Chapter Twenty-Five
Scarlett
I open Ana’s door, but she’s already asleep. I’m dog tired too, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, but when I go to bed I find myself lying awake in the darkness, my brain and my heart locked in battle.
As the night wears on, I work through a plethora of emotions, from hurt to shame to anger to confusion. How can someone spend a lifetime teaching the goodness of people and the importance of friends and family, only to steal from that community when he felt like it? Did he spend weeks agonizing over whether he should do it? Or did he move quickly once he discovered we couldn’t afford Mum’s treatment? Orson’s announcement that Dad had stolen before suggests it wouldn’t have taken him long to decide.
I think about when I asked Orson’s thoughts on whether the end justifies the means. He was very diplomatic and said he understood why Dad had taken the money, but that he should have gone to the Elders and asked for their help. I agree with him—I thought that was the idea of living in a commune, too. We’re supposed to solve problems together.
I feel as if the world has tipped on its axis, and the south pole is now the north. I thought Spencer was heartless and cruel and thought only of money, and my father was the one with outstanding values and principles. But it turns out that Spencer is honest and sincere and has integrity, and my father was… what? A thief who bent the rules if it meant he could get what he wanted.
I cry for a while, feeling lonely and full of self-pity. Then, as I lie there and let my tears dry on my cheeks, I remember the phone Orson gave me. It’s on my bedside table, and I pick it up and touch the screen. Sure enough, he texted me, over an hour ago, so he’s probably gone to bed now. It’s just a short message, but it touches me to think he was thoughtful enough to send it.
Thinking of you. You were right to take the red pill. Be like Neo, and embrace the truth and use it to shape your own destiny. I love you. O x
I put the phone back on the bedside table, then pick up Mr. Bearcub and bring him under the covers. I haven’t hugged a teddy bear since I was a kid, but I wrap my arms around the soft toy, enjoying the comfort he brings.
Orson is right. Regardless of how painful and uncomfortable it is, it’s still better that I know the truth.
All children are innocent, but they all lose that purity at some point. Everyone has to take that step into adulthood. I thought I’d grown up, but I realize now that although I’d passed through puberty, I hadn’t matured. Being brought up in the commune was always going to affect my ideologies and views. Orson said I was wearing rose-tinted glasses, and he was right. I’ve been naive and idealistic, and I haven’t seen the world the way it really is.
It’s hard not to feel foolish. But I feel as if I have two choices. I can let the truth eat away at me like acid, become cynical, decide that everything I’ve learned and the person I’ve been up to this point has all been a sham, and turn my back on my beliefs and my way of life.
Or, in Orson’s words, I can embrace the truth and use it to shape my own destiny.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I mustn’t wallow in self-pity. The fact that Dad stole money doesn’t mean the work he did at Kahukura was pointless, or that our way of life here isn’t commendable and worth pursuing. We help a lot of women at the retreat, and I don’t believe my healing program is worthless.
My father has fallen off his pedestal, and as he’s crashed to the ground, he’s brought my life down in the process. But the world isn’t really falling apart. Like a pile of children’s bricks, it was never built on a solid foundation. I put him on the pedestal. And even though he has to take some of the blame for forming my ideologies, it’s been my choice to stay at the commune and isolate myself from the world. Ana is less idealistic and naive than I am because she travels to the city frequently and has a phone and is on social media. I’m the only one I can blame for my innocence.
I think of the things I’ve said to Orson and wince. No wonder he’s mocked me from time to time, saying things like I don’t want my chakras located , and I don’t need to know if the moon’s in Uranus . That was at the beginning though, before we got to know one another.
He got angry with George because he thought he insulted me. He wanted me to meet his friends and family. He defended me in front of his father. And he said I love you . Yes, he’s an elitist capitalist who believes some people are superior to others. Yes, he thinks everything and everyone has a price, and that money can buy anything. But he and his father give so much to charity. I feel in my heart that he’s a good man. Or am I being naive again?
I’m frightened of trusting my gut, because it’s led me astray so wildly. And I feel panicky at the thought of dating Orson, because how will I ever be able to convince him, his father, or myself that it has nothing to do with his money? I’ve glimpsed into his world and seen what money can buy—safety, security, and comfort. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find that attractive.
And yet… that’s not why I want to be with him. I’m shallow enough to be drawn to his biceps and his gorgeous hair, but that’s not the only reason I like him—I find his confidence attractive, even though it borders on arrogance, and I adore his hard-working attitude, his philanthropic heart, and his deep-rooted desire for justice and fairness, which was evident in the way he defended me.
Am I going to let what’s happened spoil something that could be real and beautiful?
My eyelids are drooping. It’s very late, probably near to two a.m. Mr. Bearcub is soft in my arms, and I bury my nose in his fur, remembering how wonderful it felt to cuddle up to his namesake in bed. I miss Orson so much. I wish he’d stayed. But I know he was right. I need to talk to Ana, and we have to decide what we’re going to do about the funds that Dad stole. We need to talk to George, and the Elders too, probably, because I can’t imagine keeping it from them. Only when I’ve sorted out that part of my life will I be able to think about my love life, and where I go from here.
