The Book of the Unnamed Midwife

Chapter Five

Two days later she walked out into a light flurry of snow, headed back to town the way she had come. The day before, she had busily piled dry firewood into a wheelbarrow she found in a shed and trucked it to her assumed home, making piles inside and on the porch. The second day she set out for town. The constant motion of the snow made her nervous, and her eyes tracked movement everywhere, her heart racing and slowing. She forced herself to get calm but she had to put her hand on her gun to do it. She thought to herself of the way babies soothe just being near the breast, just having the pacifier to comfort them. A gun certainly pacifies.

The street turned on to the main drag of the little town. Flat storefronts faced the road like the set in a Western. She kept close to one side, glancing up to the windows every few steps. Nothing stirred. The unnatural calm and ringing silence of snow pleased her somewhat. She would hear something moving near her, she was sure of that.

She saw the general store, and a small specialty shop that seemed to sell honey and bee-themed tchotchkes of the kind that would delight tourists. She found the post office, useless and littered with papers. She passed a drug store without a thought. She was over-prepared for medical emergency. She did not run into any store she thought would sell cold-weather gear. She doubled back to the post office to see if there was a map of town.

There was a map, but it couldn’t be removed from the wall. For a moment habit took over and she fished out the cellphone that hadn’t made a sound in over a year and went to take a picture of the map. She laughed softly when she caught herself. She put the phone back gently in her pocket.

Studying the map on the wall, she made a note of the street where her little house stood at the end, separated from the main road and other houses by a considerable gap. She nodded at that gap. She loved it and believed in it. Space. Looking back up, she saw where she was and that there was a feed store a little less than a mile away. They might have farm equipment and items she could use. One more long look at the map and she was out the door.

The feed store had recently had a fire. On one side of the building, hay was scattered around the blackened brick façade. It had obviously been put out before it had spread, but not cleaned up. She stood in the road, staring at that a long time. She knew hay was pretty flammable. She thought back to the fires and evidence of fires she had seen. In the cities, mishaps had turned to disaster and there was no fire department to put things out. All of Oakland had burned down, it seemed. Duke had said the same thing about Detroit.

But this place hadn’t burned down.

Someone must have put it out.

She went in through the huge open door. It was dark inside, with the only light coming through the open door. The windows were black with smoke on one side and the others showed only the steel-grey sky that gave up snow. On the counter she saw what looked like a hurricane lamp. She pulled the chimney off, wound the wick upward, and lit it. It flamed high and fast, and she put the glass back on it. The smell was kerosene, but she wasn’t familiar enough with that odor to recognize it. She left the lamp on the desk and moved around carefully. She walked up and down the rows, reading labels for chicken feed, pig feed, medicines for horse’s hooves and long-rotted fifty pound bags of carrots. Rolls of chicken wire stood up in a bay and she thought about bringing some back to reinforce the house. She’d need to get a car running to carry it, but the roads in Eden were remarkably clear. She saw quickly that this was not the kind of place that would sell snowshoes or anything she needed. She went back for the hurricane lamp and picked it up gingerly, found the staircase that led up to the office.

The office was a little messy, with a thousand notes tacked up on the walls and the dead computer. She found map books marked with delivery routes for hay and feed, and stuffed two into her bag. The rest of the mess was invoices and phone numbers, nothing she could use. She headed back down.

She sat on the counter and ate some sardines she had packed for the trip. She flipped pages in the map book until she found where she was. Scanning the grid, she looked for any town big enough to have a shopping mall, a camping goods store, anything. She thought Huntsville, about six miles away, looked promising. When she had finished and looked long and hard at the route, she carried the lamp outside with her. She blew a few times before she managed to put it out. She thought she should take it with her. She did not think to pick up kerosene.

Around the back side of the store, a few cars sat parked. She knew cars that hadn’t been driven in a year or so didn’t start. One of these sat on clearly flat tires. Another had been a hay truck before, with tall guards on all sides to hold bales in. It looked too big to maneuver, and she decided against it. Parked closest to the wall was a little Honda. It was old, with manual locks and window cranks. She opened the passenger door and was stunned to see the keys in the ignition. She came around and let herself inside, setting the lamp carefully on the floor.

For a minute, she just breathed it in. The car smelled stale, like it hadn’t been opened in all this time. In that stale smell was a lost world. Cologne and sneaked hamburgers and the plasticky aroma of car upholstery that has sat in the sun for a few years. The rubbery smell of the dashboard and the dirt and crumbs embedded in the carpet. Scent is the key to the door of memory. For a minute, she let herself live in it. The minute ended when the smell of the kerosene lamp made itself known. An intruder from the new world. She opened her eyes and looked around. Keys in the ignition, windows not broken.

Cautious hope began to spread in her chest. She reached for the keys and turned them slowly through the clicks. On the third, a set of needles jumped in the dash. Her heart jumped with them.

She cranked it all the way and the engine slugged and woke slowly, groaning. She backed off and did it again, it complaining nyeah nyeah nyeah as it tried to shake the cold and inaction of the last year. The battery wasn’t dead. She knew that would sound like a dry click and nothing more. Nothing would light up or move. Cranked it again and this time stomped on the gas while doing it. The engine coughed, choked, caught, and then died. She waited one second before doing it again. It sputtered and guttered and then roared to life, her foot pouring gas into the injector.

She pounded the wheel triumphantly with her palms. The gas gauge read half full. She backed it up slowly and drove out onto the road. Fresh snow was all over everything, and she knew she’d have to go slowly. She wondered about the tires but did not get out to check. Rolling at a creeping pace, she eased out on the road in the direction of Huntsville.

It wasn’t long before the noises set in. Knocking and whining, the car started to let her know that this couldn’t last. The engine coughed and kicked, but she pushed on. If it was going to die, she wanted to ride it until it quit. She had gone nearly five miles when it stopped and wouldn’t start again. She cursed at it a little, then got halfway out, put it in neutral, and rolled it to the side of the road. After it stopped moving, she looked at it and wondered why she had bothered. She looked up and down the snowy road, seeing black and white nothingness. No lines of cars honked behind her, no courteous country gentlemen hopped out of pickup trucks to offer assistance to the little lady. She could have left the car in the dead center of the road with all the doors open for all it mattered.

She thought for a minute about whether to grab the kerosene lantern from the floor of the car. She decided not to carry it, but that she would take this same road back, hopefully in another car or on a bike, and take it back home. She began to walk the last mile or so into Huntsville.

As soon as she got near town, she knew something was different here. At the outskirts, she began to see cows fenced in on suburban lawns in twos and threes, drinking out of kiddie pools and old bathtubs full of water. Each of the lawns had a shelter or a windbreak full of clean hay for the animals to escape the cold. For the most part, they seemed woolly for the winter and unbothered by the snow. In one yard, she heard the unmistakable gabbling of a chicken coop. She immediately knew that people were keeping these animals, probably a large group of them. She looked around, peering into the windows of the houses. She looked up and down each street for more signs of habitation. She listened hard through the snowy silence. Nothing.

