Authors: James F. David
Tension was rising so Christy stepped in.
"That golden retriever keeps following me," Christy said. "What's his name?"
"Squeaky," Evelyn said.
"She
got the name as a pup."
"She," Christy repeated. "Whose dog is she?"
"She's a community dog. No one owns her."
"Who sees she gets her shots, gets her spayed, feeds her?" Meaghan asked.
"The dogs mostly feed themselves, but there are scraps behind the dining hall most nights. As for shots—"
The sound of breaking limbs came from the forest on the far side of the clearing, Squeaky and the other dogs freezing, one of the dogs assuming the classic stance of a pointer, although he looked half German shepherd. Then, as if of one mind, the dogs bolted for the forest, barking as they went. A few seconds later the rest of the dogs thundered by.
"What's out there?" Christy asked.
"Let the dogs handle it," Evelyn said, steering her back toward the buildings.
"They could hurt whatever it is," Meaghan said.
"Maybe," Evelyn said. "Usually they just run them off."
"Them what?" Christy persisted.
Enjoying her discomfort Evelyn said, "Just them."
Evelyn left, Christy right behind her. With another look in the direction of the yapping dogs Meaghan hurried to catch up.
Their work turned out to be assembling bunks in new communal living quarters. Pieces were cut and drilled in the yard, then carried inside where they were assembled. Christy and Meaghan worked with Evelyn, who acted as if she had assembled many of the three high bunks. By lunch they had a room full of bunks, ready for mattresses and bedding.
A tractor pulling another trailer brought them food—raw milk, coffee, tea, egg salad sandwiches, slices of salami, boiled eggs, three apple pies, and vitamin tablets for all. Four hours of high calorie work with no break and no snack left her famished and she ate enthusiastically, forgetting her dislike for
tgg salad
. When the meal was over there were precious few scraps for the dogs, who snarled warnings at other dogs that approached some scrap they had snagged.
After eating, most of the crew rested, some cat-napping, backs against the barn wall, sun warming their bodies. Christy walked around the barn studying the flowers and grasses in the meadow. Squeaky followed her, Christy rewarding her companion with the crust off her pie.
Christy was no botanist, she couldn't identify fine morphological details, but plants on America were truly alien. What they called grass, for example, was green, it was fine, and there were seed stalks, but the green was tinged with blue, the blades diamond-shaped, the seed stalks hung with tiny balls. Flowers were the same mix of familiar and unfamiliar. The purples were too deep, blues too pale, petals in unfamiliar shapes. A sharp sting on her arm and she slapped reflexively, finding a bloody splotch, a crushed insect in the middle of the red blob. It had broad wings like a fly but the needle nose of a mosquito. Now she worried about malaria or its alien equivalent. Rolling her sleeves down to protect her arms she rounded the corner of the barn. Squeaky suddenly darted ahead, then froze. On the edge of the meadow was an animal. The size of a moose, its head was down in the grass, an enormous rack all you could see. Unlike the ungainly looking moose, this animal was sleek, with a powerful chest covered in a mat of gray fur, the rest of the body tapering to muscular haunches, its body covered in a shimmering tawny fur. The legs were thicker than an elk's and it sported a long tail that switched back and forth driving insects away. Then the head came up eyeing her and Squeaky. The antlers branched a half-dozen times on each side, all branches curling toward the front and ending in points. The head looked more like a horse than a moose, with the characteristic bulging eyes. Finishing its mouthful of meadow greenery, it bent again, ripping up more of the vegetation. Then Squeaky barked, growled, then barked again. Christy didn't want to drive the animal off—it was too beautiful—but she didn't want to scold Squeaky, discouraging her from protecting people. The animal looked warily at Squeaky, but continued eating, confident the lone dog was no threat. Then half the pack came round the corner, breaking into a run when they spotted the animal. Squeaky bolted after the attacking pack, the animal now turning in flight, bellowing an angry mule sound as it bolted into the forest, the pack following.
Christy had mixed feelings about the dogs. They offered protection, but also drove off animals she dearly wanted to see.
Soon Christy was back to work assembling bunks. There was a "you bend it, you straighten it" rule, to preserve the precious nails. Christy was given a hammer in the afternoon as they attacked the second dormitory and Christy found herself straightening many nails. Thus motivated, she quickly learned to drive straight and true, and by the end of the day rarely bent a nail.
