New Salem Ch. 02

Weeks before he put his cloak around us, there was an incident that, I think, will help you understand. I remember that morning because it was the first deep freeze, and I was hacking at the water trough with a hatchet to break up the ice.

While I beat icy shrapnel into the frozen air, I wondered how anyone could be so devoted to authenticity. Who cared how the humans of centuries ago lived? Wasn't it enough that we survived and thrived now? Of course, auditors could enjoy a comfortable curiosity. They weren't digging graves in the frozen ground.

The ice broke, at last, and frigid water rose through the cracks. The cow tried to push me aside, but I braced my elbow against her nose. "Don't be an idiot," I grumbled. "You'll freeze your tongue."

I picked the shards out of the trough with purple, trembling fingers and tossed them to the ground. "Go on, then," I said, when the water was clear.

The cow's attendants, a pair of evil goats, jostled with her for the open water. I backed away before they could splash me. I retrieved my mittens and returned to the house with four fresh eggs cradled in my shawl.

I don't think you understand what it was like, living in that house. You cannot imagine how much I treasured every moment in the cold barn. When my mistress released me in the evenings, I climbed to my loft in the barn with gratitude.

Elisabeth had purchased her way to an upper-class experience, and her duration would be much shorter than most of the subjects. Rumors said she had only nine years left. Still, the experiment's parameters hadn't protected her body or mind from the realities of ancient life.

First, she had suffered a bad fall from a wagon. Then, she had contracted a consumptive habit that left her weak and fretful. Then, her births had been dangerously difficult, and neither child had survived.

Following the tragedies, the village had sent a string of girls to help at the farm, but each had fled before a month was out. The woman, it was said, could not be pleased. That woman, they whispered, was wrong in the head.

I did not have the luxury of flight.

Having been in her employ for nearly half a year, I felt that I understood Elisabeth Proctor better than most. Her body was plagued with pain that no apothecary could cure. Her mind, however sharp, had shattered under the grief of her lost children. Her marriage, which gossip said had been arranged by the auditors for genetic purposes, was an unwanted pressure.

This is why, you must understand, that when I stepped into the house, I ducked. The pewter cup, thrown at my head, ricocheted off the doorframe.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, limping toward me. Her hip was out again. She was pale, and her lips were chalky. I knew that she must have slept badly and was dehydrated.

"I was in the barn," I answered, offering the eggs to her. "I told you --"

She slapped my face so sharply that I dropped one of the eggs. "Liar!" she hissed. "Liar! You think you can deceive me."

I backed away and placed the remaining eggs on the rough-hewn table. I knew this mood. "I don't understand," I said. "How can I serve you, ma'am?"

"You cannot take him from me!" she screamed. Her hair, escaped from her cap, waved wildly around her cheeks.

"Miss Elisabeth," I said gently, "you are safe. I am here. There is no one here but us. I would take nothing from you."

"Liar! You would take John from me!"

At the time, the very idea was ludicrous. I extended my hands toward her. "Mr. John went into town," I reminded her. "He left yesterday. He won't be back until tomorrow. He has the meeting, remember?" I tried not to think of that meeting.

Elisabeth frowned and wrung her hands. "No, no," she said, "I know you were with him, in the barn. You were with him, laughing at me." She allowed me to turn her shoulders and I walked her back to the chair near the fire. "Everyone laughs at me."

"Mr. John isn't here," I said. "And I am not with him, I am with you."

"You should pray for forgiveness," she said, settling into her chair. "You think you are good, but you are not without sin."

I adjusted the blanket around her legs. "We are, none of us, without sin," I said, quoting the Book used in the village. I wondered if she could read my mind.

She shifted uneasily in the worn chair. "It hurts," she said.

"I know. Would you like some tea?"

Elisabeth buried her face in her hands. "I'm not crazy," she whispered. "I'm not crazy, Hannah. I can think."

I dared to place a hand on her shoulder. "I know," I said.

"I don't mean the horrible things I say."

"I know," I said.

She began to weep quietly. "I... I don't know what's wrong with me," she cried.

I cleaned the egg from the floor and set the kettle. I wondered if the auditors were monitoring her condition. I knew they would do nothing to help. I hoped the data was worth it.

----

I know that I was wrong.

Have you ever been hungry? So hungry, that the very thought of the food you desire makes your mouth water, and your stomach growl, and your knees weak?

It felt like that.

For weeks following our encounter in the barn, John avoided me. He was polite when he found me with Elisabeth. He was respectful when I delivered his lunch or assisted with his projects. But there was no sign that he recalled our moment together, and I believed he had forgotten it. Perhaps, for a man like him, a moment's weakness was too common to be remembered.

Perhaps, I was the only one who lay awake at night.

That winter, New Salem was plagued by illness. A raspy, evil cough carried off several elderly subjects and two infants. No sooner had the graves been dusted with snow, then a strange fever made the rounds. The Meetinghouse ordered more severe quarantine restrictions.

