Any physical contact I received at camp was mostly aggressive. Either I was being bullied by the likes of First Gridleigh or I was having the spit kicked out of me on the combat field as part of my training. It was nice to touch Fitallion’s cat, to gently pet its wiry hair, a soft and careful connection. And since the cat had tolerated my petting, I couldn’t resist reaching over to pick it up, wanting to hold it, hug it. I had crossed a line. The thing hissed at me, squirming from my hands and jumping to the floor. With an annoyed flick of its tail, it sauntered off, but not before glaring at me in indignation one last time.
I felt rejected, then embarrassed for feeling rejected by a cat. I slumped over, rubbing my eyes as I called out after it, “If you don’t want to comfort me, then you aren’t welcome in my bed!”
“That’s completely inappropriate.”
I jumped out of my bunk, whirling to face the door. Winslow stood on the front step, much to my dismay. I dropped my face to the floor, trying to hide the scorching blush as I mumbled, “I was talking to the cat.”
“Apparently that’s your problem—talking when you shouldn’t. What happened between you and Gridleigh? He’s claiming you insulted him.”
“He was eager to find offense. Honestly, it was impossible not to insult him. He suggested talking to Instructor Bardzecki about assigning me to a new format, and I think he meant his, and I...”
“Yes?” Winslow asked, urging me to continue.
“Well, I was resistant to the idea, which he didn’t appreciate.”
“Is it true that you instigated the fight by taking the first swing?”
“I elbowed him,” I admitted. “So technically I guess that’s true, but he touched me first. He grabbed my hair and was jerking me around. I couldn’t take it!”
Winslow sighed. “It’s not your fault.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“Fights are not uncommon. They’re usually ignored, but if Gridleigh pursues this and informs Instructor Bardzecki, then I’m not sure what will happen.”
“Is it true? Can First Gridleigh convince Instructor Bardzecki to switch me to his format?”
“Gridleigh is a first. His word will hold more sway than yours, and when one takes into account your previous behavior...” Winslow let his words trail off, letting me know just how bad things could get.
“But why?” I asked, my voice getting slightly higher as I began to panic. “Nobody wants me on their format! I’ve heard the soldiers talking and I know I’m ruining your chance at trials, so why would anyone want me on their format?”
“It’s complicated,” Winslow said. “But I wouldn’t worry yet. I doubt Gridleigh will report the incident.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No,” he shook his head, “because he’d have to admit to beating up a girl.”
I shrugged. “I get beat up at combat training every day.”
He sat down on the bed beside me. “It’s not the same.”
The conversation had been flowing naturally, and I’d just shared more sentences with Winslow than ever before. I wanted to keep talking, never stop, but our words dried up. He sat forward, head bent as his neck brushed the underside of the top bunk. He was so tall, and broad, radiating heat. I sucked up the feeling, remembering it all so I could maybe one day tell Lizzie. Or maybe not. Maybe I’d keep the memory all to myself.
“Here,” he said, breaking the silence. He thrust a thick cream-colored envelope at me. “I thought you could use it right now.”
He stood up, and I would have been disappointed, but I was too distracted by the letter. It was addressed to me, the words penned in my sister’s spidery handwriting.
“Frost,” Winslow said, drawing my attention back to him. “Are you going to be alright?”
I nodded.
He was standing on the threshold, ready to leave, but he seemed weighed down by something. Almost reluctantly, he asked, “Why did you run?”
“He was hurting me,” I said, thinking the answer was fairly obvious.
“No, I mean, why did you run out of the convene? Our whole format left the table to help when they saw what was going on, why didn’t you just wait for them?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted after a time. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking. I just rushed off to where I felt safest.”
He was frowning when he left. I got the feeling he was unhappy with my answer.
Chapter 17
Dearest Fiona,
You are the talk of the town! No one will shut up about it. At first Mum was so embarrassed she refused to go to town. Not even to select this season’s goods, which you know she loves to do. She just put it off, longer and longer, until we were eating corn for every meal. Eventually Da hitched up the wagon and said he would go by himself to get our supplies. But then, hating the idea of being left out, Mum changed her mind. She made him wait for over an hour, the poor horses standing there ready to go while she put on her magenta and teal gown, you know, the one with the ruffles. Well you can bet I wasn’t going to miss a trip to town, so I got ready too, putting on my sky green dress, you know it, it’s the one that makes my hair glow. We looked very fine, and I was dying to see Meg and tell her what happened. But guess what! The Flints had already heard and so had everybody else! One of the soldiers had written home about you, and my how news has traveled! You are famous! Oh, I’m so jealous, how I wish everyone would be thinking and gossiping about me!
You wouldn’t believe how my hand is hurting from all this writing, Fiona, and I haven’t even gotten to the very best part! I’m in love!!! And it’s all thanks to you. Five days after you left, your replacement arrived. I could tell Da wasn’t happy about it, but he’d been struggling without you, so he let Davies stay! That’s his name. Davies. He is so tall and handsome, though I have noticed that his teeth overlap, and he sort of hunches a bit. But I hardly notice all that because I love him! And his teeth only overlap a little, and not the front two, because that would be dreadful, but oh how I love him, Fiona!
