Califia's Daughters (6 page)

“How—” Both Dian and Judith began at once; after a glance at her sister, Dian continued. “How close did you get?”

Syl looked surprised that anyone should expect speech from her. She looked at Miriam as if for permission, then sat up straight in her chair.

“Not too close. Isaiah'd warned us about you and your dogs. I went up in a tree on the top of the next hill. Couldn't see too much of the valley, just enough to confirm that he wasn't talking nonsense. Took a look at the site the other side of the river. Was gone in a day.”

“You must be very good.”

“I was well taught,” she said, with an oddly shy and secret amusement. Miriam moved briskly on, to defer any contemplation of the Valley's breached defenses.

“When she got back we immediately started making plans. At first we were going to send just a few down, to talk and discuss it. It was Isaac who proposed that he and Teddy be sent. As a ‘gift,' he said, though I don't think he really likes the idea of being ‘given' away. We—” She frowned and fiddled again with the band on her finger. “Our group is a little bit different from yours. For one thing, we seem to have a higher rate of survival for boy babies. Of a hundred and five in the village, twenty-eight—almost a third—are males.” Miriam ignored the surprised noises that came from her audience. “And that's another reason we have to get away from the river. Of the four boy babies born in the last eighteen months, only one is alive, and he's the second youngest.” She did not look at Judith, whose hand crept of its own volition to her belly. “Our doctor says it's related to the radiation plague that killed the fish and those women. We must leave.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, pleading now. “We have to get out of there.”

. . . THE NEXT DAY, WHEN THE CITY WAS ON THE VERGE OF BEING LOST,
ITS SALVATION CAME FROM THE NEW DANGER ITSELF.

F
OUR

T
HERE WAS LITTLE MORE TO BE SAID, NOT IN THE PRESENCE
of the strangers, at least, and the meeting broke up shortly thereafter. Miriam and her women went to rest and heal their aches in the sunshine and prepare their equipment and stores for departure in a day or two. A general meeting of the community leaders was called for that night and everyone dispersed, talking intently in small groups, to whatever chores were too urgent to put off.

Dian and Judith split up, Dian to receive the reports of the women who had stood watch during the night, Judith to talk with the householders who had given the strangers beds. The two met up later in the morning with Kirsten, climbing to the old woman's sitting room at the top of the house. Kirsten and Judith sat, enjoying the breeze that moved through the attic rooms, while Dian stood at the window, looking down. In the road, some kids were playing Car Drivers, taking turns at Driver and Horse-Power (she could remember making that same mistake herself as a child—how can we have a car without a horse to make it go?). The boy Teddy stood to one side, holding his father's hand and watching the others play; at a distance adults and other children watched them in turn, the children in simple curiosity, the women with an interest rather more complex. Dian wondered idly if the little boy was always so shy, and tried to think if she had yet heard him speak. His father seemed to be telling him something; then the man turned as something caught his attention from behind the building. It was Peter. Judith's brother greeted the stranger, shaking his hand, and said something to the child, who answered by gluing himself more firmly against his father's leg. The two men stood talking for a moment. It was a lovely sight, to Dian and at least a dozen others: two men and a boy in casual conversation on a sunny morning. She ached at how natural and right it looked, until after a minute Peter asked Isaac something and, when Isaac shook his dark head, gestured and led the two new menfolk off in the direction of the pond.

From behind Dian came Judith's voice.

“What do you think?” The question was aimed at both her companions, but Dian turned from the window and took a chair facing the others. Her voice was sure.

“I think the woman, Miriam, is telling the truth—most of it, at any rate. Certainly the reasons for wanting to leave, that rang true. You agree?” This was directed at Kirsten, who dipped her white head in agreement, her gnarled hands busy with a piece of delicate needlework. “I also felt that the part about Crazy Isaiah, which sounded unlikely as hell, must be true. The only part I didn't like the feel of was when she referred to the males in her town. Not the numbers, though I do wonder if that could be an exaggeration—her calculation of percentage was a little generous, twenty-eight out of a hundred five isn't what I'd call thirty percent. You have to wonder if the numbers themselves are stretched. Our percentage is, what, twelve?”

“Twenty-four percent live birth rate, roughly ten percent survival at age three,” Judith supplied evenly, and Dian kicked herself at the unnecessary reminder.