She fell asleep on the way back to town, her head lolling from side to side, her right arm tired, her muscles sore. The sun was low when they reached camp, Evelyn shaking her awake. Christy returned to her dormitory, washing in cold water, then lying on her bunk waiting for dinner. Meaghan was there too, snoring in the bunk next to hers.
The dinner bell rang and she shook Meaghan awake,- they walked to the dining hall together. Sylvia Swanson was there looking ragged, her gray hair falling out of the bun on the back of her head. They lined up together.
"What was your job?" Christy asked Sylvia.
"It was wash day," she said. "I haven't worked that hard since . . . I've never worked that hard."
"Did they have you washing clothes on a rock in a stream?" Christy asked.
"No, there's a shed over there full of washing machines and dryers—big industrial types. We loaded and unloaded all day long. We hung most of the sheets on lines to dry." Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a clothespin. "I hadn't seen one of these in twenty years."
"Were there any men working in the laundry?" Meaghan asked.
"Two old men. They were running steam presses."
"Figures," Meaghan said. "It's women's work unless there's a machine to run."
"What was your assignment?" Sylvia asked.
"We built bunk beds. They're starting a new farm."
"Destroying another meadow, you mean," Meaghan said.
Sylvia pursed her lips, preferring to hear it the way Meaghan told it.
"We passed a couple of other farms on the way, more meadows plowed under, more wildlife destroyed," Meaghan said, her severe face red with anger.
"That's the kind of tragedy we feared," Sylvia said. "Tobias should know about this," she added.
Now they were inside and to the food line. Each of them was handed a plate with meat loaf, a large pile of potatoes, and a mound of corn. The only choice was whether or not to smother the potatoes and meat loaf with gravy—Christy passed on the gravy. A tray of warm rolls was at the end of the line and Christy took two, following Sylvia and Meaghan to a table in the corner. Only she thanked God for the food, the others eating ravenously through her prayer.
She tasted everything before pausing to butter one of her rolls,- bland as food prepared in large quantities always is, it still tasted good. On Earth she rarely ate butter since it was loaded with fat. Here she spread a thick layer over half a roll, her bite leaving a groove in the thick butter. Faith circulated among the tables with coffee and filled their cups. Only boiled water was safe for drinking, and there was little of that, so tea and coffee were popular even among children.
Roland Symes joined them, then Charlie Peng and Archie Cox. The men looked as tired as the women. Only Peng prayed before they ate. Christy waited until their forks slowed.
"Hard day at the salt mines?" Christy asked.
"Salt mining would have been easier," Roland said.
"Look at my hands," Archie said, holding them out.
Blisters lined each palm.
"And I was wearing gloves," he complained. "I'm an engineer, not a logger."
"They had us splitting wood," Roland explained. "Eight hours of splitting wood. We got so tired it was dangerous. I almost cut my foot off. Here, look."
Roland pulled his leg from under the table, holding it up. There was a wedge cut out of the toe of his boot.
Christy cleaned her plate, then broke the other roll in half.
"Try this, Christy," Charlie said, pushing her a container from the middle of the table.
It was filled with a reddish brown substance. Christy spooned some onto her bread and tasted it.
"It's good. It tastes familiar."
"It's apple butter," the congressman said.
"We've only been here a day and I'm already getting sick of apples," Sylvia complained. "Apples, apple juice, apple pie, apple butter."
Finishing her roll, Christy found she was still hungry. Faith appeared, refilling her coffee cup.
"Would you like dessert?" Faith asked.
Everyone asked for dessert and Faith left to wait on them.
"Where's Tobias?" Christy asked, noticing the man's absence.
"He refused to split wood," Roland said. "It's tough for tree huggers to chop wood. It's like dismembering your grandmother."
Senator Peng chuckled, but then sobered quickly under glares from Meaghan and Sylvia.
"He's probably gathering data," Sylvia said. "All this work is designed to keep us from doing our real job."
"Seeing how they live is part of our job," Christy said.
"We won't see much from here," Sylvia argued. "How come we weren't allowed to see where Grandma Jones and her people are living? I suspect the conditions are substandard."
"I'll bet they're not living at the Ritz like us," Roland said sarcastically. "We've only been here one day," Christy argued, but then Faith interrupted, returning with a tray of small dishes, passing them out, then putting a pitcher of cream on the table. The dishes were filled with warm apple crisp.
"Oh, boy, more apples," Sylvia said sarcastically.
