She's Gone: A Novel (3 page)

3

Free People

They stepped over a black lab on the porch, too hot to move. The dog’s tail thumped against the wood planks. Inside the farmhouse the heat was unbearable. They set their things in a corner. Books lay stacked on the floor in the large open living room. Neatly folded clothes lay in piles. Jolie was surprised to see a piano, three guitars, hand drums, and a mandolin in the far corner.

On the kitchen counter next to the wood-fired oven, eight loaves of whole wheat bread rested on cooling racks. Jasmine put four loaves into a cloth flour sack.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Jolie asked in a quiet voice.

“It’s outside. We’ll go past it on the way,” Jasmine said.

Jolie glanced around the old farmhouse. A house this big didn’t have a bathroom? Will and Jolie followed them out of the house.

Jasmine pointed to a crude outhouse. “We’ll meet you by the orchard.”

Near the outhouse door was a bucket of water, a bar of soap, and a hand towel. Jolie held her breath and hurried in to pee. At least there was soap and water.

Jolie walked through the meadow past a large garden to an old orchard. Gnarled apples dripped from the trees. “Try one,” Mark said, picking some off the tree.

Jolie and Will each picked an apple and took a bite. “They’re sweet,” Jolie said. Juice ran down her chin. “And tart.”

Smiling, Will wiped the juice off her face with his long fingers. She felt his calluses from the hours he spent playing the guitar.

They moved along a path to a crude log bridge. Mark and Jasmine continued over it. Jolie walked behind Will and kept her eyes on her footing and not at the stream twenty feet below. The path led them through another meadow and up a rise. A grove of fir and madrone trees stood off in the distance. As they drew nearer she noticed a group of twenty or more people under the trees on a large wooden platform. It was covered with a dome type roof. Jolie hung back. She hadn’t expected all these people. Some sat on benches at a long wooden table. A wood cook stove anchored a corner and an array of cooking implements lay next to overflowing five-gallon compost buckets.

Jolie reached for Will’s arm. This was the summer kitchen? It was more like primitive camping.

Mark introduced her and Will to the group. There were too many names to remember: River, Sky, Acorn, Crazy Bob, Grace, Jade, and various other tree and flower names. The women mostly wore long skirts and halter tops. Two of the women’s bellies bulged in pregnancy. The men, many of them long-haired and bearded, were dressed in jeans. Some were shirtless. The odor of sweat sent a shiver through Jolie. Most of the men sported bowie knives strapped to their belts. A few wore animal skin vests despite the heat. Two young children clamored for food.

Jasmine and two other women worked together to lay out the lunch of sliced bread, soft white cheese, sliced apples and blackberries. The group assembled around the large table. The woman on Jolie’s right reached over and took her hand. Jolie flinched at her unexpected touch.

“I’m Grace,” she said.

Everyone joined hands. Will reached for her other hand and squeezed it.

Mark began to speak and rambled on, giving thanks for the food. He ended by welcoming Will and Jolie. There were murmurs all around, then hands unclasped and the food was passed around on plates.

“What’s your trip here?” Will asked.

“We’ve formed a new culture. We’re a band of Free People,” Mark said. “We bought the one-hundred-acre ranch last year and started the commune. We’re a family of freedom, acceptance, and love.”

“There are thirty-five of us living in harmony with nature,” Jasmine added.

“It’s like the wild west,” Mark said. “We’re trying to become self-sufficient.”

“But we’re city people, learning as we go. I’d never built a shelter or cut firewood before I came here. But we’re surviving,” said a man in a leather vest with no shirt.

Jolie took in the scene around her. She had been dropped into another world. Thirty-five people living way out here? She hadn’t known what to expect but it certainly wasn’t this. Will caught her eye and smiled. She attempted a smile. All that mattered was she was with him.

“We’ve torn down the walls of society and have created a utopia, a radical wilderness utopia,” a man with startling blue eyes said.

Jolie’s brow furrowed. She thought she knew what utopia meant but this was not it by any means.

“I came here to get away from the United States of America,” said Crazy Bob, a burly man with an eagle tattooed on his bicep.

Jolie studied him. Well, he’d attained his wish. This was the most isolated end of the road place in the wilderness you could get. There was no electricity, running water, or proper bathrooms and they were forty long miles from anywhere. But they were free and no one was telling them what to do out here. She doubted anyone could even find the ranch.

The group continued to talk after lunch. “Can we stay until Allen and Haley get back?” Will asked, looking at Mark.

The table went silent. Jolie stiffened. What if they said no? Where would they go? Will didn’t have another plan that she knew of and Pattie was long gone. Mark, Crazy Bob, and River got up from the table and walked a short distance away. They stood under a madrone tree, talking. The conversation resumed at the table. Will stroked her hand to relax her grip. The three men returned and sat down.

“You can stay in one of the old miners’ shacks,” Mark said. “A couple left last month. Make yourselves at home with whatever’s there.”

Jolie exhaled, her shoulders relaxed a bit. The conversation turned to the projects that needed to be done: chopping wood, barn repair, garden irrigation. No one could agree on what to work on as a group that day. Slowly they disbanded and wandered off to do whatever they each wanted. Some went to repair their houses. Some headed to the swimming hole and others to the main house. A few women stayed in the summer kitchen to clean up and start working on dinner.

Jasmine offered to show Jolie and Will around. They walked along a well-worn path past five geodesic domes nestled in a circle around a meadow. The domes were patched together with tin, plywood, tar paper and whatever building material was available. Plexiglas skylights adorned the roofs. The whole place was surreal.

“Most live in their own shelters and some live in the main house, especially in the winter,” Jasmine explained. “We are trying to perfect the domes. They’re one of the most efficient dwellings to live in. Mark and I built this one.”

Jasmine walked onto a wooden deck and opened the door. Will and Jolie followed and peered in the door. The large open room was framed by a series of triangles from floor to ceiling. It looked like a giant honeycomb. Sun poured in through the skylight onto a bed laden with a patchwork quilt. A wood stove and small kitchen area were off to one side. Everything was clean and neat. Jolie felt the calmness of the place, a retreat from the chaos of the noisy summer kitchen.

They walked back across the creek to a string of collapsing wood-framed miners’ shacks.

“You can stay here,” Jasmine said. She opened the door to one cabin and led them in. It was blazing hot inside. A gray-and-white striped canvas mattress rested on a metal bed frame. A chipped ceramic wash basin and a few cups had been left on a wooden table. In the corner was a tin wood stove. The stovepipe exited skyward out of the roof and daylight streamed in from cracks.

“It’s perfect,” Will said.

Jolie stood rigid in the center of the small room looking at mouse droppings on the rough plank floor. It was far from perfect. A couple had actually lived there? It needed a cleaning, that was for sure.

Will and Jolie walked back to the main house with Jasmine. “This is our only link to civilization right now.” Jasmine nodded toward an old Dodge Power Wagon parked by the main house. “And of course people like you who stop by now and then.”

The oversized truck with the rusty bed did not inspire confidence. Four other vehicles rested inoperable amid rusting car parts and tires.

In the main house Jolie and Will retrieved their packs, bedroll, and Will’s guitar. Jasmine gave them a broom, a bucket, and some rags for cleaning.

Jolie swept and cleaned the dusty cabin, trying to make it somewhat habitable. Will sat outside on a log bench, talking to one of the bearded men. She unfolded the bedroll on the mattress and lay back on the bed in the stifling heat.

Pattie’s words echoed in her mind. Was she sure about this? Less than thirty hours earlier she had been at home and now she was at the end of a dirt road in the middle of the wilderness, in a miner’s shack with thirty-five mountain men and women and one vehicle that worked. She breathed deep, exhaled slowly, and closed her eyes. There was no going back. It was all about survival now.

Jolie and Will joined the group for dinner at the summer kitchen. Kerosene lanterns hung from the dome roof and bathed the group in a golden glow. Someone strummed a guitar.

