Restoring Harmony (14 page)

28

September 26th-Fear those who do not fear God.

-Iranian proverb

BY THE TIME DAWN PEEKED OVER THE HORIZON, I was already waiting for Spill in the driveway with the trailer hitched to my bike. When he did ride up, he caught me by surprise because he was dressed in a dark suit and a felt hat.

“What are you wearing?” I asked, laughing.

“Hey! I look good.”

“Yeah, but a suit? You look like Randall.”

“I’m way better looking than Randall. Let’s go.”

I was still smiling as we maneuvered our way along the dark road. He was right. Randall was short and stocky and probably forty years old. Spill was slender and had a nice smile, and even though I wasn’t exactly sure how old he was, he definitely wasn’t over twenty-five. Probably younger. Probably closer to my age, in fact.

Still, it unnerved me a little that he was wearing a suit and hat because that meant that this was official business. My stomach turned a little queasy, but what could I do? I had to sell the whiskey or we’d never get home.

The sun climbed over the hills on our right, promising another glorious fall day. Summer had lasted longer here in Oregon than at home, the hot days carrying over well into September, but the mornings had turned crisp, and for the first time, I remembered that I should be in school already.

I’d be home soon, though, and it probably wouldn’t be that hard to catch up. This was my last year anyway, but I almost felt too grown up for school. Maybe I wouldn’t even go back. I laughed to myself. Wouldn’t my highly educated family have something to say about that? No, I’d definitely be back in class soon. Hopefully in less than a week.

We’d ridden north for more than an hour when we came to a wide river. Spill turned east onto a gravel road that soon narrowed into a dirt track. We followed it, twisting through a dense forest. Just as I was about to drop dead from exhaustion, Spill stopped under a fir tree.

“Listen,” he said, “when we get there, I want you to do exactly what I say and try not to talk to anyone, okay?”

“What is this place, anyway?”

“This is a trading post. Just try to keep a low profile, all right?”

“Okay.”

We pushed our bikes the last twenty yards and walked out into a large open space. My heart was racing. In the center of the clearing stood a metal barn about ten times the size of ours at home. There was a line fifteen deep of men with bikes and carts who were waiting to get inside. Larger wagons hitched to horses stood in the shade of the trees. Two men in suits guarded either side of the entrance, checking IDs. One of them was Randall.

“Follow me,” Spill said.

He cut to the front of the line and wheeled his bike up to the enormous double doors, and I hurried behind him. Randall nodded at him and opened the door for us. No one said a word about us cutting, which I knew must mean that Spill was someone special.

“Okay,” he said. “ Try to be invisible.”

When I stepped through the doors, I was almost blinded. Hanging from the rafters were endless rows of lights, flooding the room with an eerie glow and a lazy buzzing sound, like a swarm of bees. The entire roof must have been covered with solar shingles to power that many lights.

I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust. Two men came up to Spill, and he let them lead our bikes and trailers away. On one side of the room were tables loaded with everything you could ever want. Solar phones and computers, bananas, apples, pears, vegetables, clothing, shoes, bikes, wagons, jewelry, canned goods, fresh meat, guns, live rabbits in cages, electric lamps, and a lot of stuff I didn’t recognize.

On the other side was obviously where you sold stuff. Men in suits sat behind tables and each one had a guard in mirrored sunglasses standing on either side of them. Behind the tables were crates and cartons of whatever they’d purchased that day. In the back of the room were more double doors like the ones at the front, but this time the two guys were taking a “cash donation” to let you out.

“Don’t stare,” Spill whispered. “You look suspicious.”

I stared down at the ground. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

He led me over to a long table with about ten computers on it. Most of them were in use, but halfway down the row was a vacant workstation. “I have to go get your money and take care of my sales,” he said. “I’ll be about ten or fifteen minutes. You can use that computer over there.”

“Thanks.”

I sat down and Spill vanished into the crowd. When I got my inbox open, I was excited to see I had fourteen messages. I started reading them instead of sending an email. I knew I didn’t have much time, so I skipped over most of the ones asking if I was okay.

