by Casey Hays
Content.
I scrutinize our small gathering around the table and furrow my brow as this one emotion penetrates my thoughts.
Am I?
Chapter 2
Diana stands alone on the porch just off the kitchen, her back to me. Wrapped in a thin cream-toned shawl with fringe dangling from the ends, she leans against a post support. It’s a clear, still, beautiful night, and like every night, I knew this is where she’d be. It’s been her routine for almost a year now. A way to wind down after the kids are tucked in for the night. Sometimes she takes a walk under the moonlight, but mostly, she stands here, staring at the stars. I wonder if she ever looks for the Bull.
Tonight, I think about intruding, but I pause in the doorway, my fingers pressing on the mesh screen. Diana’s shoulders rise subtly and then fall with a silent sigh, and something stops me from stepping out. I watch her.
When we first arrived here, Diana was a new mother—again—and she was afraid. Afraid of what kind of future she could possibly think to create for herself and her sons. She’d taken the abandoned Henry under her wing just a few short weeks before Caleb was born. She understood the magnitude of her responsibility: she had two tiny mouths to feed, two souls to nurture, two sons to grow into respectable, productive men. And she had no idea how to do it. Because in her village, baby boys had their place in the system. In her village, someone else raised the babies breeders birthed. Out here, she was on her own.
She could have gone to any one of the villages, including Eden, but she didn’t. She chose to come with us. I’ve never told her how relieved I was when she made that decision. Because then I would have to tell her how much I need her. That her quiet, sensible nature keeps me centered. All these years, I’ve depended on it for my sanity. It makes me believe that maybe I can do the impossible with these kids after all. But I would never burden her with this. It just… it wouldn’t be fair.
Diana shifts, turns her head slightly. I catch her profile against the darkening skies—the outline of her nose and lips. Her lashes flutter with a blink, holding me to my spot. I pull away from the door and sink into the shadows of the house.
“Can’t do it, huh?”
Startled, I turn.
The scratching hiss of a match, and Liza’s face appears. She sits, her chair tilted onto its back legs, her booted feet propped up on the kitchen table. She lights a large candle and blows out the match. I clear my throat.
“What are you doing sitting around in the dark?”
She settles back, hands clasped over her abdomen. “Watching you chicken out,” she whispers.
I run a hand through my hair. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was just...”
I let my voice trail, half-way tossing a look over my shoulder at the door behind me.
“She’s waiting for you to make a move, you know.”
I raise my head. “No, she isn’t.”
“Oh, Justin. You’re such a bonehead,” Liza whispers. “And a stalking one at that.”
Her feet drop to the floor. She rises and quietly pushes the door closed to prevent Diana from hearing us.
“What are you doing?” Her tone carries a sense of disappointment. I frown.
“What are you talking about?” I shove my fists into my pockets. “I’m not doing anything but trying to survive.”
“Oh, so that’s what you want?” She presses a fingertip to her lip, nodding with mock understanding. “To just survive? Exist? Devote your entire life to this project, day in and day out? That’s going to fulfill you?”
A slow anger moves one tiny muscle in my cheek. I clench my jaw, my voice tense. “What are you getting at?”
Our gaze freezes on a line, until she breaks it with a small laugh of exasperation. She shakes her head and moves for the door that leads to the stairs. “Forget it.”
“No,” I narrow in on her. “I know you have something to say. So say it.”
“All right. But only since you asked.” She angles her head at me sidelong, hands on hips, a gleam in her eye. “Do you think it’s what Diana wants? To survive? Just exist? Do I need to remind you of why she left her village?”
I rub at my forehead. I don’t need a reminder. Diana left her village to save her children from the life of bondage she had endured. That’s what she would say. It was never about her; it was only for them.
“She could have gone anywhere she wanted.” I plant my hands on my own hips in a stand-off, keeping my voice neutral. “Nobody stopped her. She made her own choice.”
