Welcome to Paradise

by Rosalind James

  “You’re shaking your head, Martin,” Cliff said. Martin was, in fact, trading a disapproving glance with Arlene, who was frowning heavily opposite him and looked on the verge of bursting out with a rebuttal, clearly frustrated by the no-talking rule on her side of the shelter.

  “I must say I disagree,” Martin said. “Frankly, that sounds incredibly patronizing. Why should the men have been responsible for their wives’ happiness or unhappiness? If a couple, a family, set up a homestead, why would we assume that was the man’s decision? Why wouldn’t it have been something they decided to do together, and worked toward together? Women aren’t fragile clinging vines who can’t handle hard work—then or now. Yes, I’m sure it was disappointing not to make it, but Gabe’s attitude . . . Well, I’m afraid his macho inclinations may be getting the better of him, and that he has his head even further back than the nineteenth century.”

  “That Gabe,” Kevin drawled. “What a caveman. So unattractive.”

  “I don’t see how that’s patronizing, what Gabe said,” Mira objected as Martin scowled at Kevin’s back. “Why wouldn’t a man who loved his wife feel bad to see her working so hard, and getting so tired? Because it is really hard. Much harder, physically, than I anticipated,” she admitted. “And it just never, ever ends.”

  “Nothing to show for it, either,” Zara put in. “The men—at the end of the day, they’ve built a corral, chopped down trees, whatever. They’ve done something. And we’ve just . . . maintained. Cooked and cleaned, weeded and watered. Over and over. And at least we have each other. When I think about a woman, alone in her cabin except for her children, the nearest neighbor miles away, no support, nobody to talk to . . .” She shuddered.

  “And as for what Martin said—I did a little reading myself,” she added, “when I knew I was coming on the show. It was almost always the man’s decision to come out here. Women didn’t have any rights then, remember. Different times, different roles. You can’t judge them by today’s standards. And for a woman with kids . . . No, I can’t imagine they were excited about taking this on. It doesn’t mean they weren’t strong and tough once they got here. You’d have to be, to survive it.”

  “So how do you think a woman would have felt, Mira?” Cliff pressed. “If she’d come out here with her husband, kids, maybe pregnant, and was faced with all this? What do you think her emotional state would have been?”

  “I think it would depend,” Mira mused, caught up in the imagined scenario, one she, like Gabe, had given so much thought to during this past week. “On what kind of person she was, and on her husband, how she felt about him. I think everyone’s right, in some respects. Probably some marriages were partnerships, just like they are now. And if your husband appreciated how grueling it was, how lonely you were, that would make all the difference. The first day here, when the guys arranged for us to have a break and get clean, that meant a lot.” She saw the expressions on the faces of the women opposite, and guessed that the men on their homestead hadn’t been so considerate.

  “So, yes,” she continued. “If you were married to someone who loved you and cared about you, if the dream was something you shared, and you saw him working hard for you, trying to make things better and easier for you like Gabe was saying, like the guys have done for us, I believe you’d do anything to help him in return.” She recognized the annoyed look on Scott’s face, felt the reassuring presence of Stanley beside her, his contemplative gaze on her, and went on. “But if your husband took you for granted, or worse, if he was unkind or even cruel to you, you’d just want to run away. How could it be worth it? But you couldn’t, I guess. You’d be stuck in that marriage, in that life. That’s pretty horrible to think about.”

  “Not necessarily. Divorce was actually more common than you’d think,” Cliff said, “especially out here, in the West. Women initiated most of those divorces, too.”

  “And just as not everyone made it back then,” he segued smoothly, “two of you homesteaders are going to be leaving tonight. Kevin. What will you be basing your vote on?”

  “On who’s productive,” Kevin said promptly. “And who isn’t.”

  “So will it be a difficult vote, or is that pretty easy to figure out?”

  “Oh, this is the easy one,” Kevin assured him with a smile.

  “Agree with that, Stanley?” Cliff asked.

  “Yeah,” Stanley answered economically.

  “Melody, how about you? Basis for your vote?” Cliff asked.