What I wanted to know, though, was about Mom. There was good news, and there was bad. James had come back from his summer job at the winery, and he’d been able to talk Mom into going to bed until the baby came. He’d done what none of us could do, so maybe he was right and he was the favorite. Either way, I was glad. The bad news was the midwife, Mrs. Rosetree, was concerned Mom was now showing signs of gestational diabetes. I’d have to ask Grandpa more about it and find out how dangerous it was.

Katie had postponed the wedding until November to give me more time to get back, which made me happy. She’d also done it so Mom wouldn’t miss the ceremony by having to stay in bed, which made me worry again. I needed to send an email, but I scrolled down to the bottom quickly, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything important. That’s when I saw Dad’s email about the border.

Ian McClure CANADA BORDER CLOSING!!! September 21 Molly,

Return home ASAP. Epidemic breakout of polio around the Great Lakes has shut down parts of Canadian-U.S. border. Already setting up quarantine tents in Ontario w/ long delays—three weeks or more. Other provinces sure to follow to keep it from spreading. Don’t get stuck.

Hurry, Dad

Panic washed over me. We had to get home! Dad had sent the email five days ago and I hoped we weren’t already too late. I took ten seconds to send a message saying I had the money and we were on our way and then I signed off. Where was Spill? I had to get back to my grandparents’ house and get them packed. I ran up and down the aisles, and just as I was about to burst into tears, Spill grabbed my elbow, jerking me to a halt. He dragged me towards the exit.

“Oh, thank God-”

“Calm down,” he hissed. “You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“They’re closing the Canadian border!”

“I heard,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

At the warehouse doors he nodded at one of the giants guarding the exit. The man let us go through with our bikes and Spill’s trailer, and we didn’t even have to pay him like everyone else had. Outside, I stopped to talk, but Spill kept walking his bike across the clearing, so I hurried after him.

“My dad said in his email that the polio outbreak was only back East,” I told him. “Around the Great Lakes.”

He got on his bike and so I jumped on mine too. I followed behind him along the narrow trail through the woods and he said over his shoulder, “What I heard from Paul McKenzie, the Organization’s transportation director, is that even though all the confirmed cases are in Wisconsin, Illinois, and Michigan, they’ve canceled all unnecessary travel between the U.S. and Canada.”

“But I live there!” I said. “And the island needs a doctor. Do you think they’ll let us in?”

“Paul wasn’t sure. He said he thought they would eventually, but you might have to be quarantined for three weeks before they let you cross.”

“Oh, Spill!” I cried. “Mom can’t wait that long for a doctor!”

“Well,” he said, “boats might still be getting through.”

“How would I find a boat?”

“Shhhh, Molly,” he said. “I need to be able to hear. We’ll talk in a minute.”

Hear what?
I wondered. We were riding really slowly through the trees, and Spill checked around us at each turn in the path. Every rustle of leaves seemed to make him more edgy. Were there robbers in the woods? Anything seemed possible today. We went on like that for half an hour before we came out on the gravel road and he stopped.

“Now we can talk,” he said.

“So how would I find a boat?” I asked again.

“I’m not really sure,” he said, “but before I forget, here’s your gold for the whiskey.” He gave me a small handful of coins.

“You got gold?”

“It’s safer than paper money because you don’t have to worry about counterfeit bills.”

I examined the shimmering coins. “But isn’t this a lot of money?” I asked.

“Well, they’re only quarter-ounce pieces,” he said, “but it’s still about twice as much as I would’ve gotten yesterday.”

“Why?”

“Because most of our whiskey comes from Canada.”

That immediately reminded me of the border problem. “Now that I’ve got the money, I think we should probably leave tonight.”

If Spill was right and we could avoid the inspection tents somehow, Grandpa could be taking care of Mom in just a few days.

“Tonight’s not good,” Spill said. “There’s stuff I need to take care of. But we should definitely get going by tomorrow or the next day.”

“Wait a minute. Did you say
we
?”

He smiled. “I’m going with you.”

“To Canada?”

“Yep. I’m starting over.”

I couldn’t believe it! And then I got the best idea. “You can come work on our farm!”

Spill shook his head. “Can’t. I need to live in a city.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m a cobbler, and I want to find a job in a shoe repair shop.”

I looked down at the soft leather boots he’d given me for my birthday. “You’re a cobbler?” He nodded. “Did you make these for me?”

