Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) (28 page)

She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, no, dear. I don’t want to take over your job. But maybe I can just help you with the menu planning.” She picked up the empty soup can still sitting on the counter. “For instance, do you realize that this is mostly a bunch of chemicals?”

I shook my head, but I could feel a large lump growing in my throat. Who was she, this newcomer, to come in here and criticize my cooking? “Excuse me,” I said.

I took Breeze her “chemical-laden” soup and told her I hoped she’d take it easy for a few days. Then excusing myself once again I went up to my bedroom and cried. And lying prostrate across the cold wooden planks of my bedroom floor I cried for the duration of the afternoon.

I wasn’t even sure exactly why I was crying. I knew I missed Sunshine, and I was concerned for Breeze, and I didn’t like what Venus had said about my cooking. But I suspected it was something more too—I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it. And as I cried, I begged God to help me to deal with this… this spirit of whatever it was that had come upon me so recently and now seemed to be chasing me down like a pack of rabid dogs.

Twenty

F
or some reason
I’ve always harbored an aversion to the month of November. I’m not sure when my phobia first began—perhaps in childhood when I fretted over the onset of the cold weather that would most likely keep me indoors more often than not, or maybe it was just that familial celebration of Thanksgiving that always left me feeling empty, alone, and forgotten. But despite our relocation to California, the dismal foreboding of November followed. And it was only the first week of that ominous month when Breeze became very sick and went into premature labor.

I tried to help her as best I could, but I knew her needs were far beyond what I could give, and although I stayed in the bedroom with her, kneeling beside her and praying, I felt completely helpless. Just after dark, despite Sky’s warnings and threats, River wrapped Breeze in a blanket and carried her out to the barn, then hijacked the van and sped straight to the local hospital where the emergency room doctor just barely managed to save her life. But the baby (a tiny girl) was born dead.

Breeze later told me (confidentially) that the doctor had said that if she’d only come in for help at the first signs of preeclampsia the baby might’ve survived. Brokenhearted over their loss, she and River briefly considered not returning to the farm at all, but then realized they had no money and, they felt certain, no one else to turn to. And so they came back—broken, dejected, and in trouble.

They both knelt down on the matted living room carpet and confessed their transgressions (rebellion in the form of stealing the van and seeking outside medical help) and contritely asked Sky’s forgiveness—which he granted (along with a short sermon on the importance of obedience and submission).

All things considered, I think they were warmly welcomed back into the family. I’m sure everyone felt truly sorry for their loss. Even Moonlight, who had quite recently become much more cautious with her eating and exercise habits, expressed her sympathy over the lost baby.

“I’d been looking forward to having our kids grow up together,” she told Breeze the next day. “They could’ve been playmates, you know.”

Breeze had simply nodded and said nothing. But the following week, she gathered up all the sweet baby things she’d created in previous months. Tying them into a neat bundle, she quietly set them outside of Sky and Moonlight’s door. All except for the colorful quilt. That she kept on the foot of her bed (and sometimes, when she didn’t know I was looking, I would spy her hugging it tightly to her chest and crying quietly).

I must admit now (although I never confessed it back then) that I felt just slightly chagrined at the unjustness of all this. And I wondered if this might not be God’s way of laughing at us, right in all our religious faces, because if the truth were known, Breeze had worked hard, been honest and good, and yet she lost her baby. And then there was Moonlight, who had sinned many times over (without ever confessing hardly a thing—at least nothing that was real, and not to the group) and yet she always seemed to come out on top!

First off, she had trapped Sky into marriage. Then she had stolen and lied and cheated. And she never did her share of the work. She didn’t even take proper care of her health or her body, but so far she’d never suffered any problems in her pregnancy. And now she (who had never sewn a single stitch) was rewarded with a great big pile of lovingly hand-sewn baby clothes. Where was the justice in that?

I suppose I might’ve brought these concerns to Sky during one of our little private and intimate talks—because for a time there (back before Venus and Mountain had arrived and Sunshine had left) Sky and I had spent a fair amount of time together. And it had been nice. I’d always looked forward to our moonlit walks and chats. But as fall turned into winter these times became few and far between.

Venus, as promised, began to do all the menu planning for me. As a result, and for the first time ever, Sky allowed a woman to accompany him into town (only because Venus was the expert when it came to health foods and the best places to get them, he explained, plus we all knew she was contributing financially just then…). Venus said they had found most items at the Farmers’ Market (a place where she said you could find anything).

I didn’t know what to think when she began to unload all these strange things in my kitchen. Things like soy powder and tofu, wheat germ and brown rice and whole wheat, raw honey and sprout seeds and yogurt and goat cheese. To be honest, some of these things didn’t even look edible to me. There were new pieces of cooking equipment too, and suddenly I realized that cooking, as I had known it, was over. From now on it would be a very complicated affair indeed.

Venus was a fine one to tell me exactly what to cook, but that’s about as far as she went with it (sometimes I wondered if she even knew how to cook at all!). And although I’d been demoted from head chef to kitchen hand, it still fell to me to make her menus succeed. If I tried one of her new recipes, and it didn’t turn out (even though I’d followed it to a T) she would blame me—right in front of everyone.

Oh, she always did it in a funny, clever way, like, “Poor Rainbow, she didn’t know that whole wheat kernels have to be ground first to make whole wheat flour. Ha, ha, ha.” But despite her merry smile, her words stung and in many ways reminded me of old Sally Roberts (from back in my school days). It seemed strange to me to think that Sally Roberts would only be in her senior year of high school. After all, I felt completely grown-up by then—as if I’d been out on my own for years now (although we were only just approaching our one-year anniversary).