  “Well,” she began judiciously, tapping her lips with one finger, “I’d say there are different ways of being productive. The most important thing is winning the challenges, keeping our fate in our own hands. If you get all worn out during the week, where’s your energy at challenge time? And then, too, it’s who contributes toward a positive mood. Who makes things more attractive and is, you know, bubbly and fun. And who’s just, like, snarky and sarcastic all the time.” She, too, sent a poisonous look at Kevin’s back. If looks could kill, Mira thought with amusement, Kevin would be stone-dead by now.

  “And with that,” Cliff announced, “it’s time to vote. One last-minute thought: you’re voting for a team. You may want to consider who’ll be leaving the other homestead as well as your own.” Mira saw that Scott was nodding significantly at her. But she and Kevin were right about this one, she was sure of it. At this point, it was all about who was at the back of the pack. And there was no question who the bear was going be eating this week.

  “Well, at least she’ll be able to call her mom,” Kevin said, as the seven remaining Paradise homesteaders began the walk home in the lengthening afternoon shadows. “I can hear her now, crying about how mean we all were. ‘I’m popular!’” he mimicked. “I’m pretty!”

  “I can’t say that was a painful decision,” Zara agreed, “although it was harder than I thought it’d be a couple days ago. And I did feel a little pang of remorse when I saw the look on Chelsea’s face. I’ll bet Melody’s in for a few harsh words before Mommy makes it all better.”

  Kevin snorted. “From what Rachel told me yesterday, things wouldn’t have been any different if Arcadia had won. Chelsea might have a more forceful personality, but let’s just say she isn’t a workaholic. They might have had a little more discussion than we did, though. Opinion was divided, I hear.”

  Zara shot him a warning glance.

  “Who else?” Mira asked, the hollow feeling inside telling her that she already knew the answer.

  Kevin cast a quick look behind him, saw that Stanley and Gabe were following, with Martin bringing up the rear in earnest lecture mode with Maria-Elena as his unfortunate victim. “Arlene’s ruffled some major feathers among the women,” he said. “There’s nothing that she hasn’t read up on. Or even worse, she’s done it before, and she can kindly point out how you’re doing it all wrong. It’s getting on Rachel’s last nerve, and I think even Lupe’s had it. She’s a harder worker than Chelsea, though, which saved her this time.”

  “Oh,” Mira said with relief.

  “But don’t fool yourself,” Zara told her bluntly. “Scott’s not winning any popularity contests with the men—or the women. He doesn’t exactly fall all over himself with gratitude for what they do, Hank says. Saying ‘thanks for dinner’ now and then goes a long way, you know.”

  “Why are you telling Mira that?” Kevin protested. “It’s just going to upset her. I thought I was the resident bitch.”

  “She’s already heard some of it. And she needs to know what’s happening,” Zara argued. “Maybe she can persuade Scott to lighten up next time she sees him. Unless he does, and swings the tide back to Arlene, Mira’s going to be gone the next time Arcadia wins. And I don’t want to be left here with four guys and Maria-Elena. She’s done better than I thought she would, but she’s no Mira.”

  “Right,” Kevin scoffed. “Mira’s going to tell Scott to shape his nasty ass up, and he’s going to say, ‘You’re right, sweetheart. I’ve been a real tool. Thank you so much for
pointing that out, so I can change.’ Wanna bet?”

  Mira dropped back a pace, not wanting to hear any more, her emotions in turmoil. She’d warmed at Zara’s praise, but her heart sank at the thought of having to leave just when she was getting the hang of this. Her steps slowed, and she found Gabe coming up beside her.

  “That wasn’t too fun,” he began. “The voting, I mean.”

  “No,” she agreed. She was still casting about for what to say next when he went on.

  “Thanks for coming to my defense back there. My caveman tendencies, I mean. I should tell you,” he confessed, “I still open doors too. Pure reflex by this point. Blame my regressive upbringing.”