She followed the road toward the center of town and the main drag. She knew there would be people there. She stopped at a bay window in the front of a tiny pink house and checked herself. She looked good, bundled up. She hadn’t bothered to dirty her jaw in a few days, but she wasn’t very clean, either. She touched the buttons of her coat and drew her scarf up, fluffing it to completely conceal her neck and part of her chin. She reached back and touched the butt of her gun. Calmed, she pulled the hem of her coat down over it. She turned back and kept walking into town.

When she reached Main Street, she saw the hub of activity. There was a tall church, with a steeple that had a lightning rod or a spike on the top. Beside it, a greenhouse had been built on top of what used to be the church parking lot. Dozens of men moved in and out through the door, talking with one another, gesturing. She couldn’t hear them. The store she wanted was on the far end of the street. She could double back and come around the block behind it to avoid being seen. She stood motionless, deciding. It was too risky to meet them, she thought. She turned around to go back and wait until after dark to raid the store.

When she turned, she found herself almost face to face with a young man who had a blond beard and a generous smile.

“Welcome, brother!” He strode toward her, holding out his hand. “Where did you come from? We haven’t had a refugee in months!”

Frozen for a moment, she was not sure what to do. She couldn’t shoot this guy in the middle of town. She knew she was outnumbered. He wasn’t threatening at all, and he had called her ‘brother’ and ‘refugee.’ Those were terms she could deal with.

Cautiously she put out her right hand. “Hi. I just came in from Eden.”

“Eden? Heck, I’m from Eden, and I sure don’t know you.”

“Well, I just got to Eden. I’m from San Francisco.”

“Wowie, that’s a long trip. How’d you get all this way? Oh, never mind all the long story. Where are my manners? Are you hungry or hurt? Do you need anything?”

She studied his face carefully. He seemed totally sincere, right down to his fake swears. The moment felt surreal to her, like Disneyland tour guides showing up to lead her out of hell. “I’m ok. I need to get back to Eden, is all. My car broke down and-“

“Well, shoot, I’m sure someone could take you back to Eden, but why would you go back there? It’s pretty deserted.”

“I… I have all my gear there. I sort of set up camp.”

“Hey, I’ll let the elders talk to you about it, but I expect you’ll want to stay here. We haven’t had a new face in a long time. Why don’t you let me walk you to the stake center and introduce you. Oh, what’s your name, brother?”

“Dusty. I’m Dusty Jones.”

He had held her hand this whole time, and now he pumped it enthusiastically up and down.

“Welcome to Huntsville, Brother Dusty. I’m Frank Olsen. I hope you’ll at least stay for dinner. Come on, let me show you off to everybody.”

He let go of her hand, but he put his on her shoulder instead. His hands were wide and square, with blond hair sprouting out of the back. His eyes were baby blue and as round as could be. The walk over to the church building he had called the ‘stake center’ was far too short for her liking.

Her heart was beating a little too fast and she breathed deep, trying to remember to talk low and slowly, like a man would. They reached the door where an older man stood like a cheerful guard.

“Hello there, Frank! Who’s this young man?” The old man had eyebrows that seemed to reach all over his face, up and down in long bristles. They worked as he squinted to see her clearly.

“This is Brother Dusty. He just came in from Eden.”

The man with the eyebrows reached out and shook her hand heartily. “Welcome! Better take him in the meet the elders.”

Frank beamed. “That’s my plan! Thanks, Brother Albert.”

Albert opened the door and closed it behind them, back at his post. Inside the building was warm and bright. The hallways were spacious and clean and all the wood looked polished. The large bucolic paintings of Jesus that hung on the walls were freshly dusted. They walked past the open doors of a cavernous chapel space. As she passed, she could see the wall behind the dais was made up of river rock, all the way to the ceiling. No cross, no crucifix, just a podium.

“Here we are!” Frank rapped on a door three times and a teenage boy answered. “Hi, Brother Tyler. Are the elders in a meeting?”

“No, they’re just getting ready to go to dinner. Say- is that a refugee?” He held out a hand to Dusty. She took it and let him pump her up and down, feeling very silly.

Frank spoke for her. “This is Brother Dusty, he just got in. Can I take him in to meet the elders?”

“Well, sure!” The kid got out of the doorway and gestured them in. Frank opened another door on the other side of the room. He stepped in ahead of her, and she followed.

It was a wide room, set with a very modern conference table surrounded by leather swiveling desk chairs in black. Seated around it were five men, all white with white hair, most with white beards. They all looked up as she and Frank came through the door.

“Elders, this is Dusty Jones. He’s a refugee from San Francisco who just came in through Eden.”

The man at the head of the table spoke up first. His voice was rich and resonant, though he looked to be nearly seventy years old. “Welcome, Brother Dusty. This is Huntsville, a survivor’s colony and a stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.”

“Oh.” It popped out of her before she could think. “Mormons.”

The men around the table were unmoved. Another spoke this time. “Yes, Mormons. We prefer to be called Latter-Day Saints, or LDS. But I’m sure in California many people say ‘Mormon’ instead.”

The head man did not rise from his seat or offer a hand, but his smile was genial. “I’m Elder Comstock. This is Elder Sterling, Elder Graves, Elder Johannsen, and Elder Evans.” They nodded in order as they were introduced. Dusty looked at each of them and tried to figure out how to tell them apart. Graves did not have a beard. Comstock was clearly in charge. The rest all looked alike, even wearing the same boring dark suits and bland ties. She looked at Frank out of the corner of her eye. She saw that he was dressed for work, but incredibly clean. His hair looked freshly trimmed, and he wasn’t growing a beard for lack of equipment. He was neat. The old men around the table were the same: neat, clean, fastidious. For a moment, she thought she might be dreaming.

“Brother Dusty,” Comstock was saying as she came out of her reverie. “We would like very much to hear about your journey, and any news you can tell us. Would you join us for dinner? We’d be honored to have a guest.”

She nodded. “Sure, I… I can tell you what I know but it isn’t much.”

Comstock smiled, and it was such a grandfatherly smile that it made her glad to see it. “We’ve all heard each other’s stories a thousand times. Even if it’s a dull story, it will be delightful to hear something new.”

She was just a little charmed. She was trying to get a read on these people, but everything confused her. They were too polite, too clean.

Don’t they know the world ended?

She followed the line of them out the door, beginning to smell food. It smelled incredible.

Comstock led the line into an auditorium. The floor was wood laminate and it shone like a mirror. The room was set with round tables all over. Each table was spread with a cloth and silverware at each place. In the center were short round vases with glass beads in the bottom and silk flowers in the top. On the wall was a never-ending spread of art made by children. Clumsy crayon drawings and felt apples crowded against coloring pages and sticky construction paper collages. Malformed mommies and daddies beamed with huge smiles and waved with stick-fingers from picture after picture of sunny houses and blue skies.

The white beards reached a table and sat, gesturing to an empty seat for her. She sat, still staring around the room.

“Are there children-“

Dozens of men came streaming in through every door, talking and laughing and sitting at tables. She saw more than a few staring her way, and some sidebars as the word spread that there was an outsider present. She watched the gossip of her existence spread across the room, saw Frank Olsen enjoy a moment of minor celebrity as everyone confirmed the news with him. They quieted as they sat, and every face seemed turned toward her. She tried not to look back, but looked down at the gleaming steel flatware in front of her, laid out perfectly on the white plastic tablecloth.

The quiet let up as the doors to the kitchen opened. The smell of food came through, strong and sure it had to be spaghetti. Teenage boys came out loaded with serving bowls and made for the tables. Dusty’s table was served last. The bowls were heaping with green salad, spaghetti tossed with marinara covered with meatballs, and another full of rolls that smelled fresh and yeasty and warm. She watched them go by, her mouth wet with anticipation.

Behind the team of teenagers delivering food, there came three women. One was young, maybe twenty. The next was in her thirties, motherly, with beautiful shining black hair. The last was perhaps a little older, gray at the temples, and dumpy in dress that covered her to the neck and ankles. Dusty stared at them as they approached her table, each bearing a bowl. They set them down with smiles. The youngest one was strawberry blonde and pretty in a hometown girl with no makeup sort of way. When she got close, Dusty saw she was sprinkled with freckles. After setting down the food, they walked decorously to their own table that they shared with two men and a couple of empty chairs.

Elder Comstock stood and folded his arms. People around the room stayed seated but folded theirs. Dusty did the same, thinking it was better not to stand out.

“Dear most gracious Heavenly Father,” he intoned gently. “We thank thee for this day and for this food and the hands that prepared it. We ask that you bless it that it may strengthen and nourish our bodies…”

As the prayer went on, Dusty looked around the room. Every head was bent and every eye was closed. Even the teenage boys seemed reverent. She stared around at their perfect quiet, their unruffled stillness. She looked over to the table where the women sat. They seemed at ease and as involved in the prayer as any of the men. Before it ended, she bowed her head so as not to be caught.

“…in Jesus’ name, Amen.” As he finished speaking, before he could even fully sit down, the room broke into noise that mostly began with “please pass.” Dusty held herself back and waited for the food to come to her. She made a pile of salad on her plate and laid an equally large helping of spaghetti beside it. She took a roll from the bowl and reached for a bottle of salad dressing that had arrived on the table when she wasn’t watching. Elder Comstock was holding a small plate of fresh butter that he served himself from sparingly before passing it on.

“Butter is still in short supply, I’m afraid. We’re working on milk production and we hope to start making cheese soon. But Sister Everly was able to make about a pound of sweet cream butter this month, and we’re trying to make it last.” The small plate reached her and she took a tiny sliver of it by knife to her still-warm roll. She put it straight into her mouth and the long-lost taste transported her. She set the rest aside to eat last.

The room buzzed with conversation and Dusty was glad to be ignored for a few minutes while she crammed hot food into her mouth. It had been so long since she’d eaten a real meal, food prepared by someone else with courses and a theme, so that she couldn’t focus on anything else. The sauce was obviously straight out of a can. The pasta was overcooked and spongy. The salad dressing was shelf-stable uninspired processed junk. She didn’t care. It was not served in a can or eaten alone and in haste. It tasted as good as anything ever had in her life, especially the bread. When she had cleaned her plate, she picked up the buttery remains and swiped the last of the red sauce up with it, reveling in every bite. When she finished, the strawberry blond girl had reappeared to pour her a glass of lemonade. It was terribly sweet, the kind made from powder, but it had been poured over a full glass of snow. Dusty thanked her and took long swallows from it. Another soon appeared.

“Well, sir.” It was Elder Johannsen this time. “Why don’t you tell us about yourself?”

As if on cue, the room quieted down. She thought for a moment before beginning.

“I was working as a PA in San Francisco when the plague started. We handled a lot of casualties, mostly women and children. When the government broke down, things got pretty terrible. I left the city as soon as I could and started moving east. I met a few people here and there, but mostly out on the road the ones you meet are monsters. It isn’t safe out there.”

Dusty saw the freckled girl didn’t like that. All over the room, people looked uncomfortable.

“So, I’ve been traveling and offering medical assistance to people I meet who aren’t killers. I found Eden and it was so deserted I couldn’t figure out what had happened. I was hoping for some good winter gear, so I came to Huntsville, and here you all are.”

Johannsen nodded. “Indeed, indeed. Here we are. Many of us are from Eden. I myself have a home there. Brother Jesperson, Brother Chalmers, and Brother Anderson, as well.”

She cleared her throat. “I…uh… I’ve been staying in a house over there.” She pulled the keys out of her pocket and looked at the tag on the key ring. “700 North 900 West, it’s at the end of the street.”

The man who had been pointed out as Brother Chalmers stood up. “That’s Brother Westin’s place. He died of the sickness. He’d be glad to know a traveler found some refuge at his house. You go ahead and take whatever you need from there.”

“Um… thank you.” She felt insanely awkward. Were they still expecting to enforce rules of ownership? Their whole society looked like pretense to her, like a stubborn conceit. Let’s pretend we have a community, let’s pretend nothing has changed. “Well, I want to get back to Eden tonight, if anyone knows an easier way than walking the six miles, I’d like to hear it.”

Elder Johannsen was looking at her. “Tell us more about the people you met out there.”

She shrugged. “Bands of men, mostly. There are almost no women anywhere. I’ve met a few guys who seemed alright, but all the others have been rapists and murderers.”

The whole room seemed to tense. She tried to backpedal. “I hardly saw anyone, really. It’s very deserted out there, I could go days without seeing anyone. Just when I did-“

Johannsen shushed her a little. “That’s alright, brother. Don’t dwell on it. No need to worry the children talking of such things. Sisters.”

At his word, the three women stood up and went back to the kitchen. The teenage boys were sent right after them. They came back with huge bowls of Jell-O in every color, and laid them on the tables as before. Dusty helped herself to a large humped spoonful in bright green and began to eat it. Conversation began again around the room, but it was more subdued this time. The mention of children had made Dusty look around the room, as if she had missed them. She shook it off, not sure what he had meant.

Elder Comstock spoke to her. “Someone can drive you back into Eden, if that’s what you want. But we’d like to offer you a place among us. We could use another man with medical skills. We have Brother Beaumont, but he’s a dentist. You say you’re a physician’s assistant?”

“Yes, that’s right. I specialized in obstetrics and gynecology.”

