#josephjones

[persimmonsimmer]

There was nothing to distinguish this particular town from the rest. It was no larger or richer than most. It was not particularly well situated. It had not benefited from especially great fortune. Just two families living side-by-side in the woods in cramped, smoke-filled cabins.

One family consisted of a young woman with a baby and her two elderly parents. I learned later that the woman’s husband had died not long before we arrived. Some kind of illness, sudden. The loss of a strong young man wasn’t an easy thing for a place to recover from back then.

The young woman and her family never took to us. From that first day on, her eyes watched me wherever I went, cold and sharp as two shards of knapped flint.

I never could learn to blame her. My father and I were two strangers who, by any estimation, would not be able to earn our keep. We staggered into their lives tired, hungry, sick. For all she knew, we had arrived only to bring yet more pestilence to their doorsteps.

It was Jake who convinced the others to allow us to stay.

Jake lived in the second cabin with his mother, a grey-haired woman with a lined, tired face and kind eyes. It was clear from the beginning, from the way that he could make the others listen to him, that Jake had the most influence in the town. He was young and strong, the most vital and energetic person in this struggling place. And if he chose to take on the extra work our presence would cause, who were the others to say he could not?

* * * * *

Citlali fidgeted.

“Anna." Peter crossed and uncrossed his arms, gestured vaguely in Citlali’s direction. His voice was chilly. “Let’s do this another time.”

Anna was jerked back into the present for only a moment; the memories called. “I would like to continue.”

* * * * *

Jake wouldn’t hear of turning us away. He said we could contribute in any way we were able, and that would be enough. He asked, wasn’t it the duty of the strong to help those who were weaker? Wasn’t that the foundation of a righteous civilization? Or had the rest of them all forgotten already, in just a few short years?

He took us into his own home. We ate the food that he and his mother had so painstakingly set aside through the winter, and we slept in the corner of the room on a pile of soft old blankets. It was the first time I had slept well in years.

[persimmonsimmer]

When Jake didn’t come to breakfast I became more concerned. I told his mother what had happened--the little I knew--and I saw fear cross her face. But was it only fear for Jake? Or was there a hint of suspicion there as well? She’d always been kind to us--surely she didn’t believe I would ever do anything to harm him.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask her.

A search was organized. But you must know how this goes by now.

He was gone.

[persimmonsimmer]

Jake’s mother had a kitchen garden that she tended to every day. The soil was rocky and poor, she said, so it took a great effort to coax the tender sprouts into mature, fruit-bearing plants. When not in the garden, she cleaned and mended things--Jake’s clothes, the neighbors’ shoes, the broken leg of a chair.

They also kept goats. They used their milk to make cheese, which, I was surprised but not unhappy to find, agreed with my stomach. After eating their food for a while I was far from hale and hearty, but I was strong enough to help in small ways. Sometimes Jake’s mother would hand me a pile of blankets to air out, or a bowlful of shriveled beets to peel. I tried to find little ways to amuse her as we worked, making up silly stories about life Before, and even sillier ones about animals that could talk, and fairies who granted wishes. She seemed to enjoy them, for whatever they were worth.

My father helped tend to the goats, and he often brought home fish from the nearby stream. He offered to look after the neighbor woman’s child so that she could get more work done during the day, but she refused.

Jake did the manual labor, which was never-ending. He chopped wood for the stove, dug up roots and hauled away rocks so his mother could expand her garden, planted fence-posts to widen the goats’ enclosure. Sometimes he went hunting, sharing whatever he brought back from his trips equally with the neighbors.

He was kind and warm, strong, generous. He brushed away our thanks, said he was only doing what was right. He said we were now a part of the community, that he was happy to help us and look after us in any way he could. After just a short while there, I believed him.

* * * * *

“Anna.” Peter’s jaw was clenched.

So he understood. Or thought he did. She didn’t dare glance at Citlali.

“I’ve kept all of this to myself for too long. Trevor deserves to know.”

Trevor’s gaze was fixed upon the table.

“Not. like. this. Anna--”

* * * * *

“What are they saying?” 

“I don’t know! I can’t see anything ‘cause someone keeps wobbling all around--”

“You’re too heavy!”

“I told you it’d be boring.”

“Shut up, stupid. They’ll hear you!”

“Can we please just go? James is right, this isn’t worth it. Mr. and Mrs. Fuentes-Haddad are probably wondering where we are, we’ll get in trouble--”

“Shhh! If you two would just help--”

* * * * *

We fell in love.

[persimmonsimmer]

But that happy time was not unmarred by its share of troubles.

The young woman next door had never shown any affection for me, but once it became known that Jake and I were in love, her antipathy deepened.

She expressed her dislike, at first, in only the quietest of ways, so that no one but I would notice. When we crossed paths, she made sure to glare darkly, and she would not speak to me except, sometimes, to mutter under her breath that perhaps I was a witch. I must have beguiled Jake with spells and love potions; nothing else could explain his attachment to me. Nonsense, of course, but she must have known it would upset me.

I believe she had hoped, after the death of her husband, that Jake would marry her, become father to her orphan child, protect and cherish her as he now did me. I don’t hold it against her, anymore.

Increasingly I found myself the target of poisonous looks not just from her, but from her parents as well. I kept out of their way.

There was another settlement only a day or two away, and occasionally a visitor would arrive to barter with us and exchange news. I traded a few blocks of cheese for a trowel and a pair of scissors. Yet I noticed that man who traded with me seemed reluctant, and I wondered if he had heard the young woman’s gossip. Superstition was common in those days.

