Ghosts of Eden (9 page)

During the war, however, when such romantic ideals were snubbed and forgotten, the Los Alamos Ranch School was purchased by the United States government, exercising its power of eminent domain, and the land became a shield of isolation for the Manhattan Project, and the staging area for design and creation of the weapons of war. Things were forgotten that should not have been. The school’s previous owner, Ashley Pond, disappeared mysteriously. All things that came in and out of Los Alamos were screened carefully by military officials on trucks labeled innocuously: “Bread,” or “Paper Products,” or “Frozen Meat.” Rumors spread of secret government projects that delved into areas of research far beyond the chemical and the physical. Los Alamos became known to those living in surrounding regions simply as “The Hill,” and was spoken of in whispers.

After the war—and the United States’ grand display of atomic power over Japan—Los Alamos became a memory, its facilities reduced to what became known only as “The Lab,” a place of simple scientific research. Much of its magnetism for rumor was nullified, but some endured. Talk of spreading radiation persisted, of deadly waste material buried beneath the soil of the forest, of people who had contracted strange diseases, of animals found with extra limbs and eyes. The ancestors of the ancient people, who had once lived on the land surrounding Los Alamos, who had abandoned it, who were fearful of it, had a saying: “Much buried, much forgotten.”

Los Alamos became a small town of modern scientists, engrossed in their localized experiments and mathematical calculations, employed by The Lab, like any other remote mountain town, oblivious to the larger world—and the secrets it contained.

THE DOMAIN

“I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have only been a boy playing on the seashore, diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay before me all undiscovered.”

—Sir Isaac Newton

ONE

She had an uncle, her closest living relative. She pushed the door open and stepped out of the car; she could feel the driver waiting for his tip. She handed the driver a crisp twenty from the money the lawyers had given her, and, with a grunt, he left her standing alone before the house with her single carefully packed suitcase beside her.

The house was much larger than her parent’s house had been, with two stories and what appeared to be a loft or observatory at its peak, pueblo style adobe with earth-colored walls and rust-colored doors and window trimmings. And the grounds surrounding the house seemed endless to Kayla—who had always lived in the crowded city—with not a single neighboring house in sight. Coniferous trees and shrubs filled the hillside wherever she looked and the chilly breeze made their branches whisper and conspire.

Hesitantly, she stepped forward. She walked up the flagstone path and then the roughly hewn steps. In a small walled-in courtyard, there was a vegetable garden filled with plumping squash beneath the boughs of a strange tree. She stopped halfway up the steps to marvel at the tree. It had a large pale trunk and branches that appeared to belong to at least half a dozen different fruit trees. One branch sagged heavy with bright red cherries. Another branch reached its crop of un-ripened green apples skyward. Yet another seemed to hold apricots. Birds circled and swooped about the tree.

She pushed the gold-rimmed button for the doorbell. She waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and back again. Emotions surged through her: a complicated amalgamation of giddy excitement and trepidation. Don’t worry, she kept telling herself, but everything had happened so quickly. Her entire life had been dashed apart and uprooted in a matter of days. Strange things had been happening—strange dreams—but, perhaps, she thought, things would be better now, here at her uncle’s in this strange town, in the middle of nowhere.

The door opened and she came face to face with her uncle, with whom she would now be living.

He was almost entirely bald, his skin pale as the grubs beneath an overturned rock, forehead knotted with thought lines. His cheeks were red and raw, as if he’d recently shaved, his mouth locked in its slight smile, eyes staring at her, very dark brown, emphasized by their white rims, with an intensity that was unnerving, almost not human.

“My name is…” Kayla began, but her uncle raised his hand. His authority was immediate.

Her uncle took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving Kayla’s. “You came alone.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Kayla answered it anyway. “Your driver dropped me off.”

Her uncle blinked, seemed to consider this, then broke eye contact and stepped forward, turning Kayla, with a light but decisive touch of his hands, to face the garden. “What do you think?”

Kayla looked out over the courtyard. “Of what?”

“Of my tree,” her uncle said, his voice like placid water.

“It’s nice. How did you do that?”

“How did I do what?” And she could hear the amusement in her uncle’s voice.

“The different fruits. How did you get them all on one tree?”

“I used what some would call magic.”

Kayla smiled, thinking it was a joke, and looked up, but her uncle’s face was like a mask, emotionless. Up close, his skin was almost gaunt, deeply lined, which gave him a wizened look, commanding, impatient with ignorance. “But what about the birds?” she asked.

“Let them feast,” her uncle said. “Let them play. The fruit is unimportant.”

Kayla scowled. “Then why go to all the trouble to make the tree?”

Her uncle’s eyes fixed her again, filled with knowledge, with secrets things. “To see if I could do it,” he said. “That’s what counts. Shall we go inside? I’ll show you to your new room and then we’ll have lunch. How does that sound?”

* * *

Her room was on the second story at the end of the hall. It was much larger than her room at her parent’s house, dominated by a huge bed. On the walls were a series of framed black and white photographs of landscapes, she noticed right away, mostly of starry night skies. There was a dresser and a small walk-in closet and a shelf with books on it and her own attached bathroom.

She whirled to face her uncle standing in the doorway. “I can stay here?”

“Of course. This is your room now.”

Kayla turned to look at the room again. She looked up and there was a skylight set into the ceiling of exposed beams above the bed: a wisp of cloud like cream in a perfect square of blue. “It’s so nice,” she said. She couldn’t believe this was hers. She spun in place, taking everything in.