By the time Elisabeth caught pneumonia, our farm had been isolated from most of the village for weeks. Goods were obtained through delivery. Every few days, a runner would leave papers for John. He read them with a worried frown, then thrust them into the fire.

I waited on Elisabeth as best I could. The apothecary visited once, but his medical expertise was limited by historically accurate resources and information. He referenced "humors" and "effluvium" until Elisabeth screamed at him to get out.

At the door, the man insisted that John and I remove from the house. "Auditors be damned," were his exact words. "It's airborne, it's contagious, and I've had enough of death. Stay away until she is well."

That was how, on a bitter winter's night, we sat across from one another in the weak light of a lantern. The bread was moldy, but it was better than nothing. The silence between us was broken only by the evil goats, who were never quiet for long.

"What does Sycorax mean?" I asked.

He was startled, as if he had forgotten I was there. "It's... it's the name of an ancient Earth demon," he explained.

"Oh," I nodded. "A good name for the goat, then."

"I thought so."

I fought the uncomfortable silence. "Are you very familiar with ancient Earth customs?"

John shook his head. "Not as much as I would like. There is so much to sift through, and no way to know what is reality or legend."

I thought of the Book, read aloud at the Meetinghouse. "Do you think that the stories of gods are true?"

"Which gods? The gods of the Book? The gods of the stone tablets? Earth was overrun with gods - it was destroyed by humanity. What were the use of their gods?" John crushed the remaining bread between his strong fingers. "What is the use of any god?"

I thought of the two little graves in the meadow beside the garden. "Do you... think that this experiment is meant for medical data?"

He shrugged. "Fluctuation in population is part of the process. But... I don't ever remember so many subjects being lost before. I wonder how the village will recover."

"She will survive," I said, trying to comfort him. "Elisabeth will live, I'm sure of it." She was too stubborn to die.

John smiled at me, but his expression was tired and sad. "I'm sure she will."

I shivered. John pulled a small bottle from his long coat and held it out o me.

I laughed. "Gin?"

"Something like. Go one, it will help you stay warm."

I hadn't had alcohol since the night Uncle Henry forced it down my throat, after my sister had died. I tried to make John laugh. "Maybe I can get a husband after all this! They'll need us lowly poor people to repopulate the experiment, right?"

He didn't react as I'd hoped. He scowled. "I thought that your station meant you skipped all that," he pointed out.

"Marriage isn't mandatory," I said. "Because we aren't here for the important data. We're just... filler."

"I hope you know that we don't see you that way," he said. "You're important to us. Elisabeth, I mean."

"And you?"

He looked away. "Yes, of course," he said lamely.

I was surprised by the lump in my throat.

"What was your life before this?" he asked.

"I joined when I was six. I don't really remember life before... this." I waved my hand.

"Nothing at all?" he asked. "Remembering the outside life is what keeps me from going crazy." He ran a hand through his dark hair. I wondered what it would be like to feel it between my fingers.

"I remember some things," I admitted. "But I'm not sure what's memory and what is stories from my sister."

He glanced at me, then away. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"You didn't do it," I said, picking at a small hole in my sleeve. "It could have been any of us."

"But it was your sister," he said. His voice was tense. Was he angry? "It's not... it's not what should be done."

"But there is precedent for the lottery," I said, mimicking the Reverend's speech. "The 20th century documentation by S. Jackson. We've all read it."

"Yes," he admitted, "but we don't know that's how early humanity lived. Perhaps it was a metaphor. Either way... I think it's barbaric."

I suddenly remembered him, standing at the edge of the forest, with Elisabeth's hand on his arm. "You've never participated in the Party?" I asked. It sounded accusatory.

John shook his head in disgust. "No, never," he said. "I could never --" He broke off and looked at me. "Never."

Had Elisabeth been encouraging him to join? Had I witnessed his refusal? "But you know the men who ran this year," I said.

His expression became guarded. "I can't talk about it."

I nodded. "Right, of course." The awful silence returned. "I am just... afraid."

"Of what?"

I leaned my head against the wall behind me. "Elisabeth insists that I shouldn't ruin my chances by staying here too long. I won't be eligible forever."

"Do you want to leave?" he asked.

No, never, I wanted to say. "I suppose I'll have to, some day. But I don't know the first thing about being a wife. My mother was a widow. Uncle Henry was never married. I don't really understand the way marriage should be."

"And nothing about my life with Elisabeth is a good model," John said ruefully.

"That isn't true," I argued. "You are a very good husband to her. And she... she does what she can. She suffers."

"I know it. We all suffer." He picked at the straw.

"I would feel guilty," I confessed, "if my ignorance were the cause of some man's suffering. Imagine his horror when he discovers I cannot sew!"

"A capital offense," John chuckled.

