Seed Page 13

  I try not to remember the figure in the darkness, because when I do, a strange fear begins to creep into me. And Seed isn’t a place for fear.

  Last night, I watched them come back through the fields. Two figures in the black shadows, side by side. She could not hide, not with her hair catching in the moonlight.

  And today I keep this blonde girl as my child. Through my glass, I watch as she picks the lettuce. She works slowly, carefully. Sometimes, she takes a leaf from the edge and eats it. Sometimes she stretches her arms up toward the sky.

  The door of my prison opens and he is here. I don’t have time to step back, to pretend that I haven’t been watching.

  “Have you been looking out the window?” he asks, so close to me. I shake my head and he knows that it is not the truth.

  He strikes my face so hard that I fall. The floor hits me. I put my arms over my head, but this time there is no more.

  “I am sorry,” he whispers in my ear. “But you know you have done wrong.”

  Wrong?

  He is spooning the stew into my mouth as if I am a baby. My baby. My baby. I swallow. The soup is almost cold, but it is all that I have. And in it, there is the blackness.

  Yet sleep is not long enough. It’s not far enough away.

  Soon. Soon I will be strong enough to go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Nana Willow’s eyes are open wide when I walk into her room. She’s sitting up and she watches me as I step toward her. I concentrate on the small tray that I’m holding, try to stop the glass clinking onto the bowl. I have never fed Nana Willow, it is always Heather or Elizabeth. The sweet smell of the soup crawls up my nose, but I don’t want to breathe through my mouth.

  She is still watching me. Carefully, I put the tray down on the small table next to her bed. I have to look up at her. The skin on her neck twists as her face is turned toward me. I try to smile, but she doesn’t smile back. Her lips are now as pale as her skin, with lines of red where they have cracked.

  “I have brought your food, Nana Willow,” I say. She doesn’t answer. She just looks at me with her old eyes that know a thousand things. Does she think I’m Sylvie? Do I dare to ask?

  There’s a chair next to the table, so I pull it around. When I sit on it, my knees are touching her bed.

  “Are you comfortable?” I ask her. There are pillows behind her back and her blanket is pulled almost to her chin. She nods her head.

  I reach for the bowl. It’s too full and I’m shaking and I’m worried that I shall spill it. But I dip the spoon in, blow gently on the soup, and slowly bring it to Nana Willow’s lips. She opens her mouth like a child, her ancient tongue poking out slightly as I tip the soup so she can drink. And all the time, she watches me.

  Again, I put the spoon in. Again Nana Willow drinks. And again. There’s just the sound of the spoon scraping, Nana Willow’s catlike breathing, and the sound of the soup as she swallows it.

  She hasn’t even eaten half the bowl when she turns her head away. Her lips are shut and she won’t accept the spoon.

  “Is that enough?” I ask her. She nods. The spoon sinks into the soup as I put the bowl back on the tray.

  There are tears on Nana Willow’s cheeks.

  “Nana Willow?” I ask quietly. But now she won’t look at me. “Are you hurting?” I ask her. She shakes her head.

  Suddenly her fingers are around my wrist. She’s squeezing my skin.

  “She didn’t die,” she says, her voice rasping. “When Sylvie had her baby, she didn’t die.” But then her eyes turn in panic toward the window, where the curtains are pulled back from the skin of the glass and the black night looks in. She lets go of my wrist and pulls her blanket up to her neck.

  “But Elizabeth said she died,” I say. Nana Willow shakes her head violently. “Then where is she? Where did Sylvie go?”

  Nana Willow doesn’t move. Something has scared her. I get up and walk to the window and my hand reaches for the curtains. There’s someone there. Out there, looking in, watching us. A man. Is it Papa S.? I yank the curtains shut, but hold on to the thick material, trying to steady my breathing.

  My arms are shaking as I turn back to Nana Willow. Her eyes are closed. As I step closer, I can see that tears have dried in streaks on her cheeks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  We follow Papa S. and Kate through the meadow. Only a few of us fit through the gap in the hedge at a time, but we spill through it like water and walk toward the woods. The children are chasing each other with sticks. Kindred Smith grabs Ruby as she runs past and swings her high in the air. I can hear Linda laughing as she walks close to him. I can’t see Papa S.’s face, but I know he must be smiling.