I don’t know what the future holds. I can’t picture it. I’m in love with Orson, I think. I miss him. I want to be with him. But I can’t envisage how it would work. Despite what’s happened, I don’t know that I can transfer myself to his world, and he certainly wouldn’t want to live in mine.
I fall asleep, and I dream of flying, of escaping into the bright blue sky, and leaving all my fears and worries behind me. And then I spend the rest of the dream searching for a bearcub in the forest, sad because I’m unable to track him down.
*
The next day, I rise when my alarm goes off at seven, even though I’ve only had five hours’ sleep, make Ana and me some coffee, and sit with her and go through everything. She’s shocked and upset, but probably less than me, which just reinforces to me how innocent I’ve been.
We talk for a long time about what we’re going to do, and eventually decide the best thing is to talk to George and Kingi, get them to prepare a brief report on their findings, and then take it to the Elders at their meeting this evening.
I have yoga and Jiu Jitsu classes today, and I’m taking several groups to the Waiora, but after I shower and dress, I make time first to deliver the message to George and Kingi where they’re working in the main office, despite it being Saturday. They both promise they’ll have the report ready by six p.m., which is when the Elders are meeting. After that, I head off to the retreat for my first class.
Orson texted me this morning asking if I managed to get any sleep. We exchanged a few messages, and then he said he had to go to a meeting, and I haven’t heard from him since.
I’m therefore surprised when I come out of my class and see his Aston Martin parked out the front of the office. I go in and look down the corridor to see that the door to the finance office is closed.
“Is Orson here?” I ask the woman on reception.
She nods. “They’ve asked not to be disturbed.”
Maybe Kingi needed some help with the figures. I hesitate, wondering whether to knock on the door or text him and let him know I’m out here, but I figure that he’ll come and get me if he needs me. So I leave them to it and return to the retreat, collect my first healing group, and take them to the Waiora.
It’s a blustery day, the wind whipping the clouds across the sky, but it’s still warm. I feel the need for healing as much as the women I’m with, and so I spend a long time at the pool, leading them through a guided meditation, and hoping that the spirit of the rainbow falls will help me heal and guide me forward .
When we return, Orson’s car has gone. I text him, but although he replies, it’s only to say that he’s in a meeting and he’ll catch up with me later.
I don’t hear from him for the rest of the day, but I keep myself busy with classes, with helping at lunch, and with trips to the Waiora.
At 5:45 p.m., Ana wishes me luck, then heads off to the refectory to help with the evening meal. I still haven’t heard from Orson, and I feel oddly unsettled because of it.
I go into the town hall, walk through the lobby, and cross the main hall to the Elders’ meeting room. I hear someone speaking as I approach, then a murmur of voices, so it sounds as if the meeting has started already. It surprises me, as it’s not quite six and someone is always late.
I pause in the doorway—and stare at the table in surprise. The eight elders are there, including George. And so is Kingi and, to my surprise, Orson. My jaw drops—I hadn’t seen the Aston and had no idea he was there.
The center of the table is filled with the remains of a meal—plates with leftover sandwiches and flakes of pastry, as if they’ve all been there for several hours.
“Scarlett,” Richard says, spotting me. “Come in, dear. Take a seat.”
My heart races, but I force my feet to move and walk forward to take the empty chair at the other end of the table to him. Orson sits halfway along the table on my right, next to Kingi. George sits opposite them. Orson meets my gaze, gives a small smile, and winks at me. I don’t respond, though, feeling too panicky and unsure of myself.
I look around the other faces, at the people I know so well, and I’m relieved that there doesn’t appear to be any anger evident. I can see that a couple of the women’s faces are red, as if they’ve been crying. But most of them also smile at me as our eyes meet, including George, who looks better than he did this morning.
“Am I late?” I ask, convinced they told me six p.m.
Richard shakes his head. “No, no. George asked us to come in earlier.” He leans his elbows on the table and his mouth on his hands for a moment, and gradually the others fall quiet. “Scarlett,” he begins, “George has told us about the initial findings of Kingi’s audit. He says he made you aware of this yesterday. Do you understand what has happened? ”
I give a stiff nod. “Over a period of time, my father withdrew funds from the commune, the vineyard, and the retreat, probably in the hope of paying for my mother’s cancer treatment.”
To my surprise, he shakes his head. “That’s not quite correct. Yes, he took money from the commune and the vineyard, but he did not take anything from the retreat’s account.”
I frown. “Isn’t that just semantics?”
“No, we don’t believe it is. We actually think it’s very important.” He blows out a long breath. “Obviously, the news has shocked us all. Despite setting up the commune and encouraging us to help one another, Blake was a very private man, and none of us had any idea that the best treatment for your mother’s cancer would have been available privately. My guess is that he didn’t want to admit a desire to pay for private treatment, because that goes against our ethics here. But of course he didn’t want to lose your mother, either, which is why he attempted to find the money himself.”
