Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  “Whoa!” John said sharply, knocking the barrel up to the sky. “You trying to shoot yourself?”

  “It’s jammed,” Scott complained.

  “That’d be you not pulling the hammer back. You want to check something, you break it open, like I said. We’re not playing games here, and I haven’t been talking just to hear the beautiful sound of my voice. When you’re holding a loaded gun, you take your time, and you think about what you’re doing.”

  Scott was red with anger and embarrassment by the time John finished. He stalked back to the group, his face thunderous, Mike’s camera tracking him the entire way. Glared at Kevin, who was frankly grinning at him. Mira had the uncomfortable feeling that this footage was bound to appear in the show’s first episode, and that Scott knew it.

  “Come on, then, Miss Mira,” John called to her. “Come give this a try.”

  She stepped forward cautiously and took the heavy shotgun in her hands. Recited John’s instructions back to herself as she went through them, step by careful step, loaded, pulled the hammer back, and finally pulled the trigger, feeling the recoil hard against her shoulder.

  “Good one,” Alec said approvingly from beside her.

  She smiled back at him, aimed again and pulled the second trigger, located behind the first. Laughed out loud when she saw that her shot had actually hit the target.

  “You got a good eye,” John said. “And you know how to listen. You’ll do. Next,” he said to Alec. “See if you can do as good as the little lady here.”

  “That wasn’t too bad,” Mira said happily to Kevin and Rachel. Scott had wandered away, still looking disgruntled, and she knew from experience that it would be a waste of time to talk to him now.

  “Watching macho guys shoot guns isn’t usually my recreation of choice,” Kevin mused in reply. “On the other hand, watching those Kincaids do anything works for me.”

  Mira looked at Alec, taking his own careful second shot now before handing the gun to Gabe, and had to agree.

  “I sure hope they put us with the brothers,” Kevin sighed. “Even though they don’t bat for my team, I could look.”

  “Mmm, me too,” Rachel agreed. “Too young for me, but I’d relax my standards and go cougar for that. But you know they’re going to be matching us up with Martin and Arlene, thanks to you, Bozo. You just can’t resist, can you?”

  “Not when he makes it so easy,” Kevin grinned, unrepentant.

  “I wish I did know how they’re going to team us up,” Mira said. “Who would you choose?”

  “Besides the brothers?” Kevin gave it some thought. “Stanley and Calvin, for two. I wouldn’t have to do much at all then, would I? And . . . mmm, probably Hank and Zara. She can cook, and they get on my nerves less than anyone else.”

  “I don’t care much for your team selection,” Rachel complained. “One other woman? Too much work.”

  “You wouldn’t choose me?” Mira asked, hurt in spite of herself.

  “Honey, I’d choose you in a heartbeat,” Kevin corrected her. “Because you can cook too. But Boyfriend? No, thanks. Unfortunately, that’s exactly why I’ll end up with him. You know they’ll put me on a team with everyone I already hate.”

  “You think that’s how it’ll work?” Mira asked, guiltily glossing over the insult to Scott. She knew she should be offended, but she liked the way Kevin and Rachel both said exactly what they were thinking. She wished she could do that. She was always too worried about hurting somebody’s feelings.

  “Of course,” he said. “I keep forgetting, you don’t watch these shows. They want conflict. That’s what keeps people tuning in. People who absolutely can’t stand each other, living in a confined space under pressure. Reality TV at its finest. So they’ll stick Rachel and me with Martin and Arlene, for sure. And the blondes with either Zara or Rachel, because they’re the only ones who’ll yell at them for not working. You and Lupe are too nice. No fun at all. And you and Scott will be with the brothers, because he’s halfway to full testosterone poisoning already, he’s so jealous.”

  “Yeah,” Mira sighed. “It seems like they do everything just a little bit better than he does, no matter how hard he tries. Especially Gabe.” She blushed a little, saying his name. She felt like everyone could see what she’d been thinking last night. Worried most of all that he could see it. Had carefully avoided even looking his way today, for exactly that reason.