Comstock nodded, pleased. “Stay here tonight, spend tomorrow with us. It’s too dark to go back to Eden now, anyway. Let us try to convince you to join us. There’s no need for you to be all alone over in Eden with all of us here. We’d much rather you stayed with us.”

She couldn’t think of a good way to leave, and she was tired. “Alright. No promises. But I will stay tonight.”

He nodded as though there had been no doubt in his mind. “Wonderful. Brother Anderson?”

A young man a few tables away from them stood up and approached. “Yes, Elder?”

“Brother Dusty, this is Brother Chet Anderson. He’ll be a missionary soon, won’t you, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Chet, this is Dusty. He’s going to stay tonight with us. Can you put him in your companion’s bed, since it’s empty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Dusty, Chet here will help you with anything you might need.”

Comstock turned from them in wordless dismissal, speaking to Elder Johannsen. Dusty stood up to follow Chet. Around them, the women and boys were clearing the tables, bustling back into the kitchen. The whole system looked neatly organized, as if everyone knew his role without ever being told.

Chet was tall and thickly built, the sort of kid you would expect to play football. He was clean shaven and golden-blond. His eyes were small in his face and a brilliant green. His skin had no hint of acne whatsoever.

Handsome boy. Probably broke some hearts back when there were still hearts to break.

He led her to a small house close to the center of town and opened the unlocked front door. “This is the house I was sharing with my companion. The bathroom is good for washing, and there’s a pot on the stove to heat up water. The toilet’s useless, so there’s a latrine trench out back. We’ll have to dig a new one soon. Kitchen’s there, bedroom’s there.” He pointed from the living room down the hallway.

“Who’s… where’s your companion?” She watched him as he sat down on a blue couch.

“My companion was Elder McCarthy. Bruce. We were supposed to go on a mission together.

One morning I woke up and he was just gone. He was my best friend.”

She sat down next to him, leaving a whole cushion between them. “Oh. I had someone do that to me. It hurts. I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I hope he’s ok. Sometimes I think he just wanted to go find batteries for his Gameboy without getting caught.”

She smiled at him. “Maybe that’s it. So, are you from Huntsville? Or Eden?”

“I’m from Ogden. Some missionaries from Huntsville found me. I left home after my mother and sisters died. I wanted to go to Salt Lake, but they told me they had been there, and it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“They said part of town had been burned and there were gangs of guys on motorcycles riding everywhere. I can’t imagine Salt Lake City full of motorcycle gangs, but I’ll take their word for it. They brought me here, instead.” He looked disappointed.

“Did you not want to come here?” She watched him closely. She wasn’t sure they’d try and hold her, but she was anxious to hear what he said.

“No, I mean… I don’t know. I wanted to be around people, is all. There sure are people here. I was just hoping…”

“What were you hoping?” He wasn’t a prisoner. Just a kid.

“Hoping that all the girls hadn’t died everywhere. Every family I knew in Ogden had daughters, more girls than boys. I had four sisters, I had a friend who had six. School seemed like it was mostly girls. The girls in my ward were brats with braces and they weren’t even that cute. But I miss them so much, all of them. I keep hoping the missionaries will bring back a bunch of girls who just got lost, but they’re ok and happy. But most of the guys who leave don’t even come back.” He sat with his arms curled in, palms of his hands turned up in his lap. His face pulled down at the corners and he looked old.

“I’ve seen girls.” She said it quietly, but his head whipped toward her.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Not many, but they are out there. Girls your age, even. What are you, like eighteen?”

“Seventeen. As soon as they find me another companion, I’ll be sent out.” He didn’t look excited.

“So what does that mean? You go out and… convert people?”

He laughed a little. “That’s what missionaries used to do. Now all missions are service missions. We’re sent out to find survivors and help them, bring them back if we can convince them to come. Lots of the people here came from around Ogden and Hyrum and Brigham City. But the guys that are sent far away…”

“They don’t come back, right?” She leaned back on the arm of the couch, watching him.

“No. Anybody sent to Idaho or Nevada… nobody has made it back from those missions yet.”

“Are they going out armed?”

He looked shocked. “No. We can only take our scriptures and a few things. Like the apostles. If we had guns, people might think we were dangerous.”

They’re not coming back. He knows that, he just doesn’t want to believe it.

She blinked at him. “A lot of people out there have guns. The world is full of guns, you just have to find them. These guys… you might have a better chance if you found one.”

He shook his head, sadly. “We’re doing God’s work. That’s not the right tool for it.”

“Ok. Good luck then. I hope you get sent to somewhere close.”

He stood up. “I’ll put on the kettle so you can have some hot water to clean up with.” He walked into the kitchen, but she followed.

“How many of you are there here, now?”

“Fifty nine. Fifty two men, three women.” He kept his back to her.

“That’s fifty five. Are the other four trans?”

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“Who are the other four?”

“Oh.” He turned back to the kettle. “The kids.”

“I didn’t see them at dinner. Where are they?” She walked up to stand beside the stove, to look at him. “Where are the kids?”

“They’re kept away from everybody, as a precaution. They’re the only ones who made it.” His face was distracted, giving nothing away.

“Do you know them? Are they boys or girls?”

“Two boys, two girls. All under ten. The sisters take care of them, and they’re in a special house. Everyone’s afraid they’ll get sick or hurt, or someone will try to take them. They have to be protected.”

“Why? Why can’t they be out in public?”

The fire in the stove caught and he put the kettle on the black iron top. “I’m never going to get married. Neither are you. Neither are any of the brothers here, unless the missionaries bring home girls. Those kids can marry each other, have kids of their own. Nobody can get in the way of that. They’re the only thing we have that looks like a future.”

His eyes blazed as the room warmed up. He closed the door to the little stove and stared her down, daring her to argue.

Hidden children. Flowers in the attic.

“Have any of the women here had babies in the last year?”

Blazing still, he did not look away. “Not yet. But they’re all married, and it will happen. Children will be born in the covenant.”

“Since I was working in gynecology, I can tell you that’s going to be harder than it sounds. This sickness, this virus or whatever it was, seems to complicate pregnancy. Every pregnancy. I haven’t seen a child born in more than a year who lived a day.”

“God has not abandoned us. We’re just being tested. We’ll come through.”

She watched him for any sign of doubt, for the melancholy doom that had crossed his face when he thought of his mission. She saw nothing but stubborn belief. “I hope you’re right.”

With a candle burning, she locked the door to the bathroom and stripped naked. She took the pot of water into the tub and carefully soaped from top to bottom, using the precious hot water to wash it all away. She washed her short hair and was shocked to look at all she had grown in her underarms. She’d been shaving there since she was thirteen. Her leg hair had come in long and dark, but fine. It felt so alien to be naked, she could not quite own or inhabit her body. It was becoming a stranger to her.

I used to live here.

