James Scotson - Planets Falling

Wenn is silent and touches my belly. “Now it’s more than clear that we go and gather the goods for this family.” He sports the same goofy look that he wore when we were first engaged.

Anger wells up within me, my face growing flush. “Wenn, this is exactly why you and Theo are not to leave on some stupid excursion into a dangerous place. That goes for you as well father. I’m not raising this child on my own. I know it’s been hard enough for father raising me. I need you men.” Of course, I do wonder about this point at times. When mother left, I found myself having to fare on my own. It seems they rely more on me than I do on them.

Wenn sighs. “Amy, enough of this talk for tonight. Let’s sleep on it and worry about these things later. We should just enjoy the good news. Do you think we’ve got the next garden tender in there? Or a strong smith like your dad and me?” He produces a bottle of a strong ale and pours us all a cup.

The next morning is like any other, with me slogging out to the gardens and father and Wenn gathering wood and coal for the ovens. Apparently, Theo passed the news through town during the night because everyone I encounter shouts congratulations. One of my students helps me carry my pack to the clearing. I might like this doting after all. I spend most of the day pruning berries. If you don’t keep them in check, they’ll spread like a terrible rash throughout the other plots. I wonder how such delicious fruits can emerge from something so invasive, greedy, and thorny. I’ve seen the green people less often during the last month. Today, they appear during my short lunch. They seem sad. I ask them in my mind what is wrong. An image of unripened fruit, picked too early, appears before me.

“Don’t worry little friends. I know when to harvest these berries.” I consider them for a long time, wondering whether there’s more to their concern than I can divine with simple mind reading.

They fidget. Two of them climb into the branches of an old sycamore. And then they fade away.

I’m walking home as evening approaches. I suppose the growing baby’s hungry, so I pick up a nice cut of meat from the butcher. The butcher shop is so counter to all that I know. The gardens celebrate and encourage life, while the meat shop is filled with the blessings of death. When I was younger I went into the basement of the shop to look for the butcher. It was cool, dark, and damp. When my eyes adjusted, I saw all sorts of animals hanging on hooks and blood everywhere. I was grateful that my life was spent in the wide open spaces of my mother’s gardens rather than in that cramped, smelly place. Shaking that memory away, I tuck the package of meat under my arm and head down the road. Wenn and father had better be there with a warm fire in the hearth. My shoulders sag when I discover the house lifeless again. “Hell”, I mutter, opening the front door.

I drop my package and satchel, shocked at the scene before me. The floor’s covered with the muddy footprints of at least three different people. I recognize Wenn’s boot marks, but not the other two. The kitchen is cluttered with shiny implements emancipated from their storage bins. All the stored food is gone. Spices are spilled on the floor. I shuffle into our sleeping rooms to find most of Wenn’s and father’s clothing gone. A few stray socks and shirts are strewn on the beds and chairs. Wenn’s favorite shirt, the one I gave him for his birthday, hangs forlornly on its hook.

My immediate, visceral conclusion is that Wenn, father, and Theo have left with Bets to plunder the ruins of the southern city. Surely they’d have told me before leaving, even if my response would be unpleasant. I frantically search the cold house for a note or some explanation. Nothing.

I run to Theo’s house. Orange light twinkles in the window panes. I slam the door open, expecting to see Theo’s mother looking worried like me, wondering where her son has gone. Rather, Theo is sitting in his tattered chair, feet propped and smoking a small clay pipe. “Amy, what a pleasant surprise.” Concern washes over him when he sees my face. “What’s the matter? It’s not the baby is it?”

“Dammit Theo, why’d you let Wenn and father go away?”

Theo looks genuinely puzzled. “Go where Amy? I’ve been out hunting all day. Haven’t seen them since last night.”

I push further. “They left for the city with Bets. Why didn’t you stop them? At the very least, you could’ve told me.”

Theo stands up, pours a cup of water, and hands it to me. I’m shaking now. “I don’t know nothing about them leaving, Amy. I saw Bets this afternoon after I returned with a nice buck. We’d never go on an excursion without telling you, especially Wenn. In fact, after you went to bed last night, we agreed that he’d stay to tend to you and the growing child.” He took a long drag of tobacco. “I’m sure they’re out hunting or drinking.”

“The house’s a mess Theo. They packed in a hurry and took all the food and most of their clothes. Three of the horses are missing. They left me.” I don’t cry. But I feel something like sobs emerging from deep inside my chest. Abandonment, anger, worry, betrayal, and sadness mix within me like a sick cocktail.

Theo wraps me in his thick arms. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’m sure they’ll be back tonight. Let’s walk over to the house and see what we can find.”

Theo is wrong. Wenn and father never return. I’m still torn about whether they left voluntarily or were forced. No one else in the village saw them leave. The only sign of a struggle was encased in three small drops of blood in the doorway that I noticed a few weeks after they vanished. I suspect all this has something to do with Fromer, but I’m unable to tell anyone. The green ones in the garden look at me with alien sympathy but are unable, or unwilling, to hint at what is happening.

Seven months have evaporated since they disappeared and the baby, a girl named Eliza, has arrived. My extended family, mostly my father’s sister and Wenn’s mother have helped me the best they can. However, they can’t replace the void I feel and the tickle of betrayal that settles in my gut each night as I nurse the baby to sleep. A month ago, Theo and Bets went to the south ruins to search for father and Wenn, with no luck. Theo’s mother stays with me most nights, at the urging of her son more than via self-induced charity. I’m sure he worries that whoever forced the men to leave will return for me and that his mother will help protect me — or at least alert him. His view that Wenn and father were coerced is in the minority. Most of the townspeople believe that Wenn and father left me in search of precious metal that they could use in their blades. They whisper of an accident in the broken city that took their lives. Or perhaps Wenn and father were robbed and killed in the countryside.

I’m unsure what to believe. It’s difficult to fathom that they left without telling me, no matter how unpleasant my reaction. Regardless of the events leading to their departure, the thought of a violent loss beyond the village foundation isn’t far-fetched. Since father and Wenn vanished, the number of merchants seeking father’s weapons has increased considerably. While talking about the unease in the countryside, I always ask whether the travelers saw a stocky, dark-haired man with an older, thin gentleman accompanied by three horses and a small cart. No one seems to have encountered them. Talk of unrest in many of the villages has been creeping into our conversations. As Fromer suggested, something is stirring outside. Other than losing my family, I don’t see how I’m involved. I wonder if that’s what the god meant — I’d have to endure losing my family for the common good. The only positive of all this fear is the increased business. The income from the traders has been welcome and helps me to buy toys for Eliza and better provisions to stave off winter.