“Yes. But it was the other thing she said that struck me, what was it? ‘Our group is a little bit different from yours.' That—smelled wrong. Tasted funny?” She searched for the right words, and ended up throwing up her hands in frustration. “I don't know how to say it, but she was hiding something, or rather avoiding bringing it up. Probably nothing important, but it was there.” The three sat in silence, considering. Sounds drifted up from the road, the women and girls coming in from the fields across the road for their lunch.

“You are right,” said Kirsten. “There is something unsaid. I wonder if we can get it from the man or boy, or from the two they will leave behind in the infirmary.”

“Is there any reason we should say yes to this proposition?” Dian asked bluntly. “They're not our responsibility. Why should we risk our future on an unknown village hundreds of miles away? Why shouldn't we say no, very sorry, we don't want you on our doorstep?”

“I can think of any number of reasons,” replied Judith. “Aside from the obvious humanitarian one. For one thing, what's to stop them from coming anyway? They could probably get here and set up for the winter without our help. What are we going to do, shoot them? Burn their houses down? They didn't even have to send these people to ask our cooperation at all—they could have just arrived. It would have been a gamble on their part, but then so is having what must be one in three of your adult women gone for two months. The fact that they didn't just drop out of the sky onto us makes me more inclined to listen to them seriously.” Dian, reluctantly, had to agree. She picked up her sister's line of thought, musing aloud.

“Assuming for the moment that everything they've told us is the truth, and they've left out nothing major, I will admit that I like what I see. I like the way Miriam works with her people, and the way Isaac acts, both with her and with the boy. It gives the impression of a group of people we could get along with, disciplined but not oppressively so. It's even a manageable number, not so numerous (again, supposing we've been told the truth) that they'd threaten to overrun us, especially if they set up in the grasslands outside the Valley. They've got sense, they're well trained—I'd sure as hell like to know how that woman Syl got in and out like that without the dogs knowing she was there. And whoever organized this expedition has got sense and guts. Their horses are well cared for, their wagons and everything in them well made and carefully thought out.”

Judith interrupted. “Did you spend
all
night going through their wagons?”

Dian gave her a tired smile. “Not quite the whole night. Enough to tell me about the minds of the people who own them. As for their bodies—well, still assuming we have the basic facts correctly—this sample of fourteen, roughly a tenth of their population, shows no signs of disease or malnourishment. They're intelligent, educated, and well made physically. Hell, if even one or two come up to the standard of the man, they'd be a prime asset.” She stopped abruptly. Kirsten glanced at her with only a trace of amusement, but Judith stared, openmouthed.

“My God, Dian, you're blushing!”

Flustered, Dian stood up and went back to the window. The road was nearly empty now, and none of the strangers was in sight. She turned back to the room.

“Yes, well. Maybe we should say thanks but no thanks—his presence is already disruptive. The whole damned village is going to be at each other's throats over him inside of a week.”

“We'll handle it,” Judith said. “Personally, I think we'd be fools to pass their offer up. You have to admit, Di, that to have a friendly village next door would help defenses tremendously. It would give us a chance to expand out of the Valley without stretching ourselves—we've talked often enough about our overcrowding, and this way we could easily send six or eight of our families down there without leaving them or us too weak.”

“Get rid of some of our troublemakers,” Dian grunted.

“Not fair to use them as a dumping ground.”

“We don't have anyone that bad. I just mean . . . there are those who might do better elsewhere.”

“You're talking about Laine,” Judith said bluntly.

“Laine needs more authority than I can give her,” Dian said, trying to be fair. “She needs to stretch herself. Being in charge of the yearly trips to Meijing isn't enough.” Not enough for Dian's taste, certainly—Laine was a constant thorn in her flesh, and she'd be happy to have the woman gone for months, not just weeks.

Judith heard the faint praise, but let it go without comment: Dian's woman, Dian's problem. She went on with her list of arguments. “A nearby village would also bring in a whole new set of genes. You know how Ling worries about the long-term results of intermarriage. We'd gain a lot, having them here, and as far as I can see without having to give up too much. And a one-to-three survival ratio—wow. If it's genetic instead of environmental, that would make another reason they would want to get clear of ‘Queen Bess's' reach.”

“All of which is assuming that Miriam is in fact telling the truth. And that there aren't any hidden traps. And, Jude, you know that's one hell of a big assumption.”

“So what do we do?”

“Bamboo shoots under the fingernails, burning coals . . .”

“Di! Be serious.”

“The other option is for me to go look. See firsthand how they live, what their problems are, what they aren't telling us.”