During this “transition” period in the kitchen, Sky did come in occasionally to give me a few little pep talks. Perhaps Venus felt worried she might actually have to don an apron if I became overly discouraged. Sky would rub my back as he told me that God would reward me for my servant’s spirit, and that he knew it wasn’t easy for me to make these changes, but they would be for the best, just wait and see. And then he would kiss me, soundly. And suddenly all would be right as rain with my little world again.

Just before Christmas we had three new members inducted into our family, making us a total of eleven altogether. The new members had originally been introduced to Sky by Mountain and Venus. The two new brothers (also dropouts from Stanford) went out to the barn to bunk with Stone. And a young woman (one of Venus’s childhood friends) became my new roommate. Sky had given her the name of Cloud during the “adoption” ceremony.

I think that may have been the first time it occurred to me that all the sisters in “The Promised Land” had names that were somehow connected (Moonlight, Sunshine, Rainbow, Breeze, Venus, and now Cloud). Celestial-type things, I thought to myself, and all related to the sky—
Sky—
just like our leader!

I know I didn’t really allow myself the luxury of thinking too much about this odd coincidence, not at the time anyway (although Sky always was quick to say, “There’s no such thing as a coincidence—everything comes from the hand of God”), but it did catch my attention. On the other hand, all the brothers had very earth-bound names like Stone and River and Mountain. Curious indeed.

As expected, we didn’t celebrate Christmas (other than the reading of the first Christmas story for our evening devotions) and so “Christmas Eve” passed quietly for us, with a plain supper of soybean “meatless” meat loaf and rice and beans and whole wheat “rolls” that could have doubled as hockey pucks. The word
bland
came to mind, but I knew better than to criticize Venus, and so kept my thoughts to myself. But I couldn’t help but notice how our family didn’t seem to be thoroughly enjoying their meal, not in the way that I remembered them doing in the past. At least I didn’t think so. And afterwards, as Breeze and I were cleaning up in the kitchen, she mentioned that the meal had been a little lackluster. As a result, we decided to sneak into the pantry and open a jar of peaches. Together we forked right into the jar and gorged ourselves on the sweet, golden, juicy peaches—allowing the sugary syrup to run right down our chins as we giggled with glee. Our secret Christmas Eve treat!

“I don’t see why Venus won’t let you serve fruit with our meals,” said Breeze as she dropped her fork into the now-empty jar.

“It’s because of the sugar, but I’m hoping she might eventually change her thinking.” I glanced proudly over my still fully stocked shelves (lasting longer than expected due to Venus’s stringent menu planning). I loved the look of those bright-colored jars. They reminded me of a string of beautiful jewels or maybe even those colorful glass balls some people hang on Christmas trees. In fact, the pantry had quite a festive, almost party-like feeling. And I suppose Breeze and I were feeling just slightly giddy—that is, until the door burst open.

“What are you two—” Venus stood in the doorway, staring at the two of us in wide-eyed horror, as if we’d both just been caught making a sacrifice to Satan, or something equally abhorrent.

Breeze smiled innocently, the empty peach jar still clutched in her sticky hands. “Uh, we were just having some—uh—fruit.”

Venus scowled at both of us in disgust. “Don’t you know that’s full of
sugar?”

“Well, it’s not
that
bad,” I said in defense. “Actually it was mostly full of peaches that grew right here on our farm.”

She grabbed the jar from Breeze, and after swiping her finger through the remaining syrup, she stuck it into her already puckered mouth. Then, making a horrible face, she groaned. “Ugh, that’s
pure
sugar!”

“But we only ate the peaches—”

“You two are as bad as children.” Then she smiled. Not a friendly smile though, more of a superior smile, like she knew something we didn’t, and I figured we’d both find ourselves kneeling on the living room carpet confessing to gluttony before bedtime. Oh well, what else was new?

“Go on with you now,” she commanded, closing the door behind us.

We finished cleaning the kitchen and to our relieved surprise, not a word of our peach-snatching episode was mentioned during our evening devotions, and Sky didn’t even give an invitation to confession time. So I think Breeze and I were feeling borderline cocky when the group broke to go to bed. I remember winking at her before heading up to my room.

The following morning was Christmas Day, and although we weren’t “observing” the holiday, I still wished I could fix something special for breakfast. But naturally the menu was already set for oatmeal and whole wheat toast (this made from the really dry whole wheat bread that I’d baked on Monday and which would become even drier once made into toast). And this toast was to be consumed without the help of any of the delicious jams and jellies I’d so lovingly made last summer.

Tempted to sneak out a jar of jam for myself (that I thought I could smuggle up to my room and enjoy later) I opened the door to the pantry. But to my stunned amazement, the shelves had been stripped clean of more than two-thirds of my beautiful, colorful jars. All that remained from all my home canning were green beans, corn, and tomatoes!

I blinked and stared again, thinking maybe I was seeing (or not seeing) things. But it was all too real. Every single fruit jar had been removed. I knew this must be Venus’s doing, but where had she taken them?

Dismayed, I went over to my kitchen window and stared blankly outside. And there I saw Venus and Sky, right next to our big compost pile. Beside them was a wheelbarrow filled with jars of canned fruit, and at their feet was a quickly growing pile of empty canning jars. I watched in disbelief as, one by one, they popped open each tediously sealed jar and dumped its precious contents onto the stinking compost pile.

I felt dizzy and sick, and honestly thought I might pass out, right then and there, and hopefully lie unconscious for hours on my freshly scrubbed kitchen floor.

“Need some help?” asked Breeze, coming up from behind me.

Mutely I looked at her, then pointed toward the unsettling scene outside.

She just shook her head, then placing her hand protectively over her abdomen, she simply turned and walked away without saying a word. And I realized that my sacrifice must seem small compared to hers. And yet it hurt. It hurt horribly. So badly, in fact, that I couldn’t keep it in. And so, after brewing all day, I finally confronted Sky.