The Book of the Unnamed Midwife

Chapter Seven

Still Winter

Forever Winter

The Winter of Our Discontent

Starting to figure out how to live with each other. Gives me space when I’m reading, and I can stand her so much better after a little time and silence. Jodi = sweet. Heats water for my bath, been able to talk her around to a few subjects of conversation that don’t make me want to scream. So sheltered = So fucking dull. So glad I have new books. Good ones I haven’t read.

Doesn’t seem to need any time alone. Not sure she’s ever had any. Not sure she has any thoughts she doesn’t say.

* * * * *

They settled into a routine. Neither of them set terms. They did not negotiate or ever directly address what they needed from one another, but the days fell into a rhythm.

Dusty got up first thing in the mornings and saw to the fire. She banked the coals, scuttled the ashes, brought a stack of wood within reach and got it roaring again. By the time she came to Jodi’s room to do the same, Jodi was up. The younger woman always cooked, Dusty had given up even trying. Jodi was a dab hand with what they had, never wasting and always making something filling and edible. When Jodi wasn’t cooking, she cleaned house, washed and mended their clothes and reliving television shows that she missed terribly. Dusty tried to draw her out on reminiscences of Honus, but Jodi grew silent on that topic.

Jodi’s belly grew rounder and bigger every day, hard as a pumpkin. The two of them could share the occasional moment of joy when she would suddenly light up and wave for Dusty to lay hands on her wide, taut belly. She would never speak at these times, as if the baby were a fish that might be frightened away. She would wave, eyes wide, mouth closed. Dusty never grew tired of this, never passed up the chance. The child was alive, kicking like a soccer player, long-limbed and whole.

Now in the seventh month of pregnancy, Jodi was doing well. Dusty watched her carefully. Her appetite had increased. She got plenty of sleep. She was active and in fine spirits every day. She went out into the snow to relieve herself with regularity. Dusty could tell the baby had not yet turned. He was still head-up and face-forward. She considered turning him but she thought it could wait. Dusty did not want to hope. She tried to keep hope out of her, shutting all the doors and locking them with the keys of reason and evidence and precedent. Still, she could feel it seeping in, incorporeal and deathless, refusing to be refused.

In the evenings, Jodi would make dinner. She could indeed make cake without fresh eggs or butter or milk, and the results weren’t bad. Dusty would prod her for some kind of conversation beyond the immediate. Sometimes her efforts were rewarded. Even reminiscences from Jodi’s Norman Rockwell childhood could be interesting on occasion. Dusty tried telling her own stories, but she knew that Jodi was immediately bored. They felt how keenly different they were and tried to glide over it. Dusty ended every evening by reading a book in a wingback chair in the living room. She had tried to read aloud for Jodi a few times, but Jodi would fall asleep or ask wildly off-topic questions. Dusty stopped trying. There was much they could not share. They shared Jodi’s pregnancy.

Dusty woke in the middle of the night with her heart pounding. She thought it was only another nightmare. She had them less frequently with Jodi in the house, but they still happened. She was trying to get her heart rate back down when the sound that had awakened her returned.

Snowmobile.

It was running at top speed, the engine whining and echoing off every tree and still surface in the silent night. She bolted out of bed in the flannel long underwear she had been wearing and pulled the pistol off her bedside table. She put it in her waistband without thinking and it slid down her ass and into the leg of her pajamas. Cursing, she kicked it out on to the floor and picked it up again. She carried it into Jodi’s bedroom. She shook the girl awake.

“What?”

“Shhh! Listen.”

Dusty jerked her head toward the sound, but Jodi’s eyes were already huge with terror.

“Can you get under the bed?”

She shook her head. “I’m too big. No way. The closet?”

Dusty nodded to her and she slid off the bed and hastily began to make it. “Good idea,” Dusty said.

She padded down the stairs and picked up the rifle that she had leaned against the door. She held both guns and sank to the floor beside the front window. She was calm. She brought the rifle up to rest it on the windowsill and pointed it out into the darkness. She hadn’t lit a candle, she had the embers of the fire. No stars, no moon. The vague blurry impression of snow falling.

A black shape came pounding up the porch, not sneaking, very fast. Fists banged the door.

Dusty leapt to her feet and backed up, setting the rifle down. She held the revolver at arm’s length.

“Fuck off!” She bellowed it at the door.

“Jodi! Jodi! I’m looking for my wife, Jodi Obermeyer!”

Upstairs, she heard the commotion of Jodi bursting out of the closet. She came down the stairs in her nightgown, taking the stairs so fast that Dusty held her breath. She stepped back and Jodi flew straight to the door, screeching.