  We are quieter when we reach the trees. They make a path for us and we hush to be able to hear the whisper of their leaves. Even the children start to slow down as we walk through the scattered light.

  “I wish Elizabeth were here,” Jack whispers to me. I squeeze his hand because I know how much he misses her. But she’s alone in the house, just her and Nana Willow.

  Sylvie didn’t die. I can’t forget those words. And I can still feel Nana Willow’s fingers on my wrist, but they’re forced away as we reach the clearing. Papa S.’s Worship Chair sits in the middle. I won’t think about what lies underneath, deep in the ground. Instead I will look at how it gleams, where someone has polished its arms and legs.

  Quietly, we form a circle, as Papa S. walks to the middle and sits down on the chair. The sun shines on him and his whole body is covered in light.

  We all join hands, making our circle, our family. No beginning, no end. The feeling of happiness spreads through me again, glows among us.

  Slowly, Papa S. tips his face toward the sky. We copy him, and above us the color is a striking blue. There is one white cloud. We look up and wait for the sign. At first, there is nothing and then a bird swoops into view, its wings outstretched, its body floating in the curve of the sky.

  “We worship you,” Papa S. calls out. We copy his words. Ellis, Kate, every one of us.

  “We worship you,” we say together. “We worship you.” Over and over, louder and louder. “We worship you!” Until the words spin in my head and my body seems to float from the ground. The worship soaks through my skin and embeds itself in my bones, turning them to dust. My voice is all that’s left.

  Gradually we become quieter. Gradually our words fade into the air and we stand in silence under the ceiling of sky.

  “We are done,” Papa S. says. I look at the circle around me and I know that everyone has been with me to that place. Linda leans her head into Kindred Smith as she whispers words I cannot hear. This is her first time in the worship circle, and her face is layered with happiness.

  We watch Papa S. He is rubbing his arms, nodding his head. “Nature has told me,” he suddenly says, “that our eyes have become greedy. Our mouths too. We have neglected our hands, the gift of touch.” We listen, waiting. “Now we shall go back to our house. Nature has ordered me to take your eyes from you.”

  There is a sharp breath from Bobby. But Papa S. laughs.

  “Your eyes are a gift from her,” he says, smiling. “I will not take them forever. I have been told to simply cover them. For one whole day, you will see with your hands.”

  That is all he says, it is all he needs to say. His words make me uneasy, but when I look at Papa S.’s warm face, I know I must trust him. We follow him from the clearing, through the watching trees, back toward Seed.

  I wait outside Papa S.’s room. Jack goes before me and when he comes out, his eyes are covered by a blindfold, his steps timid, his arms stammering.

  “Are you there, Pearl?” he asks. I tap him on the shoulder without a word. “Pearl?” I tap his other shoulder. He spins around. “Who is it?” he asks.

  “It’s me.” I laugh.

  “Where are you?” He’s smiling.

  “Here,” I say.

  “It’s your turn now. I’ll wait for you,” he says.
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  I don’t hesitate. I push open the door and Papa S. is standing there, smiling at me. Across his hands lies a strip of black cloth.

  “Come closer, Pearl,” he says. And I go to him. “Turn around,” he says. And I do. I am looking at his closed door when I hear him step up to me. He is rarely this close to me. His arm brushes my shoulder and then the blindfold is over my eyes and I can see nothing.

  At once, I hear more. His gentle breathing. The ticking of a clock. The sound of the material slipping against itself as Papa S. ties it into a knot. Then he places his hands over my eyes, over the blindfold. I can feel his skin, his very being, through the tiny strip of black and I feel a strength I have never known. If it was not forbidden, I think I might cry.

  Then Papa S. steps away from me. His hands have left me and I feel suddenly cold.

  “You are done,” he says, his voice behind me. His hand is on my elbow as he leads me to the door. There is the sound of it opening and as I leave Papa S., the door closes behind me.

