California(53)

He didn’t reply.

In the next moment, Micah was calling their names from the hallway.

Freeeeda. Californeeea.

“Your leader is calling,” Cal said, and stepped aside so she could pass.





11



Morning Labor wasn’t as bad as Frida had expected. The name itself had scared her, but in reality, it was just a list of chores that the Land members had to complete before noon. These positions were assigned by a committee, and they rotated monthly unless someone was particularly skilled at a task and wished to continue doing it permanently. She and Cal were supposed to choose from a number of assignments: kitchen, garden, construction, butchery, security, animals, laundry, or housekeeping. Per regulation, they were told they could not pick the same job. Couples separated before noon to encourage socialization and independence.

When Sailor had explained the system to them after dinner the night before, she’d thought immediately of Plank. Of the jobs Micah had complained about in his letters, and of Cal’s stories, told in such detail that she could trick herself into believing that she’d gone to the school herself. The Plankers, she knew, had alternated positions in the same way they did on the Land, and they took them just as seriously.

As Sailor continued, Cal had leaned over and whispered to her, “This is exactly like—”

“I know,” Frida said. It would have been unkind to pretend she didn’t notice the similarities.

Now, their first morning here, Micah stood with Sailor in the hallway. They were both wearing thick sweaters, and Micah had on a beanie.

“Good morning,” her brother said.

“Labor’s about to begin,” Sailor said. “You should get there early.”

“Have you chosen an assignment yet?” Micah asked.

Frida picked kitchen because of her baking experience. “And Cal…”

He was just stepping out of the bedroom, not even trying to hide his scowl.

“What’ll it be?” Micah asked him.

“Whatever,” Cal said. And then, after a moment, he added, “Security.”

Micah shook his head. “You aren’t familiar enough with the Land for that position.”

“How about construction?” Sailor asked, looking to Micah. Her brother nodded.

Cal shrugged. “Whatever,” he said again.

Micah smiled, as if he didn’t notice the attitude. “Perfect. I’ll have Sailor lead you guys to your assignments.”

He nodded once more to Sailor and, without even a wave, left them to it.



Frida walked into the kitchen and realized she’d been imagining the one at Canter’s, which could serve two hundred diners if needed. They’d certainly baked that much bread and pastry each day. This kitchen, still dank in the gray morning light, was much smaller, and of course it wasn’t outfitted with industrial ovens and dishwashers. For washing dishes, there was a rusty trough next to a back door; the trough was presumably filled with water from outside, and the buckets waited on the floor nearby for such a task. Across the kitchen, a large woodburning stove stunk up the room. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, and in the center of the room ran a long banquet table; for chopping and prepping the food, Frida guessed. One end was crowded with cooking tools: cutting boards, large mixing bowls, knives, slotted spoons.

As Frida walked in, a middle-aged woman with a gray streak in her hair was ascending from what had to be the root cellar. In one hand she held a basket of onions, and with her other hand she closed the two wooden doors that stuck open, vertical, from the floor.

She saw Frida and smiled. She was missing a front tooth, and the ones she did have were yellow and uneven.

The woman put the onions on the table. “I’m Anika.”

“Frida.”

“I know your name,” Anika said. She glanced out the window. She was checking the light, Frida realized. “You’re early. The others will be here soon.”

Frida nodded, unsure of herself. She remembered what Micah had said about her and Cal during the Church meeting: that they were strong and resourceful. She would have to live up to that promise.

Before she could ask if Anika wanted her to start on anything, the others on the shift arrived. There were seven of them in all, including Fatima, who was wearing the same outfit she’d worn since Frida’s arrival. It looked like she’d slept in the boxers.

To Frida’s surprise, Fatima came over and gave her a kiss on each cheek.

“Oh…hi,” Frida said.

“Don’t look so starstruck,” Fatima said. “It’s how I greet all of my friends.”

“That’s the thing,” Frida said with a laugh. “I haven’t had a friend in a while.”

Anika began her instructions. She wanted them to cut onions, she said, and peel carrots and slice potatoes so thin they were see-through.

“And I mean thin,” Anika said, “like skin.”

Frida quickly learned that Anika was on permanent duty, and thus in charge.

She was the team leader, Fatima said.

Most of the group was female, except for two guys who were as young as Sailor. They didn’t seem quite as na?ve or dewy as he was, though if they’d told her they played in the same band, Frida would have believed them: they were scruffy enough, skinny enough. One had a tattoo of a feather on his thumb and asked Frida if she could handle cutting onions. The other went right for the potatoes as if Anika’s instruction had inspired him.