The compression vest was yellowed and dingy with constant wear. She saved a little water when she was clean to soap and rinse it out, too. She hung it up on the showerhead after she had rung it out. She’d have to put it back on wet, but it was already much improved. She stepped out of the tub and stood on a clean towel, stiff from line-drying inside the house. In the candlelit mirror, she looked at herself for a while. She thought she looked older. Her breasts were smaller than she remembered. She thought that was the result of weight loss, but maybe constant compression had something to do with that, too. Her hair was a little shaggy. She thought someone could give her one of the smart side-parted cuts from the 1950s barber shop poster that everyone in Huntsville seemed to have.

She got the compression vest back on. Chet had given her a set of long underwear that were close to her size. She put them on and checked to see that the lights were out before crossing the room toward the bunk beds. Chet was on top and did not look up. She set up her clothes right beside the bed, she planned to put them on over the long johns. The bunk was narrow but the comforter was down-filled and the pillow smelled fresh and clean. She sunk right into it and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When she woke up, Chet was already up and dressed. It was still dark out.

“I’ve got seminary. Do you want to come?”

She sat up slowly, mindful of the top bunk overhead. “No, you go ahead. I’m going to get dressed and walk around a bit.”

He shrugged with a brief grin. “Ok. See you later!” He bounded out the door like a big kid.

Dusty looked after him, thinking that he must be pretty used to such early mornings.

She got dressed quickly and went out the front door without locking it. She walked slowly back toward the center of town. Men were coming out of their doors and flipping up their collars against the cold. Many of them waved to her as they split off toward their day’s work. She headed back to the stake center, where smoke was coming out of the chimneys. The door was open but no one was posted as guard this time.

She walked in through the long hallways, past the chapel and the paintings of Jesus. She headed through the auditorium to doors through which food had come the day before. She knew that back there somewhere was a kitchen.

Behind the swinging café doors, three women worked. They were pulling long muffin trays out of a large wall oven and setting them down to cool on a wide gleaming stainless steel countertop. Dusty smelled cornbread. They looked up as she entered, but did not stop their work.

The oldest woman spoke up first, her hands still busy and her eyes on her task. “You’re not allowed to be back here, stranger.”

“I’m sorry,” Dusty said. “I just didn’t get the chance to speak with any of you yesterday.”

The woman with the gray at her temples set down her corn muffins and put her hands on her hips. “I’m Sister Everly. This is Sister Johannsen and Sister Obermeyer. And I’m afraid that’s all the speaking we’re going to do without our husbands present.” She gave Dusty a pointed look and went back to her work.

“Forgive me ladies, I meant no disrespect.” Dusty managed this very formal apology without missing a beat, despite it feeling like an antique phrase out of the attic of her brain. She turned to leave.

Sister Obermeyer, the young one with the strawberry blonde hair, called after her. “Breakfast is in less than an hour. See you soon!”

Dusty saw herself out and went back into the large auditorium. She walked the walls looking at the children’s pictures. Many of them were colored and filled-out pages of activity books. Others were freehand drawings, but Dusty thought they were probably directed by an adult. Every picture had four examples of the same thing, and every single one was rosy and happy and envisioned a perfect world. If children of the plague were allowed to draw what they felt, Dusty imagined the room would look different.

But all of the children’s pictures had smiling mommies in them.

She was still moving around the room when the three women emerged from the kitchen, green tablecloths in their hands.

“Can I help?”

Sister Everly pursed her lips. “Well, we always run a little behind while the boys are at seminary. I suppose you can.” She broke her stack of them in half and handed them over to Dusty. Dusty moved about efficiently, grabbing them by their edges and flipping them out over the tables. Coming to the last cloth, she saw that all the others had finished and were bustling back through the swinging doors.

Sister Johannsen came back out first. Her shining black hair was done up in braids that looked elaborate and difficult. She was carrying two centerpieces.

“So, are you Elder Johannsen’s wife?”

She did not look up, but laid her two centerpieces and kept moving. “I’m his daughter in law.”

She went back through the doors.

Can’t one of them hold still for five minutes and talk to me?

Sister Everly was next, with four centerpieces held together in her hands like a practiced waitress carries drinks.

“I don’t believe I’ve met your husband, ma’am.”

Sister Everly looked at Dusty, but did it with the kind of look a woman gives a troublesome vacuum cleaner. “Mr. Everly sat beside me at dinner last night. He’s a farmer.”

“Oh, I saw the chickens and cows on the edge of town.”

“My husband farms peas and beans. He’s in charge of them year-round.”

“How nice,” Dusty said to the swinging doors.

Sister Obermeyer came out with four centerpieces, carrying the way Sister Everly had. “And what does your husband do?”

Her brows furrowed a little and her pink mouth flattened. “He’s a missionary. Serving in Colorado.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Five months. They’re due back like any day now.” She disappeared again.

The two older women emerged together, and Dusty was not yet ready to give up. “Where are the children? Are any of them yours?”

“Yes,” said both women.

“I’d love to meet them. I haven’t seen a child in a long time. I have experience treating children, if they need any medical help. I’d love just to hear stories about them.” Dusty had years of experience talking to mothers. Patients and nurses alike couldn’t stop themselves from telling these stories, showing their pictures, or sharing their worries.

Sister Everly was as stony-faced as ever, but Sister Johannsen softened around the eyes. “You can’t meet them,” the younger woman said. “They’re kept separate. But I could tell you-“

“You could, when your work is done. Mind yourself, Anne. Come along now.” Sister Johannsen looked back at the older woman like a child who was promised a treat and then denied it. She followed meekly, however.

Dusty sighed, exasperated. She flopped into one of the chairs and let them buzz around her, laying silverware and making last minute preparations for breakfast. When the men began filing in, Dusty watched and sat at the table with the largest number of empty seats, intending to sit with the women when they finished. She noticed she got a few sharp glances, but she wasn’t told to move. She patiently folded her arms for prayer and sat politely passing food and waiting for conversation to begin. The couples at her table served one another scrambled eggs and corn muffins and steamed broccoli.

When she thought it was safe to try again, she went back to work on Sister Johannsen. “So, tell me about your children.”

Her husband looked up, shocked. “Our two boys died during the sickness, Brother.”

“But your wife said some of the children here were hers.”

He frowned at her. “The Law of Consecration doesn’t really make them ours, honey. They’re still sealed to their own folks.”

The law of what now?

She smiled at him and it made her beautiful. “Sure they’re ours. They’re everyone’s! There’s Patty, that’s the oldest. She’s a beautiful little girl, nine years old. She loves to sing and draw pictures. I’m reading Where the Red Fern Grows with her right now and she wants a puppy so bad. Then there’s her sister Mikayla, who’s very strong willed and stubborn. She’s just seven and she loves Barbies. She’s got dozens, but we had to sort through Barbie’s clothes to find some that were modest.” She giggled a little here, her eyes alight. “Then the boys, Ben and John. Ben’s seven, too, and John is six. They’re both so smart, already reading and writing and Ben can name all the books of the Old Testament in order. John is very shy and affectionate. He’s a cuddly one! I wish I had pictures. The sisters and I all teach them and care for them. They’re having their breakfast now, too, with Jodi.”

