Greenhouse

by Stephanie Mylchreest

  What do they use the seed pods for?

  We both shrug, although I know a secret about the rows of poppies growing in the fields outside Vineyard Haven. Mother told me she takes a small basketful every season. She does this at night when she won’t be seen. She cuts the unripe seed pods and harvests the milky fluid that seeps out once it dries. She makes a pain-relieving medicine from the resin. But she swore me to secrecy. It is the one secret I’ve kept from Rich. It’s strictly forbidden to take the poppies.

  As we sail, Delphine occasionally asks Rich or myself a question about our life, and she seems very interested when she learns I am training to be a healer. I show her my medical kit and explain some skills I have learnt from my mother. She examines the tiny glass bottles filled with various tinctures, holding each one up to the sun to better examine the contents. Her hand rests on mine as we converse.

  Delphine reminds Rich repeatedly to feed her dog and Rich promises to go daily to walk and play with Max. Even if Rich hates Delphine’s plan, he loves animals and Max’s company will be good for him.

  “Does Max help you, you know, when you can’t hear things?” asks Rich.

  He’s superb at communicating when I’ve missed something, like a knock at the door. But mostly he’s just my dog.

  “Will you be okay without him?” I ask her. She nods sadly.

  I’m lost in my own thoughts when Delphine jumps to her feet and points back to the island. For a second I imagine that she’s seen a huge wave roaring towards the island. I also clamber to my feet. But when I scan the horizon, there is nothing but a thin trail of smoke rising out of the water close to the island’s shore.

  “What is it Delphine, what did you see?”

  Something fell out of the sky. Did you see it too?

  I shake my head and read the note to Rich. We both look at him expectantly but he also shakes his head. Neither of us saw a thing.

  “What did it look like?” asks Rich.

  It was large and round but it had some kind of sail suspended above it. It was moving fast and there was a flash, like an explosion, right before it fell into the water over near the smoke. Can we go over there to investigate?

  Rich reads the note and stares back at the smoke. “We can’t risk going back so close to the island Delphine, not if you want to continue to the mainland today.” I can tell that he is annoyed by Delphine’s request and I’m also surprised that she would contemplate going back.

  It was strange. I’ve seen nothing like it.

  I read the note without passing it to Rich. I shrug my shoulders. We both realize that Rich won’t be turning back without calling off the entire plan. She folds herself into a sitting position, hugging her knees to her chest.

  I move to help Rich lay out the nets and to cast a few lines out. He must return to the island with fish if he is to convince Father he has been out fishing all day. I listen to Rich as he complains about how he must sort through the plastic and other debris each time he pulls in his net.

  “Can you keep some intact bottles if you find any?” I ask him. “I have an idea for the sewage-gas machine. I want to float the gas collector on the slurry directly and see if it solves some of our supply issues.”

  “Sure, brother,” Rich grins at me. “You’ve always loved that dung heap.” I’m enjoying my brother’s company. It’s rare that we have had the opportunity to sail together.

  The smoke that Delphine noticed plays on my mind. I’m curious about what Delphine saw fall and crash into the ocean. I bring it up again when we get a moment together.

  “Have you thought any more about what fell from the sky?”

  It was round and metallic with a billowing sail above it. But I have no idea what it was.

  “Did you get a good look at it? It sounded like it was moving fast.”

  It was. You’re right. I only saw it briefly, but it was most unusual.

  We discuss the possibilities and I promise her we’ll investigate it on our return to the island.

  As we fly across the turquoise water, I turn to the sun to feel the heat on my face. A salty breeze billows my tunic and fills the sails and the water glistens as we race away from the island. The hours pass quickly.

  “It looks like the weather is turning,” says Rich sometime later. We all look up at the ominous clouds blowing in from the east.

  “Do you think it will be bad?” I ask him.

  “I hope not,” he replies.

  Soon we can see our landing point on the mainland ahead. I’m filled, momentarily at least, with hope for the success of our mission.