“Honus? Honus, baby? Oh my god, Honus!” She flung open the door. The cold wind ripped her nightgown back and outlined her breasts and belly in the firelight. Her loose red-gold hair streamed back and she slit her eyes against it, shielding her face with her hand.

“Is it really you?”

A tall figure with broad shoulders walked through the door. He pulled off a ski mask and revealed a handsome bearded face. His hair was dark and his cheeks were hollow. His eyes glistened in the low light and he wrapped his arms around Jodi and sobbed openly.

“Thank god, oh thank god.”

They stood that way, crying on one another, for several minutes. Dusty had lowered the gun and shut the door. She waited quietly. She knew she’d eventually be remembered.

Honus sank to his knees and held Jodi’s belly, kissing it over and over. “My baby, oh my baby. I didn’t know, but I prayed. I hoped.”

Jodi stroked his hair with both hands, smiling through tears. “I knew you’d come home. I knew it in my heart. Oh, Honus.”

He turned his head to listen to the child within the womb and his eyes met Dusty’s. He stood up slowly.

“You must be Brother Dusty. I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my wife…” He started to offer his hand.

“She’s not Brother anybody. She’s just Dusty. She pretended to be a man in Huntsville. Tell him, Dusty.”

“It’s true. Just Dusty.”

Honus looked her over, top to bottom. She saw a mixture of confusion and disbelief cross his face. She thought she saw a little disgust, as well.

“You’re really… so you’re pretending…?”

“I’m safer as a man.” Dusty crossed her arms and waited.

Damned if I need to explain myself to you. Be glad I’m not fucking your wife. Asshole.

Honus’ face relaxed. He looked relieved as if he had been able to hear her thoughts and knew himself a lucky man.

“Let me shake your hand anyway, since I surely do thank you. I’m so glad she’s safe and the baby is safe and I found them. Thank you so much.”

Dusty uncrossed her arms and shook, still adjusting to his presence.

“Honus, sit down. You look starved. Let me fix you something-“

“No, you two sit, I’ll make something. I’m sure you want to be close to him right now…” Dusty started for the kitchen, then thought better of it.

“Are you alone?” She looked toward the door again.

Honus nodded. “My companion died in Colorado. I returned alone. I didn’t even tell Bishop Sterling I was taking off.”

“Anyone from Huntsville following you? Did you steal that snowmobile?”

“No, I came home on it. Nobody is plowing, it’s all snow from here to there. Thank god for the snowmobile. I didn’t tell anyone about your note.”

“Bishop Sterling?” Jodi looked confused.

“What note?” Dusty was more interested in how he had found them.

“Bishop Comstock died and left Bishop Graves in charge. I guess he had an accident or something a while back and now Bishop Sterling has the mantle. You know there’s hardly anyone left?” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a sheet of vellum.

Jodi turned to Dusty. “We always said that if something happened and one of us had to leave, our secret note place was in our wedding album. There’s an envelope in there, like glued to the page, with an invitation that my mom made. There’s blank vellum in there for a note, so I left one for Honus when he got back.” She turned her eyes adoringly back to Honus’ face. She had pronounced vellum vell-oom, as if she had never said it out loud before.

“I was crazy at first when they told me you had taken off, out into the snow. They said you were acting weird and disobedient and trying to… well, showing interest in other men. And you just took off one night without telling anyone. So I sat alone in our house, thinking that couldn’t have been true. I pulled out our pictures and started looking, and then it hit me. I was only home for maybe five or six hours. I just went to the bishop and told him I was going to find you, dead or alive. And then I took off for this place, as fast as I could.”

They beamed at each other. Dusty was satisfied. She got up and went to the kitchen. She pulled together a meal of hoecakes with fake bacon bits and some herb gravy. She cooked the cake on the stovetop, listening to the conversation in the other room.

“You took that snowmobile all the way home?”

“Dragging a sled of gasoline. I sure did.”

“What happened to Elder Langdon?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, sweetheart. Not just yet. Ok?”

“Ok. Yeah, ok. Did you actually make it to Denver?”

“We… did. We did. I don’t really want to talk about that either. Denver. Not yet.”

“Well, what took you so long? You were supposed to be back months ago!” Jodi’s voice was nearing the whining point. Dusty knew she was near tears.

“I’m so sorry, honey. Terrible things happened along the way. All I could think about was getting home to you. I am so blessed to find you here, with our baby. So blessed. I can’t believe I got this far.”