“Mm-hmm.” She skirts the table, her fingers curling over the back of a chair, half of her face disappearing in shadow while the other half shimmers orange. “Well, don’t fool yourself into thinking she’s stayed all these years only for the kids.”
I don’t exactly know what to do with her words. She makes a pretty bold assumption. I know what she implies, and it brings a heat into my cheeks. I blow a hiss of air through my lips and rub my fingertips across my forehead again.
“Did Diana say something to you?” I ask.
“We talk,” Liza admits. “Sometimes… she needs to vent. I mean, this isn’t an easy life.”
She doesn’t have to tell me. This place—this way of life—takes its toll. It can make you stir crazy.
“But did she say something?” I frown, suddenly doubting my own bold assumptions, and then an unfounded fear kicks in and makes me ask my next question. “Does she want to leave?”
The thought makes me nauseous. I squeeze my hands into tight fists and take a breath.
“No,” Liza confirms, a hint of irritation clouding the word. My lungs ease a little.
“Then what are we talking about here?”
“You. Being a chicken.”
She gives me one of her cheeky smiles, and in the flickering light, I catch a glimpse of the bronze ring on her left ring finger. I get what she’s doing. She’s reading into things that are none of her business. So she noticed an extra smile between Diana and me, a look that lingered a little too long, an accidental touch that made one of us blush. I see her agenda. She wants me to face my feelings. Because ever since she fell in love, Liza has a habit of poking her nose in and creating her own little intimate realities where none exist. Time to stop the madness.
“We’re friends,” I insist with a sharp nod of my head. “That’s it.”
Liza clicks her tongue and pulls back to cross her arms over her chest. “And that’s how you want it?”
“It’s just how it is, Liza.”
Now she’s just irritating, like a little gnat I need to swat. I sweep up a jug of water from the floor near the sink and rummage through the cupboard for a cup. For a sweet second, the trickling of water is all I hear. Until…
“Do you talk? I mean really talk to Diana? About… you know… you? And her? What she might want? From you?”
Liza meets my gaze head on. Damn it, why can’t she leave it alone? Why does she think Diana would want anything from me? I turn, cup in hand, and hone in on her orange face in the candlelight.
“Why would I?”
“So… are you implying that you already know what she needs?” Liza pulls out the chair and sits, folding her hands together on the tabletop, innocent-like. My jaw tightens.
“No. I’m saying if she needs something from me, she can ask.”
“She shouldn’t have to.” Her dark eyes soften. “I’ve been here all of three days, and I see it. You should notice these things. Bonehead.”
I digest her words and think back over the past few weeks. Should I have noticed something in Diana? I’ve been so absorbed in my own duties, the training and the teaching and the pulling apart of the kids when a fight ensues, and Diana has coped well. She’s been a trooper, and I’m grateful. But maybe I missed something.
“Day in and day out, you two work.” Liza recaptures my attention, reading my mind. I connect with her. “You pour all your effort and energy into educating and training these little monsters. Both of you.” She tilts her he
ad with definite understanding. “I get it. It’s admirable. It really is. But you all live out here in the middle of nowhere. You’ve created your own world. If you’re planning to stay in it, you need to make a life out of it instead of hanging in this suspended state. You need more; she needs more.” She pauses, her eyes intense as she tests to see that I’m following her train of thought. “Diana is crying out for more, Justin. And you aren’t listening.”
I straighten, the cup of water forgotten in my clutches. “What am I supposed to do about it?” I ask.
She rises, joins me at the sink, and pulls back the thin curtain that covers the small window. “Take a look at her.”
I catch Diana’s silhouette through the glass. The moonlight illuminates her face and makes her hair gossamer. She slips down off the porch and stands in the yard a few feet from the steps. Pulling the shawl closer around her, she tilts her chin upward and watches the stars. My stomach drops as the beating of my heart kicks up.
“She could have left at any time, just like you said,” Liza confirms. “God knows I would have. I mean, this life isn’t a bit glamorous.”
I gulp down the rest of my water and cast one more glance out the window. Liza cocks her head to the side.