  Chapter Four

  The fine details of the mainland grow sharper as we approach. The narrow beach is rocky and meets a wild, untamed forest. As we get closer, I watch curiously as Rich turns into the wind to halt our progress to the shore.

  “What are you doing Rich?”

  “Chris, I won’t be able to go all the way in, I told you that. It’s risky coming this close. I don’t want anyone to recognize our boat.”

  I assess the distance to the shore and tell him: “Well, we can’t swim that far.”

  “You can take the dinghy,” he says, pointing at the small boat lashed to the side of the sailboat. I glance at the dinghy and then I look back to shore. It looks like a sizeable distance even with a boat.

  “Are you sure that boat will make it?” I ask. “It looks like a storm will start.”

  “The sea is calm at the moment and the current will help you. You won’t be in danger of capsizing.” Rich speaks rapidly and seems agitated.

  “Are you okay, brother?”

  Rich ignores my question and scans the shoreline. Delphine looks around apprehensively. “I’ve never been this close to the mainland. I really think you guys should get going. It’s too conspicuous having the boat this close,” Rich says.

  “You’re right.”

  Delphine and I gather our things while Rich unlashes the dinghy from the side of the fishing boat.

  “I’ll be back in exactly two weeks to pick you up. Set out from the shore at high sun and keep a lookout for the boat. Remember to use Block Island as your marker.” He points to a small, forested island close by.

  Delphine kisses Rich on the cheek and holds his hand tightly for a moment before she lowers herself into the dinghy. Rich’s nervousness is catching and I scan the shoreline. Something catches my eye and I am pointing it out to Rich when a gunshot rings out. I grab my shotgun on instinct and aim it towards the shore. My heart is pounding loudly in my ears.

  Rich and I both freeze for a moment and stare down at Delphine, who is watching me and reaching for her shotgun. Someone fires another shot in our direction. “Go, go, go!” yells Rich, as he scrambles to turn the sail.

  We both know I have to go now. Delphine has no hope of getting back in the boat without being shot at and we are easy targets where we stand. Without thinking further, I drop my bag and shotgun into the dinghy and dive off the side of the boat. The water is cold and salt stings my eyes. I surface quickly, swim to the dinghy and haul myself into it. It rocks back and forth as Delphine and I hold on exchanging desperate looks.

  Someone fires more shots and I pull Delphine down into the bottom of the small dinghy. I peer over the edge and watch as Rich and his boat pick up the wind and sail away. Delphine stares at me, her eyes wide with fear.

  “We’ll be okay,” I whisper.

  I lift the top of my head over the edge of the dinghy once more and look towards the shore. I can’t see anyone but I daren’t risk trying to paddle. So instead we stay prone in the bottom of the boat. The sky overhead is darkening. I pray that it’s not a severe storm—or worse, a hurricane—on its way.

  We drift at the mercy of the current. Every so often I peer over the edge and it seems like the shore is getting closer. “It’s been a while and there have been no shots,” I say to Delphine. I gingerly raise my head and look around. “I can’t see anyone. I’m going to try to row us to shore.” Delphine sits up and looks a
round cautiously. Her hand brushes my leg. I’m not sure if it was an accident or deliberate but I smile.

  I find my rhythm and soon we are only a hundred cubits from the shore. We cover the distance quickly. Dense forest grows up to the edge of the narrow yellow beach. We pull the dinghy up onto the sand and haul it towards the forest to hide it. I scan the ocean for Block Island and thankfully we have not drifted too far from it. I can’t see Rich’s boat and I’m grateful my brother got away safely.

  We have just finished pulling fallen branches over the dinghy when a voice rings out. “Don’t even think about moving pretty lady. And you sir, stop what you’re doing and walk slowly back to the beach with your girlfriend. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ve got a gun, and it’s trained right at your head.”

  I look around, aghast, but see no one. Delphine hasn’t heard the voice so I reach out and take her hand, pulling her back towards the beach. She looks at me bewildered.

  I mouth to her: “Someone is nearby with a gun. Stay calm.”