Dusty brought out the hoecakes with a side of warmed green beans. She presented it to him and he disentangled himself from Jodi’s arms to accept the food. “Thank you, Sister-“

“Just Dusty, please. Eat, you look starved.”

Honus laid the plate reverently in his lap and folded his arms. Jodi folded hers as well. Dusty watched, waiting.

“Dear Heavenly Father, thank you so much.” Honus burst into tears. He struggled to get a hold of himself. “You know what’s in my heart. I am so grateful at this moment, for everything, for every breath. Thank you. Amen.”

He tore into the food like he hadn’t eaten well in weeks. Looking at the sunken parts of his face, the prominent bones in his hands, Dusty thought maybe he hadn’t.

“Drink plenty, go slow. Your body will get used to it.”

He drank, blinking.

They sat with him in silence while they ate. Jodi stared at him, her eyes shining with happiness and the deep satisfaction of having been proved right. Dusty found it impossible to look at anything but the fire. It was too intimate, too odd, and she found herself deeply uncomfortable being three where once were two. He didn’t want to talk about where he had been and so there wasn’t anything to talk about.

Dusty took his dishes to the kitchen and washed them. Jodi led Honus to the back of the house where the bedrooms were located, three along a line with a bathroom at the end. She could hear them whispering on the other side and waited for the sound of a closing door. She followed them after a minute, hoping suddenly that she didn’t have to hear them fucking before she fell asleep. She hoped it with an emotion that she couldn’t identify.

She reached her bedroom door and stopped. Jodi had gone into the bedroom she had claimed, the one that had previously belonged to a teenage girl in the before time. Dusty’s bedroom stood open, the bed was made and a candle had been lit for her. The third bedroom door was closed. Neither of them had used this one; the bed sagged in the middle and they thought it had belonged to an older family member because of its fussy quality. Dusty put her ear to the door and heard Honus moving around in there, probably undressing for bed. She jerked away from it and looked back to Jodi’s room. She was in there, humming. Dusty looked back and forth between the two, puzzled.

Jodi was ecstatic to see him. Why didn’t she take him to bed with her?

Mystified, Dusty went to bed.

* * * * *

The rhythm of days started to reassert itself. Honus took more than his share of chores and offered to go out raiding on his own. Jodi resisted this at first, afraid to let him out of her sight. He won her over with his first trip, taking the snowmobile and returning in less than half the time a walk would have taken, bringing with him extra gasoline, candles, and cans of chocolate syrup. He was excited to observe Jodi’s check-ups and delighted in feeling the baby move and kick. Their joy in anticipation was amplified when they came together, and Dusty couldn’t imagine trying to tell them not to get their hopes up.

She started to think of reasons why their baby might make it. The Huntsville ward had been isolated from the disease, and maybe Jodi had never really been exposed. Maybe the constant cold made it difficult for the virus to multiply or move. Maybe the two of them were both naturally immune and could pass on that immunity. She felt like a medieval doctor, working without germ theory or any understanding of immunity. She was reasoning about this disease with hardly any understanding of its virulence or nature. Hope was with her; it would not go away.

They did the same for themselves and each other, but their frame of reference was not epidemiology.

“But if the original covenant was damaged, and we’re married in the restored covenant, then the baby should be fine.”

“That is what the prophet said. But none of the sisters in Huntsville showed any sign while I was there.” Jodi’s thin, fine eyebrows rushed together.

Honus couldn’t stop smiling. “I know. But they’re older, and they might not have been… very intimate all the time.”

Jodi blushed.

Kill me.

“Anyway, we did everything right. We waited until we were married, we were joined together by the bishop, our baby will be born in covenant. We’re not sinless, but we’re faithful and obedient. This can’t go on forever. Healthy adults can have healthy babies. We might be among the first, but we won’t be the last.” He nodded to himself, satisfied. Sure.

They wove this narrative of surety to themselves every time either one of them felt doubt. They returned to it over and over. Their faith was the touchstone and they checked again and again to ensure that their gold was the real thing. Dusty was always quiet during this exchange, never sure what to say. Their jargon was thick.

Dusty was grateful to have someone new to talk to. It felt terrible to admit it, but she was tired of Jodi. Honus was smarter than his wife. He was funny and even quick sometimes, and could see the solution to a problem steps ahead of Jodi and only a few behind Dusty. He was terribly interested in how Jodi had come to Utah and she told the story again, but kept a few things back.

When she came to the end of it she asked, “So what happened in Colorado?”

Honus looked down at his straight razor where it lay against the strop in his lap. “I don’t… I’m not sure I can tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I… we saw some terrible things. And I lost my companion. I came back without him. I just… I don’t know what would be gained by telling it. It would only upset Jodi.”

