," she said. "Our son. I'm not giving him up to an orphanage, to be given a random name and raised by random strangers, to grow up never knowing anything about us. He won't become some anonymous farm drudge or factory hand. I don't know yet what will become of him or what I can do for him, but I love him more than life, just as I love Jordan and Kate. I would never think of leaving one of them, just because things are hard. Benjamin is our child, no less than his brother or sister. He's part of our family, and we must all stick together, for better or worse."
When Daniel rose the next morning, Rebecca and Benjamin were gone. At first he was puzzled, then, when calls to her mobile phone yielded no results, anxiety set in. Where could she possibly have gone?
Distracted, he made his way to work, where he messed up several routine assignments. At lunch break, he picked up the phone and dialed his home number. Jordan, already home from school, answered.
"Hey, Dad. Where's Mom?"
Daniel's heart sank. He hoped she would be back by now, but for his children's sake he feigned unconcern. "Mom will be back soon. You and Kate heat up what's left of yesterday's dinner and eat, alright? And then do your homework."