Fledge Page 2

  Truth be told, I loathed the Harvest Fest, unlike Mum and Lizzie who began to primp days in advance, counting down the hours, the minutes, until it was time to leave for town. But there was never a place for me at such events. Girls my age were being courted, but I would never be one of them. I would never marry. My mother blamed the wardrobe. Much to her distress, I gave up wearing a dress some years before, finding them unpractical for hard labor. This only made me more conspicuous (if that was at all possible), being the only female on Little Red who walked around in trous and a tunic. So I knew why I stood out. I just couldn’t quite grasp why I didn’t fit in.

  After years of skirting such events alone, I’d grown somewhat used to my situation. But once, when I was Lizzie’s age, I had chafed at the isolation. It was no longer humiliating for me to remember the Harvest Fest when I was twelve. I had sidled up next to Doug Chambers (he’d had very long eye lashes if I recalled rightly) and tried to strike up a conversation. He’d blanched and hurried off, practically running, as if he could erase what had happened if he just got away fast enough. Doug was gone now, fulfilling his military duty. He’d get married when he came back, they always did.

  Doug’s attitude was common, as if everyone on Little Red had secretly agreed to avoid me. I got that the girls and I had nothing in common, as I didn’t cook or clean. I got that the boys didn’t know what to make of me. Yes, I dressed like them, did the same work, but there was no denying that I was a woman, just one they had no desire to flirt with. I didn’t blame them for that. Admittedly, I’d make a terrible wife. But why should all that make me an outcast?

  It had even driven a wedge between me and my family, though we never spoke of it. But the truth existed without words, making itself known at events like the Harvest Fest. When Da spent the evening with the farmers, Mum with the wives, Lizzie with her friends, and I was left alone. They would not have told me to go away if I’d tagged along, but I knew that they were relieved when I did not, and my parents doubly guilty for feeling so.

  My parents’ guilt began when they petitioned that I be given a share of land. They never admitted this, but I could see it. While my father and I were very similar of mind and temperament, this fact did not put me in his favor. He preferred a less serious attitude, enjoying the light nature and silliness of my mother and Elizabeth. Mum didn’t seem to understand me, which she blamed on my being a farmer, which she blamed on herself. They both did. So they distanced themselves, while lavishing Lizzie with easy and untroubled affection.

  I don’t mean to complain or instill pity. This was the way of things, the result of a situation brought on by chance. Who could’ve said that my father would never have a son? Or that having a son could make such a difference in so many lives? How were they to know? To prepare?

  But I’ve strayed from the story...

  Teensy was sick and Da didn’t want to leave her to attend the Harvest Festival, but saying as much sent Mum and Lizzie into hysterics. The result was a compromise. He’d take the family to the fest, but wouldn’t leave the farm to trade the day after. So that was how the task fell to me.

  I’d watched my da trade with a critical eye, taking note of his mistakes and the mistakes of others, as was my habit. If I was ignorant of something, then I was not satisfied until I had learned all there was to learn about the topic. I suppose you could say I was dedicated to being insightful, even if it didn’t come naturally.

  Thinking of mistakes put me in mind of my business transaction with Colum. I might have argued about the amount of corn it took to get a decent portion of salt, but the rest of his proportions hadn’t been unfair, so I’d let it pass. My task was done and I felt like celebrating, though I hadn’t the means to do it. So I settled in for the long ride ahead, completely content.

  It wasn’t until I was nearly home that I noticed something was off. A gust of wind whipped past and I choked and coughed as my mouth and nose filled with reddust. The horses screamed indignantly, dancing as much as their harnesses would allow. Pulling the tunic over my nose, I struggled to keep them calm. I squinted towards the barn where the wind was stirring restlessly, causing large billows of dust to float outward. I then turned toward the horizon where all was calm. Whatever was behind the barn, it was causing the dust to stir violently. I felt uneasy, yet excited by the thought.