“Jodi?”

“Sister Obermeyer. It’s her day to eat with them.” Sure enough, the youngest woman was missing from the table.

The redhead. Right.

Brother Johannsen was still clearly uncomfortable, but he was pleased with his wife. “Anne was a wonderful mother. I’m glad she’s helping to care for the stake’s children. But soon enough she’ll have my baby to take care of. I guess I’m just a little selfish that way. I want my own boys back, and I can’t wait to have our own again.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” They gazed at each other with a syrupy sweetness that Dusty could not believe was real. She decided to change the subject.

“So I’d like to get my hair cut. Can any of you tell me who does all these neat cuts?”

Brother Everly pointed with a forkful of egg to another table. “Brother White. He cut hair for the navy for fifteen years. Just ask him, he’ll fix you up.”

Dusty finished off her corn muffins and excused herself from the table. She walked over to Brother White and made arrangements for a haircut right after breakfast.

Brother White sat her in an old barber’s chair in his kitchen. The house was dead quiet. His tools were laid out on a clean white towel. His shears were very old-looking, with mother of pearl handles. She told him she thought they were handsome.

“They were a gift from my mother, when I got assigned to barbering by the navy. She said I needed something with a little class. Just the standard cut?”

“Sure, I just want it cleaned up and off my neck.”

“Shave, too?” He grabbed her by the chin, rubbing a little with his thumb. The sudden contact shocked her and she jerked her head away.

“No!” She settled back down as fast as she could. “No. I don’t grow much facial hair. Or much chest hair. My father didn’t, either. Just lucky.”

The old barber seemed unruffled. “My beard keeps my face warm.” He combed her hair out with a wet brush and started cutting.

“So is there a sporting goods store in Huntsville? I’d like to get some snowshoes or better boots, if I can.”

“Sure, sure. There’s a Cabella’s that I’m sure will have something. You’ll have to ask the bishop about it though.”

“The bishop?”

“Elder Comstock. Bishop Comstock. You’ll just need permission to take something from the bishop’s storehouse.”

“What’s the bishop’s storehouse?”

His cold steel scissors slid along the back of her neck in a perfect straight line. “It’s everything that belongs to the town. He’s in charge of making sure that people get what they need.”

Of course.

“Alright, I can do that. Where would he be around now?”

“Probably over to the courthouse. He’ll be busy, though. All finished.”

He pedaled the release to drop her back to the floor. She slid down on a cushion of air and he handed her a mirror. She took it and looked.

“Without a beard you look like a little boy,” Brother White laughed. “Or a grownup tomboy.”

“Thanks.” Dusty patted the stray hairs off her shirt and walked out the kitchen door.

The courthouse was located at the opposite end of Main Street from the stake center. It wasn’t a grand civic affair with columns or a dome, just a small-town courthouse. Plate glass in front with cement pillars to prevent an angry someone from driving through the façade. Useless metal detectors stood beside every entry point and the freshly-laundered American flag stood on an eagle-topped pole in the corner of the foyer.

A guard stood posted at the inner door, another bearded old white man and she started to feel very tired of seeing the same face. He let her pass.

Bishop Comstock was sitting on the judge’s bench wearing the same dark suit. He was listening to a man standing in front of him tell a long whining story about a series of books he wanted to read that the other man in the room had not finished yet and wouldn’t give up.

“I got to read the first half of the first book, and then he got permission to take the whole series. I don’t want the whole series, just the first couple when he’s done with them.”

The man standing on the other side shook his head, his short dark curls shining in the sunlight that came through the windows. Snow had stopped falling and the day was cold, but bright. “I told him, I want to keep the whole series until I’ve finished them all. What if I need to go back and look something up? I don’t want to have to track him down to get it back. I’ll finish soon, and then he can have them.”

Bishop Comstock looked thoughtfully down on them. “What are these books called? What are they about?”

The two men looked at one another, and then quickly away. The light-haired man spoke first.

“They’re about a… a spy. A female courtier who spies… for a queen.”

The man with the dark curls nodded.

The bishop looked from one to the other, understanding dawning on his face. “Are you brothers following the admonition of Paul? Would you say that this material is in keeping with covenants you made when you accepted the rights and responsibilities of the priesthood?”

Both men stared down at their shoes. “I want to withdraw my complaint,” said the lighter man.

“It doesn’t matter. We can work it out.”

The bishop drummed his fingers on the desk. “I see. Would you say that this book is virtuous, lovely, of good report, or praiseworthy? I know you both and I think you’re both better than this. Turn the books in to the elders at the stake center after dinner tonight. Neither one of you needs them.” He tapped his gavel lightly and dismissed them with a look.

Dusty wasn’t sure if there was an appointment system or a way to ask to be heard, so she just walked up the center aisle to stand before the bench.

“I was told to ask you about snowshoes.”

Comstock looked up and then down at her. “What’s that?”

“I came to Huntsville looking for snowshoes or other winter gear. The barber told me there was a Cabella’s somewhere in town, but that I’d have to ask you. So here I am. Asking.”

Comstock took an old-fashioned pocket watch out of his blazer and looked at it. Then he pulled on his overcoat. “Brother Dusty, will you take a walk with me? I don’t have any more cases to hear today.”

“Sure.”

They walked together, quietly. Bishop Comstock led away from the courthouse, down one of the residential streets in town that Dusty hadn’t seen yet. Covered with snow on a clear day, the houses looked cheery and well cared-for. They also looked empty. Dusty thought about empty houses in little towns like this all over the world, with men going and gone and no women left inside. Houses without housewives. No cooking and cleaning, no humming and apron-wearing wives and mothers like in the old sitcoms. No rushing minivans driven by lithe women in yoga pants whose children were well-behaved and spoke Mandarin. No soap-opera addicted overweight neglectful trailer trash with a dozen kids running around screaming, their mouths always stained with Kool-Aid. Every man in Huntsville remembered another life, expecting to come home every day to find someone there. All the empty houses sat. No one numbered the silent days.

Comstock walked with his hands clasped behind his back. His chin was down near his chest and his white beard made him look very solid, like a block of ice. His brow furrowed.

“Brother Dusty, you seem like a sensible man. May I be frank with you?”

She crossed her arms and looked at him as they kept walking. “Please.”

“I’m glad you came to Huntsville. We need a little excitement here and there, and we certainly need a reminder that there are other people out in the world.”

She didn’t see a reason to respond to this. She could tell he was working up to something.

“The plain fact is we are not looking for more young men. The reasons must be obvious. We are especially not looking for young men who are not of our faith. We have a delicate balance here, with very few women and a lot of frustrated and upset brethren who aren’t married. Do you follow me?”