A few days later, news came that the same man had been injured, perhaps permanently, in a freak accident. From that day on traders would deal only with the young woman or her parents, and would shoot me nasty looks if I was within eyesight.

Naively, I thought that I could ignore a problem into nonexistence. And if anyone ever did think to take their superstitions a step too far, I had Jake on my side. He would put a stop to any trouble.

And then, another misfortune: In the midst of weeks of mild spring weather came a late snowfall, a wintry storm that blew in suddenly and violently and blanketed the woods in dampening white. The kitchen garden froze, dooming what would have been the first harvest of the season.

The old man next door was caught off guard out in the blowing winds, and though he was able to make a shelter in the snow, by the time he returned it was clear that he would lose several fingers to frostbite. The shock of it all had severely weakened him.

The young woman’s mutterings grew bolder after this. I was a bad omen, a hex. My bad luck was infecting the rest of them.

But my close encounters with her were less frequent now that she was busier than ever taking care of her father. I ignored her outbursts when I couldn’t avoid them, and carried on.

[persimmonsimmer]

It had been a productive afternoon, full of toddler care and household chores as usual. Joseph was tired, and worried. He wasn’t sure that Anna had taken their conversation earlier to heart. She needed a change, but would she have the strength to make one?

He noticed Anna’s crying before he noticed the hairs that were standing on end on the back of his neck. The coldness seeping into his bones.

He turned, and although he already half knew what he’d find, the sight shook him.

IT IS TIME.

Joseph wanted to protest. They still need me. Just a little longer. I might be able to help if I just had a little more time. But it would be no use. The empty hourglass was right there in front of him, indisputable. His time was up.

It would be better for Anna and the children if he went easily, without a fuss. So, head bowed, he did.

[persimmonsimmer]

[persimmonsimmer]

Trying to put the previous night out of her head was proving impossible. Trevor hadn’t spoken to her all morning, and Peter had bolted for the store at first light.

Anna was now indulging her father in a game of chess, his favorite pastime, while the triplets napped, but was finding it hard to focus on the game.

“My opponents have all seemed distracted of late,” Joseph said. “Is there something on your mind?”

Of course he would notice. It seemed her father was the only one who ever cared to notice when she was out of sorts. “Did you tell Trevor about his father?”

Joseph peered at her over the board. “He asked some questions a while back. I told him he should talk to you.”

“Well, he didn’t. Not until he was throwing his knowledge of the supposed ‘truth’ in my face, at least. Saying he knows Peter isn’t his real father. Where could he have heard that?”

Joseph chose his words carefully. He could hear how brittle his daughter’s voice sounded. “It’s been common knowledge to pretty much everyone in this town except Trevor that he isn’t Peter’s son. It could have come from anyone.”

Anna pressed a hand over her face. “Everything is such a mess, Dad. He thinks I’m some kind of monster now. Maybe I am.”

“You’re my daughter. Not a monster.”

“I’ve been so stupid.”

“You’ve been doing your best.”

“But I worry about you,” Joseph continued. “Constantly. You’re not happy.”

“Of course I’m not. I’m sick. I’m a failure as a wife. My son hates me and thinks I’m a liar. The triplets need me and yet most of the time I’m too tired to do anything for them. I don’t have any friends here. And I know it’s all my fault, but I don’t know what to do about it. It’s more than I can handle. Without your help I don’t know what I’d do.”

“That’s what worries me so much. I won’t be around forever. ...Anna, you really should think about what it is you want. This place isn’t like the others. You can let your guard down. You’ve got a lot on your plate, I know, but don’t convince yourself that it’s too late to change anything. There’s always time to make a change.”

Anna wasn’t sure she believed that, but she didn’t want to upset her father. "That’s good advice, Dad. Thank you.”

“I think I hear the kids. We’ll have to finish our game later.”

[persimmonsimmer]

“Hmm. I can see you’re trying to bait me into taking your queen,” Joseph thought aloud, as he usually did when playing against Trevor.

Trevor knew his grandfather kept hoping he would pick up on his tips and get better at the game, but to be honest Trevor wasn’t all that interested in chess. And today, especially, he was playing on autopilot. “An obvious blunder, as she’s guarded by your rook. I’m not sure I’m interested in a queen exchange just—“

“Grandpa, where did you and Mom live before you came here?” Trevor interrupted.

“Here and there.” It took Joseph a moment to recalibrate to the change in subject. “We were looking for someplace to settle down. And then we found Panorama, and we did!”

“Did you have any friends in any of those other places you lived?”

“A few, maybe. Most places we only stopped in briefly to recharge before moving on. Most of the other ‘towns’ out there are only one, maybe two families living near each other. And most of them didn’t have enough extra resources to share with newcomers like us, so we had to move on before we became too much of a burden. But that’s long behind us now. Why the sudden interest?”

Trevor stopped beating around the bush. “Did Mom have me in her stomach before you got here and met Dad?”

“Where did you hear something like that?” Joseph sounded startled, like adults did when you took them off guard but they were trying not to let you know.

“Is it true?”

“I think that’s a question for your Mom and Dad to answer, when they think you’re ready to talk about all that,” Joseph said.

“That means it’s true, doesn’t it? My dad isn’t my real dad?”

“No matter what, Trevor, your dad is your real dad. That I can tell you. Peter--your dad--has been there for you since the day you were born. He and your mom both love you.”

Trevor’s head was hurting him. His grandpa’s words were confusing, but whatever he said about real dads and love and stuff, Trevor was pretty sure it all boiled down to one thing: That what Nancy had told him was right.