He sleeps in the barn but takes his meals with us. And I think Mum loves him nearly as much as I do. She’s always bussing his cheeks and feeding him sweets. Da wasn’t friendly at first, but it has been a few days and I think he is finally coming around. I heard him laugh real hard at something Davies said as they were coming into the kitchen, and Da clapped him on the back as if Davies were his own son.
I’m going to marry him, Fiona, but don’t think I have forgotten my promise, I’ll wait for you to be a bridesmaid! Oh, how my hand hurts! Write me back, must go, ta!
Love, Lizzie
P.S. How are you?
On the back of Lizzie’s letter two short messages were scrawled. The first was from my mother.
Fiona,
Things fell behind when you left but then Davies came, and I’m sure Lizzie told you all about it, so everything is alright now. We got your letter and I know you said you were fine, but I still worry they aren’t feeding you enough. Are they? You will write and tell me if they are not.
Mum
My father’s message was even shorter.
Take care of yourself and don’t worry about the farm. –Da
I folded the paper gently, slipping it back into its envelope. I then had nothing left to do but think as there were no tasks left to keep my mind occupied, so it wandered. I imagined going home, or rather being sent home after stealing the instructor’s birdbane. It would be dinner when I walked through the door, and Davies would be sitting in my chair. I had a feeling it would fit him better, more comfortably, than it had ever fit me. I had been replaced. And it was a good thing I hadn’t been sent home after all. I couldn’t help but be intensely relieved and grateful for that fact. I had been spared the inevitable moment when I would realize that I was the interloper in my own house. Well, not spared, the moment had come regardless, but at least I was in the privacy of my shed when it hap
pened. The shed—my new home. I desperately wanted my mirror just then, needing to hold it, but its comfort was just out of reach for a few days more.
* * *
Instructor McMoore taught Shetheerie. He was my favorite teacher, probably because he seemed more scholar than soldier. His classroom was one of the many instruction facilities that sat along the northernmost border of camp, and my format combined there with the ninth for his lessons.
Upon entering, the first thing I noticed was Instructor McMoore scribbling furiously on a blackboard, completely absorbed in his work. The soldiers milled around socializing, and neither teacher nor student seemed eager to begin.
The first few rows always sat empty, and I took a seat there, not minding the close proximity to McMoore. Roth and Fitallion followed in my wake. They often shadowed me, but they had been less subtle about it as of late. Roth sat to my right and Fitallion made to move around my chair and take the open space on my left, but Edwards flung himself down first. Gracious as ever, Fitallion moved away to find another seat without protest. Edwards tipped his head toward me saying, “The weather is looking very fair today.”
I thought that was a rather bland and pointless thing to say, but since he was attempting to be friendly, I smiled at him in reply. Since I’d often been ignored by my peers back home, I was unsure of how to participate in a proper conversation and therefore kept quiet more often than not. Roth, who had been listening, didn’t hesitate to say what I had been thinking. “Yes, the weather was scheduled to be lovely, as it always is the third day of the week. What of it?”
Edwards must’ve been familiar with Roth’s frank attitude, because he was only slightly put off by it. Leaning forward to hang over the desk, he replied, “I was only making conversation with the lady.”
“She’s not a lady, she’s a soldier, and Winslow’s gonna tan your hide if you keep it up,” Roth warned.
I kept my eyes trained forward, doing my best to ignore the conversation. I was relieved when Instructor McMoore finally remembered he was supposed to be teaching and turned to begin. As usual the lesson was hard to follow since it was spoken mostly in Shetheerie. Nothing left me more frustrated and irate than being ignorant, so I opened my textbook and continued to study at my own pace.
At the end of class Instructor McMoore stopped me as the last of the soldiers filed out. “I saw you reading your book. Are you making progress?”
I wasn’t sure if I should apologize for neglecting his lesson. “I’m caught up in all the classes except Shetheerie. It is far more challenging, but I expect to be following along in class by next week.” That was sort of an apology.
McMoore’s face scrunched up, little wrinkles forming around each eye. “Frost, no one expects you to come along six months into a class and pick it up immediately. And you can’t learn everything you need to know from a book, it’ll take more than that. You need help. Have you asked Fitallion to help you review what you’ve read?”
“No,” I admitted.
McMoore pushed a delicate pair of wire-rim spectacles back up; they were forever slipping down the narrow bridge of his nose. He continued, using a voice that suggested he was breaking bad news. “Learning another language is like learning how to play a musical instrument. It will take a lot of time and practice.”
My father had never discouraged me, and hearing it from Instructor McMoore rankled. Only knowing that he was trying to be helpful kept the annoyance from my voice. “I will think on what you have said. Thank you for the advice, instructor. Good day.” I turned on my heel, heading for the door. And yet I didn’t miss the look on his face. Eyes wide and mouth flapping; I’d left him stupefied.