  Her face pales and she looks like she’s about to run but I hold her steady. We walk carefully to the beach and stand amongst the rocks, scrutinizing every shadow in the gloomy forest and waiting for our subjugator to reveal himself.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper to Delphine. She squeezes my hand.

  From the forest emerges a tall man, so thin he is emaciated. He wears a thick coat unsuited to the weather and his hat is pulled low over his eyes. He must be my father’s age. At first I don’t notice the pustules covering his face and the back of his hands. Delphine seems to notice his disfigurement at the same time as I do and she takes a step back. I tighten my grip on her hand.

  “Well, what have we here? Two marooned sailors. That was a mighty fine boat that abandoned you. Where you from then?” His accent is drawn out and unfamiliar and he holds his battered shotgun uncomfortably. I see him leering at Delphine and I pull her behind me.

  “Easy there sailor, no sudden movements.” He cocks his gun and brings it a cubit from my face. I feel my hands shake.

  “We’re from New York,” I say. “We’re looking for my friend’s uncle.”

  “New York, huh? Never been to New York. Never seen this uncle of hers neither. I like the look of your friend though.” He lowers the gun and closes the gap between us. I try to shield Delphine but he pushes me roughly aside and grabs her arm. There is panic on her face and she lets out a high-pitched wail.

  “Let her go,” I shout. But the man just laughs and pulls Delphine into the forest. He keeps the gun trained on me. “Stop!” I yell. “Please. If you let her go, I’ll cure you…” I offer desperately.

  The man stops and trains the gun on my face. “What did you say?”

  I hesitate, certain this will be my last breath. “I’ll cure you. Of the pox.”

  He pulls Delphine closer and turns the gun on her. She shrieks, and he tightens his grip on her arm.

  “Please, take me. Let her go!”

  The man laughs and rubs his oozing, infected hand over Delphine’s face. She gags. I try to reassure her with a subtle shake of my head; the pox is not contagious at this stage of infection, but she is too distraught to notice me.

  “Will you cure your girlfriend too?” He smirks.

  “I promise you. I’ll give you something to stop the itching and the sores will mostly be gone by tomorrow. I’m a healer. I can fix you.” This causes the man to pause. “Please trust me. Please.”

  “If you’re lying kid, I’ll kill you both but not after I’m done having my way with your lady friend.”

  I take a while to find the plant I need in the forest. The man trails behind me, dragging Delphine and keeping his gun on my back. We had a pox outbreak on the island a few years ago. My mother showed me how to relieve the intense itching and how to treat and cure the infection. She inherited the remedy from her father, which made her the most respected healer on the island after the recent outbreak.

  Without my grandfather’s remedy, someone infected with the pox faced weeks of intense itching and pain. Often the pox resulted in terrible scarring as those inflicted cut open the sores with their own fingernails in an attempt to relieve the itching. The elders say the pox is the will of the Gods, a warning when someone strays from the divine prescriptions.

  I pound the leaves of the plant into a paste. The man sits stiffly, Delphine by his side, with the gun pointed at me as I work. When I’m finished, I hold out my hand in what I hope is taken as a calming gesture and approach him slowly. Delphine is watching me closely. The smell from the man’s rotting flesh is revolting, but I hold my breath and apply the paste in a thin layer. He recoils as I smooth it over his face but I speak quietly to him and he seems to relax. I take the stems from the plant and offer them to him.

  “You need to brew these in water and drink the liquid every two hours until the pox clears up,” I say. “You can also chew the stems once they’ve been boiled to help speed the healing.”

  He takes the stems and touches his face.

  “Thank you,” he says. His voice is softer now, less agitated.

  “It’s okay. I know how painful the pox can be.”

  I look over his shoulder to Delphine and mouth: “Are you okay?” She nods.

  “Do you mind if we go now?” I ask the man. I half expect him to shoot me for my impertinence but he offers me a smile.

  “I’m Jones,” he says. He holds out his hand and I shake it, trying not to brush the paste off as I do so. “So where were you headed?”

  “We are looking for Morris Grace. It’s an emergency.”

