The son led a prayer of remembrance and gratitude, thanking God for taking Aunt Kate up to heaven.
Then, just as every other morning, the meeting dispersed. Penny, noting my absence, sensibly went to the hive to wake the bees. I saw Llewellyn follow. She would be looking for me there.
When Llewellyn re-emerged, puzzled, she searched among the garlics, then through the A-frames of the farm, before weaving between the hydrostacks. Only when she’d reached the border of the forest did her eyes finally look upwards. I held still, wishing I could blend into the leafy shadows in the same manner the octopus had blended into the vines. Camouflage. That was the word. But Llewellyn’s patient eyes found me.
Only yesterday she’d told me the doctor has a medicinal to make me forget. It takes away your troubles but leaves everything else.
But yesterday, my troubles were trivial. A flame? An unexplained drip? They were nothing compared to this.
Now, there was no God, for God would never permit such butchery to happen. Now, there was no such thing as a ‘good death’, or even a heaven. There was nothing beautiful to go to after life. There was nothing.
Looking up at me, Llewellyn frowned.
You were wrong, I thought, staring down. I am the anomaly, now more than ever, and it’ll send me mad, if I’m not mad already. For I’d seen things I’d never un-see, and didn’t I have enough secrets already?
Llewellyn raised a hand and curled a finger. Come down, it said, but I held onto the bough. I didn’t want to go back to the garden, where every aunt would remind me of butchery, and every prayer would infuriate me with its lies. God sees all? God hears all? God works in mysterious ways?
Down there, I would be a stranger.
If only I was Jack, I thought. If only the story were real, and this blackwood could grow up high as the magic beanstalk had done, right up to the ceiling where I, too, could find a hole to push through. I didn’t fear giants anymore.
Llewellyn motioned to me. Come down. It was an order.
I nodded, knowing there was only one reason for me to come down.
Forgetting.
At the base of the tree, Llewellyn grabbed me and led me to the baths. Her grip hurt but I didn’t care. When we were alone she stared into my eyes. I wished she could see the awful images behind them.
‘Where have you been? What have you been doing?’
My voice splintered. ‘What happens when we die?’
‘Hayley . . .’ Llewellyn exhaled, sliding the door shut behind us. ‘You can’t keep obsessing about Geoffrey’s death.’
‘What happens?’
‘You know.’
I spun my wrist so that it was I who held her. Startled, she flinched.
‘Tell me again.’
Llewellyn paused. Swallowed. ‘God collects us for heaven.’
‘How?’
‘You know how.’
‘Tell me again,’ I insisted.
‘He takes them through the upper source, where only God and the dead can go.’
‘Is that true?’
‘Yes.’
‘But how do you know?’
‘Everyone knows this, Hayley. It’s how it’s always been. What’s going on? Are you unwell?’
I gripped harder. ‘But what if something else happens instead? Something horrible?’
Llewellyn was wary – concerned for her safety, and mine – but there was no sense of recognition; no hint that I could be right. It was obvious Llewellyn didn’t know the truth of what happened to the dead. She’d never seen what I’d seen. I let her wrist go.
‘You were right,’ I told her, straightening. ‘I am still troubled by Geoffrey. I need the doctor’s help.’
‘I think that’s wise. You’ll feel better.’
I hoped the doctor’s medicinals would be strong enough to scrub the lot away, butchery and all. ‘I want to forget right now.’
‘It’s for the best,’ she assured me.
I nodded. Anything would be better than this.
I went to the sickroom but the door was closed. The junior doctor greeted me instead.
‘He’s busy with Celia’s final lesson,’ she said. ‘She’s marrying tonight.’
‘So soon?’ I’d lost count of the days.
‘I can help. Is it your cycle?’
I shook my head. ‘I’ll wait.’
