Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  “I’m happy to announce,” Cliff said as the eight men settled themselves on two rows of benches at one end of the shelter to observe and the cameramen took their places. “that it’s a special season in the Pacific Northwest. It’s sour cherry time!”

  Two production assistants came in from a room built into one end of the kitchen structure, each ceremoniously carrying a giant earthenware bowl of red fruit, and set their heavy burdens carefully on the work tables.

  “There must be two gallons in there,” Zara said with dismay. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

  Mira could only nod in agreement as the assistants added seven quart-sized canning jars to each table, along with a pile of lids and rings, a huge canning kettle and smaller pot, a ladle and wooden spoon, and a container of sugar.

  “I know Alma taught you all how to can,” Cliff began again, “and luckily, she’s here today to do the judging.” He gave a flourish with his hand, and Alma stepped out of the room in her turn.

  “Let’s see if they remember anything,” Alma said pessimistically. “Those jars don’t seal, they’re going to be eating a lot of cherries these next few days.”

  “Well, with that vote of confidence,” Cliff said, “here’s your equipment. Hairpins.” He held up eight of the small U-shaped implements. “Which Alma assures me you know how to use. If you’ll just distribute these,” he handed them to the waiting assistant, “we’ll be all set. Just like the men’s challenge, it’s pretty simple. You’ve each been given exactly eighteen pounds of fruit. Alma tells me your jars and lids are already sterilized, just to make it that much easier. The homestead that ends up with the most quarts of properly canned cherries in the shortest time is the winner. We’ll give you a minute to strategize, and then we’ll get to it.”

  “Strategize what?” Mira asked blankly. “We wash, we pit, we cook them in sugar syrup, we fill the jars, we boil. Right?” She and Maria-Elena looked at each other and shrugged.

  “The guys get great big saws and five minutes, and we get teeny pieces of wire and, what, an hour and a half?” Zara picked up her single black hairpin with disgust. “Can I trade challenges?”

  “Wow,” Maria-Elena breathed. “Look.”

  It was Chelsea, over on the Arcadia side. She’d flipped down the top of her apron and unbuttoned her blouse, and was now unhooking her corset and throwing both garments into the corner. “If we’re going to be out here doing this in the boiling heat,” she told Cliff with a defiant toss of her ponytail, “I’m going to be comfortable, just like the guys.”

  Maria-Elena stared enviously. Her mother was already catching her eye, though, and shaking her head. “That’d be, like, so much cooler,” Maria-Elena sighed. “And hot,” she giggled. “Look at the guys staring.”

  It was true. Chelsea’s torso, revealed in nearly all its glory in the skimpy garment, was definitely attracting some attention.

  “Well, I’m doing it,” Melody decided. “Because Chelsea’s right. It’s too hot out here to wear all these clothes.”

  “Aaaand here we go,” Kevin announced from his spot in the spectators’ section. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a contest on our hands. In this corner, the champion, Chelsea, rocking those 34Ds. And here’s the challenger, giving her a run for her money.”

  “Whoa,” Gabe grinned as Melody pulled off her blouse, unhooked the corset, and tossed both garments aside in her turn. “A little extra eye candy for the folks at home. And here I thought this challenge was going to be boring. Funny how exciting a little bit of flesh can be when the girls are so covered up all the time.”

  “Not so much of the candy,” Alec said, eyeing Melody and Chelsea in the thin, low-cut, sleeveless chemises. “The tech guys are going to be busy blurring out those puppies.”

  “Well, at least they don’t move much,” Gabe said wryly. “That’ll make it easier.”

  “Yep,” Kevin agreed. “Two fine examples of modern surgical technique, LA style.”

  “That kind always look so much better than they feel,” Alec murmured. “One of life’s little ironies.”

  “And you’re speaking from experience, I take it,” Gabe sighed, turning to his brother. “We talked about this.”

  “Relax. No hearts broken, I promise. She’s bored out here, that’s all. And you know how chivalrous I am about helping a lady in need.”