  “Well, Arlene might not like it,” Mira said with a little smile, “but I suspect most women would. We want to be taken seriously, but a little consideration never hurts either.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, “why did you apply for the show in the first place? Besides the money, I mean. Not to further your show-business career, unless I’m dead wrong. And you aren’t a reality-show fan. So why? Was it Scott?”

  “Partly,” she admitted. “He wanted to win the million dollars, of course—and just to win. You’ve probably guessed that. But I wanted to do it too. I’d have to, to have taken the risk. I’m not even positive that my job will be waiting for me when I go back. That’s pretty scary.”

  “Is this where you tell me your grandmother needs life-saving surgery that costs, let’s see, half a million dollars?” he asked in alarm.

  She laughed. Despite the ridiculous response he stirred in her, he was so easy to talk to. “Nothing like that, thank goodness. I just wanted a . . . a break. A change. I’ve been in the same field more than five years now. And it’s a job a lot of people would kill to have,” she felt compelled to point out. “It pays well, and it’s got a great career track.”

  “Management consulting,” he remembered. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “For one thing, it means you’re never home. We’re mostly onsite, at the client’s office. Living in hotels. And nobody likes you. It’s like being a dentist. When the management consultants show up, people are going to lose their jobs, and everyone knows it. That part’s hard.”

  Gabe’s mouth twisted in rueful agreement. “Yeah. That’s why I’m not a dentist. Or a gynecologist. Talk about being an unwelcome visitor.”

  She was startled into a giggle. “Yeah, even worse. ‘Hi, I’m Dr. Gabe. Meet my freezing cold speculum.’”

  He let out a surprised bark of laughter. “You’ve got a spunky side in there after all, don’t you? You should let it out more often.”

  “Not everyone likes it,” she smiled back at him.

  “I do,” he assured her. “You can show me that side anytime.”

  She warmed at the appreciative look in his eyes. Maybe she didn’t hate flirting so much after all. “Maybe I will. Anyway, I’m loving the chance to have some weeks—a couple weeks anyway,” she amended as she remembered what Zara had said, “of being in one place, and things being so . . . so simple. Having such a completely different experience. Challenging myself. I don’t really care for the competition aspect,” she admitted, “but we haven’t had to deal much with that yet, have we? I’m just trying to enjoy it.” She laughed a little. “When I’m not hating it because I’m dirty and tired and there’s still so much to do, that is. Because it’s nothing like I expected. I thought I’d be spending a lot of time sitting outside, or going for long walks. Ha.”

  “It’s hard,” he agreed, “but that’s the good thing. The focus. No multitasking possible. If you’re cutting down a tree, you can’t be checking your messages. And there’s time to think.”

  “Is that why you came too? Not because you want a career as a glamorous TV doctor? I bet you could get one.”

  He chuckled. “Not hardly. We’d like to win, of course,” he acknowledged. “For its own sake, just like Scott. But it’d sure be nice to get all my student loans paid off too. That’s my rehearsal for my why-I-deserve-a-million-dollars speech. How does it grab you?”

  “Bad.” She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “I’d go with the sick grandmother option.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement. But maybe I should save that one for you.”

  “I doubt I’ll need it. Pretty obvious that second place is the most I can possibly hope for, and even that’s looking like a major stretch goal. So I’d better be getting all I can out of the experience, for as long as I’ve got. And that’s what I intend to do.”

  “That’s the other part for me too,” he said. “I came here to enjoy it, if you can use that word for something this hard. And I thought it’d be good for Alec, though I pretty much had to drag him along kicking and screaming. He doesn’t do downtime too well. Pretty much lives his life at full tilt. Not that my own life has been much different. Seems like I’m running hard just to stay in place a lot of the time. College, med school, establishing my practice, all that.”

  “Not that it’s wrong to set goals,” he went on hastily as she looked intently up at him, “and that’s what life is anyway. It’s about working, you and I both know that. But I’ve started to wonder, out here, if there’s any way to make things not quite so . . . complicated. Because this is hard, but it’s not complicated, is it? So, yeah. Besides the money, I’m here for the same reason as you. A break, a chance to think about what I could do differently. Alec needed it too, I was right about that. It’s been good for him already.”