“What’s happening out there in the evil world?” Mark asked Will.

“The socialist movement is gaining a foothold around the country,” Will said.

“Nothing will come of that,” Mark responded. “It’s been tried so many times.”

“No, the Revolutionary Socialist Movement is gaining ground especially on college campuses,” Will said.

“Ha, that’s because the rich kids feel guilty. It’s a revolt of privilege,” Mark argued.

Someone played a harmonica and the blues tune floated overhead.

“It’s a different movement now,” Will replied. “We’re building a political platform to overthrow the capitalists.”

“What’s the platform?” one of the men asked.

“We’re fighting to end poverty and racism. To create a better world with an equal and classless society.”

“Good luck with that,” Mark said.

“How we do that?” someone asked.

Will talked about his vision of a socialist society where everyone is equal and the industries, services and natural resources are collectively owned by the people. “It means that for the first time the government of the people, for the people and by the people will become a reality.”

“Right on,” someone said.

“Take our natural resources,” Will explained. “The people own the oil under the land the government leases but the oil companies take the profit. In a socialist society the people own the oil and the profit.”

The group listened, their enthusiasm growing as ideas spilled forth. Mark listened silently, his eyes on Will.

Jolie sat close to Will, warily observing the group. He was in his element. He was the handsomest, with his high cheekbones, straight black hair, and captivating smile. She smiled inwardly. She was with him now. All evening she didn’t say a word and no one noticed. Occasionally Mark’s intense gaze met hers and she quickly looked away.

In their cabin that night, Will held her. “You’re free.” He caressed her face and then her breasts.

She didn’t feel free. All of these new people. What if they saw through the lie about her age?

“My sweet Little Wing. We’re together now.”

She melted under his strong warm touch and moved her hands gently over his taut body. She closed her eyes and lost herself in their lovemaking.

Later she lay wrapped in his arms listening to the sound of the night forest. Crickets chirped. An owl hooted. “They’ll never find us here,” Will whispered.

A far off howl pierced the night.

4

Moonchild

Jolie woke to the sound of muffled bells and bleating goats. She held her breath. Where was she? Sunlight spilled through the cracks in the roof, sending streaks of light onto the rough plank floor. The coarse wood walls were patched with black tar paper. The past forty-eight hours slowly rained down on her. She was at the ranch.

Will was still asleep, his arm wrapped around her. She closed her eyes. She was here with Will. That was all that mattered, they were together now.

Will stirred. “I thought I was dreaming, but we’re really here.” He smiled at her and she rolled into him. “Hungry?”

She nodded and swung her feet over the side of the bed. “Ouch.” A sliver of wood pierced her foot.

They dressed and walked to the stream to wash up. She splashed water on her face and sucked in her breath from the icy blast. Fully awake and invigorated, they followed the path to the summer kitchen. Mark sat drinking coffee talking with a small group at the long table. Jasmine and Grace flipped whole wheat pancakes. They were dressed alike in halter tops and long skirts, their long hair woven in braids.

“We’re going to chop firewood before it gets too hot,” Crazy Bob said, looking at Will. “Want to join us?”

Will hesitated. Jolie couldn’t picture him chopping wood. Mark looked at Will expectantly. Crazy Bob stood waiting for his response. “Sure.”

“Jolie, you can come with us and milk the goats,” Grace said.

Milk the goats? She glanced at Will and then back to Grace. “You’ll have to show me how.”

After eating, the group broke up and went about their tasks. Jolie went with Grace and three other women to the goat barn. The animals’ peculiar smell engulfed her and scorched her throat as they entered the barn. A herd of bleating goats swarmed them, nudging their thighs with long curved horns. Jolie stood rigid in the middle of the dancing herd while the bells around their necks jingled softly.

“First we have to lure them into their milking stalls and secure their heads or they’ll butt,” Grace said.

Using oats to coax them into place, they sat on log rounds and set about milking. Jolie, slow in the beginning, got into the rhythm. She listened to the women talk and tried not to breathe too deep. The pungent goat smell overwhelmed her. It took the five of them the better part of the morning to finish.