“What, three hundred miles? Dangerous miles? You can't do that.”

“Sure I can. It'd be great.”

She had intended to be flippant, but her sister knew her too well and heard the yearning. Heard, too, how thoroughly Dian had thought about it.

“Kirsten, tell her she's crazy.”

But Kirsten just let her hands fall idle, and after a minute she said, “Judith is right. We need these people. But Dian, you, too, are right. We must know what we are getting into before we allow these people to move onto our doorstep. Can you assure me that your women can handle the Valley security without you?”

Dian grimaced. “Considering the crap job I've been doing lately, it might be better without me. Laine and Jeri between them would tighten up discipline nicely.”

“I don't agree that you have been doing a crap job, but I trust your judgment. However, we should also ask, couldn't Laine do the job of looking at the Oregon community as well as you could?”

The siren call of freedom wailed a protest in Dian's ear—why the hell should Laine get to go?—but she did her best to give an honest answer. “One woman by herself couldn't do it. Even two would be risky, so we'd have to send three or four, or else one and dogs. We can't afford to have three women gone, and Laine really isn't very good with the dogs.”

“So the question that remains is, when do you go?”

Dian leaned on the frame of the window and glanced at her sister. “After the baby comes.”

“No!” objected Judith. “You can't wait that long; it'll be full winter by the time you're heading home. You can't travel in that kind of snow.”

“Of course I can. You need me for the birth, Jude, you can't tell me you don't.” Judith was silent, but looked stubborn. “And it's the only time that makes any sense. I can't go back with them; they'd be sure to get a message to their people and any dirt would be under the rug by the time we got there. I could follow just a few days behind them, but I don't know if it's fair to arrive when their town is still in a dither from these folk coming back. I should see them when things are as normal as they're going to be—like when winter is closing in.”

“But winter will close in on top of you. What about waiting until spring?”

Dian stared unseeing into the brightness outside, thinking aloud. “We'll have to tell them I am coming, don't you think? They're going to expect us to send somebody to check them out—surely they won't believe we're going to accept them with open arms simply because they've brought us two menfolk. If we tell them I'm going to come in the spring, they'll either take it at face value or they'll suspect that we're being tricky and I'm actually going to be right on their heels. But nobody's going to expect me to arrive after the snows start in November. I'd have to be nuts.” She turned to the room, a grin on her face. “So that's when I'll go.”

“
Nuts
is the word. Kirsten, tell her she's crazy.”

“She isn't, you know that, my dear. Your sister is quite capable of sitting out a blizzard in the woods, particularly with her dogs.”

“But what if something happened?”

“Something could happen a mile from home, or in the Valley itself,” Kirsten pointed out. “I don't like it any more than you do, but it has to be done, and Dian is the one to do it. November or March, it's a dangerous journey, but she will be careful. Won't you, my dear?”

“Oh, yes,” Dian said fervently. “Really careful.” She didn't care if she sounded like a child begging Mommy for permission; her heart was beginning to soar.
Away
, she thought—
away!

After a minute, Judith stirred. “I don't like it, but I guess you're right.” She dredged up some humor and shook her finger at Dian, a gesture straight from their mother. “But if anything happens to you because you stuck around for the birth, I'll never forgive you.”

“It's just possible you may find the storms are not quite so hard this year,” said Kirsten mildly. Dian looked at the top of the white head, bent again over its work.

“Why do you say that? You been gazing in your crystal ball again, Granny?”

“Don't mock your betters, child. The winters are getting milder. You two are used to hard freezes and months of snow, but they aren't normal for this area. When I was a child we never had snow in the Valley. Sometimes on the higher hills, but not down here, and the pond never froze hard enough to walk across. It was after the Bad Times that the weather began to go crazy, killed the redwoods on the ridges, changed the birds we get. The last few years, though, they haven't been as bad. Remember last year, it was almost Midwinter before the pond froze solid? I can remember plenty of years we were snowed in by Thanksgiving.” She bit off a thread and mused, “I wonder if it's possible that the earth is finally healing herself. Maybe she's going to forgive us after all.”

In Judith a tiny warm hope kindled, unexpected against the cold of waiting for the birth, as if the possibility of the earth's reawakening strength was also her own. The three sat there in meditative, almost prayerful silence for several minutes, until Kirsten prosaically broke the communion.

“I'm sorry, girls, but my old bladder needs to pee.”