Krystal, the gardener girl, sat by a bamboo wall. She’d taken my place, I realised, as she waited for Celia to emerge from her lesson. Soon she’d prepare Celia a peony bath, after which she’d help her into the marriage dress. She’d style her hair and decorate it with camellias. She would tint her lips and cheeks and eyelids, so that when Celia stood at the centre of the commons in the evening, she would be a feast for the eyes, blessed by God and admired by all the world.
I was glad Celia had replaced me with someone more reliable. At least Krystal would do things properly and make her feel special.
But when the door opened and Celia stepped out, both Krystal and I hesitated. The sight of her was shocking.
It wasn’t happiness Celia was flushed with, but wretchedness. Her face was pale and slick with unstoppable tears. Her lips quivered.
Krystal approached cautiously – ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ – while I held back in a daze. ‘What’s wrong?’ Krystal asked again, squeezing her hands.
When Celia caught sight of me, her face buckled. I saw confusion and something else. Blame? Her opened mouth was a jagged, angry hole.
Then she lurched for me, her fingers scratching my face while Krystal tried to hold her back. The senior doctor came running out, shouting at Krystal and the junior to take Celia to the baths and give her the medicinals that he pushed into someone’s hand.
She was taken like that, sobbing and clawing the air, camellias falling loose behind her. In the nursery, children moved aside, mouths agape.
‘Is she mad?’ asked one.
‘Not mad,’ said a teacher. ‘Just very, very upset.’
The children looked at me as if I was the cause. Was I?
The senior doctor remained at the sickroom door, watching them leave. ‘Such a pity,’ he said dolefully. ‘God certainly works in mysterious ways.’
Awful ways, I thought. Cruel ways.
‘I’m sorry you had to witness that,’ the doctor continued, ‘but I am glad you’re here.’
I nodded. So was I. There was much I was desperate to forget, including this.
‘It is God’s will, and He always knows best. Still, it is a pity. Celia would have made a fine woman.’
I didn’t understand – why would Celia no longer make a fine woman? When I asked him to explain, the doctor selected his words with care.
‘Do you remember how the garden’s last zucchini crop failed, even though the plants had been pollinated?’
I nodded, recalling the dismay of the gardeners.
‘Celia’s body is like that. She won’t . . . fruit.’
‘Fruit?’ This wasn’t a time for riddles.
‘Celia will never get pregnant,’ he said. ‘She’s unable to have a baby.’
‘But how do you know if you don’t let her marry?’
‘I know. Her monthly pains had been a symptom, but now that I’ve examined her . . . She’s an anomaly.’
I swore. Nothing good came from that word.
Celia: the keeper of strawberries and the keeper of my secrets. All that time her body had been keeping a secret of its own. Without the product of a child, there would be no sum; no point to a marriage.
Poor Celia. She’d wanted marriage more than I ever would.
‘It’s not you Celia’s angry with,’ the senior doctor assured me. ‘Try not to take it personally. She’s heartbroken, understandably, but she’ll recover, in time.’
More than ever
, Celia needed me. I wanted to find her, to hold and console her; to rub her back and tell her it didn’t matter if she never became a woman because we would go on, just the two of us, growing older together.
But when I turned to go, the doctor held me in place with a hand on my shoulder.
‘Best to leave that to the other girls. Besides, you and I have things to chat about.’
I nodded, recalling why I’d come: the forgetting medicinals that would wipe away my troubles. Llewellyn must have already told him.
But the doctor’s ruddy face split into a smile. ‘It’s time to talk about your marriage, lucky girl.’
Every girl wanted marriage.
Except me.
I wanted to forget.
Then I wanted to run to my best friend to tell her everything would be okay.
‘The enginer elect is still quite . . . unhappy at losing Geoffrey, as you are well aware. He’ll be rather . . . disgruntled to learn Celia’s marriage won’t take place as planned. They’re an enginer short, you know.’
‘I know.’
Of course I knew. It had been my lie – my rogue – that had started this. If I hadn’t trespassed in the engine-service way that morning, I wouldn’t be here in the sickroom with marriage being rushed upon me.