The women carried the heavy buckets up to the main house and used cheese cloth to strain the odd-smelling milk into bottles. Grace set them behind the house in a stream-fed metal box. Part of the icy stream had been diverted and the constant flow kept the metal box cold.

“I’ll teach you how to make cheese and yogurt tonight after the evening milking,” Grace said.

“You milk them twice a day?” Jolie asked.

Grace smiled at her. “Yes, and we can’t miss a milking or they’ll dry up and then where would we be?”

Jolie massaged her sore fingers. That was a lot of work every day. She had a lot to learn. The goat smell still permeated her nostrils. Did the milk taste like it smelled?

That afternoon, Mark and Jasmine invited Will and Jolie to hike with them to the swimming hole. In the ninety degree heat, insects buzzed and heat waves rippled off the knoll. They moved trancelike to the end of the meadow and picked up the trail to the creek. Stately firs and giant red-barked sugar pines soared above them. Two-foot long cones hung from the branches. Jolie padded along the forest floor on the soft layer of pine needles in the fairylike setting. She breathed deep, the scent of pine and cedar infused the air. She hadn’t thought to pack a bathing suit. Were they going to swim in their underwear or naked?

The path led them out of the forest alongside a creek, bordered with large smooth boulders. Farther down they came to a deep emerald pool. Jasmine and Mark stripped naked. Mark’s tan muscular body arched in a dive and disappeared into the water. Circular ripples patterned the water. Jasmine dove in after him, her shapely curves and long hair swallowed beneath the surface. Will followed, his tall, lean frame perfect, like a Michelangelo statue. She hesitated, then quickly disrobed and slipped in, too inhibited around Mark and Jasmine to make a show of a dive.

The pool was cold and exhilarating. One by one they climbed onto the smooth rocks. Jolie slipped on Will’s T-shirt, pulling it down around her thighs.

Will traced the formation of several red blisters on his hands from chopping wood. Jasmine took his hand. “You need some salve on these. I’ll make some for you later.”

“Get some sun on your body, Jolie,” Mark said.

“Leave her be. She’s shy,” Jasmine said.

They spent the afternoon diving in and out of the cool water and lazing on the sun-kissed rocks. Jolie quickly covered up when she got out of the water and averted her eyes from Mark. Will and Mark talked on about the war machine and imperialistic policies. When Jasmine swam to the far end of the swimming hole Jolie swam after her. At the outlet of the pool, Jasmine picked up a plastic bottle that was nestled by a log and held it out to her: Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soap.

“Have you ever read this crazy label?”

Jolie shook her head.

Jasmine read: “
Absolute cleanliness is Goodliness! Teach the Moral ABC that unites all mankind free…
This cat goes on and on and on.”

Jolie took the bottle and started to read out loud the principles of
we’re all one or none
. They laughed and soaped up, their bodies tingled in an explosion of peppermint. The goat smell faded.

Mark and Will dove in and swam over. Mark’s gaze rested on Jolie’s breasts. “What’s going on here, my bathing beauties?” Mark said.

Jolie wished her breasts were smaller. Men always seemed to stare at her. But they did help her pass for eighteen. She sank lower into the water and turned away. She was not his bathing beauty.

In their cabin that night Jolie rubbed salve on Will’s hands. Jasmine had given it to him at dinner. She’d made it from guava leaves, herbs and natural oils. The smell was pungent but not unpleasant. Jolie breathed deep to get the goat smell out of her nostrils from the late afternoon milking. After they had finished the milking, Grace taught her how to make yogurt.

Tired to the bone, she rubbed the balm on his blisters. She had worked twice as long as he had that day. After she and Grace finished the yogurt they joined everyone in the summer kitchen where dinner was already underway. She was proud of the work she had done and was warmed by Will’s smile when she sat down at the end of the table.

Will closed his eyes as she massaged the balm on his hands. “I’m not cut out for that kind of labor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a leader not a worker.”