  Just then Elizabeth came running to meet me. “It’s a Scarlet! They’ve brought a Scarlet!”

  I jumped from the driver’s bench and began to unhitch the team as quickly as I could. Without pausing from the straps, I asked, “Who? Lizzie, who has come?”

  Elizabeth shook her head, sending her golden curls flying around her flushed cheeks. “It must be the military, only the military’s got the Red Fleet. Hurry! Hurry, Fiona! You must come and see!”

  I wanted nothing more than to run and investigate, but I couldn’t leave the horses until they had been rubbed down and fed. I said as much to my sister, but Lizzie wouldn’t wait, scampering off to gaze at the Scarlet.

  When the horses were shut up in their stalls, happy and relaxed, munching away, I was finally done. I rinsed my hands in a bucket of water and rushed forward to leave, but before reaching the door my father stepped through. At first I thought he looked serious as usual, but as I jogged to a stop, I noticed he wasn’t serious, but subdued. In my eagerness to see a Scarlet, my thoughts hadn’t lingered on why it had landed on our farm. Seeing my father’s face, I knew the reason was not a good one. All of my earlier excitement abandoned me, and in its place was dread.

  Chapter 3

  “Fiona, come to the house. We need to speak with you.” Without waiting for a response, my father turned on his heel and exited the horse shed.

  I wondered who the ‘we’ included, but bit back asking. If my da wanted to impart any information, he would have. So I obediently followed him to the house where I found my mum bent over the kitchen table, weeping softly. Seated across from her was a man I had never seen before. It was obvious he was not a farmer.

  His hair was cut short, unlike most farmers who had shaggy, long locks. His face was clean shaven and his clothes strange, a uniform of stiff neat lines. I couldn’t make out his size, unable to gauge it while he was sitting. But overall I thought him very severe looking.

  The man was studying me just as closely as I studied him, but I didn’t look away or feel embarrassed. My mum was crying and he must be the reason for it. I decided that that gave me some right to stare.

  Mum looked up shortly after I entered the kitchen, her soft weeping turned into a keening wail. I did not run to her side as Elizabeth would have. Instead I asked my father, “What’s happened?”

  Mum interrupted before he could properly answer. Saying, “They’re... you’re going to...”

  Da went to Mum, stopping her broken attempt to explain by laying his hand on her shoulder. He bent, whispering softly into her ear. Tears leaked out of her eyes as she held back the racking noises that had been escaping her. Nodding, she stood and left through the front door without looking at me once.

  Having dismissed my mother, Da sat in the chair she’d just vacated. “Fiona, sit,” he instructed.

  Waiting for the worst, dread souring my stomach, I slowly complied. Da cleared his throat, saying, “This is Commander Clarke. He arrived a quarter of an hour past, and has come to escort you back to the military.”

  I felt as if water was rushing behind my ears, the situation taking on a surreal quality. They were silent, both waiting for a reaction, a response, for which I was momentarily unable to supply. Eventually I managed to brokenly confess, “I— I don’t understand.”

  Commander Clarke turned to explain, his voice rich, but lacking emotion. “You are required to attend military training.”

  Every seventeen your old male on Providence was required to spend a year at basic training. Should the worse happen and the hostiles attack directly, then
even the farmers would have some experience if they were drafted to help the cause.

  “I’m not a boy,” I muttered, feeling deeply humiliated for the first time in a long while.

  “Yes, I am aware of that,” the commander said in a deliberate fashion. “But it doesn’t matter. You are still obligated to complete a year of basic training.”

  “Why?”

  “I cannot give a reason, nor can I offer an explanation.”

  “Have women joined the military? Will other girls be serving their year of training too?” I questioned.

  “Women have not joined the military, and there will be no other females among the fledgling soldiers. With the exception of you,” he added with finality.

  I could not understand why, if women were still restricted from military service, that I would be required to fulfill a year of training. And I could hardly wrap my mind around the fact that I had to go—it was too unreal. