Away (4 page)

E
LIZABETH DABBED AT the corners of her mouth with her napkin—a fine linen napkin from a different era.

“That was, as usual, delicious, Vivian.”

Rachel's mother smiled from across the breakfast table. The two women had taken to eating together for most meals, and had developed, during the last weeks, an almost easy familiarity. It was a drastic change from how things had been for the last twelve years on The Property, when the lines between employee and employer were formally drawn and strictly observed. Rachel's Crossing had altered all of that.

“I'm glad you liked it. I'm hoping to pick up some more of that honey in town today.” Vivian's smile didn't overcome her wan complexion, or the deep lines around her mouth and eyes. She looked ten years older than she had a month before. She rose and began to clear the dishes. Elizabeth stood as well, and reached for a glass.

“You go start in the greenhouse,” said Vivian. “You'll only slow me down in here. I'll be out to help with the trays soon.”

“All right, come when you can, but no hurry. Jonathan will be out there by now.”

 

 

JONATHAN, MS. MOORE'S hired hand,
was
in the greenhouse, moving trays of orchid starts to the bench where Elizabeth and Vivian would pot them. He paused to watch Elizabeth approach. When she got inside the door he spoke.

“Is Ms. Quillen any better today?”

“Maybe a bit less exhausted looking. But she really has me worried.” Elizabeth shook her head. “Any word on Peter?”

“Nothing new,” said Jonathan. “I drove out past his place in town.”

“You what?”

“I was careful. Never slowed down a bit, just one more vehicle on the road.” He set the last of the trays on the bench.

“And?”

“Nothing. No sign of life there, no vehicle, shut up tight as a drum.” Jonathan tilted his ever-present hat back off his forehead and scratched an eyebrow with gnarled fingers. “I'd say he's gone. Whether the EOs took him or whether he went on his own is hard to tell.”

Elizabeth didn't reply. She thought it might be best if Enforcement Officers
had
taken Peter. She was afraid he had planned, that night he came to The Property, to turn Vivian in to the government. He must have thought he could get the authorities to release his wife and daughter in trade. Even Vivian, who had initially trusted him enough to ask him for help, was beginning to believe he might have betrayed her now.

Every night since Rachel had Crossed with Pathik, Elizabeth and Vivian had dissected that evening, looking at it from one vantage point and then another. They had talked it over and over, until all their words on the subject were smooth, well-worn stones. Vivian often tried to defend Peter's treachery, asking Elizabeth how she would behave if her loved ones were at risk. Elizabeth maintained that even though his wife and daughter had been Identified and hauled away, he had no reason to betray old friends. If Peter hadn't brought the EOs with him that night, Rachel would still be safe, on this side of the Line. Elizabeth was just grateful that the EOs had seemed to believe their story about Rachel being a runaway easily enough.

Elizabeth potted orchids as she thought, her hands automatically performing the task she had done so many times. She wondered where Rachel and Pathik were now. She hoped they had made it to . . . wherever Indigo and Malgam were. She hoped the medicine had arrived in time to save Malgam's life.

Malgam. Her son. The son she had not seen since he was an infant, because of her own cowardliness. And Indigo. She wondered if he thought of her, if he tried to imagine what her life was like now.

“What about these?” Jonathan's hands holding one of the orchid starts she had just potted, swam into focus before her.

“Those are the last crosses Rachel did before . . .”

“I know,” said Jonathan. “Should I put them in with the other starts?”

“No. No, I think we'll keep those separate. I don't want to sell those.” Elizabeth was surprised to feel tears pricking her eyes. “Put them in the west section on the middle shelves, will you, Jonathan? And then could you check the hoses over there—I think that one you repaired is still leaking.” She wiped her hands on a towel and started on the next tray of plants.

Jonathan made sure to look away, so Elizabeth wouldn't see his grin. She had sounded almost like her old, imperious self just then, and the sound made him feel good. He'd long ago given up hope that she could ever love him, yet he still loved her. Not as he had when they were both young, of course. His love had changed over the years to the sort that expected nothing, and generally got it. Still, it was there. He hoped she knew it in some way, and took some small comfort from it, even if he wasn't the one she had wanted.

He placed the tray of Rachel's starts on the middle shelf and eyed the connector he had replaced on one of the old hoses. Sometimes he wondered how they kept this operation going, with everything wearing out the way it was, and no shortage of shortages on the parts required to fix things. He wouldn't be surprised when the day came that he or Ms. Quillen drove into Bensen for supplies and there just plain weren't any. The world wasn't the same as it once had been.

His eye caught a movement through the greenhouse glass, out past the Line. He squinted. Felt that old fear crawling up his spine, even though he knew he shouldn't be afraid. The Others weren't the monsters he'd been raised to believe they were, at least not according to Elizabeth. She should know. She had a child with one of them.

More movement, and a deer materialized in the meadow. Jonathan released the breath he had been holding, and snorted at his own silliness. Still, he knew plenty in the county who wouldn't call it foolish. Plenty believed every hyped-up story they heard about the Others. As Elizabeth had pointed out, the Others were a good diversion when the latest shipment of food didn't arrive or somebody's son got Identified for a random tax, or because they couldn't find Gainful Employment. As she would say,
Give people something simple to hate and fear, and they will hate and fear with a passion.
Jonathan nodded to himself.

“It keeps 'em busy.” He snorted again, and started unscrewing the hose coupling.