“But in a socialist society everyone is equal. Everyone shares in the work.”

Will shook his head. “There are still roles in socialism.”

“But the ranch already has a leader,” Jolie said. “Grace told me that Mark helped start the commune and he owns the only working vehicle which gives him power over the trips out of the ranch.”

Will lay back on the bed. “He’s on a power trip alright.”

Two weeks after they arrived at the ranch, Mark held a meeting in the summer kitchen after lunch. “We need to share the workload,” Mark reminded the group. “We all committed to a minimum of three hours of work a day. Three hours for the family.”

“The women do far more work than three hours a day,” Grace said.

“Let’s keep track of how much we work and then we can even out the chores,” Jade said. “And tell me something, why can’t the men milk goats too?”

Jolie suppressed a smile. That was brave. She had wondered the same thing.

Sky looked up from the piece of wood he was whittling. “Whoa, what happened to Free People?”

Duties at the ranch were clearly split into traditional male and female roles. The women hauled water for the summer kitchen from the spring by the main house, tended the garden, milked the goats morning and night, made goat cheese, yogurt, grinded wheat for bread, baked bread, dried fruit, cooked, cleaned, and tended the children.

The men felled trees and chopped wood. Despite the efforts, the winter firewood stockpile seemed to shrink. Some worked on the broken down vehicles, the lifeline to the ranch, although there never seemed to be any progress.

Jolie slid onto the bench next to Will. It was no wonder Mark was laying down the law. She knew Will wasn’t pulling his weight which compelled her to work harder. The ranch chores didn’t fit his personality, a personality she was just getting to know.

“We are free people,” Mark stressed. “The ranch is devoted to open-mindedness, free thinking, and the ability to do what one wants. But we also need to keep the work organized to survive.”

“We need to elect a leader,” Will proposed.

“A leader could hold everyone accountable,” River said, as he stroked his beard.

“No,” Mark said. “That breeds politics. We’re here to get away from traditional governance.”

As the conversation continued, Jolie’s mind wandered. It was hard to concentrate in the afternoon heat. This wasn’t the life she’d envisioned. All she wanted was to be with Will, but now she was with Will and thirty-five other people in the wilderness. She was constantly self-conscious about her age. How could they get out of there?

Since they had arrived the Power Wagon had not moved once. She wondered if it really ran. She needed to talk to Will about leaving. They had only been there two weeks but it seemed like an eternity. Time moved differently there. She thought they were going to make the world a better place. That’s what he had promised her. But now he seemed content to fill the pages of his notebook with a socialist manifesto and was in no hurry to leave.

That afternoon Jasmine and Jolie stayed to clean up after lunch. Will wandered off with a group of men to sit in the shade and most likely talk politics, their work being done for the day. Across the meadow they caught a glimpse of Mark and Jade holding hands. The pair walked down the path out of sight. Jolie glanced at Jasmine. Her face was blank.

Jasmine caught her gaze. “We’re all free here.” But she couldn’t disguise the pain in her voice.

“Let’s get Will and go swimming,” Jolie suggested.

“No, you go on. I need to make an herbal tea for our soon-to-be mothers.”

Jolie hesitated. “I’ll stay with you. I’d like to learn about natural medicine.”

Jasmine appraised Jolie for a few moments. “Well, if you are interested, I could use an apprentice. The family is growing.”

Jasmine took out a weathered leather notebook from the outdoor cupboard. She flipped through and opened it to a page with soaring script and sketches of plants. From another cupboard, she pulled out three glass jars full of dried leaves and flowers, labeled in the same flowing script.

Jolie stoked the wood stove and boiled water for the tea and then sat down to watch Jasmine work. Jasmine pulled out an antique scale. Her large brown eyes were intent on the task, and her long, delicate fingers and tan arms flowed as she weighed and mixed herbs and ground them together with a mortar and pestle. Wisps of silken hair escaped from her braid and fell over her paisley halter top. Jolie wondered if she would ever be as beautiful and confident as Jasmine.