“Yeah.” His cheeks flushed pink. “I’ve been an apprentice for the last five years,” he said, not looking at me.

We’d been standing there next to our bikes talking, and I leaned mine against a tree and walked over to him. I was so overwhelmed by this amazing thing, that he’d
made
me boots, that I thought I was going to throw my arms around him in a big hug, but at the last second, I just grabbed his hand, feeling kind of shy and embarrassed too.

“These boots are so beautiful, Spill. I love them.”

His face turned bright red. I stared at him and he met my gaze and then I sort of leaned in, but instead of kissing me, he spoke. “Do they fit?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Perfectly.” I didn’t move, still hoping. . . .

“They should,” he said. His voice was really soft, but now he was staring at the boots instead of into my eyes. “You left lots of footprints in the garden for me to make a pattern.”

I laughed, breaking the mood.

“Anyway,” he said, removing his hand from mine, “we better get going.”

What had just happened? I’d definitely wanted him to kiss me, but in a way, I was kind of glad he hadn’t too. Even though he was going to Canada, he would have to be in a city, not my island, and a kiss would’ve just complicated everything when we had to say good-bye. Still, it might have been worth it.

I grabbed my bike and raced after him, consoling myself with the knowledge that he’d made the boots just for me. Maybe if he was in B.C., he’d come and visit. “How did you end up a cobbler?” I asked.

“It was Aunt Lili’s idea. She’s my aunt that took me in after my parents died in the flu pandemic.” Spill’s voice sounded tight. “She apprenticed me to get me away from the Organization.”

“She doesn’t like your job?” I asked.

He stared straight ahead as we rode. “The Organization wasn’t so bad for me when I was a kid and had certain people looking out for me. But I’ll be twenty-one pretty soon, and I’d have to join for real, not just be a delivery boy. Neither of us think I have . . . the temperament for that kind of life.”

The temperament? What did he mean? And then I remembered Doug’s cracked ribs.

“You mean you’d have to . . . to get violent?”

“Something like that.” He shut his mouth in a firm line.

Could Spill really get violent if he had to? Had he already done stuff like that? Or did Aunt Lili want to get him out now because he was still innocent? I tried to put my energy into pedaling so I wouldn’t have to think. There was only one way to block out worries over Mom’s bad health, quarantines, and Spill’s ties to the Organization, and that was to play Jewels. Unfortunately, I had a long ride ahead of me before I could get any consolation from her.

29

FINALLY WE CRESTED THE LAST HILL INTO OUR neighborhood. I pointed to two long, low black cars creeping along our street. “I wonder who that is?”

“Oh, no,” Spill said. “This is not good.”

He stopped his bike and scanned the neighborhood.

“What are you worried about?” I asked. “Who is it?”

“The Boss.”

“The Boss? Here?”

“Molly, do you trust me?”

I wanted to. I really did. But even though he’d said he was going to Canada to start over and get away from the Organization, I just wasn’t sure. He saw my hesitation.

“You have to,” he said. “Please?”

“Yeah, I do.” And I did. At least in that moment.

“I might be wrong, but, well . . . you know how things are. You have to do exactly what I say.”

“Okay.”

“Ride down to the end of this street and cut back around to the house through the creek. Leave your bike if you have to, just hurry. Get the kids and your grandparents and go down to your basement. Lock all the doors and don’t come out under any circumstances until I come for you.”

“What about Doug?”

“If he’s there, just . . . you can’t do anything for him. Just take the kids.”

“But, Spill-”

What did he mean we couldn’t do anything for Doug? Were they coming to kill him like Grandpa had said they might?

“Now!” Spill said, his voice tight. “There’s no time to lose. They’ll be there any minute. Hurry!”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Slow them down. Now go!”

I started to ask more questions, but Spill took off towards the cars. I raced through the deserted streets, and when I got to the end of Creekside Way, I ditched the bike and plunged into the creek bed. I pushed through where the blackberry brambles had taken over again and came out in our yard. Grandma was holding on to the trunk of the lilac tree, and the kids were running around her, laughing.

Brandy shouted at her, “You can’t stay on home base forever! It’s not fair!”

“Where’s Grandpa?” I yelled.

“Inside,” Brandy said. “Taking a nap.”