‘The engine house needs an enginer, and you’re the next girl due to marry after Celia. I appreciate the timing might not be . . . ideal, with Celia’s emotional condition to think of, but if we could start the ball rolling, so to speak, in a week or so, it would be beneficial for the enginers, and everyone of course.’
‘Start the ball rolling?’
‘The preparations. All the . . .’ the doctor’s hand made circles in the air, ‘the business of oils and bouquets and whatnot.’
But I didn’t care about such things when my best friend was hurting. Nor could I indulge in daydreams of boys when my thoughts were wracked with butchery and lies. Nothing about marriage appealed to me, except . . .
An idea began to form.
‘The bouquets are done,’ I said, remembering the ones Krystal had strung up alongside the wreaths of garlic. ‘They won’t last very long. It would be a shame to waste them.’
‘A shame,’ agreed the doctor. ‘But God works –’
‘The marriage bed is already set up in the kitchen, isn’t it? And the banquet’s already prepared.’ I spoke the words as they formed in my head; before I had the chance to think them through. ‘It’s a sin to waste, so I should use them all. Not in a week or so, but now. I should marry tonight.’
The doctor’s reaction was almost comical. His head retracted in surprise. Lines reconfigured themselves across his face as he tried to catch up. ‘Tonight?’
‘In Celia’s place,’ I clarified.
Stumped, the doctor blinked. ‘But there are . . . other things to be done. There are lessons to schedule –’
‘I know them already,’ I lied.
‘You do?’
‘Celia told me everything right after each of hers, word for word,’ I assured him.
‘So you know precisely what happens during the three nights of marriage?’
‘In detail.’ I smiled confidently, hoping he believed me. ‘You needn’t repeat them all over again. It would be a shame to waste your time, or anyone else’s, don’t you think?’
The doctor sat back a little and looked at me anew. Most girls, I assumed, would have more questions. Most girls, too, would want to draw out the rituals. What girl didn’t want to marry?
I didn’t want it, but I needed it – suddenly, urgently – because on the three nights of marriage, it was said, even God blocked his ears. If I had to marry, I wanted it to happen immediately so I could spend time in the kitchen with Luka, the boy who knew of beasts and brown boys and other strange things, and I could share with him all my horrible, bloody secrets to which he’d listen without judgment.
‘Well, there’s . . . of course, there’s the matter of a boy,’ the doctor said. ‘Celia’s choice, Noah, has had his lessons. It would be fair to choose him now he’s ready.’
‘No,’ I said. It would be cruel to take Celia’s chosen boy as well as her marriage nights. Besides, there was only one boy I wanted to speak with. ‘I choose Luka.’
Baffled, the doctor considered the name. Then, with amusement, he exclaimed, ‘The boy with the octopus? Really?’
‘Really. What else is there?’
The doctor exhaled, overwhelmed. It had been a day of surprises.
‘How long since your last cycle ended?’
‘Twelve days,’ I answered.
Satisfied, he nodded. ‘Well then, I’ll need to cross-check the records, but if Luka’s a match, that would just leave the . . . the examinations.’
‘Let’s do them now.’
The doctor thought it over. ‘You must really want to marry.’
‘What girl doesn’t?’ I smiled as a good girl should.
‘So you’re ready?’
I nodded. The doctor washed his hands.
I wasn’t ready. Not a bit. I knew nothing of the examination about to take place: the doctor with his hands on top of me then inside me, plunging into unknown, painful places. He knew more of my body than I did, and he listened to its private language.
After, I forced myself to sit. Blood had made the bunk slippery. He must’ve seen my shock for he assured me it was normal.
My body trembled and I wished I’d been aware of what would happen, and the embarrassment I would feel. I stepped into my clothing.
‘You’re well,’ the doctor said, though I didn’t feel well. What had my body told him? What had Celia’s? ‘You’re not an anomaly.’
I fumbled with my apron. The doctor had to help me tie it around my waist.