  “Jack?” I ask.

  “I’m here,” he says, somewhere beside me. I reach out and he must too, because his hand is there and now he holds mine.

  Papa S. is right. I notice so much more. The smallest noises. The gentleness of my skirt, the rough surface of the dining table. The breeze on my face. I listen more when people speak. I want to hear every word they say.

  And everything is more difficult in this bubble of black. Even walking, we knock into each other. We’re clumsy as we fill the plates with food. I feel the knife near my fingers as I slice the bread.

  Ruby spends much of the day clinging to me, scared that she will be lost on her own. I wish that she could enjoy it as I do. Because somehow, it makes me feel even more alive. But she is too young and so I hold her hand as we walk toward the sweet-corn field, where we will work this afternoon.

  “Where is Bobby?” she asks.

  “He will be near us somewhere.”

  “Bobby?” Ruby calls, but no one replies.

  Slowly, we make our way. My fingers feel nothing, until they hit the bramble hedge. We follow it until we walk steadily through the hole, my arm pulled forward in the air.

  I hear the sound of the corn rustling before I feel them. Touch the height of the plants with my hands, feel their thick leaves, the ears ready for picking. There are rows and rows of them.

  “Can I give you the basket now?” Ruby asks. I reach out until I feel the roughness of its weave.

  It will be difficult to tell if the corn is ripe with blindfolds on. I won’t be able to squeeze the liquid out of the kernels and check for its milky color. I’ll just have to guess and hope that I’m not wrong.

  “Ruby!” We hear Bobby call. Ruby giggles and I hear her walking away, her body brushing the leaves as she pushes through the stalks toward his voice. Then nothing. I stop, listen, but now it is only the corn knocking in the breeze. I reach up to try to pick one.

  My hands hit something. Someone.

  “Ruby?” I ask. I go to feel her face, but a hand holds my wrist back gently. I know it’s not her. This person is too tall. The breathing too low.

  “Ellis?” I whisper. I feel his fingers sliding through my hair. “Is that you?”

  The fingers are on my face. On my neck. The hand sweeps over my chest, to my waist. It feels wrong. I want to take off my blindfold, but I daren’t.

  “Ellis?” I ask again. The hand is on my skirt and I push it away. I hear his breathing. I reach up to feel his face. There is the coarseness of hair, of a beard. He stops my scream by pressing on my mouth. He has hold of my wrist. But I shake my head free from him.

  “Ruby,” I shout and it makes him drop my arm.

  I run blindly away from him. The leaves of the corn hit at me and I can’t find my way through.

  “Kate!” I call, but she doesn’t answer. I’m blind as I reach out into the beating air, as I stumble through the endless plants.

  “Pearl.” It’s Rachel’s voice. I follow it with my hands. She is here. I touch her face and the skin is smooth. “Did you get lost?” There is a smile in her voice.

  I must not cry. There is nothing to cry about. Rachel is here and I am safe.

  At the end of the day, we take off our blindfolds. Everyone else is laughing, blinking in the evening sun. I’m free of the material that bound my eyes. But that touch is still on me, his breathing is in me. I try to push the thoughts away as Jack runs up.

  “It’s nice to see you again.” He laughs. “It made you think, though, didn’t it? Not being able to see.”

  “Yes,” I say.

  It feels like my blindfold is now pulled tight across my mouth. The truth soaks into the material and stays trapped there.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I’m collecting eggs when I hear the scream. It’s coming from the work barn. It’s Jack, or Ellis.

  Before I even reach the barn, they’re bringing Ellis out. There is blood. Everywhere, there is blood. Kindred Smith and Jack half carry, half drag him onto the driveway. Kindred John walks behind them. They’ve tried to wrap a sheet around Ellis, but I can see. His hand is not there. There is no hand, it is gone and the white sheet is soaked with red.

  “Ellis!” It’s Linda. She runs from the house, still clutching a cloth from the kitchen. She kneels beside him and touches his face. He’s completely still. Ellis’s blood is on her fingers. “What happened?” No one answers. “You need to hurry.” But no one moves. “You have to take him to the hospital!” Linda is shouting at us.