"And, I haven't been tested. Who knows if anyone will want me?" I remembered my sister's face when she had received her scores. Risk of chromosomal abnormalities: High. Risk of genetic defect: High. I had seen the first few lines before she threw the paper into the fire. "I didn't want to be married anyway," she had said.

"The testing isn't painful," John pointed out. "But, it does make one feel reduced to a set of genetic code."

"Is that how you were arranged?" I asked.

"Yes. We were pregnant almost immediately. But... that was before she fell." John folded his arms over his chest. "We tried again, you know, but when the baby was... I couldn't bear to do it again."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He shrugged. "The cost of experiment," he said. "The risks must be high to obtain any credible data. We're not the only family to lose children."

That was true. My sister had told me that, in the outside life, babies almost never died. The diseases so fatal in the ancient Earth woods were no longer a risk to humanity in the Mother system. It sounded impossible to me, who knew death intimately. One in five babies in New Salem did not survive their first two years. One in eight mothers died in childbirth. Infections and accidents were common. I had laid out bodies and dug graves and sat vigil over deathbeds. I wondered how anyone could give up the relative immortality of the Mother system to live in this hell.

"It's not just the genetics, or the status. I don't know anything about... the intimacy of marriage," I said. "I wouldn't know where to begin." Was he blushing? "I've never had any experience -- not like some of the village girls."

"But you've been kissed, surely," he said.

"No," I answered. "My sister was very protective. And I... I can't say that I liked anyone well enough to try."

"Not a single kiss?" He was surprised.

"No."

"Held hands with a school sweetheart?"

"No. I was usually alone." I was one of the only children without outside experience. I was a mutant, a product of the experiment.

"I'm sure many men wanted to kiss you," he said. "Maybe you didn't realize."

I reflected on the years I had spent in the cramped schoolhouse. "I don't think so."

"You'll have to believe me," he insisted. "A beautiful girl always has admirers."

He had called me 'beautiful'. I could feel the blush creeping up my neck. 'Beautiful'.

"Well, I don't know that I want to be married," I admitted as nonchalantly as I could. "Perhaps there is no one in the village I could like well enough. And even if I did, this life is brutal."

"It is a risk," he said, "to love someone deeply and lose them to grief."

I felt the cold grip of jealousy in my stomach. "You do love her, don't you?" I asked.

"Of course. It is my duty," he said. His voice was tender, but tense. "Everyone deserves to be loved."

---

I didn't mean to fall asleep there. I don't remember when we stopped talking, but John must have turned down the lamp. When I woke in the darkness, I was covered in two heavy blankets. I looked to my right, but the dim flicker of the lowered wick showed me nothing.

I felt a moment of panic -- had he gone? Left me here and --

I heard a soft snore. I rolled to my left, and my knees struck his legs. He was so close to me that his warm exhale tickled my face.

He was lying next to me! After weeks of distance, I could feel the warmth of his body, smell the scent of his skin. A giddy feeling sent shivers up and down my spine. I bit my lip to keep from giggling aloud.

It was too dark to see him clearly, but my hand found his. I traced the veins to his wrist and remembered the joy of that hand's touch.

I wriggled backward until my body spooned neatly into his. I pulled his arm over my waist and smiled into the darkness. He snored softly, his breath in my ear. I was certain I could never fall asleep again.

After a minute, his breathing changed. He was waking. I held very still, hoping to convince him that I was asleep. Maybe he would go back to sleep, too.

He started to turn away from me as he woke, stretching and yawning. I felt the surprise in his body, the pause that occurred when he realized his position. Our position.

He was going to slide away from me. I could feel it. I held my breath.

His torso moved away from me, carefully. I almost cried.

But then, his hand returned to me. It rested on my hip, tentatively. A minute passed, while I feigned sleep.

He drew near me again, and his warm chest pressed against my shoulders. My body fitted so perfectly into his, that it seemed the most natural thing in the world for my ass to press into his stomach.

This was all I could desire. His warm arm around me. This perfect moment of peace. I sighed, content.

Instantly, he tensed. He knew I was awake.

His hand pressed my shoulder until I rolled onto my back. In the darkness, his silhouette hovered over me. A gentle hand brushed the hair from my face. "I didn't mean to wake you," he said.

"I don't mind," I admitted. "I... couldn't sleep."

His body was pressed to my side, and his left hand slid over my arm. Then my shoulder. My neck. He caressed my cheek.

"I cannot imagine," he whispered, "how anyone has resisted the urge to kiss you." Then, his lips brushed mine, just enough to send a shock through me. He chuckled at my gasp. His mouth found mine again, and his soft lips lingered this time. Lingered, and pressed mine more firmly.

My heart thundered in my ears, drowning out all reason. My hands found the front of his shirt and held it tightly. His rough hand cupped my face as he kissed me again and again. Just when I was certain no greater joy could be imagined, his tongue slid between my lips. Instantly, my mouth responded to his. His tongue explored my mouth, his lips crushed mine, and all the while, my body trembled. I lost all sense of time.