  “We weren’t issued condoms,” Gabe reminded him, keeping his voice low, mindful of Mike’s ever-present camera.

  “I paid attention in Health class, Doctor. A little messing around, that’s all. Passing the time. And ensuring a vote for you and me at the end.”

  “Bro, that’s some ego you’ve got there. What if she winds up hating you?”

  “But they never do. Leave ’em smiling, that’s my motto.”

  “Yeah, I have to say, that seems to be the way it works out for you,” Gabe conceded. “Somehow or other.”

  “Because I only get involved with the ones who don’t want to get . . . involved, these days. You know that.”

  “And you didn’t confide any autobiographical details?” Gabe pressed. “Because she doesn’t strike me as the reserved type.”

  “I am but a simple programmer,” Alec assured him. “What about you? Making beautiful music with the lovely Melody? She’s no slouch herself in the looks department.”

  “Not my type. And unlike some people, I have to feel a connection.”

  “Uh-oh.” Alec followed the direction of his brother’s gaze. To Mira, concentrating fiercely on the cherries she was pitting, sweat beading her forehead and her thick braid falling over her shoulder as her fingers flew. “I have a really bad feeling all of a sudden. Like I’m not going to be the one getting us in trouble for once. That’s not going to go over well at all, you know. Vote-wise or any other way.”

  “What?” Gabe asked, but knew it was a losing battle. It was no use keeping anything from Alec. He wasn’t quite as astute at homing in on his twin’s feelings as Gabe, but he did his fair share.

  “Hands off, bro,” Alec said firmly. “That’s just way too much complication. And nobody can tell me that she’s up for a little messing around. She’s not in it for a good time. That’d be serious business.”

  “I’m not doing a thing,” Gabe said irritably. “F— Lay off. She’s a really nice person.”

  “Yeah. And so is Zara. I bet Maria-Elena’s a nice person too. Go charm them. Charm him, for that matter,” Alec said, nodding around Gabe at Kevin. “Anybody but her. Because that’s going to lead us both straight to disaster.”

  On and on the challenge went, the tedious business of pitting the fruit proceeding slowly despite the women’s haste. Their hands worked the curved hairpins with varying degrees of dexterity. Lupe was good, Gabe saw with some trepidation, but nobody else on the Arcadia team came close to matching her speed. Chelsea was frankly useless, stopping frequently to wipe her stained hands on her increasingly sticky apron, rubbing them together and grimacing as the acidic fruit shriveled her fingers, exclaiming with disgust as she accidentally dropped her pits into the bowl of fruit and had to go digging for them. Meanwhile, Zara, Maria-Elena, and Mira worked doggedly and efficiently, Melody was putting forth a surprisingly game effort, and the Paradise women made steady inroads on their pile.

  Mira stopped to take a drink of water. “Eyes on the prize, sweetie,” Gabe heard Scott calling from the row behind him. “You’re falling behind. Come on! Try harder!”

  Mira immediately set down her water jar and looked in alarm at the other team. She picked up her hairpin and started in again, but fumbled in her haste, cherry and hairpin slipping out of her hands onto the floor. She bent to search for them, came up a minute later, red-faced and breathing hard, quickly pulling the hairpin out of the fruit and splashing water over it before starting in again.

  “Come on,” Scott exhorted again. “You can do better than that! Concentrate!”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Alec demanded, turning to glare at Sco
tt. “She’s on the other homestead! We want to win, remember?”

  “Don’t worry,” Scott answered smugly. “We’ll win. Trust me.”

  “You’re messing with her head,” Gabe realized, swiveling in his turn to look back at the other man. “You’re trying to throw her off.”

  “Hey,” Scott said, with a wink for Calvin, sitting beside him on the rough bench. “Whatever it takes.”

  “Man, you’d mess with your own teammate?” Calvin asked in disbelief. “With your girlfriend?”

  “Right now, she’s not my girlfriend,” Scott said. “She’s the opposition. And the point is to beat the opposition, so we get to do the choosing. So we can figure out how to stay strong and weaken them.”