“Come on.” I scooped up Michael. “Everyone into the house.”

“Why?” Brandy argued. “We’re playing tag, and I’m it.”

“Now,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Grandma took Brandy by the hand, but she pulled free. “I don’t want to go in!” she yelled.

I thrust Michael at Grandma, and she hustled him into the house. I think she must’ve seen the panic in my eyes. “Now, Brandy. I’m not kidding around.”

“I’m gonna tell Uncle!” she screamed as I dragged her inside, slamming the glass doors shut behind us.

“Grandpa! Get up. It’s an emergency.”

He sat up groggily on the settee. “Why? What’s happened?”

Grandma had set Michael down and she ran over to Grandpa and tugged at his arm, pulling him up. If I had ever doubted whether she was following the conversation or not, I didn’t anymore.

I nodded towards Doug’s house. “The Boss is here.”

Grandpa looked around, alarmed. He fumbled with his glasses, trying to get them back on. “What should we do? Should I go out there?”

“No. Spill’s handling it. He says to take the kids downstairs and for you to stay there until we come for you.”

Brandy was still trying to break free, but I held on tightly. “Stop it, Brandy!” I said, and her crying turned to big, huge sobs. “Take her,” I told Grandpa.

“I’ll play piano,” he said, picking her up. “You can have a lesson.”

I watched as the four of them headed for the basement. Spill had told me to hide with them, but I had to know what was happening.

“What about you?” Grandpa asked.

“Spill needs my help,” I said.

“Molly, I highly doubt that,” he said. “The Organization is nothing to fool with. Remember Doug’s warning?” He held out a hand to me. “I want you to come with us.”

I ran across the room to the French doors before he could stop me. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be fine. Spill’s there.”

Silently, I made my way across the deck and down the stairs into the yard and then edged my way to the gap in the fence. I could hear rumbling voices next door already. I inched closer and closer, step by step, until my body was pressed against the boards of the fence and I could see through the hole we’d made.

Four huge men plus Randall and Spill stood around Doug. He sat in a chair, white and shaking. A slender woman with blond hair twisted up in a knot perched on the edge of the other chair. She wore a dark suit jacket with a slim skirt and the highest stiletto heels I’d ever seen in person.

“I-I can pay, really,” Doug stammered.

“So pay,” Randall said. His voice was soft, but cold.

“I don’t have cash but-”

“All gambling debts are to be paid in cash,” growled Randall.

“I can’t . . . I don’t . . . ,” Doug muttered. “Maybe I could work it off?”

“How?” asked the woman.

“I don’t know. . . .” The right side of Doug’s face was shiny and pink, as if someone had hit him hard already. His hair was loose from his normal ponytail, and his voice sounded shaky, like he was in pain. “I could do what these guys do,” he said. “I’m strong.”

The woman looked at the sky like she was considering it and then she laughed. “Funny as it seems, I’m not very fond of gamblers. Especially ones who lose and then don’t pay me. Besides, I only employ honorable people.”

Doug looked like he wanted to run, but the men were grouped around him. “Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

“Now why would
I
do that when I have five employees who would enjoy doing the job more than I would?”

They were going to murder him? They couldn’t do that. Spill had to stop them, but he didn’t move. His expression was grim and cold. In his suit he looked just like one of them. Or was he simply waiting for the right moment? What if he couldn’t help him? Doug had walked away, leaving me to my fate at the market, but how could I face Brandy and Michael knowing I hadn’t at least tried to save their only living relative? But what could I do?

“If you’re absolutely sure you can’t pay,” the woman said, “then I guess it’s time to take a little ride.”

Doug looked around furtively, trying to find an escape route. The only way out was through his own house or through the gaping hole in the fence and into ours. I suddenly knew why Spill had wanted everyone in the basement. Doug started to stand and then he dropped down like he was going to crawl under the table. One of the men flipped it over, and they grabbed him by the hair, dragging him to his feet.

Doug swung his fists wildly and managed to hit one of the men square in the jaw. The man fell back onto the table as Doug tried to make another run for it, but this time a giant slugged him in the stomach. He doubled over and fell to the ground, writhing, as the men kicked at him. His ribs had gotten better but were not completely healed, and his screams pierced my heart.