Jodi was napping in her bedroom.

“So just tell me. I won’t repeat it to her. I’m very curious, though. I know conditions are rough out there. You know what I went through-“

“It wasn’t like that!” His cheeks colored and she could see his pulse throbbing in his long, thin neck. “It was like… Heart of Darkness. It was like being on another planet. I can’t even describe it.”

“Do you keep a diary?”

He looked up at her. “Why would you ask me that?”

She shrugged. “I do. I always have, but lately it’s felt even more important. I’m processing all this, the changes in the world, everything. It’s like a mental health exercise.”

Honus sighed. “Did you know missionaries are required to keep a diary?”

“No, I didn’t. So did you keep one?”

“I did. It’s in the saddlebags on the snowmobile. I don’t ever want my son to read it. Every night I think of burning it.”

Quick, without a thought. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

She was thinking fast, knowing she had to bring him over to the idea before he had a chance to think twice. “It’s the story of a missionary working in a field that no one has ever faced. It should be kept for… for whoever is left to read it.”

I’m greedy for it. I want the intimacy of someone’s whole thoughts. I want to get past his gatekeeper.

He didn’t speak for a second. “I can’t. I just can’t. I’m too ashamed of it. I’m sorry.” He picked up the blade and the strop. He walked back into his room and shut the door.

She sat motionless for a long time. When she thought it had been long enough, she crept to the door.

Turning the latch with agonizing slowness, she opened the door as silently as she could. Cold wind blasted her in the face. She put one of Honus’ shoes in front of the door to hold it open and keep it from swinging against the wall if the wind suddenly gusted.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she picked her way down to the snowmobile. The wind cut through her clothes; she hadn’t stopped to bundle up. With freezing hands, she pulled open Honus’ saddlebags. She pawed through pairs of jeans and a stack of juice boxes. Tucked against the side of the leather, she found one slim linen-covered journal. It was tied shut with a ribbon. Hastily, she closed the bag and dashed back toward the warm yellow glow of the open door.

Closing the door as slowly and quietly as she had opened it, she held her prize at her thigh, ready to hide it if necessary. Sitting down with it, she pulled at the knot in the ribbon. It yielded softly and the deed was done. She held Honus’ diary in her hands, and she could not have stopped herself if she tried.

THE BOOK OF HONUS OBERMEYER

AS SCRIBED BY THE UNNAMED MIDWIFE

Middle of the night, middle of the winter

Shouldn’t be doing this, but I have to know. Skipped most of the early travel. They walked and rode bikes for a long time through Utah, they didn’t see anybody. What I wanted to get down was this story. Starts about a month in.

Day 34

Elder Langdon and I arrived in Grand Junction late last night. As we were advised, we are trying to find the temple in Denver but I doubt if we will ever reach that place. The desolation of the road that brought us here is very discouraging. We try to keep fear at bay, to derive strength from the Lord, but our hearts are heavy.

We have seen no live persons. The dead lay in every building, in parked cars, just everywhere. Some of them killed themselves or each other, wasting the gift of life given to them by Heavenly Father. Even in times of such trial, it’s still a gift. I’ve stopped crying. But I am troubled. I fervently hope that Colorado holds more promise than we found in Utah outside of Huntsville. I pray that we find people to bring home with us to enrich our ward.

Day 35

We found the stake center here in Grand Junction, but it’s utterly deserted. We fed ourselves from the storehouse and spent the night in the chapel. It is bitterly cold here, especially at night. We studied scriptures by candlelight and Elder Langdon led us in a song. He hasn’t spoken to me much in the last few days, and this is turning into a very lonely mission. He woke in the middle of the night crying. I hadn’t fallen asleep. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he missed his mother.

I miss mine, too.

Day 37

Staying in a ruined Wal-Mart tonight, somewhere along the highway. We saw the sign and Elder Langdon just headed for it without even a word. I knew it would be emptied inside and I was right. It must have been the first place people looked.

It was like a war zone inside. What hadn’t been looted was destroyed. Some sections were cleaned out. There were no bikes, no camping equipment, and no knives. Only the most impractical shoes were left. The grocery section smelled like rot and we had to content ourselves with cookies and crackers. Elder Langdon did not want to read scriptures or talk at all tonight. He slept on a pallet of dog food. When I knew he was asleep, I prayed for him.

Day 40

I don’t know how to talk to Elder Langdon about his indiscretion. I’m embarrassed to bring it up. It’s not like I’ve never done it. It’s much harder now that I’m married and I know what the blessings of the covenant are like. I’m tempted every day, but it’s for her sake that I keep myself pure. I guess he doesn’t have anyone to feel that way about, and he’s still a virgin. I feel pity for him. Maybe if I can approach it in sympathy rather than in judgment, he’ll understand.