  “Honey,” Kevin corrected her, “that’s not the only reason. And oh, won’t that make for some delicious TV.”

  The Game Changes

  Kevin was only partially right, Mira discovered the next morning. They were surprised after breakfast by their first visit from Cliff since arrival at the camp.

  “I know you’re all getting tired of practicing,” he said. “And that you feel more than ready for your adventure to begin. I’m happy to tell you that it’s graduation day. When you go back to your cabins, you’ll find a full set of 1885 clothing waiting for you. Get yourself into those, leave everything else behind, and come on back in here. Because we’re going to be taking a little trip.”

  “When will we be told how we’ll be split up?” Scott wanted to know.

  “Just as soon as I tell you,” came the amiable reply.

  “I don’t know why they have to drag it out so much,” Scott grumbled to Mira as he opened the door to the cabin, went through ahead of her. “All right, we’re in suspense. Go ahead and tell us already.”

  “Wow,” Mira said, hardly listening as she spotted the twin pile of clothes on the bed, began sorting through hers. “Look at all this stuff. Yours looks pretty simple, but mine . . . They’ve actually had to give me a drawing, and written instructions. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a clue.”

  Scott held up the long cotton drawers and long-sleeved underwear top with distaste. “Am I really supposed to wear all this? What are we, Mormons?”

  “You think that’s bad, look at mine,” Mira said, beginning to strip off her clothes. “This is going to take a long time. But I’m so glad to get started, I’m not going to complain. I just wish they’d let me take my notes.” She looked longingly at the notebook on her bedside table. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable.”

  “You’ve probably got a pocket somewhere. Why don’t you pull out the pages and stuff them in there?” Scott suggested, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it on a chair.

  “It’s not allowed. I checked.”

  He heaved an annoyed sigh. “So you do it anyway, sneak a look when you’re in the outhouse or whatever. You don’t have to follow every single stupid rule people make up, you know. It wouldn’t even be cheating. Just reminding yourself of what you’ve already learned.”

  “It would be cheating, though. How would it be any different from taking notes into a test?”

  “So? You’ve never done that? Never written the answers on your arm, downloaded a term paper?”

  “Of course I haven’t.” She stopped trying to figure out the new clothes to stare at him in disbelief. “Most people don’t do that kind of thing.”

  “Most people do,” he corrected. “Everyone cheats, one way or another. And this is for a million dollars. It’s not Sunday School, it’s America Alive. Everybody else here is going to be taking every opportunity they can. Why would you handicap us for the sake of some stupid principle that doesn’t even make sense? The real homesteaders would’ve been doing anything they could to get ahead. It’s all about survival out here. Then and now. It’s a game.”

  “Well, I’m not doing it,” she said, turning back to the Scary Underwear pile. “It’s not worth it. Writing everything down helped anyway. I’ll just have to rely on that to get me through.”

  “I sure hope you remember, then,” he said in exasperation. “If you aren’t even willing to help yourself. To help us. Lucky for us that I didn’t have to write things down, at least. I have a really good memory.”

  She was silent as he finished dressing and left to join the others. She had a terr
ific memory, she fumed, continuing to struggle into the awkward clothes. She wasn’t the one who’d taken three tries to pass the bar. She’d done better in school than he had, too. She might not be the most confident person, but she knew how to learn. She listened, she took good notes, and she worked hard. She’d never had to cheat, and she wasn’t going to start now. Whatever she did out here, even if she struggled, she was going to know that she’d played fair.

  Fifteen minutes later, she shut the door of her cabin for the last time and walked back into the dining hall, feeling horribly self-conscious and still flushed with the effort of getting into the corset. She should have asked Scott to stay and help her despite the argument, she’d realized too late. That had taken some major contortionist work.

  Rachel took one look at her red face and laughed from beneath her printed sunbonnet. “You look as ridiculous as I feel,” she said. “And just about as hot.”

  “How did you lace your corset?” Mira asked.

  “Kevin,” Rachel said with a grin. “He said this was a red-letter day in his life. That he’d never helped a woman with her underwear before, and he never will again.”