 

 

VIVIAN FINISHED PUTTING the dishes away and went to the closet in the hall to get her jacket and scarf. She shrugged the jacket on and wrapped the scarf snugly around her neck. It was getting chilly out.

Instantly, from some never-ending source, tears came. Rachel was out there. Was she warm enough? Had they made it to that camp? Was there shelter? Were the people there treating her well? The questions kept coming. At breakfast: Did Rachel have enough to eat? At night: Was she sleeping now? And on and on, in an endless refrain. The biggest question, the worst question, was one that never stopped repeating itself in the back of her mind. While she did the housekeeping chores, while she helped in the greenhouse, while she tried to fall asleep at night.

“Will I ever see her again?” Vivian whispered it to herself, almost humming. It had become a song of sorts, a song she hated. She wiped her eyes with the end of the scarf and turned to go.

And heard the soft beep of the streamer.

Ms. Moore never got vocalls or comms. Her contact information wasn't listed on the public roster—Vivian had no idea whom she paid off to accomplish that, or how much she paid them—and she didn't seem to have any friends. So that streamer beep almost never happened. It couldn't mean good news.

Vivian edged toward the parlor, where the streamer was. Sure enough, the blue light glowed and dimmed in sequence, signaling a message. Vivian touched the screen. Its opacity cleared and an incoming vocall log line appeared.

“It's from Peter.” Vivian drew her hand back as though a snake had appeared on the screen. She stared at the log line, as if it might disappear. Then she pulled out the stool in front of the streamer and sat down. After another moment, she touched the screen again, and the comm opened. It was brief.

Vivian sat very still. She focused on breathing very slowly, deep breaths through her nose that she exhaled through pursed lips. She was still sitting there when Elizabeth found her, thirty minutes later.

 

 

“HE MUST PLAN to use his key, then.” Elizabeth and Jonathan sat in the two stiff chairs flanking the fireplace in the parlor. Vivian was now on the couch, where she refused to recline despite Elizabeth's encouragement.

“Yes.” Vivian nodded and took a sip of the kalitea Elizabeth had made. Her hands were shaking, so she set the cup on the table.

“So you think he really had a key?” Jonathan held the delicate china cup Elizabeth had given him in both hands, as though he held the last egg of some endangered species of bird.

“I know he had at least one.” Vivian shivered, though the house was warm. “You know, it could be that he
didn't
call the EOs that night. He did seem surprised when they showed up.”

“I figured that for an act, but I guess it could have been real.” Jonathan squinted at his kalitea. “If he had called them, why wouldn't he have just turned you in when they got here?” He looked up at Vivian and Elizabeth. “Really, for all that, why would he have come here at all? Couldn't he have just made a call?”

Elizabeth nodded. “It's true. He could have just called them if he was planning on turning you in.”

“I don't know anymore.” Vivian left her cup where she had set it. “I've thought and thought and I don't know
what
I would have done if it had been Daniel and Rachel dragged off by the EOs. I don't know . . . maybe
I
would betray a friend.” She shook her head slowly. “I don't think so, though. I hope Peter didn't either.”

“Well, there's nothing we can do.” Elizabeth frowned. “All we can do is hope he does bring her back.”

Vivian smiled at that. “Yes,” she said. “Maybe he will. Maybe he really will bring her back.” She didn't notice the look that passed between Elizabeth and Jonathan.

“Thing is, the EOs are probably looking for him now. If he shows up anywhere on this side of the Line again, they're sure to be scanning for him, so—” Jonathan stopped talking when he saw the look on Elizabeth's face.

“Who knows what will happen.” Elizabeth shook her head at Jonathan. It was too much for Vivian to think about now. She was barely holding on as it was. “We can only wait, for now. Wait and hope.”

Vivian nodded. She had been wondering, the past few weeks, about hope. She had a feeling—a feeling that she didn't want to have—that hope might actually be a terrible, terrible thing.

CHAPTER 4

R
ACHEL WAS GLAD the girl she had been sharing the room with wasn't there when she and Nandy went to get her things. She wouldn't have known what to say to her if she had been.
Hi, I'm moving out of this room, because they trust me now. Hope they trust you soon.
She wondered if they really did trust her now. Or if she trusted them.

Nandy grabbed the bigger of Rachel's bags, the duffel bag that Ms. Moore had packed. Rachel hadn't had time to go through all of the things in it. She took the bag her mom had packed.

“Anything else?” Nandy waited at the door.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.” Nandy dropped the duffel. “Let's get the blanket and the pillow. Not that many extras around here.” She stripped the cot quickly and handed the bedding to Rachel, then lifted the duffel bag again.

“This thing is heavy.” Suddenly she grew excited. “Does it have books in it?”

“No.” Rachel thought it was an odd question. “Why?”

“Pathik said he thought you had . . . everything . . . where you came from. I just thought you might have books.”

“Do you have books here?” Rachel felt, somehow, as if a great deal depended upon Nandy's answer to that question.

Nandy nodded. “A few. Not as many as I would like. I think there were
many
books, before.” Nandy studied her. “
Are
there many where you came from? Pathik said there must be.”

“Millions of net books. And there are old-fashioned ones at the library.”

Nandy kept looking at Rachel, conflicting emotions battling on her face. “We,” she said in a brittle tone, “have twenty-three. Twenty-three books. Though I think we are especially lucky, because one of them is a dictionary.” She lowered her eyes and did not look at Rachel for several moments. When she raised them again she seemed more herself, more the sunny Nandy Rachel had come to expect during her short time at camp. “Let's get to home.”