Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
It’s my twenty-first birthday but I’m probably the only one who realizes it. Birthdays aren’t celebrated here, only the milestones of becoming a governor, steward, wife, or mother.
I’m on my way home when the sight of Governor James and Troy approaching my trailer just ahead of me sends my stomach into my feet. A governor never comes to find me. If there’s a new task they want me to do, they’ll send one of the matrons or occasionally one of the wives to relay the message.
I glance down at the large plastic tote I’m pulling in a child’s wagon. Did Matron Ruth put something in it that I’m not allowed to have? She prepares my food allowance each week, and I know she slips in some extra treats. She hates to see anyone go hungry.
Troy grins at me and swipes his hair off his forehead.
He’s a steward now, and I have to remember to address him that way around others, even though he doesn’t like it.
Damn, he’s only gotten better looking. The way I feel about him is something I would never admit.
I’m sure he wouldn’t like it and I’d probably be punished somehow.
I don’t say anything, waiting for Governor James to speak first. “You have new assigned duties,” he says, thrusting a sheet of paper into my hands. “You will assist Steward Troy with our market inventory.”
“Yes, Governor.” I scan the sheet he’s handed me where someone has written my duties, dividing them by the days of the week and into afternoon, evening, and nighttime blocks.
It’s everything I can do not to smile when I realize I’ll be spending a lot of time with Troy, but I’m not sure why it’ll be at night.
Governor James stares me in the eye. “I will only say this once. Steward Troy is in charge of you. You will obey him. He’ll teach you what to do. Do what he tells you without argument or insolence. If I get one complaint about you, you’ll be back in the reflection hall. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Governor.” I force my voice to waver a tiny bit. He wants me to be scared and it’s always best to give them what they want. Or for them to think you did, anyway. “I’ll do a good job.”
“You’d better. This assignment means you’ll be permitted to leave the farm with Troy. You’re familiar with Steward Charles’s wife, Mindy?”
The question jars me. “Yes, Governor. I know who she is.”
“Good. You saw her punishment for abandoning us. Mindy is a valuable person here. A wife that has been very fruitful and will continue to be.” His gaze bores into mine as his voice hardens.
“If you get the idea in your head to run, I want you to consider what the punishment would be for someone who holds no worth. Maybe you don’t value yourself either, but there’s always your mother and those little ones who could suffer for your crimes.
” His smile is wicked as he lightens his tone. “Why, they may not even survive it.”
“I would never abandon my home and family.” It’s not true, but neither is his threat against my relatives.
Mindy ran and she was the only one who was punished, not her children.
The same thing goes for Steward Wayne’s wife, Georgia.
She ran away when she was being taken to a doctor’s appointment in town over six months ago.
She got away and her son wasn’t affected.
I’m not dumb enough to just hoof it without a plan because I don’t doubt they’d torture me if I’m caught, but if I find a way, my brothers will be fine.
My answer satisfies him and he gives a nod, then walks away.
Troy lingers, a small smile on his face. “I’ll come and get you at ten tonight.”
“What are we doing at night?”
“You’ll see.” He strides away, then calls back to me. “Dress warm.”
Do they stock the market at night? That’s the only reason I can think of that we’d go so late.
I’m excited to get off the property for only the second time since I was brought here, but an undercurrent of nerves runs through me as I take my food inside and make my dinner. I’m not sure what to expect tonight.
Matron Ruth has put some powdered cocoa in my supplies this week.
With the sugar, oatmeal, and peanut butter I already have, I’ll be able to make some drop cookies.
The thought puts a smile on my face. I’ve become a decent cook through some trial and error and from recipes Matron Ruth shared with me.
I plan out my meals carefully, but she always gives me more than enough to get me through the week, so I haven’t had to worry about going hungry again.
The old stove is ugly but mostly functional. Two of the four burners work, and the oven does too as long as you don’t need it above four hundred degrees. I pull the last of the leftover vegetable soup out of the tiny fridge and reheat it, then slice a chunk off a fresh loaf of bread.
I was lucky that the steward who lived in this trailer before me left behind this plaid couch.
There was a large tear in one cushion that I was able to sew up.
The heavy wooden arms host a bunch of cigarette burns, but it’s not uncomfortable.
It’s my only real furniture other than a mattress on the floor.
I settle on the couch with the bowl in my lap to eat.
After dinner, I don’t have any duties until Troy picks me up. Stretching out on the couch, I wrap myself in a blanket, set my alarm clock to go off in two hours, and close my eyes for a rare nap. Who knows if this new job will be an all night thing.
I’m dressed and ready to go when Troy shows up a few hours later. “Bring some work gloves,” he says.
“Yes, Steward.” I shove a pair into my jacket pocket.
“Just call me Troy, for fuck’s sake.”
“Okay.” This feels awkward. Even though we’ve remained friends, things have changed.
When we were children, we weren’t equals, exactly, since the boys are always placed above the girls, but close to it.
We were just kids picking berries and making fun of the stewards and matrons behind their backs.
Now at age twenty-two and twenty-one, he’s one of them and I’m nothing.
He leads the way out into the night. The stars hang like bits of ice in the dark sky as my breath fogs the air. The days have started to warm up but early May nights can be chilly. It feels strange to be outside so late, and especially odd to buckle myself into the passenger seat of the truck.
“Are we going to the flea market?”
“Not yet.” He turns up the heater and points one of the vents toward me before starting down the road. “At night after the stores close, we hunt for things that can be resold. Clothing, shoes, books, toys, household stuff, you name it. We’ll fill the truck up and then take it to a storage space.”