  Mira laughed. “I guess from here on, we just use these hooks at the front. I’m not messing with all these laces another time.”

  They were joined by Zara, looking rueful. “I never realized just how lucky I was to be born in the twentieth century,” she said. “I thought girdles were bad, back in the day. That’s why I became a Flower Child in the first place, just to get out of wearing them. How many things do we have on here?”

  “Chemise, drawers, corset, blouse, skirt, apron,” Mira counted. “Six. Not counting the bonnet thingie.”

  “Well, now that we’re all here,” Cliff said from the front, and they subsided. “I first want to say to the ladies, my, don’t you look lovely.” He grinned at the disgusted groans from his audience.

  “Lovely as a potato sack,” Zara muttered. “I looked up “unflattering” in the dictionary, and they showed me this outfit.”

  “The wardrobe expert asked me to tell you,” Cliff continued, “that to be really authentic, we would have added a petticoat and a corset cover. But that she decided to take pity on you, especially because the weather service says that the next few weeks are going to be extra-warm. We don’t want anyone fainting onto a hot stove.”

  “Considerate of them,” Rachel agreed. “The guys look good, though. Why is it that men always seem to get off easier? They hardly even look different.”

  “Might take them longer to pee than us for once,” Zara pointed out pragmatically, eyeing the men in their work shirts, canvas pants, and suspenders. “They’ve got buttons on those pants, whereas we get the convenient crotchless undergarment. Who knew the nineteenth century was so racy? It feels really drafty down there. Are we supposed to be having quickies behind the outhouse?”

  Mira giggled. “No, I think we’re just supposed to make it out of the outhouse in a reasonable period of time.”

  “That might be what you’re using it for. Hank was pretty interested in the intriguing possibilities.”

  “And now,” Cliff said, “comes the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Especially Scott,” he said to the accompaniment of some laughter. “You’ve been wondering all along why we began this America Alive season with two-person teams. Here’s the big news. You’re not going to be in two-person teams.”

  He held up a hand at the murmuring and rustling in the room. “That’s not quite right, though. I should say that you won’t be in teams as you’ve been thinking of them. Instead, we’ll be splitting each team between the two homesteads. But when you’re voted out, both of you will be leaving.”

  “But how does that work?” Scott objected. He’d been standing with Martin, comparing notes. Both of them were frowning heavily now. “You mean when we’re competing against each other, we’ll be competing against our own teammate?”

  “Exactly. You will be facing period-appropriate challenges every week, in true America Alive fashion. But your partner will be on the opposing homestead. The homestead that wins the challenge gets to decide which team goes home.”

  “Then what’s our incentive to win?” Scott, protesting again.

  “Your incentive,” Cliff answered, “is to keep your homestead from wanting to get rid of you. You personally. To do that, you’ll have to contribute, and you’ll have to endear yourself to the other members, which may be a bigger challenge for some of you.” He glanced at Scott and Martin. “The people who succeeded out here were the ones who had the skills and the fortitude to keep going, but they were also the ones who worked together well and got along with their neighbors, helped each other through the tough times, and were helped in their turn. Sometimes, you know, life really is a popularity contest.”

  “Only four of you, two teams, will make it to the end,” he announced. “To the final balloting, where you’ll all have a hand in choosing the winning team. Twenty-five percent, not that far from the thirty percent who actually lasted the five years and proved up their homesteads. Consider yourselves lucky. All you have to do to get there is last seven weeks, in the height of summer, and impress everyone else enough to be chosen as the winning team. But to get to that spot, you’re going to have to work hard, get along, and have a little bit of luck as well. Just like the people who did this for real.”

  “And now,” he said impressively, as Mike’s camera zoomed in on him, with Danny’s panning the group, “here are our homesteads. In Arcadia, we have . . .” He paused for effect. “As I call your name, please come over and stand on my left. Arlene, Lupe, Rachel, and Chelsea, for the women. And Hank, Alec, Calvin, and Scott, for the men.”

