Give Them Wineby Mary Brunini McArdleBook I
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| Chapter 17 |
In the mid-22nd century, a mysterious apocalyptic event has destroyed the world as we know it. In the Mississippi delta country, survivors reorganize in isolated enclaves and live in primitive conditions with little knowledge of their own history.
Donas, a beautiful, bright, curious girl on the verge of womanhood, discovers that her community is hiding a terrible secret: drug-induced conformity. She flees, taking her younger brother Mak and sister Rani with her. They make their way south and find a new life with a new people. They find hope, love and maybe some trace of their own past that might point the way to the future.
The cotton was blooming. There were tiny flowers everywhere, pale in color but obvious against the green leaves. Some of the plants had large, shiny buds in the center. Donas couldn’t wait for supper to tell Mak and Rani and the others.
She bathed hurriedly and joined the family at the table. “Mak!” she exclaimed as she sat down, his appearance distracting her for the moment from the miraculous sight in the cotton fields. “I could tell Rani had put on an inch of height, but I believe you’ve grown taller and heavier in one day!”
Sebastian laughed. “They do seem to sprout all at once. We’ve had to make new foot coverings for Mak twice.”
“He’ll run us out of cowhide at this rate,” Lionel added, smiling.
“Oh, Lionel — the cotton’s blooming! Beautiful little flowers! Will the cloth come soon?”
“Now pay attention, Donas. One last time. The cloth does not grow on the plants.”
“Oh! I remember!”
“She’s just excited,” Barrett said. “Be patient, Donas. It will be a while before the white blossoms with the seeds come — a process of drying and budding takes place first. Then the buds will open, and you will help harvest the cotton and remove the seeds. After that, the thread must be made — you’ve seen the spindle in the corner of my weaving room. Once we have thread, we can make cloth and dye it. When it is dry, it can be cut into the proper lengths.”
“For a while there won’t be much to do in the cotton fields,” Lionel added. “I think you would enjoy helping harvest the butterpeas and the blackfruit.”
“Donas, after supper, come to my room for a moment,” Sewella said.
“Yes, of course.”
“Sewella has a surprise for you.” Rani giggled and put her hand over her mouth.
“Rani! You weren’t supposed to tell!”
“I’m sorry, Sewella.”
“That’s all right, Rani,” the older girl replied. “Just don’t tell what it is.”
“It’s not as good as mine’s going to be,” Mak boasted. “When the new horse is born.”
“Is one on the way?”
“No,” Lionel said. “Mak wants it to happen right now, but he’ll have to be patient too.”
They all laughed at this. When the meal was finished, Sewella beckoned to Donas. “Rani, I know you want to come too, but Barrett needs help clearing the table,” the older girl said.
“Mak could do that,” Rani protested.
“I have more important things to do — in the stable,” retorted the eight-year-old, who was rapidly approaching his year time. Another week and Mak would be nine.
Rani stuck her nose in the air and turned her back, plaits swinging as she followed Barrett to the kitchen.
“Close your eyes, Donas. Now open them.”
Sewella held up a dress.
“Oh, Sewella! Another dress! For me?”
“We’re having a Storytelling in a few days. I thought you might want to wear this.”
The new dress was a pale shade of yellow, with short sleeves and detailed stitching across the bodice. The skirt fell from below the stitching without a set-in waistline. “Should I try it on, Sewella?”
“Do. I want to be sure it fits while I still have time to work on it.”
Donas stood still while Sewella slipped the dress over the younger girl’s head.
“Why, Donas, it’s a perfect fit. It doesn’t need any work at all. And, oh! So becoming. You look wonderful in soft, pale colors with your dark hair and eyes. Alfreda and I need stronger colors.”
“It is very pretty. Thank you, Sewella.”
“It is my occupation. Just as yours is Tiller. Without Tillers we would have no thread, no cloth, and no Seamstresses.”
“Perhaps in the morning I can take my new dress to the market and show it to Nakoma.”
Sewella frowned. “Sometimes I wish you did not maintain so close a relationship with Nakoma.”