“After the stores close?” That doesn’t make sense. They sell to him after hours?
He nods and glances over at me with a grin.
“You wouldn’t believe what gets thrown away.
From the big department stores, mostly, but I’ve had luck with grocery stores, drug stores, dollar stores.
They get too much of something they can’t fit on the shelves or that isn’t selling well and into the dumpster it goes.
” He gestures to the coat he’s wearing. “I got this from behind Harry’s Clothing for Men. ”
“From the dumpster?” All I can think about is how badly our dumpster smells every week when I take the cans down. “It wasn’t…gross?”
“Nope. Brand new. Only the places that sell food get nasty and if it reeks, we’ll move on.
” He flashes a teasing smile at me and for a second, I see the boy who chased me through the berry fields with a big fat toad when we were kids.
“Unless you’d like to fight raccoons for a snack. I won’t judge.”
“No thanks,” I snort.
He chuckles and turns on the radio. How long has it been since I’ve heard music that didn’t come from one of the stewards’ guitars?
It feels like I’ve suddenly been transported to a different world, hurtling down the deserted road, watching the fields blur by, the stars tagging along with us while a rock song fills my ears.
Before they go to a commercial, the DJ announces, “That was Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.”
Troy glances over at me. “The drummer for that band only has one arm. He lost it in a car accident.”
“Really? That’s amazing.” One of my neighbors used to play the drums when I was a kid and I remember how difficult it looked. “He must be fast.”
Streetlights appear along the sides of the road as we approach the closest town.
My last trip here changed things for me forever.
I try not to think about that day at the doctor and ask a question I hope won’t piss Troy off.
“Are you being punished for something? Is that how you got stuck on dumpster duty with me?”
He laughs, pulling into the parking lot of a long strip mall. “No, I asked for the job. I’ll tell you a secret, Sybil.” He drives us around to the dark alley behind the building and turns off the engine. “We have the best job in the place. You’ll see.”
He’s right about the dumpsters not smelling bad.
We start with one behind a shoe store. Troy gives me a flashlight, boosts me up, and climbs in after me.
“Okay, look carefully. The brand names will usually have the soles sliced open so they can’t be re-sold but they don’t bother with the cheaper stuff. ”
Slicing shoes open so nobody can wear them even though they’ve been thrown away.
How stupid and heartless. We toss the ones that are in good shape into a box in the back of the truck then move on to the next dumpster.
It belongs to a toy store, and I’m shocked at the amount of brand new toys that wait inside.
“Jackpot,” Troy exclaims.
I climb into the third dumpster as Troy rearranges stuff in the back of the truck. “You won’t find much in that one,” he advises. “It’s a bookstore. They tear the covers and backs off of them.”
Destroyed just like the shoes, except they aren’t really. They’re still readable with the covers missing. I scoop up one after another, scanning the titles. If they’re worthless, I wonder. “Stew—Troy,” I correct myself. “Am I allowed to keep one to read? If they can’t be sold?”
Books have never been explicitly against the rules. A few float around the collective, being loaned between wives mostly.
“You like to read?” Troy asks.
“I used to.” The words come out in a mumble.
He tosses an empty medium sized box into the dumpster with me. “Fill it up with whichever ones you want. As long as they’re missing the covers.”
With more excitement than I’ve felt in years, I stack the box full of about thirty paperbacks, then climb out and put it in the passenger floorboard. “Thanks,” I exclaim, and he nods.
In another dumpster, I find a portable stereo with a cassette player. Unfortunately, it’s sellable, not broken. It would’ve been so great to have music to cut through the silence at home. I’m not aware of Troy watching me admire it until he says, “Give it here.”
“It doesn’t have the original box, but it looks like it’s in good shape,” I remark, handing it over.
“Probably a floor model.” He slams the plastic handle against the rim of the dumpster, then holds it out to me. “Happy birthday.”
My jaw drops. “I—are you sure? The governors…” There’s a difference in bringing back some tattered books and something like a radio or television. I’ve never been told I couldn’t have one, but women don’t get either unless their husband buys it.
“Hey, I’m a steward, remember? And they put me in charge, and I say you can have it. I told you. There are perks to this job.”
Over the course of the next few hours, I learn how true that is. When Troy decides we’re due for a break, he takes me to a twenty-four-hour donut shop where he buys us donuts and hot chocolate. It feels so strange to be tucked into a corner table with him at nearly two in the morning.
“Do you always stop here?” I ask.
“No.” He munches on a cruller. “I know all the places in town that are open late or overnight. Sometimes I go to the truck stop. They have good food but give their bathrooms a miss if you don’t want to die of dysentery.
” He smiles at my laugh and goes on. “There’s an all night diner on the other side of town with cherry pie I’d marry if I could. ”
The jingle of the bell above the door interrupts us and draws our attention to the two police officers walking in. “Cops in a donut shop. Shocking,” Troy whispers, bouncing his eyebrows up and down.
One of the officers approaches us. “Troy,” he says, “Got a new assistant?”
“Sure do, Officer Douglas. This is Sybil. She’ll be with me at night.”
The way the officer runs his eyes over me raises the hair on the back of my neck. I’m relieved when his attention turns back to Troy. “Someone dumped a bunch of furniture behind Secondhand Thrift. They won’t see it until morning.”
“We’ll head there next then. Thanks for the heads up.”
His partner walks over with a to-go bag and hands him a coffee. The officer nods at me before starting away. “Be safe. As he intends.”
The words fill me with ice. As soon as the door closes behind him, I meet Troy’s eyes with a silent question.
He nods. “Not all the Guardians of His Natural Order live at Hearth and Vine.”