“I follow, yes. Frankly, I don’t know that I would stay even if I was wanted. I’d prefer to be on my own, back in Eden, until I’m ready to move on.”

Comstock nodded, a short dip of his head into his beard, but kept his gaze down.

“I’d like to know that you’re there through the winter, in case we need another medical man. You’re not too far to get someone to you, even in the worst weather. A few men here have snowmobiles. Would you be alright with that?”

“Of course.” She was thinking fast, trying to figure out how she’d deal with visitors without warning. “I’d… It’d be good to have a warning. Have you got flares, or a crank siren? So I could be ready when they arrive?”

“I’m sure we can find something.” Comstock was looking at her a little oddly. She frowned and looked ahead, trying to seem concerned with practicality.

“So, I’ll be heading back to Eden, then. Any chance of snowshoes or other useful gear to get me there?”

“Slow down, son.” Comstock gave her a warning look. “No need to take off half-cocked. I want to make sure everyone knows this is your choice. With all the gossip about you-“

“Gossip? I’ve been here one day.”

“Now, Brother Dusty, you know women can’t help but gossip. The relief society told everyone you were flirting with them, asking questions when their husbands weren’t around, trying to help with kitchen work.” He smirked a little.

“I wasn’t! I was just-”

“Oh, it’s only natural, son. We all want to spend as much time around the sisters as we can. I understand that. I just don’t want anyone to think anything improper happened and that you hied out of town.”

How was I flirting? I made the most polite conversation I know how. Feel like I stumbled into Saudi Arabia.

“Uh-huh,” she said noncommittally.

“So, here’s the plan. I’d like you to stay one more night. Have lunch with the ward, stick around for missionary assignments. Have dinner, stay another night with Elder Anderson, and in the morning I’ll have one of the brothers take you back by snowmobile. How’s that sound?”

“That’s fine.” She gave up on the idea of snowshoes. Comstock wanted to be able to come to her, but didn’t care for the idea of her being able to cross back into Huntsville during the winter.

She liked him a little less, but she understood.

“Good. Now that’s settled, you may do as you like for the rest of the day. I’m going to drop by the greenhouse and watch the work there, if you’d like to walk with me.” He made a left turn at the next street and she followed.

“Bishop Comstock, what were things like here when the plague got going?”

His hands let go behind his back. His bearing changed. He seemed to be drawing into himself, shrinking. “We’re very isolated here.”

She waited.

“We received instructions from Salt Lake while we could still communicate with them. The first presidency was very clear about preserving the ward and administering the sacrament and ordinances as usual. President Duncan spoke prophecy confirming that the plague would pass and children would be born again in the covenant if we had faith and were patient. There were instructions to ward presidents and bishops like me, and to all holders of the priesthood… but then nothing. Everything shut down. Many people fled for parts more remote than these. And so many died, so many. We tended to them, and some of us lived. So we obeyed. And we have been blessed. If we continue to obey, we will continue to be blessed.”

The talk about hierarchy went past Dusty, who did not know this church well. She understood the gist of what he was saying. They had been lucky here. He believed their luck would hold out.

“What happened to Chet’s friend? Do you know? Have there been many disappearances?”

Comstock stopped in the street, his boots crunching on churned-up snow. “You’re talking about Elder McCarthy.” He gave her a hard look.

“I think that was the name. Chet said he just disappeared one night. Do you lose a lot of people that way?”

He turned away from her to look at the greenhouse at the end of the lane. He clasped his hands behind his back again. “A few, yes.”

She waited, but he did not elaborate.

“Did you send out search parties?”

Comstock looked deeply uncomfortable. “We did. Of course we did.”

She was mystified, watching him for signs. “A lot of your people are locals, they must know the area. Where could these people be going? Do they just want to find another community?”

He looked at her quickly, appraising her. He looked at his shoes again. “We’ve found… some of them.”

She struggled for a minute, not sure what to say. “Oh. Suicides.”

She waited for him to confirm it or deny it. He did neither.

Shit, he can’t even say it.

“That’s happening everywhere. You know that, right? Living this way is hard, people are going to opt out.”

Comstock breathed in quickly as if to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at her.

“You should tell Chet,” she pressed him. “He needs to know it’s over. Everyone does.”

“No.” He shook his head, not looking at her. “No. That’s not how we’ve chosen to handle this issue.”

He doesn’t want anyone to know. Bad for leadership, bad for morale. Unsustainable.

“How many?”

“It’s not important. It’s going to stop the minute we find just one more woman or girl out there. That will be enough to bring hope. She will come. She was promised to us.”

She wanted to get as far away from him as she could. “Enjoy the greenhouse. I’m going back to the stake center.”

He smiled again, reverting back to his public persona. “I’ll see you later, then.” He turned away from her and walked toward the greenhouse with a jaunty step. She watched him for a moment before going back the way they had come.

In the stake center, the women were bustling as always, preparing lunch. Dusty didn’t try engaging them this time. She sat and watched.

Jodi Obermeyer spoke to her first. “Don’t you want to help us?”

She arched an eyebrow at the younger woman. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think I was flirting.”

Jodi blushed. In her fair freckled skin it was like the rising of mercury in a thermometer. She hurried back into the kitchen.

Sister Everly appeared in her place. “Brother Dusty, I heard you liked my rolls yesterday.”

“That was amazing. I haven’t had bread in a while, or butter. It was really something.”

She nodded approvingly. “You’re so thin! I wish I could butter you up all winter, but I’m afraid there’s no more of that. Still, there will be more rolls at dinner tonight. They’re rising now.”

“Thank you. That’ll be nice, since I’m leaving in the morning.”

“Oh, so soon?” She looked crestfallen.

“Yes, I want to be back in Eden. I prefer to be on my own. But I’ll be close by.”

“Oh.” She turned sadly and walked back into the kitchen.

Dusty watched the women set the tables without speaking again. Men filed in like figures in a cuckoo clock, right on time. She didn’t try to sit with the women this time. She chose a random table and sat with her fingers woven together against her forehead. She stayed that way through the prayer.

Lunch was shepherd’s pie and it was rich and heavy and meaty and delicious. The men at her table ate quickly, taking seconds happily, talking very little. Dusty was glad, she wasn’t interested in talking. She did as they did and enjoyed another helping. When the dishes were cleared, Elder Graves stood and held his hands up for silence. The only beardless leader, he somehow seemed much older than the others. His face was deeply lined and he had the shrunken appearance of a tall man who has been pulled downward by time and work and sadness.

When the room quieted, he began to speak, gently. “As you all know, all our recent missionaries have returned except the last two. Elders Langdon and Obermeyer were assigned to Colorado to serve a mission. They have not returned on the appointed date, but we know they will be back soon, with the help of Heavenly Father.”