  “No,” Alec corrected him, exchanging a disgusted glance with Gabe. “The point right now is not to be a dickhead who gets voted off by his homestead. And gets his teammate voted off too.”

  For all Scott’s continuing efforts and Lupe’s skill, the Paradise women finished their pitting first, and soon had the fruit boiling in its syrup. When Arlene began to argue with Lupe on the correct extent to which they should screw on the lids before putting the jars into the boiling water, causing the older woman to throw up her hands in resignation, the result was a foregone conclusion. At the end of the challenge, the Paradise team’s jars had all come through the canning bath with seals firmly set and were sitting proudly on the table, having passed Alma’s inspection.

  “Well, good news is,” Alma said judiciously, testing Arcadia’s seals with a poke at each lid, “you can take these cherries on back tonight, bake a couple pies with ’em. Bad news is, you’ve only got five of them sealed, and you did it slower too. Looks like Paradise wins this one.”

  Gabe joined the rest of the Paradise men in applause as the women laughed in delighted, exhausted relief and hugged each other with stained, sticky hands. Then he rose with the other men to congratulate or console their homesteads.

  Melody flung herself into his arms. “We both won!” she enthused. “Isn’t it great?”

  She pressed herself against him, and Gabe thought wryly that if he’d been in any doubt as to the source of that spectacular chest, it was now entirely removed. He extricated himself gently. “Great,” he agreed.

  “I was worried,” she confessed, “but I did it! Even though my hands got all icky.”

  “You did real good,” Stanley agreed, coming up to give her a hug that was warmer than Gabe’s version. “You stepped right up to the plate today. Good job.”

  Gabe congratulated a beaming, flushed Maria-Elena, then turned to Mira, standing a little apart and scrubbing at her hands, a frown on her face. “You were terrific,” he told her.

  “I got flustered,” she admitted without looking him in the eye. “I’m just glad the others kept it together.”

  “You got distracted for a little while,” he corrected. “By somebody trying to distract you. And then you got yourself back on track. Congratulations.” He reached out and pulled her close. Felt her melt against him for just a moment before she pulled back again.

  “Thanks.” She smiled a little shakily, lifted her apron to wipe her eyes on a clean corner. “Well, nobody could say you got flustered. Good to know that if the doctor thing doesn’t work out, you can always get a job logging.”

  “OK, homesteads.” They both turned at Cliff’s voice, rising above the hubbub. “Get on out of here, all of you. You’ve got a date with me tomorrow night.”

  “What?” Martin asked in surprise. “You mean we do. Paradise does.”

  “Nope,” Cliff responded. “That’s not how it’s going to work. Both homesteads will have a team member sent home, remember. So it seems only fair that all of you hear how the discussion goes, even though only Paradise will be allowed to participate. And Paradise, you’ll have some talking to do amongst yourselves. Because you’ve got your first tough decision coming up.”

  By unspoken agreement, nobody mentioned the subject on the walk home, everyone seeming content to relish their homestead’s undisputed triumph.

  “I’m declaring another fishing trip,” Stanley announced. “Soon as we get the animals set. We all deserve a good dinner, and the ladies deserve a break. We might even be real daring, bust loose and wash the dishes for ’em. Fishing first, though. Who’s coming with me?”

  “I will,” Gabe volunteered. “Fishing sounds terrific.” Standing beside the creek, he thought with pleasure, in the long shade of late afternoon. That would feel good. Casting into that spot at the base of the rocks with the technique he’d begun to pick up from Stanley. He was feeling lucky today.

  “Me too,” Kevin decided. “Not saying I’ll catch anything, but I’ll give it a shot.”

  “I’m going to pass,” Martin declared. “I brought Thoreau’s Walden with me, and I haven’t had a single moment to read it. This seems like the perfect time.”

  “You do that,” Stanley agreed cordially. “Commune with nature. We’ll work on bringing a mess of nature back with us.”

  “Thank God. You know he’d have hooked one of us instead,” Kevin murmured to Gabe, who couldn’t suppress a grin. “He already got my shirt yesterday. Going for my pretty face, but as always, he missed.”

  “What are you ladies going to do?” Stanley asked. “You could use a little indulgence after all that hard work.”

  “What do you think?” Zara smiled wearily, holding out her still-stained and shriveled hands. “We’re going to have a nice, soapy, cool Paradise Creek bath. Our very favorite thing.”

  “You’re looking forward to that, I’ll bet,” Gabe said to Mira, dropping back to walk with her. “That was a tough challenge.”

  “It was,” she agreed. “On both sides. But you did great. And a tattoo, huh?” she added impulsively. “I was pretty surprised.”

  He smiled. “Secret’s out. Relic of the football days, and my youthful infatuation with my bit of Cherokee heritage. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Famous last words. What about you? Got any body art hidden away there, someplace I haven’t seen?”

  She felt the blush creeping up her throat at the look in his eyes. He was thinking about the evening before, she could tell, when he’d seen . . . quite a bit of her. And he was flirting with her. Wasn’t he?

  “No,” she said lamely, wishing she were better at flirting. It just made her nervous. “No tattoos.”

  “Good,” he said with satisfaction. “Your skin’s too pretty to mark up. It always reminds me of one of those brown eggs.”

  “My skin reminds you of an egg?” Wow. He wasn’t that much better at flirting than she was.

  He laughed. “I guess that wasn’t too smooth, huh? But it does. You know, that pretty light brown, a few freckles. A nice egg. A farmer’s market egg.”

  She lifted the sunbonnet she’d been swinging along beside her. “I’m probably getting too many of those. I should put this back on.”

  “Not on my account,” he said. “I prefer my eggs with some freckles. Just like you.”

  Caveman Tendencies

  They were back in the Clearing again less than twenty-four hours later, and Mira found that she was experiencing a different kind of trepidation this time. She’d known all along that people would be voted out, she reminded herself. She was glad she wasn’t the one leaving, but knowing that she was going to have a hand in making two other people so unhappy . . . It wasn’t pleasant. And she wasn’t sure what to expect today.

  She’d just listen and learn, she vowed. There were plenty of others willing to do all the talking required.

  This time, they ended up at the opposite end of the clearing from the big outdoor kitchen, at a covered U-shaped arrangement of benches. The homesteads took their seats facing each other, glancing out of the corners of their eyes at the third set of benches, making up the bottom leg of the U.

  “Wondering who’s going to be sitting there?” Cliff asked them, coming to take his spot at the top of the layout. “That’s for the jury. Two of you
will be sitting there next Sunday afternoon, listening to us talk. Just like Arcadia is listening tonight.”

  “So, Martin,” he went on, “start us off. You did a lot of research beforehand. Has the experience met your expectations?”

  “Yes, in large part,” Martin said judiciously. “It’s certainly been authentic. I feel I have a much more accurate picture now of the challenges the original homesteaders faced.”

  “Harder than you anticipated?” Cliff asked innocently.

  Mira shot a glance at Kevin, sitting to her right. “He’s been watching the footage,” Kevin whispered. “Storyline time.”

  “I believe it’s been difficult for everyone,” Martin said stiffly.

  “Gabe, what’s been the hardest thing for you?” was Cliff’s next question.

  “I’m not saying the physical work is easy,” Gabe answered slowly from his spot at the end of the bottom bench, “or that I’m not more wiped than I’ve ever been. Except maybe that first year of residency,” he added with a reminiscent smile. “But the hardest thing? I’d have to say it’s seeing the women get so exhausted, how tough it is on them.”

  Stanley nodded beside him in thoughtful agreement as Gabe went on. “I can see how, if you really had brought your family out here in 1885, you’d feel driven every minute of every day. I’ll bet a lot of them didn’t realize beforehand how much work it’d be. Just like none of us really did, and we’ve had it a whole lot easier than they would have. As a man, you’d feel so responsible for putting your wife in that position, seeing her get that worn down. And the thought that most of them did fail—I’m getting a sense for how crushing that would have been, after all that effort. Even after only a week here. It’s a whole lot more real, living it.”