  “Did you get to talk to him, then, yesterday?”

  “A bit,” he shrugged. “Not much. But I can tell.”

  “The twin thing,” she guessed.

  “Yeah.” He smiled down at her, the deep blue eyes warm, and she felt the little hitch in her breath that that smile always aroused. “The twin thing.”

  Too Much Excitement

  “OK,” Mira said, taking a final sip of her coffee before getting up from the breakfast table the next morning. “Garden time. You done, Maria-Elena?”

  “Yeah.” The girl finished a last bite of biscuit and stood up herself without too much of a sigh.

  “That’s the downside of voting somebody out,” Stanley said sympathetically. “More work for everybody else.”

  “Well, not as much as it might’ve been. Considering it was Melody,” Zara said tartly. “More for Mira, mostly, having to pick up her share of garden duty.”

  “I don’t mind,” Mira said. It was almost true. She liked being outside, at least until the day got too hot. Zara was doing enough in the cabin. She was the best baker, and it only made sense for her to do the breakfast dishes and then get started on the day’s bread while the younger women tackled the heavier work of weeding and watering.

  “I’ll churn the butter later,” Mira promised Zara. “In time for lunch.”

  “Mmm, buttermilk,” Stanley said with satisfaction. “I’d forgotten how good a glass of cold buttermilk could taste.”

  Mira made a face. “It’s obviously an acquired taste. I like it in the biscuits, but . . .”

  Stanley laughed. “Good thing we don’t all like it as much as I do, or there wouldn’t be any for the biscuits.”

  Mira pulled her sunbonnet off the nail near the door, picked up a bucket, and stepped outside. There was still a bit of morning chill in the air, always a help when she was hauling water from the creek.

  She saw the movement behind the rails of the half-completed fence while she and Maria-Elena were still thirty yards away. Something brown. Something . . . big.

  “It’s a bear!” Maria-Elena shrieked, turning to run.

  “It’s not a bear,” Mira snapped back at her, picking up her skirts and running in the opposite direction, toward the fence. “It’s a cow! Run get the guys!”

  It was a cow, she confirmed when she’d made it around the edge of the half-built fence. And a calf. Their cow and calf. Eating her carefully tended lettuce!

  She slowed her steps, feeling the annoyingly tig
ht boning of the corset, digging into her ribs as always and making deep breaths difficult. She didn’t want to spook the cow, make her run and trample the vegetables any more than, she saw with dismay, she already had. Half their chard bore the marks of hoofprints, and, worst of all, a fresh cow pie.

  She walked closer, talking softly to the big animal until she got close enough to grab the rope hanging from her halter. Led her to the edge of the planted area, wincing as the huge hooves landed on spinach leaves the entire way.

  Gabe and Kevin were running toward her now on the opposite side of the fence. The calf, seeing all the activity, decided that this was a delightful game and began frisking around the garden, each playful bounce flattening another tender plant.

  “Take her back to the corral, Mira,” Gabe called to her, closing in with Kevin on the calf from either side. “The calf will want to follow.”

  All the same, she’d had the cow back in the corral, with the gate carefully secured, for five minutes before the men appeared leading the calf.

  “Good job getting hold of her so fast,” Gabe said, “and keeping her calm, too. If she’d started running around, we’d really have been in trouble.”

  “We were able to herd this guy mostly over by the potatoes,” he went on, tying the little animal securely to the fence, “so he wouldn’t trample anything we wanted to eat, at least. And I don’t think they did all that much damage. They can’t have been in there that long. Just during breakfast.”

  “How did it happen?” Mira asked. “How did they get out?”

  “I have a sneaking suspicion I know,” Kevin volunteered. He pointed to Stanley and Martin in the distance, leading the two horses back by their halter ropes. “And that we’re about to find out for sure.”

  “I’ll go back to the garden. See what’s destroyed, and what we can salvage,” Mira decided. She didn’t need to be part of this.

  “There must be something wrong with the latch,” Martin was still protesting ten minutes later. “Or they must have opened it.”