‘You remember all the marriage lessons?’
‘Every one,’ I lied. My body trembled, cold. ‘Thank you, doctor.’
‘Thank you, Hayley, for doing this so speedily. The enginer elect will be pleased, I can tell you. You’re sure you don’t have any questions?’
I throbbed with questions but none of them involved marriage. So I shook my head and the old doctor smiled.
‘Girls, these days. Growing up so fast. Enjoy your feast, then.’
‘I will,’ I promised as I left.
Tonight I will feast on secrets.
Chapter 12
It was Llewellyn who helped me dress. She suggested we do so in the sleeper where the other gardener girls wouldn’t see us. They were still in the baths, she said, gathered around Celia in moral support. Krystal had been the one to prise the ring from Celia. Now it was cold and lumpy on my left hand.
Llewellyn had worn the dress twice in her life so she knew how its layers were meant to fall. Its pieces were many, its fabric alternating between soft and stiff, rough and smooth, with hundreds of tiny, intricate details, hard and twinkly and wanting to be touched. Llewellyn referred to the parts by name: hook, eye, bead, zip.
She was careful with me. Earlier in the day, I’d gripped her wrist and demanded answers about heaven. Now she circled me delicately, her fingers skittish. I longed for the closeness we’d once had as beekeepers.
‘How does it feel?’ Llewellyn asked when she’d finished.
‘Prickly.’
My palms skimmed the waist. Beneath my hands, the fabric felt fragile. The dress was special. I didn’t feel worthy of it.
‘It’s normal to be nervous,’ she said.
‘Will you tell Celia I’m sorry?’
Llewellyn softened. ‘You know it’s not you she’s angry at.’
‘I didn’t mean for this,’ I said, tugging at a pleat of the dress. ‘I didn’t mean to steal her night.’
It was true. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. I only wanted the privacy of marriage so I could have a boy to confide in. How painfully I
needed to share the memories of butchery, before they maddened me.
‘Celia will understand.’
Llewellyn moved behind me to brush my hair straight. There wouldn’t be time for an elaborate braid with flowers.
Her voice was subdued. I almost didn’t hear the question. ‘You are well . . . aren’t you?’
I yearned to speak my mind – how could I possibly be well after what I’ve seen? – but Llewellyn was an elect which meant she couldn’t be trusted.
‘I’m well.’
‘Marriage will be the best medicine, you’ll see. It always helps girls to . . . find their feet. You’ll forget about all this –’
‘Marriage makes you forget?’
‘Well, yes, but in a different fashion to the medicinals. A lovelier fashion. This is perfect timing for you. You’ll be so caught up with Luka and the feast and then your baby, that Geoffrey’s death will be far from your mind. You’ll be as happy as the old Hayley, and most likely even happier. I promise.’
She turned me. Took in my face. There was no pretty tint on my lips or cheeks or eyes. I wasn’t special, only a girl in a dress that itched, with a ring on her finger.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For doing this so soon.’
‘I want this,’ I told her.
Llewellyn smiled, misunderstanding. ‘Good.’
Standing at the threshold of the garden way, I looked out over the commons where the whole world was gathered, heads lowered, as the priest led the prayer of gratitude for collecting the aunt for heaven. One day soon, a kitchener girl would be choosing an enginer boy for marriage to replace Aunt Kate, then she would stand before the world in this dress. I hoped she’d enjoy it more than I did.
The white dress scratched at my waist and under my arms. Sweat trickled down my powdered skin. I felt jittery, anxious about the moment the prayers would end and the priest would call me forward. At least, I thought, Celia isn’t in the commons to see me. She was still in the baths, being consoled by Krystal. I was glad neither of them would witness this. The priest prayed for my fertility then asked God for His blessing on the wine and steaming dishes that were laid out across the tables near the walls. The air was thick with a rich, salt-meat rankness, made worse by the body heat of the three hundred people sitting shoulder to shoulder.