  “Oh, boy,” Rachel breathed, giving Mira and Zara a quick hug. “What did Kevin say. Alec and Scott. I see fireworks in my future. Wish me luck.”

  “And, as you’ve already figured out,” Cliff continued, “in Paradise, on my right, we have Melody, Zara, Maria-Elena, and Mira, for the women. And Gabe, Stanley, Martin, and Kevin, for the men.”

  Mira followed Zara over to the spot Cliff indicated, her mind still reeling. This was nothing like she’d expected. She saw Scott’s expression, and was glad not to be with him right now. All his carefully planned strategy, all his maneuvering, were for nothing. Because the game had changed before it had even started. And suddenly, they were playing by a whole new set of rules.

  Strategies and Schemes

  They reassembled again out in the yard, standing together a bit awkwardly in their new homestead groups. The expectant buzz rose higher as two large wagons lumbered through the front gates, each pulled by a team of the sturdy horses the men had been working with all week, a Guernsey cow and calf tied on behind.

  “Meet your worldly possessions,” Cliff said as the drivers pulled the horses to a halt and Duke and Daisy came trotting out behind John and Alma. “We’ve even packed everything for you. Now all you have to do is get to your homesteads, and we’ve made that easy for you too. You’re going only five miles. And I hope you’ve been paying attention this week, because once you get there, the drivers will be heading on back here, and it’s all yours. Happy homesteading!”

  “How will we all fit in that wagon, though?” Melody asked. “It’s full already.”

  “Packed as full as it can get, and often more,” Cliff agreed. “The way West was littered with all the things people threw out, as they realized they’d brought more than their livestock could haul. Which is why only babies rode. And since we don’t have any babies here . . .” he eyed Melody speculatively, “that means you’re walking.”

  “Five miles?” Chelsea asked in disbelief.

  “You’ve been complaining about being stuck in the kitchen, haven’t you?” Cliff answered cheerfully. “Here’s your chance to explore the world around you. See you guys in a week. Good luck.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Melody complained as the wagons pulled out onto the dirt road, with Danny and Mike each hopping onto a four-whe
eled ATV behind a driver, waiting to film the homesteaders as they began their hike, accompanied by the two big dogs. “Why couldn’t they have dropped us off closer?”

  “The historical rationale is this.” It was Martin, in his usual pedantic tone. “The original settlers would have traveled for weeks, sometimes months. And when they finally did arrive, already physically and emotionally exhausted, they had to start from scratch. We’re going to have already-planted gardens and fully constructed cabins, from what I understand. Frankly, I’m disappointed at that. I made a point of studying cabin-building techniques before I came, and was hoping to have a chance to put them to use. I for one am pleased that they’re allowing us at least a taste of the authentic experience.”

  “Yeah, right, a taste of the experience,” Kevin said. “More like ready-made drama. A little fatigue, a little bickering, maybe a meltdown or two . . . All good for the ratings.”

  “And I’d hate to think of living in a cabin built by Martin,” he said to Mira, dropping behind with her as they followed the wagons out of the yard. “There I’d be, innocently sleeping, buried under the rubble when it collapsed around me. If he didn’t bring a tree crashing down on him while he was building it.”

  They began the long journey, staying well behind the heavy wagons to keep out of the cloud of dust raised on the dirt road. Despite the warmth of the early July day, the mercury beginning its rise now that it was after eight, Mira found herself enjoying the walk. It was a relief to be out of the kitchen, and the countryside was so beautiful, with its rolling hills and stands of pines and firs, the tree-covered mountains looming ahead. A hawk circled in a blue sky with just a scattering of white clouds, and her heart soared right along with it. She was walking toward the adventure of a lifetime. Whatever happened in the game, she vowed, however far she got or didn’t get, she was going to take everything she could from the experience.

  The newly formed homesteads had been walking together, with Arcadia in the lead, but after an hour or so Scott left the group and waited at the side of the road for Mira to catch up. He pulled her back behind Zara and Kevin, with whom she’d been chatting in a desultory way, and launched into a monologue he’d clearly been mulling over for some time.