My parting words had all been spoken in Shetheerie.
* * *
It was the fifth day of the week—a rain day. All night clouds had been gathering in the sky. I’d watched as they lumbered from the horizon, blotting out the stars one by one. I’d been on night-watch with Jackson. He was a farmer, but from a distant community in the sector I hadn’t heard of. He spent the entire two hours reminiscing about home. He had a habit of it, and the format was forever groaning for him to shut up. I didn’t complain though, I didn’t even mind really, because I felt somewhat bad that he was so obviously homesick. I had learned that sometimes a boy from the farming sector would prefer, and be more suited for, military life. In such cases the soldier was allowed to continue with the training program instead of returning home. Jackson would not be one of those soldiers. That was not to say he couldn’t cut it, he did well at camp, but his heart just wasn’t in it. By the time our shift was over I could tell that he liked me, or at least disliked me less than he had. Growing up with an effusive mother and sister, I had learned the art of listening early on, and I knew its power.
By the time I woke up to shower and start my chores the clouds had completely taken over, blanketing the sky. It wasn’t easy to hurry through each task. I was weary and exhausted, but I wanted to beat the rain so I hustled. I was hauling laundry when the sun started rising, though very little light escaped through the unfriendly gray mass above.
Beneath the convene was a hive of activity. The women who volunteered there had husbands working at camp or stationed nearby up at the airfield. They were, for the most part, older, their children already grown, with little left to fill their time. They kept 601 soldiers fed and clothed. And from what I could tell, it was a thankless job.
Mave was waiting for me. Before I could even tap on the glass partition she was waving me through the door. At some point I had overcome my aversion to being there. At first I had despised the laundry trips I had to make each day. I’d gather up my mates’ sheets, or the dirty clothes they left lying around everywhere, and try to sneak into the basement and drop it all off without being noticed. It never worked. The smooth adobe walls echoed the sound of my approach, and they were always waiting to pounce. Though I soon discovered that, while curious and talkative, they were not malicious. In fact, they seemed to have my best interests at heart. Often flocking to me, a bunch of twittering hens, they would ask if I needed anything, and much to my dismay, pet my hair. So, at some point or other, my dislike seemed to melt away and I no longer avoided the chore.
Mave was my favorite. She had a no-nonsense attitude that belied her girlish, high voice. She seemed to be in charge, though whether the position was officially delegated to her or assumed, I wasn’t sure; everyone just did what she said, because regardless, Mave was a natural born leader.
I followed her through the swinging doors, into the back room where the boiling vats sat steaming. The ladies were always up before dawn, either preparing breakfast or heating up the giant tubs with water. The air was thick with moisture, my clothes seeming to smother and stick in an instant.
“I heard you had some trouble with Gridleigh,” Mave said. She stopped near one of the vats, gesturing for me to drop the clothes inside.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “He doesn’t seem to like me much, though Winslow said it wasn’t my fault.”
She nodded while pulling a piece of chalk from her pocket. “He’s right. Gridleigh’s been sore with him for years, long before you came along.” Marking the vat with a big forty-four on the side, she used the chalk to keep track of our laundry.
“What do you mean? Did Gridleigh and Winslow grow up together?” I asked, plopping in the last of our clothes.
“They’re cousins,” Mave answered, before turning to find the soap.
I followed in her wake, having established a routine over the last few days. I knew she could barely reach the laundry soap. Mave was as short as her personality was tall. I’d have to stretch up and pull it down for her. “Cousins?” I repeated, hardly believing it. “But I thought they tried to separate family members at training camp. To reduce distractions.”
“There’s only so many convenes in the Triangle Patch, and if a fam
ily is big enough, not as many as it’ll take to put ‘em.”
“How do you know all this? Did you live near them when they were little?”
“Of course,” she said lightly. Adding, “They are my nephews.”
“Your nephews! And all three of you here at the same camp,” I said, taken aback. My arms must have gone slack from shock because Mave hurried forward to scoop the soap from them.
“Four,” she corrected. “Instructor Bardzecki is my brother.”
“What!” I exclaimed.
“Hush up,” Mave answered while leading me back to the vat. “No need to cause a ruckus.”
“Instructor Bardzecki,” I said, shaking my head. “Are you sure?”
She seemed to find that amusing. “Aye, he’s my brother, I’m sure. And I have three others, and two sisters, too. Corissa is Winslow’s mother, and Bet is Gridleigh’s. Life in the military is a Bardzecki family tradition.”
“And they never got along?”
She paused, seeming to think very hard as she measured out the soap, and only after pouring it into the bubbling water did she deign to speak. “There is something you have to understand about the Bardzecki family—we were bred for the military, and our name is known throughout the ranks. My father, my brothers, they were especially sought out and recruited for Providence because of their reputation. As a family we decided to come here, all of us, spouses, children, and even my grandparents. There was so many of us, and not all ready to depart at the same time, that we were separated onto three ships, but... but only two made it. Gridleigh’s da was on the ship that didn’t.”
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