California(72)

“Oh, Anika.”

“You want to know why we didn’t leave. You think we were asking for it.”

“I don’t.”

“Where would we go?” She sighed. “The point is it didn’t take long for the color to turn my stomach. As stupid as it might sound, red scared all of us. Even something left out by accident—if it was red, we panicked.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

Anika grunted. “Finally, when Pilar had a breakdown at the creek, sobbing as she tried to wash a red dress, we decided to destroy everything that color. Just rid ourselves of it completely.” Anika smiled, but it was woeful. “Believe it or not, it made me feel better, temporarily at least.”

“I bet.” It sounded so dumb, but she didn’t know what else to say. Frida remembered the way Anika had looked away from her cut. She hadn’t described later attacks—and there had to have been more. Had she seen a Pirate’s hands up close? Had they touched her?

“I’ve tried to shake the red thing,” Anika continued, “but it’s hard. Sandy once said it was like rejecting religion. We did that, long ago, it was partly what united us. But she said it was like turning your back on God and then catching yourself praying every now and again.”

“That sounds like something she might say.”

“Anyway,” Anika said, and moved to the table. She began putting the lids back on the jars and returning them to the crate. “It’s over. The Pirates are gone.”

“But how? How did you get rid of them?”

Anika had the cocoa tin in her hand, and she raised it like a judge’s mallet. “Your brother, Frida. He’s the one who helped us. When Micah and the others arrived, we were able to keep the Pirates away. He protected us.” She put the cocoa into the crate.

“Did he fight them off?”

She sighed. “He came with guns, and more men, strong ones, who wouldn’t be intimidated. He taught us how to protect our land.”

“And then he came to live with you guys here. I guess it was a smooth transition.”

“We owed him,” she said, “for what he did for us.”

The sun was rising. Morning Labor would begin soon, the crew arriving any second now, yawning, rubbing their hands together for warmth.

Frida took the rag Anika had been using and dragged it across the table. But then Anika’s hand was atop her own, as if to stop her from cleaning.

“Little Janie,” Anika said. This time, she whispered.

Frida looked up. Anika’s eyes revealed nothing.

“Jane? Jane Miller? You knew her?”

“By the time you met her, did she talk okay?”

“You mean you—”

“Good morning, sweet ladies.” It was Burke.

Anika stepped away from Frida. “Burke, leave the kitchen and come back in with a more appropriate greeting.”

Without complaint, Burke turned and left the room. Frida squeezed the rag in her fist.

“You knew Sandy’s kids?” Frida whispered. “Were they born here?”

“‘They’?” Anika said. She looked horrified.

“Anika? What’s wrong?”

But already the rest of the crew had entered the kitchen, and the two women were separated as currents in a wave.





14



Word of Frida’s baking traveled as fast as gossip. Just an hour into Morning Labor, and already three people had told Cal about Frida’s “sweet pancake,” which sounded to him like the name of an unfortunate and sparsely attended burlesque act. Everyone had urged him to run over to the kitchen to try the cake before it was gone, but he didn’t. He had work to do.

Of course everyone was smitten with Frida and her talents. Cal could understand it, but that didn’t make him feel better. It had been years since Frida had baked anything; in fact, he was sure the last time had been for his twenty-fourth birthday. By necessity, and because they lacked funds, she’d baked him a vegan sugar-free cake, sans icing. It looked like a waterlogged block of wood, and Frida had cried as they ate it. It had tasted okay.

Now, the only thing that comforted Cal was that Frida hadn’t gotten to bake bread this morning. She was probably wrestling with the disappointment, and though that saddened him, made him feel vaguely protective of her, just as he’d felt when she served him that birthday cake so long ago, the feeling didn’t overshadow the pettiness in his heart.

The thing was, Cal had woken up happy. There was no longer a knot of secrets between him and Frida. Micah knew the situation, and the choice to stay on the Land was out of their hands. Frida’s body would begin changing soon, and there would be something to look forward to, no matter what happened here. Cal knew he was being na?ve, stupid even. But he didn’t care. All his life he’d been careful, hesitant. Now he’d have what he wanted, and what he wanted was a family.

He’d caught himself whistling on the way to Morning Labor. He hadn’t gone to the Church for the private meeting; he figured the invitation had been rescinded since he’d revealed Frida’s pregnancy. Besides, he had an interest in the work he’d been doing with his team. The outdoor oven was nearly done, and looking at it, he felt a surge of pride. It was well made, almost elegant. He didn’t even chastise himself for feeling in tune with his comrades, for thinking of them as comrades, for using phrases like in tune. It wasn’t until he heard about Frida’s baking that his day had turned south.