Chapter Twelve
A WEEK LATER, I spend the day pacing the farm as I await April’s return from her first day of school.
By now, the sights are familiar. Most of the acreage is fields of oats.
The stalks have been broken down and the men have moved on to later steps in the harvest. Today, they sit in a circle, talking while they swish the grain around in baskets.
They toss the contents just high enough for the breeze to catch the chaff and carry it away.
I give them a wide berth, not wanting to intrude, though Sid’s words from the other night echo in my ear.
You don’t have to live that way anymore. You’re safe here.
It’s so tempting to believe him. Most of the guys are comfortable ignoring me now, which is wonderful.
Indifference is one of the safest emotions to inspire in a man.
Aside from small talk at dinner each night, they expect nothing from me.
I doubt they’ll even notice once we’re gone, aside from Silas who will be relieved to have his apartment back.
Well, Sid might notice too. Any time I pace near their group, his eyes flick up. It only lasts a second and I wouldn’t know he’d done it at all if I wasn’t watching for the gesture. We’re both guilty of… what, exactly? Curiosity?
I turn away rather than dwell on the thought for too long and keep walking.
It rained last night, but the sun has broken through the clouds to illuminate the dew that clings to every surface.
The cedars at the edge of the farm shimmer with heavy mist, their scent lifting into the air.
These have always been my favourite mornings.
Nothing feels better than rolling back a wet tarp to find the world filmy and bright.
My walk takes me to the far edge of the property, where Silas keeps a small clutch of chickens (they’re almost far enough away not to wake us up in the morning) and a beehive that everyone says is a huge pain in the ass to keep alive through the winter.
I skirt by the duck pond, my boots sinking through the sodden grass into the muddy layer below.
Closer to the farmstead, I pass a few rows of vegetable gardens.
So long as Sid’s guys meet their assigned grain quotas, they’re free to use the remaining land how they wish.
It’s late enough in the season that many of the plants have started to die back.
Yesterday’s rain did the tomato vines no favours.
They’re greying, though fruit still ripens along a tangled trellis and it takes all my self control not to run off with a handful of cherry tomatoes.
And that’s it. I can circle the whole acreage dozens of times in a day, going nowhere. Forget April’s medicine, I better get that border job just so I know what the hell to do with all my pent up energy.
Late in the afternoon, April comes home, a massive stack of papers in her arms. “They put me in Grade 10,” she says before I can even ask how it went. “Mostly because my English scores were high. I’m in a remedial math class for kids who’ve fallen behind, but I am not staying there.”
“And what are these?” I reach to take some of her load and realize the papers are math workbooks going all the way back to Grade 6. They aren’t bound with spines, like pre-Quake books, but crudely made with stapled printer paper.
“My ticket out of the stupid kid class.”
“April, we do not call ourselves or other children stupid.” I should have taught her this a while ago, but it never came up in our old lives. She had no one to compare herself to other than me and I had a ten-year head start on everything. How was I to know she’s so competitive?
She grabs the workbooks roughly back from me. “I’ve got a lot of studying to do.”
“Be careful about rushing yourself. You just finished your first day and—holy shit! There’s more?”
Carlos has turned the corner into the gravel drive. He’s loaded up with twice the stack April carries. He peeks around the pile, eyebrows raised as if to say don’t ask me how I got roped into this.
April tosses her ponytail over her shoulder. “Social Studies and Science. Come, Carlos.”
He follows obediently into the apartment. Behind me, several of the guys bust up with laughter.
“Ah, young love,” says Wendell and next to him, one of the DomBert brothers swoons dramatically.
I throw them a scowl. “That is not what is going on.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Carlos is a coward,” says James, refilling his basket with another scoop of grain. “No reason to think he’ll ever make a move.”
Sid even joins in. “She could do a lot worse.”
“It’s not personal. She just isn’t interested.”
“She told you that?” Sid’s icy blue eyes flick up to meet mine.
I should be firing back something about how we’re sisters.
She doesn’t have to say she isn’t interested because I can tell.
But it’s also the type of thing I know he’ll push against. How am I supposed to really know, when April hasn’t had the chance to live around kids her own age before?
I have no clue what she’s attracted to, other than guys who once played Spider-Man.
Real life attraction doesn’t play out the same way it does in magazine photos.
Luckily, I’m saved having to answer by Carlos running back towards us. I resist pointing at him and saying see? He didn’t bother staying with her! Nothing going on.
“We stopped by the mailbox and—” he starts, but Sid is already standing, hand outstretched.
“It came?” asks Sid.
“Yeah.” Carlos passes him a pile that includes the newspaper and another paper, folded over and sealed with wax.
Sid rips the seal open and spends a couple seconds reading it silently. Both James and Silas are on their feet next to him. “Holy shit, it’s official.”
“Hell yes!” Silas, usually the group’s sullen, silent shadow, thumps Sid on the back. The younger guys jump up, asking to see the letter too. I’m on the verge of joining in when Carlos side-steps the group to get to me.
“And this one has your name on it.” He passes me another letter.
“Really? Oh!” The wax seal has a maple leaf imprint in the centre and around it, the words Government of Salt Spring.
It brings a smile to my face. Someone has gone to the trouble of making an official seal, probably because it’s easier to get beeswax now than it is to manufacture paper envelopes like people used in the pre-Quake days.
Government of Salt Spring. Heh. That long, stupid-ass name the government officials usually use must not fit.