Everyone but Meaghan laughed. Christy poured cream over her crisp, enjoying the spicy sweetness, but worrying about Tobias. He wasn't just an activist, she knew, he was an ecoterrorist and she didn't like having him on the loose.
In a healthy home, parents and children communicate openly and freely so discipline is rarely required. On those rare occasions when it is appropriate, the punishment should not deprive the child of their dignity, self-esteem, nor harm the child physically in any way.
—
UNDERSTANDING CONFLICT
, CHRISTINE MAITLAND
PLANET AMERICA
D
aniel was passed two meat loaf sandwiches, an apple, and a bottle of milk, then the kitchen window was closed. It was nearly dark when he headed to his eating spot, his dog Sam following. There was a screened porch on the back of the church and he settled onto the porch swing to eat. Sam sat at his feet, staring at the sandwich, waiting for scraps. There would be few scraps, since Daniel's punishment kept him hungry most of the time. The first sandwich was gone before he opened the milk, draining half of it. Partially satiated, now he could afford some compassion and he tore off the crust, dropping it to Sam who snatched it in midair. Halfway through the second sandwich he saw a man come out of the woods.
It was a scarecrow of a man, skinny, bony. He passed the porch, glancing briefly at Daniel, showing no reaction. Daniel ate as the man passed and then gave the last bit of sandwich to Sam. Next he polished up the apple on his dirty shirt and took a big bite. He missed candy. Sweets were rare on America. Sugar was saved for baking, but because of his punishment he couldn't get desserts—no pie, no cobblers, no jams. He savored the apple, but having to settle for it angered him. There was so much he was missing. Television, radio, rock music, candy, pop, Hostess Twinkies were all light-years away, as were his friends. Most of all he missed driving. Cars meant freedom. On Earth they would never have been able to keep him at home once he could drive. By now he would have his learner's permit, and he could be saving to buy his own car. That wasn't possible here. A few kids his age drove now—tractors mostly, some trucks—but only the best students or the best workers got to drive. He refused to play the game.
Worst of all, one boy his age—Rob Evans—was an apprentice pilot, learning to fly a sphere. Daniel hated him for that and more. Robert never skipped class, turned in a late assignment, or even spoke out of turn. On Sundays he actually wore the medal he earned for Scripture verse memorization—he was a nerd, but on this world nerds ruled.
Sam's ears came up and a second later Daniel heard the sound of footsteps. Melody Crane appeared, long blond hair in a french braid, blue jeans, and a corduroy coat. Checking first to see if anyone was watching, she slipped in the screen door making sure it closed quietly behind her. Then she stood looking at him, too shy to sit next to him on the swing. Eyes blue, small delicate features with freckles across her nose, she was the prettiest girl on the planet. Best of all, Robert Evans thought she was his girlfriend.
"I brought you something," she said, pulling her hand from behind her back. It was a dish of apple crisp.
"All right," Daniel said.
"I forgot a spoon," she said. "I can go get one if you want."
"That's okay. I'll eat it like a dog," he said, lapping his tongue.
She laughed.
"Come sit down," he said.
Handing him the dish, she sat next to him, not quite touching. He put the dish on the floor, knowing Sam would eat it, but not caring.
"You coming to church tomorrow?" she asked.
He sat back, stretching his arm around her shoulders, then scooting over so their hips and legs touched.
"I might go just so I can see you," he said smoothly.
She smiled, her teeth bright in the twilight.
"You're the prettiest girl on the whole planet."
"You skip so much church and school, it's no wonder you're always in trouble."
"I refuse to kiss-up like Robert. You can't tell where his lips end and Mrs. Tompkins's rear begins."
Melody giggled and Daniel pulled her closer, rubbing her shoulder. She turned slightly toward him, snuggling under his arm. When she stopped giggling he leaned over and kissed her, lightly at first, then a little harder. She was inexperienced, not knowing what to do, merely pressing her lips to his, but it was exciting and she would learn—he would teach her. He broke away for a second, touching her cheek lightly. Her eyes closed at his touch, her head bending back. Pulling her tight against him they kissed long and hard, hearts pounding. When they paused Daniel saw a man in the woods, watching them—the skinny visitor. When he realized Daniel had spotted him he backed into the shadows of the trees. He could still be there, Daniel knew, hidden, watching, but when Melody pressed against him again, lifting her head to be kissed, he forgot about the skinny visitor.