  “Sorry son, I don’t know any Morris Grace. You kids best be careful around here. Watch out for the tigers.”

  Was he joking? About the tigers? Delphine asks me later as we trudge alone through the forest.

  We are heading inland to where we hope to find her uncle. I’m starting to believe we may make it to the library. Although I suspect it’s not the last time we will come across Jones. He’ll likely be lingering around the dinghy when we try to leave the mainland and I hope to the Gods that the pox remedy has worked before we come across him again.

  We stop in a cool clearing to figure out our next steps. The sun casts dappled shadows on the ground, and the air is sweet and clean. I lose myself in the moment and lean in to kiss Delphine. She turns her head and my lips brush her cheek instead. My face flushes but Delphine reaches out to stroke my cheek.

  Not now. We are still in danger. We need to find my uncle first. He said they would settle in the hills and he would continue his wine making, so once we clear the forest we may find his winery or someone might know of him. There can’t be too many winemakers around?

  “You’re right,” I agree quickly. What else can I say?

  We make good time, passing through to the edge of the forest swiftly. We linger in the darkness of the trees—at the margin between forest and grasslands—reluctant to step into the fields. I sweep my gun left and right, looking for danger, as we scan the undulating hills for a winery.

  While we are scrutinizing the landscape, I ask: “Why did your uncle and his family leave the island?”

  He disagreed with the elders, just like my parents. But unlike them, he left in time.

  She doesn’t elaborate even when I raise my eyebrows for her to go on. Instead, Delphine raises her arm to point at something and she is right; there in the distance is the telltale pattern of a winery. I’m certain it’s Delphine’s uncle or someone else from the island. My father once told me that islanders plant their vineyards in much tighter rows than was typical, perhaps because we have less arable land.

  Delphine takes my hand and we push on, a renewed enthusiasm in our step. The winery looks to be only about one hundred and fifty chains away. We haven’t eaten since we were on Rich’s boat and I am ravenous. I mention this to Delphine but she shrugs and presses on.

  The walk doesn’t take us long and fortunately we pass no one along the way. I keep my hand on my shotgun though, just in ca
se. The countryside is a patchwork of dense forest, weedy scrubland and high-fenced plots that have been cleared to grow crops. I wonder about the farmers who are eking out an existence in these rugged, dangerous parts.

  When we reach the winery, we find a wooden palisade around the property; the stakes sharpened to vicious points. There is loud, fierce barking and within seconds I can see two large black dogs through narrow gaps in the palisade. They curl back their mouths and reveal razor-sharp teeth as they growl menacingly at us. Before I can stop her, Delphine crouches next to them and extends her hand through the gap.

  “Stop! Are you mad?” I yell, but her back is turned from me and she doesn’t hear. I lunge forward to push her away but I pull back at the last minute when one dog sniffs her and licks her hand. She smiles at me and writes in the dirt by her foot: this is it!

  Delphine’s uncle, Morris Grace, is not what I expected; he’s round and warmly welcoming. He hugs Delphine for a long time and then embraces me like a long-lost son. His wife Prue is more reserved, and she shakes my hand stiffly. Their daughter looks to be about our age and introduces herself as Millie. She can’t stop touching Delphine and stroking her hair but she looks at me warily.

  After we eat generous slices of fruitcake and drink mugs of hot, sweet tea, we tell our story of escape from Martha’s Vineyard and encounter with Jones. “I’ve heard of Jones,” says Morris. “He’s a rough character. You’re both very lucky to be here. So you’re really going to find the New York Public Library? It’s pretty tightly controlled.”

  “Who controls it?” I ask.

  “Some say Washington, but I don’t know for sure.” I have no idea what Washington is.

  “Will they be able to get what they want?” asks Millie.

  “It’s doubtful,” replies Morris. “I’ve not seen any books come out. But I’ll give you all the gold I can spare. They may allow you to trade.”

  “We need those books. Delphine is sure we will find evidence that will confirm her theory that the Great Floods are coming again.”