Across the room from him, Sister Obermeyer put her face in her hands and started to cry.

Graves cleared his throat. “Despite the setbacks we have experienced, we know that the directive to complete a mission is still asked of us, and we must fulfill it. We know this to be true with every fiber of our being. So today, we call forth six new missionaries to serve.”

The room tensed up. She swept her eyes across the faces around her, looking for Chet. He was there, pink in the cheeks with his eyes full of fear. The moment seemed to stretch out for a long time before Graves spoke again.

“Elder Cubner and Elder Grim.”

Two young men rose from the same table and waited.

“You are called to Flagstaff, Arizona.”

They both sat down again, slowly.

“Elder Behr and Elder Smith.”

A fat teenager arose at Dusty’s table and another across the room joined him. The other missionary seemed older, maybe twenty-five.

“You are called to serve in Albuquerque, New Mexico.”

The older man sat down fast, disappearing from view. The chubby kid sunk slowly, his lower lip quivering. No one near him touched him or looked at him or said a word.

“Elder Anderson and Elder Flint. You are called to serve your mission in Billings, Montana.”

Chet had stood with his back to her and she couldn’t see his face. The tension in the room relaxed slightly.

“All those who will sustain these brothers in their callings, please indicate by the uplifted hand.” Comstock looked out over the room and everyone lifted their right hands as though they were taking an oath. Dusty, startled, didn’t move. She didn’t understand what she was seeing. She watched Jodi Obermeyer raise her hand, still sobbing.

“We believe that Heavenly Father will protect you and help you reach your intended destination. We believe that you will render aid along the way out of the goodness of your hearts. We believe that you will meet women and children and offer them succor. We believe you can lead those who belong here back to Zion. We believe you will return with honor.”

Jodi Obermeyer sobbed aloud.

Graves ignored her. “The missionaries will leave tomorrow, so tonight will be their farewell dinner. Let us all show them love and kindness and keep them in our prayers.”

The women had shushed Sister Obermeyer and taken her back into the kitchen. Dusty did not see her at dinner.

There was an announcement during dessert that Brother Dusty had been allowed to go homesteading in Eden, but he would stay available for medical help if needed. He would be taken home by Brother Chalmers in the morning, and they were to wish him well. Dusty raised a hand to them but didn’t speak. She didn’t care. She was ready to go. Afterward, when the room began to empty out, Dusty headed straight for Chet’s house.

She reached it before him and let herself in. She found her bag where she had left it, but the house spotlessly restored to order. She waited, pacing.

Chet walked through the door minutes later, with another boy his age.

“Chet.”

“Brother Dusty, this is Elder Flint. And I’m Elder Anderson now. You heard.”

“I did. I need to talk to you.” She cut her eyes toward Elder Flint.

Chet shrugged. “He can’t leave. We have to stay within sight of each other for the next six months. Whatever it is, you can say it to us both.”

“Fine.” She sat down in a chair and gestured to them to sit on the couch.

“You’re going to die out there.” They both blanched. Elder Flint flushed and wouldn’t look at her. She pressed on. “There are terrible people out there, and even if there weren’t, it’s cold as hell in Montana. You could get injured or freeze to death or meet up with wolves. Without weapons you guys will get picked off by whatever comes along.”

“It’s our duty to serve,” Flint said dully, looking at nothing.

“Bullshit.”

Chet started.

He has to see the situation. The logic is so simple.

“Look, there are too many men here, and not enough women. Didn’t it occur to you that the elders are trying to get rid of you?”

Chet looked hurt. “Why would they do that? All we have is each other.”

“Because sooner or later you’re going to fight over the women. There will be affairs. Unless more women join you, it’s inevitable. The elders are just trying to even up the score.”

Flint was shaking his head. “They’re not, that’s not true. They want us to bring back survivors Anyone we can find, even men.”

“For what? So you can all farm and build and send out missionaries until you just die off? What’s the point of that?”

“The point is to do what God wills. That’s all.” Chet was angry now.

She tried to calm him down. Gently, she said, “Look, there are empty houses all over the place. Walk to another town and pick one. Settle in for six months. Be careful, sleep in shifts, watch each other’s backs. Then pick up and come home, say there was nothing in Billings, and you’re off the hook.”

Flint looked outraged. “We won’t lie. We won’t come back with nothing.”

They don’t know. They haven’t really seen what it’s like out there, and there’s no way to tell them.

“You’re not going to come back at all.” She was sure that no one sent more than maybe fifty miles away was ever going to come back. Not unless they armed themselves or avoided people at all costs.

Chet stood up. “It’s stupid to argue. It’s done. Now that I have a new companion, you’ll have to sleep on the couch. Goodnight.” He walked to the bathroom and closed the door. Flint rose to head into the bedroom and she tried one more time.

“You’re not coming back, Flint. Has anybody sent that far out come back?”

His eyes were gray with thick lashes. When they finally looked into hers, she saw how flat and lifeless they were. He had already given up. The elders had likely given Chet another suicide.

“So? Maybe there’s no one out there. Maybe the plague will come back here. What does it matter? Die here, die there. Die now, die later. Might as well go.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He didn’t look back. She saw him go in and climb onto the top bunk in the semidarkness. The sound of Chet washing up came through the bathroom door.

She gave up. She wasn’t sure why she had tried in the first place. There is no argument to be had with faith.

She lay on the couch, fully clothed, and waited for sleep. Sometime after Chet had gone wordlessly to bed, it came.

The snowmobile arrived in the morning with the brisk chopping sound of a brand-new motor. Brother Chalmers sat astride it and called out to her when she opened the door. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Anderson and Flint were already gone. She picked up her pack and went out the door.

Chalmers offered her a helmet and goggles and she took both. She was glad for her long underwear as they got underway, but by the halfway point the wind had cut through to her skin. It had begun to snow again, lightly. They passed her abandoned car on the road. She tried to point it out to him, but they couldn’t hear one another at all. She was worried about riding behind Chalmers, about having to press herself into his back for stability as they rode. He wore a puffy goose-down jacket and she gave all the distance that she dared. He didn’t notice anything unusual and she tried to put it out of her mind.

She was relieved to get away from Huntsville. What had seemed charming about the community when she arrived had quickly started to suffocate her. It was hard to be an outsider in so many ways. She worried about staying anywhere, with anyone too long. Eventually, like the barber, they would have questions. Make guesses. She would be found out.

When they reached the house she had chosen, she was relieved to see it untouched and very much the same as she had left it. Chalmers shook her hand by way of goodbye. “We’re just up the road if you need us.”

She nodded and pumped his hand. He took her goggles and helmet and stuffed them in his backpack before taking off. She let herself in and immediately set about lighting a great big fire. The silence stung at first, but she relaxed into it as the house began to warm up. She curled up on the sofa she had pulled in front of the fireplace, put her right hand on the gun in her belt, and fell asleep.