“So why do you think she’s still here?” she asks. But then, she quickly raises a hand. “Let’s consider that a rhetorical question. Just—think about it, okay?”
With that, she jabs me in the bicep with a gentle punch and saunters out of the kitchen.
***
My brain won’t shut off. Every time I close my lids, there’s Diana’s beautiful face, shining with her smile and her crystal blues. I roll over and slam a fist into my pillow, trying to push her out of my thoughts. It’s no use; she’s a permanent fixture inside my head.
After three hours of tossing and turning, I fling the blankets away from my body and throw my legs over the edge of the bed. I sit, face in my palms.
Once a month, it’s Liza’s job to bring us supplies from the other side. Supplies… not opinions. I sigh.
Too bad Jesse was on a mission. He makes the trip with Liza when he can. And if he were here, this conversation wouldn’t have happened, and I’d be asleep right now. He knows how to temper Liza’s need to vocalize her every thought. She, on the other hand, doesn’t know when to be quiet.
After the skirmish between Eden and the Vortex, Jesse joined the guard. Two years later, he enlisted as a Rover and went into intense training, but not before he married my cousin. His perfect match. Bold and Blunt. That’s my secret nickname for the pair.
Tonight, she proved her name. I scowl. She’s probably sound asleep in the next room, content as can be too. The brat.
I climb to my feet and peer out the window. The moon hangs high, and I can see the largest farmhouse from this angle. It’s just a big shadow a short distance away. Inside, Penelope and Aaron sleep. Stephen, Nicholas, and Jacob are tucked into their beds in the third floor loft. They’ve been asleep for hours now. I can’t see the other farmhouse, but I know Klayre and Aria snooze under the watchful care of Sophia. Everything is as it should be.
This farm... it’s a good set-up.
I leave the window and slip out into the hall. Diana’s room directly across from mine is silent, her door ajar about two inches. She never closes it—just in case the boys need her in the night. I step close and peek in. I see nothing but a lumpy shadow in the middle of her bed.
I lean in the doorframe to watch her sleep, feeling like an intruder the whole time. Even as guilt pushes in, I don’t move. She stirs, shoving the blankets off. In the moonlight, her nightgown clings to the soft curves of her body, and a warm slice of longing slides up my spine. Dormant feelings float up to hover right under the surface. Panicked, I swallow and move away from the door, my lungs tightening.
I recognize this feeling immediately. I’ve experienced it only once before... for only one girl. A girl who married my best friend just like she was supposed to. I press my back up against the wall and breathe deep. I don’t need to go there again, and I clench my fists against my thighs. Too much heartache lives in those memories.
Getting my heart broken. That’s what I fear more than anything. It’s why I’m so guarded around Diana. Because what if she turns me down? I’ll feel like a fool for ever believing she could think to make a life with me. I’m not sure I could handle that rejection and continue working with her side by side. It’s best to leave it alone. Our relationship is fine as is.
With a scowl, I run a hand down the side of my face. Thanks a lot, Liza. You just had to awaken the sleeping giant lurking in the shadows of my heart, didn’t you?
At the end of the hall, I catch a flicker of light out of the corner of my eye. I guess I’m not the only one who can’t sleep tonight. Grateful for a distraction, I clear the few steps to the boys’ door and push it further open. Wide-eyed, they both freeze in the beam of the flashlight. And then, the light clicks off. I laugh softly.
“What’re you boys up to?”
Silence. But then the shadows that graced the walls seconds ago reappear as Henry presses the switch on the flashlight. I leave the doorway and move across the wood floor, settling on the end of their shared double bed. The window is cracked open to let in some fresh, night air, and a barn owl intermittently hoots just outside of it.
“We can’t sleep,” Caleb admits. He fumbles out of the billowy blankets and edges toward me on his hands and knees, climbing up into my lap. I pull him into my chest, catching a scent of his shampoo-clean hair.
“Yeah. Me neither,” I say. I glance at Henry. Goldilocks and the Three Bears is open on his lap. “So. Are you two doing some midnight reading?”
Henry frowns. “No. We can’t read yet. Silly Justin.”
I laugh again. “Good point.”
“We have questions, though,” Caleb continues. I raise a brow, tossing my eyes between the two. Caleb shoves his own flashlight up under his chin and clicks it on. It captures the outline of his cheeks in an orange glow while the rest of his face fades to black. He wears faded red pajamas with yellow building blocks all over them.
“Okay,” I nod, leaning against the rusted brass footboard.
Henry, clutching the book, joins us on the end of the bed. Caleb aims the flashlight. Turning a page, Henry points.
“Why is Papa Bear’s stuff better? Because we think Mama and Baby Bear’s porridge looks just as good. But Goldilocks always goes for Papa Bear’s stuff first. Why?”
Taken aback, I stare at the page where his chubby finger rests over a large, yellow bowl of porridge. I can’t help but notice that the boys have put a lot of thought into this. Caleb peers up at me, waiting for my answer.
“Well... hmm.” I take up the book, balancing it on my knee, thinking. “Maybe... it’s because Papa Bear’s things are bigger. Which means there’s more porridge.” I turn the page. “And his bed has more room. For stretching.”
Both boys soak up my answers, and it’s my turn to wait. Finally, Henry nods.
“That makes sense. Except for Goldilocks ends up liking Baby Bear’s things in the end.”
I smile. “That one’s easy. She realized Baby Bear’s porridge was just enough to fill her up, and his chair and his bed were her perfect fit. You always save the best for last. That makes her smart.”
“Ohhhh...” Caleb says, suddenly understanding. “Now I get it. Thanks.”
“Glad I could help.” I stand with Caleb balanced on my hip and place the book on the nightstand. “I hope that information helps you fall asleep now. That was quite a dilemma we had to solve there.”
“Yeah,” Henry agrees. He scrambles toward his pillow and slides beneath his blankets. “That was a mystery.”
I settle Caleb in beside him and tuck the blankets up to their chins.
“Justin?” Caleb’s voice is quiet when he says my name.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Henry and me? We’re like baby bears.”
I smile. “Okay.”
“So, if Goldilocks shows up here, will she try your things first, or Mommy’s?”
My hand stills on his chest. Henry shines his flashlight upward, causing a big circle of light to spread across the ceiling.
“Um, Caleb? I’m not—” I stop. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around my thumb.
“I know,” he whispers. “But we can pretend you’re Papa Bear.”
I’m relieved when Henry shuts off the light just as the tears sneak in. I hold my breath and rest a hand on Caleb’s head before standing.
“Get some sleep now, okay you two?”
“Okay.” Caleb rolls onto his side. “Love you, Justin.”
“Me too,” Henry quips.
“Me three,” I reply.
I slip out of their room... my heart a couple of sizes bigger.
Chapter 3
Sleep finally came to me in the early hours, and it’s late morning when I drag myself out of bed, splash water on my face, and head to the main farmhouse. It sits on a hill, slightly raised above the two smaller houses. All three were originally made of old stucco painted yellow. We added a little mud mixed with wheat threshing to fill in the holes in the siding when we first came. Once it dried, it blended right in.
I take my time as I walk the short distance, enjoying the sun on my face. The morning air is crisp but not cold. All my life the weather has fallen somewhere between blazing hot and mildly cool, but never cold. Long ago, the Fall made sure it was always harvesting season. I guess that’s one thing we can thank it for.
I shoo away a chicken pecking at a new, green tomato on its vine as I pass through the vegetable garden, and hands on hips, I pause to look out over the lands. The wheat is tall and golden, glistening in the sunshine. The perpetual potato fields stretch with rich blackness toward the forest. We’ve really made something of this place, and a tiny pinch of satisfaction at my part in its success teases me for a few minutes.
Aunt Penelope sits alone at the long table in the main kitchen, a half-drunk cup of tea and the Scriptures laid out in front of her. She glances up as the screen door smacks into place behind me.