  “We can’t do that,” Kindred John says. I see his beard and I drown the thought it brings.

  Linda pushes the sheet into Ellis. “But I can’t stop the bleeding.”

  This can’t be Ellis. He is strong. But this person is not moving. His eyes are rolled back in his head.

  “Do something,” Linda screams at Kindred Smith. For a second he looks stunned, but then he turns to Kindred John.

  “He must go to the hospital,” he says firmly. Kindred John seems to want to speak. “We don’t have time.” And Kindred Smith pushes him out of the way. He stumbles as he begins to lift Ellis.

  “You are taking him to the hospital?” I ask. I feel numb. Jack is helping Kindred Smith to put Ellis into the front seat of the van.

  Linda tries to clamber into the seat next to her son.

  “You have to stay here,” Kindred Smith tells her. But he has panic in his eyes.

  “No!” she screams.

  “I will take Ellis,” Kindred John says. And before anyone can question him, he runs around to the front seat and he is starting the engine. Kindred Smith pulls Linda away from the door. He holds her close to him, so that she cannot see as the van disappears around the side of the house. It will go down the driveway. It will go to the hospital on the Outside.

  Jack is next to me. He’s covered in Ellis’s blood. There is some smudged down his cheek. I reach up and touch it. It’s still wet.

  “What happened?” I ask, although my words hardly form. Jack is looking at the house, where the van disappeared. “Jack?” I ask again. He turns to look at me and he opens his mouth, but he can’t seem to speak.

  “It was an accident,” Kindred Smith says. He is stroking Linda’s hair as he leads her toward the house.

  “What happened, though?” I ask. I can see Sophie running back through the fields.

  “I don’t know,” Jack finally says. “Kindred John was with him.”

  Sophie rushes up. She’s gasping for breath, but I know what she wants to ask. I bend down to her. There’s blood on my skirt as I take her onto my lap.

  “Ellis is hurt,” I say. But I am scared as I say it. I don’t want to tell her that they’ve taken him to the hospital.

  “Can I see him?” she asks. She is staring at the blood on Jack’s shirt and her bottom lip begins to tremble.

  “They have taken him to make him better,” I say. Bobby comes up and he starts to cry. “Hush now,” I say. I look toward the house and I can’t se
e Papa S., but Bobby is crying. “Come on. I need help with the eggs in the barn.” I take Sophie’s and Bobby’s hands in mine and we walk away. Away from Ellis’s blood on the driveway.

  The egg is smooth and still warm. I lift it from where it lies, curled in the straw, and put it carefully in the basket. I look through the barn door, the frame of daytime, but there is no one there. All I can see in my mind is Ellis’s blood. Red as berries.

  Kindred John has taken him. He’ll look after him, won’t he? The sound of the corn knocking is loud in my mind.

  Sophie stayed by my side for a while, but now she and Bobby run in and out of the straw, hunting for golden gifts from the chickens. If I was a child, I too could cut Ellis from my mind. Forget how his face was so strangely tipped back. His beautiful face. Because I know now that even someone from the Outside can be beautiful. And the thought of him in a hospital makes me feel so sick that I have to breathe and keep looking at the patch of sky.

  I need to talk to Kate, but she’s still Papa S.’s Companion. Who will tell her about Ellis? I want to be the one, so that I can hold her hand and we can talk and know that the doctors won’t hurt him and he will come home soon.

  I can’t be in here any longer. I have to find Jack. I watch my hands put down the basket on the dry mud floor, and I hear myself walk out of the barn and into the air so that I can breathe again.

  I see Jack straight away. He’s sitting at the table in the meadow, alone. His head is bent forward, his hands around a glass in front of him. He doesn’t hear me as I go up.

  “Jack?” I ask quietly. He jumps a little, tries to smile, but his jaw is set rigid. Sitting next to him, I put my head on his arm. Ellis’s blood has dried on his shirt. I reach out to touch it. It’s hard, cold. But it is part of Ellis. And I want to find him, push it back into him.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” Jack shakes his head, as though trying to free his thoughts.

  “Were you with him?”