“He told me he would have paid it back over time and nobody would even have noticed,” George states.
“It’s all very unfortunate,” Richard says. “We’re a family here. We miss them both, and we all understand why he felt driven to help your mum, even if we don’t agree with it.”
I glance at Orson. He’s leaning on the arm of his chair, his fingers resting on his lips, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“Kingi has kindly written up his initial findings in a report for us,” Richard continues, putting a hand on a manila folder that lies open on the table in front of him with a few sheets of paper inside.
I clear my throat. “How much money is outstanding?”
Richard tidies the sheets of paper, closes the folder, then looks at me. Finally, he smiles. “Nothing.”
My eyebrows rise. “What do you mean?”
“Orson spent a few hours with Kingi and George this morning,” Richard says, “in order to gain a full understanding of the commune’s financial situation. Then he called an emergency meeting of the Midnight Circle. He put forward a proposal, and all the members of the Circle signed the agreement form on the spot. The proposal includes seventeen and half million dollars for the sale of the Waiora, and a further charity donation to the retreat of seven and a half million dollars. So the proposal is for twenty-five million dollars. ”
My jaw drops. His initial offer was for fifteen, which is much more than it was valued at. George pushed him to seventeen and a half. But now he’s offering twenty-five? Fifteen million more than what the Waiora is worth?
I look at Orson. He meets my gaze steadily, not moving.
“The proposal includes a clause that Blake’s remaining debt be wiped,” Richard continues.
My throat tightens. Oh God. Orson…
“Scarlett,” Richard says gently, “we know this has been a huge shock to you. The land that Kahukura is built on belongs to you, and you have every right to close the commune and keep the money from the sale of the Waiora for yourself. The charity donation would go to the retreat, or in the event of its closure, to the Women’s Refuge. But we’re hoping that you will stay, and keep the retreat up and running.”
“We’ve talked a lot about the commune and our way of life,” George says. “Obviously there have been hurt feelings, and some loss of trust because of the events. So we’re putting forward the idea of changing the commune into an intentional community. This would mean that the members have control of their own finances, but that we would continue to work together to run the retreat, to collaborate on tasks and the maintenance of Kahukura, and to share resources. Does that make sense?”
I nod, because I don’t trust myself to speak.
“I would promote David to joint financial director,” George says, naming one of the men in the commune who is an accountant, “and from now on we’ll always have two people looking after the finances.”
“We would like to spend the majority of the money from the sale on improving the site,” Richard says, “repairing buildings, building new ones, and maybe on encouraging some new blood into the community. The donation would be spent entirely on the retreat—on improving the facilities and enlarging the accommodation so we can accept more women and families.”
“But it all depends on you,” George says. He takes the manila folder from Richard, rises, and brings it over to me. He puts it on the table before me, opens the folder, and shows me the contents. “This is the proposal.” He points out the clause about wiping my father’s debt, and the way the money is to be broken down into the sale and the donation. He turns the page to reveal a space for my signature. “You don’t have to sign now,” he says. “You’re welcome to take it to the lawyer you saw, or someone else to get independent advice. We don’t want you to feel pressured in any way.”
I swallow hard and look around the table. Despite his words, I can see the fear on their faces. They’re worried I’m going to say that I want to take the money and run. That I want to close the commune and the retreat, which would essentially leave them all homeless.
I’m not surprised they’re afraid. Many of them have been here over thirty years. They’ve built what they thought was a solid foundation for a place to live and bring up their children, formed around a common purpose and ideology, which is basically that if we pull together, we can achieve more than if we work alone.
What my father did hasn’t destroyed that. All he did was prove that he was human.
I look at Kingi, who’s frowning, but who smiles briefly as he sees my gaze fall on him. Then I look at Orson. He’s not wearing a suit, and instead has donned dark chinos and a navy shirt. He wanted to dress down to put the Elders at ease. He’s a smart guy who knows how to read a room.
He’s offered to pay off my father’s debt and make sure that Kahukura is safe and secure for the foreseeable future. If it’s what I want. If I decide to stay. Again, he’s leaving the choice in my hands. He’s not pressuring me to leave. Quite the opposite, really. If I stay, it means the divide will remain between us, because even if the commune does become an intentional community, our ideologies will always be different.
But I have to put aside my personal feelings right now. I have to decide what’s best for the people in this room, for the members of the commune, and for the women and children who come to the retreat.
And there’s not really a decision to be made, is there?
“Can I borrow your pen?” I ask Kingi.
There’s a collective intake of breath around the table. Kingi picks it up and passes it to me. What a shock—it’s a Montblanc. Ana has a thing for stationery, and she showed me their website once. I remember this one—it’s a limited-edition Muhammed Ali pen. I swear it was worth seven thousand dollars.
I slide off the cap, turn it in my fingers, then sign on the dotted line.
Then I glance up at Orson, who smiles.