“But why, Sewella? She has been so kind to me.”
“Well... it’s just that... when we were children, Nakoma was always so... how shall I put it? I suppose the word is ‘selfish.’ She felt compelled to draw attention to herself.”
“She’s not a child now,” Donas said loyally. “And she’s sweet and very beautiful.”
‘I’m not certain I understand what Sewella means,’ Donas thought. ‘When they were children, did they not have to work? It doesn’t matter, Nakoma’s my friend.’
The conversation was interrupted by Lionel knocking on the door.
“Sewella, is Donas with you?”
“Keep away, Lionel,” Sewella ordered. “You are not to see Donas’s new dress until the Storytelling.”
“Very well. I won’t open the door. I just wanted to tell Donas that for the next few days Mak and I will not be here much. I’ll get someone else to take her to the fields when she wishes to go.”
“Where will you be?” Donas inquired through the door.
“I’m taking Mak outside the gates for some training. I want him to learn to jump Cloudchaser. We’ll also be searching for more freshwater springs. It has not rained for a long time.”
“You’ll be back for the Storytelling, surely?” Sewella asked anxiously.
“Yes, but we’ll probably have to work in the stables very late afterwards. To make up for the training time. I think Mak can handle it. I’ll make sure he has enough to eat and drinks plenty of water.”
“Just as long as you don’t miss seeing Donas in her new dress,” Sewella replied.
“I don’t want to miss seeing Donas for any reason.”
“Oh, Lionel.” Donas blushed.
“Goodnight, Donas.” The new expression never failed to delight her.
“Goodnight, Lionel.”
* * *
In the morning, heedless of Sewella’s opinion the night before, Donas walked to the marketplace to show Nakoma the new dress. ‘She needs companionship,’ Donas reiterated loyally. ‘I feel sorry for her. She has no one but her mother, and she is ill so much.’
A chill ran down Donas’s back when she passed the Storytellers’ Hall. It was the first time she had ever walked to the center of the City by herself. But Nakoma was delighted.
“I have a new dress — for the Storytelling. Do you like it?” Donas asked, holding up the pale yellow garment.
“Very nice,” Nakoma murmured. “Did Sewella make it?”
“Yes. Nakoma, listen—”
Nakoma’s mother was busy with a barter, distracting her from the girls; otherwise the booth was quiet.
“What is it, Donas?”
“That Storytellers’ Hall — what do you think of it? Do you find it a little — well — frightening?”
Nakoma hesitated. Then she put out both hands in a gesture of incomprehension, and wriggled her shoulders in a mock shiver.
“I ignore that place, Donas. We aren’t allowed inside. Why worry about it?” Nakoma laughed and waved a hand as if to dismiss the very idea of the two-storey building.
“Perhaps you’re right,” Donas said. “Goodbye for now, Nakoma. I’ll see you later.”
But when Donas arrived back home, Barrett was waiting for her with a serious expression. “Donas, I would like to speak with you alone for a moment.”
Surprised, Donas followed the older woman to her room. “Something has come to my attention, Donas. Why did you not tell us in the beginning that you are Katera’s daughter? Why did you not even tell Lionel?”
Donas began to tremble. “Oh, Barrett — I was afraid to. I was afraid you would turn us away. And then, after a while, I just stopped thinking about it. But surely... surely you know I am nothing like her. She was not a mother to us, only the First Leader. I think she would have had us killed if we hadn’t escaped.”
‘How did she find out?’ Donas wondered. ‘Mak, probably. He’s bound to have blurted it out to Lionel.’
“Please don’t be angry, Barrett. I was afraid — I didn’t know anything about the south peoples and I didn’t want you to think that the three of us had any loyalty to Katera. We don’t. She was the cause of the wrongness.”
“It’s all right, Donas. I believe you. Just remember from now on, that we appreciate honesty here.”
“My thanks, Barrett.”
‘Honesty?’ Donas thought, confused. ‘Truth? I hope so. I hope that is what prevails in the City.’
To be continued...
Copyright © 2011 by Mary Brunini McArdle