“No! No! Please! Stop!” Doug yelled. “I’ll pay. I’ll pay you somehow. Spill? Help me.”

Spill, his face expressionless, didn’t move. I felt like he’d poured ice water over me.

“Enough,” said the woman. “Let’s go.”

The men stopped kicking and waited while Doug used the chair to pull himself up. Once he was standing, he grabbed at the chair and tried to swing it, but because of his ribs, he only managed to lift it about an inch off the ground and then he stumbled forward.

“Want some more?” one of the men asked. Instantly they were on him again.

And then I heard Brandy’s shrill scream from the deck of my grandparents’ house. “Let me go!” she shrieked. “I want Uncle!”

Before I could react, she flew by me and into her yard. “No! Brandy! No!” I ran after her and scooped her up just before she reached the stairs to the deck.

“Uncle!” she screamed, banging at me with her fists and kicking at my shins. I pulled her as tightly to me as I could and ran back towards our yard. Grandpa came hurrying through the gap in the fence, gasping for air, his glasses missing.

“Take her,” I said, shoving her into his arms. She wailed one last pitiful howl and then collapsed against him, limp, sobbing. He staggered back to the house, whispering to her.

“Well, well,” said the woman, standing and looking across the yard at me. “You must be the famous Handsome Molly.”

I nodded, embarrassed that she’d called me that. She seemed to be the one in charge. Maybe she would understand about the kids needing Doug. “Are you . . . are you the Boss?” I asked.

She smiled, but there was nothing behind it. “The one and only.”

We stood there staring at each other. Every nerve in my body was tight and twisted. She looked calm and cool. Of course, she was used to this . . . this . . . violence. I looked at Spill for help, but he was watching Doug. Was he was avoiding my eye on purpose?

“What are you going to do to him?” I asked the Boss.

“I think you know,” she said. “You were listening the whole time, weren’t you?”

I thought about the gold tucked in my pocket and instinctively touched my hand to my jeans. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spill shake his head. I looked at him and this time he mouthed something at me. What was he saying? And then I understood.

“He doesn’t have any money,” I said. “But there’s something else.”

“What’s that?” she asked. Her manner was bored, and she patted her blond hair as if what I had to say was just taking up her precious time.

“Food,” I said, my insides sinking into the ground.

“What food? This garden? It’s past its heyday, I’m afraid.”

“Not the garden. Preserved food,” I said. “And potatoes, turnips, carrots . . . other stuff.”

What was I doing? What would the kids eat all winter?

“Show me,” she said.

I crossed over to the carefully laid cornstalks, kicked them off the root cellar, and yanked open the trapdoor. Randall peered down inside.

“Well?” asked the Boss.

He shrugged. “Hard to see, but it looks like enough to cover the interest.”

That was it?

The Boss tapped her fingers on her thigh. “Hmmm . . . the interest. Not good enough.”

“What about the house?” I asked.

“What about it?” she said.

“Don’t you own this house, Doug? Maybe you could sell it . . . or . . . or give her the house.”

“I tried to sell it,” Doug said. “No one wants to buy it.”

The Boss let her gaze wander over the yard and then back to the house. “Do you really own it? Outright? Your name’s on the deed?”

“Yeah,” Doug said. “My parents left it to my sister. Now that she’s dead, I’m the proud owner of this worthless shack.”

“Oh, I don’t know about worthless,” the Boss said.

She walked over to the French doors and stepped inside. A minute later, she came out. “No furniture,” she said. “That’s a plus. Nothing to get rid of. I suppose the Organization could always use a big house like this for storage. Especially one that isn’t traceable to us by any kind of paperwork and is legitimately owned by someone else. And it’s out of the way, but not too far from the market.”

She walked over to Doug, who was still lying on the ground. She lifted one foot and placed the heel of her shoe right onto his hand, pinning it to the deck. “I don’t like to kill family men,” she said, digging her heel into his palm just enough to make him wince. “But I will if I have to. For now, I’ll take the food and this house, and we’ll call it even. You’ve got one week to vacate or you’re mine. Understand?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you!” Doug said, trying to sit up, but falling back, shuddering with pain.

“Don’t thank me,” she said. “Thank Molly.” She turned to the men. “Load up that food, and let’s get out of here.”

Spill helped them without ever looking my way.