I dart away, grateful now for the commotion around Sid, so that I don’t have any attention on me. My first letter! I’m not sure what I’m expecting. Something from April’s school? Tom Sullivan being his obnoxious self, but now by post? I open it carefully, not wanting to wreck the seal.
Dear Ms. Hollins,
Thank you for visiting the Ministry of Public Safety and Homeland Security.
It is with deepest regrets that I must inform you that your application to the border guard has been unsuccessful.
While we welcome applications from all members of Salt Spring Island’s community, the presence of two demerits on your sanctuary papers unfortunately means—
I go back to the beginning and reread it, not quite believing the words.
He can’t be serious. Sid said sanctuary seekers have a legal right to employment and there was a court case about it.
Except… he didn’t say anything about demerits.
I must be the exception. I am so horrible, Salt Spring doesn’t even want me to die for them in their border guard.
Letters, I realize now, are the coward’s tool. That weaselly bastard. At least Tom Sullivan has the guts to tell me he hates me to my face.
Blood pumps in my ears as I read the rest of it.
Should you resolve your file with the Department of Immigration to a state in which you have no demerits, we would welcome your reapplication—
I don’t have any idea how to do that. Besides which, there isn’t time.
April is running out of insulin and this border guard idea was the only one I had that provided any hope of supporting us.
I’m angry—at this shitty government, but also at myself.
Why the hell did I think they would trust me?
Of course they weren’t going to give me a gun.
If I were them, I wouldn’t give me a gun either.
For the first time, I think I understand Tom’s point. Some people aren’t made for civilization. That was the gist of what he said. I am too dangerous and untrustworthy for this colony to take a chance on. The only way I can save April is by giving her up.
The thought makes me physically ill. I stumble away from the people chattering happily behind me. Whatever news Sid got, it’s good. Isn’t he lucky? No one is asking him to give up his sister.
At least they don’t notice me sneaking away. Once I reach the open road, I start running. The direction doesn’t matter. All I can hope is that the slap of my feet will drown out my thrashing heart.
She’s all I have. She’ll die if she stays with me. I’ll die if I lose her.
I push myself harder, muscles responding as if there’s a cougar on my trail.
I picture April inside Silas’s apartment, pouring over a dozen Math workbooks and my chest feels as though it could split in two.
She has no idea what deep shit we’re in.
More than anything, I would love to grab her and tell her it’s time to go.
We never stay in the same place for too long and once again, this one isn’t safe. The people here want to rip us apart.
What a clever tactic. Astolia used guns to keep everyone in line, but here, it’s all paperwork.
Letters are a lot cheaper than bullets. They’ll cut us up and remake us.
They’ll decide where we live, who gets to be a family and what kind of work we’re expected to do, all without firing a single shot.
The Grand Astrologue could take some notes.
My legs grow weak and I stumble to a halt, grasping my knees for support.
I have no idea how far I’ve gone, but at some point the sun set and the wind picked up.
It catches all the hot, sore spots on my body, knifing me further.
I suddenly become aware of the balled-up paper in my left hand, which has grown soft and crinkled from sweat.
So much for treasuring my very first letter.
I start ripping it. With each tear, my breath comes faster until the only way I can fight my mounting panic attack is by screaming.
I howl like the wild animal these people take me for.
Finally, there’s nothing left but shreds on the gravel road.
I crash to my knees, fighting to regain my breath.
When the lightness in my head subsides, I hear a raven cawing from a distant tree.
All at once, I’m alert and listening for danger.
Did someone see me? Am I going to get another demerit?
But no one answers me besides the crow. This damn island.
There’s somehow too many people and too much space.
How am I supposed to know whether I’m being watched?
I don’t know where I am, but I ran in a straight shot.
I might as well turn around. Much as I don’t want to return to the acreage, April is there.
I tell myself as I walk that I’ll think of something.
I’ve protected April all by myself for nine years.
Something will come to me. I get nothing but mounting darkness for my efforts as a thin moon rises overhead.
It’s about an hour (I’m starting to figure out how long those are) before I reach the acreage.
I’m greeted by an intense pinprick of light that stops me in my tracks.
The beam is a perfect circle, otherworldly and ethereal.
I stare at it, stupefied. What’s causing it? For all I know, it could be an angel.
Then it swings around onto me and I am blinded. I reach up to shield my eyes, and someone sighs from behind the glow.
“Fucking finally.” Angels, it turns out, have dirty mouths.
“Sid?”
“Where the hell did you go?” He lowers the beam, striding forward.
“I went for a run.” My eyes follow his hand, still curious about the light. As he nears, I recognize the shape of the tool he’s holding. It’s just a flashlight. I’ve found dozens over the years in abandoned houses, but never one that works.
“You got a letter and then you went for a run? Without telling anyone?”
“I’m sorry, were you worried?” I look up as he comes within a couple feet of me. Even in the gloom I can make out the stitch in his brow and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, as if he’s been frantically running around for the past hour himself.
“No shit! Carlos said you got a letter from the government and then you disappeared! Of course I was—”
He’s cut short by my body colliding with his. The tears I’ve been too angry to cry all day leak down my cheeks. Piney notes, mingled with cigarette smoke, fill my head as I breath him in. “Thank you.”
Slowly, his arms wrap around me. I bury my ear into his chest, treasuring the thrum of an anxious heart. I should apologize for freaking him out, but it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I know its rhythm so well. It beats with the same urgency mine has always given to April.
For the first time since my mother died, someone was worried about me.