“I’m glad you like it,” her uncle said.

She ran to him and hugged him, her head resting against his sunken belly. “I love it! Thank you, uncle, uh…”

“Xander, please. Call me Uncle Xander.”

“Thank you, Uncle Xander.” And she could tell her uncle was smiling, even if only slightly.

* * *

Coming down the stairs and across the large, many-windowed living area, the small round dining room table sat waiting for them, with two large sandwiches on plates and two glasses filled with ice, a pitcher of lemonade sweating at the table’s center.

“You can explore the rest of the house on your own,” Uncle Xander said, sitting across from her, pouring the lemonade first into her glass and then his own. “You’ll have all summer to do that. There are, however, some things you should know.”

Kayla picked up her sandwich and took a bite—it was delicious! She realized suddenly how ravenous she was and filled her mouth with another bite before she’d fully finished the first.

“When I am working, in my observatory at the top of the stairs, I am not to be disturbed.”

Kayla took another mouthful. The sandwich was of a quality she’d never tasted, filled with tender meat thinly sliced into curls, and crisp vegetables, and a fragrant sauce, like pesto, but lighter.

“Do you understand?”

Kayla nodded, her mouth hopelessly full.

“Good. That’s very important. You never bother me when the door is closed. Never. And I will be working most of the time, let’s be clear about that. You’ll have to fend for yourself. Cassie, the housekeeper, will make your meals. You’re free to walk the grounds or go anywhere in the house, as long its never into my observatory.”

Kayla nodded again, gulping lemonade.

“I am involved in very important work, you see, classified research that is rather…delicate.” He paused, folding his hands on the table. “There may be visitors,” her uncle said, “from time to time. Many of them are free to come and go as they please. Don’t be concerned by them. I will let you know when I am ready to begin. Right now, it is important that you are settled first, your mind clear and focused.”

A lump of sandwich lodged in her throat and she fought to swallow it down. She looked at her uncle, at this strange man that seemed to treat her as if she were a grownup. “What are you talking about?”

“If you are to be a pupil of mine, you will need your rest. I have much to teach you and the summer is short.”

Kayla gaped. “Your pupil?”

The faintest of smiles tugged at her uncle’s lips. “Yes. My student.”

“I usually just…hang out, during the summer.”

“Not this one.”

“But…”

Uncle Xander raised his hand. “I’ll give you all the details another time.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my work now. Just leave the plates and glasses when you’re finished. Cassie will take care of them.” He strode across the dining room, turned in the entryway. “I don’t know if you realize how special you are,” her uncle said.

“Special? I’m not special,” Kayla said.

Her uncle’s powerful eyes looked her up and down, as if appraising a sow for slaughter. Then he turned, and was gone.

* * *

The house was spacious, but not as large as it had at first appeared. The kitchen was attached to the dining room—with its crystal chandelier—and the dining room was attached to the living room. On the bottom floor, at the end of the hall, an unremarkable door opened into a large library comprised of a curved wall filled with books, even one of those stepladders that rolled on a track so you could reach the higher shelves. On the far wall, she noticed, there was a dry erase board filled with notes, that, upon closer inspection, she could see were mathematical equations, almost illegible, as if scribbled in a heat of inspiration.

On the second story, there were six bedrooms, each almost identical to hers. In one room she stopped to look at the pictures on the wall, mostly of stars in the sky, but others, interspersed, of people posed in strange clothing, in strange hats, all colorless, black and white.

When she returned to her room, she immediately ruffled the quilt on the bed, snatched books at random from the shelves and tossed them over the dresser and end table to give it a more lived-in appearance.

* * *

It was too quiet inside the house. As she wandered around, she felt lightheaded, detached. Where was she? What was she doing?

Her parents were dead. She tried not to think about it, but she couldn’t help it; the thoughts surfaced in her mind like scum mired in a swamp. She’d never been close to them, not even her brother, but it was a shock; she was numb. Nothing seemed real now. She was grieving, she supposed. This must be what it felt like—empty.

She paused before the door to her room and looked at the final door, the one she’d not dared to open during her explorations of the house, the one her uncle had forbidden her, that led to the observatory, and her uncle’s confidential work. She turned and stared at the door. It wasn’t even closed all the way. It was cracked open. Curious—what was the harm, she thought?—she tugged at the door; it swung open as if greased, and she found herself staring at another set of stairs, leading up to yet another closed door.

As she began up the stairs, thoughts nagged her to turn back, but she ignored them. She had to see what she could see; her curiosity would never let her turn back without at least a peek. She counted the steps as she ascended. Seven…eight…nine… Fifteen, all the way to the top. She looked at the door to her uncle’s observatory. Nothing unusual. Just another door, but of a solid, heavy construction. She reached her hand out and touched the doorknob. She turned it. The door was locked—of course it was locked.

She heard movement on the other side of the door and leapt down the stairs.

* * *

A couple of hours later, she was drawn from her room by the delicious smells wafting through the house. By the time she reached the dining room, the table had already been set and the food was waiting to be served. “Cassie?” she called, peeking into the kitchen, but there was no one there.

Thin threads of steam rose from the abundant plates of food. Only one place had been set and there was a note:

Please help yourself. The Master of the House will be unable to join you this evening. Leave the dishes. I’ll take care of everything in the morning.