Day 41

I guess all our conversation did was convince him to go away when he does it. At least he’ll stop waking me up.

Day 42

I’m certain that we’re lost. We left the main highway when we ran into an accident that blocked up the road, but now we can’t find it. We’re using his AAA map and I see where it should be, but I can’t seem to get us back there. Heavenly Father, I feel like a failure. Please send us someone to talk to, someone to minister to. Please give our days and our work meaning. Please help Elder Langdon to make his heart contrite and seek you again. He feels very far away from me today.

Day 43

I miss Jodi so much. I remember the first day I met her. She was so pretty in her Halloween costume. I think she was a princess. We danced together and Sister Eggers said to leave room between us for a quad. We laughed but we did it. I can’t stop thinking of her smile, her soft skin. I was married to her for only a week before Heavenly Father and the bishop sent me away. I don’t want to be bitter toward Him or my missionary work, but I feel cheated. I should be with her now. I asked Elder Langdon if he had ever been in love. He looked at me and burst out laughing, I laughed too, but then he started sobbing. I guess it was the wrong thing to ask. Probably he was, with some girl who died. I apologized, but that didn’t fix it. Of course.

Day 47

We are both sure someone is following us.

We keep hearing weird noises in the middle of the night. We’re somewhere near Glenwood Springs, and we saw smoke from fires coming down the hill. We got excited that there might be people here, but we didn’t see anyone. We walked all day, trying to listen for the sounds of life anywhere, or smell smoke. After that first sign, we saw nothing. But then, at night, we heard the sound of someone playing the guitar. I’m sure of it. It worked its way into my dream, and I was dreaming about that fireside I went to when Brice Stewart was playing for us. But then I remembered that Brice was dead and I woke up, but whoever it was kept playing. I got up but Langdon was still asleep. I went outside and heard it clearer. The guitar was far away, playing the intro to a Led Zepplin song I can’t remember the name of. I called out into the darkness and the playing stopped. I called out again, but nobody answered. I waited, and I’m sure I heard it. I’m sure. I stood there for a minute, not believing.

It was a girl. She was laughing.

I went back inside and woke up Elder Langdon. He was cranky and told me it was just a dream. It wasn’t. I laid back down and listened hard, but I didn’t hear anything else.

I was pretty sore in the morning and I didn’t want to talk about it if he didn’t believe me. He barely said anything. We read scriptures in silence and ate canned beans and spam. At night, he conked right out, but I stayed up. A few hours after nightfall, it started.

“Yoo-hoo!”

I watched Langdon’s eyes snap wide open. He heard it that time.

“Yoooooooo-hooooo! Boys! Pretty boys! Come out and play!”

I started to get up, but Langdon grabbed my arm to hold me back. “What if it’s a trap?”

he asked me.

“It’s a girl,” I told him. “Can’t you tell it’s a girl?”

“Maybe it’s just someone pretending.”

That high voice came again from outside, floating in the still, cold air. “I wish I had some pretty boys to keep me company. I wish I could see those pretty booooooys.”

There was something about the way she called us that was like a bully taunting. Or like a farmer calling pigs. The hair on my arms stood up and I know it was a prompting of the spirit to keep away, but I couldn’t help it.

I went back outside and yelled back. “Is someone there?”

More laughter. “Nope, nobody is here.”

I tried calling out again, but she was gone. I think her voice was coming from above us somehow, but I don’t know how that’s possible. In the morning we looked for tracks or signs. We didn’t find anything.

At least Langdon believed me now. The next day we hatched a plan to make it look like we had gone to bed, but actually we were going to be up on the roof, under covers, and figure out who was out there. I was freaked out, but Langdon was excited.

“Why wouldn’t she just come talk to us?”

He shrugged. “She doesn’t know us. Maybe she’s all alone and afraid.”

“Then why wouldn’t she just hide?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s lonely and she really does want to meet us, but she’s making sure we’re not crazy first.”

I couldn’t make sense of it. But we are going to try hiding out on the roof. Maybe that will work.

Day 49

Didn’t hear anything last night. Maybe tonight she’ll be back. Langdon said he thought it was because it was cloudy last night so maybe she stayed in, in case of rain. I think

* * * * *

Cuts off here. Nothing until two pages past. Getting tired, going to stop here. Creepy. Also don’t want to get caught. Or I do. I want to talk to him about this.

No, don’t get caught.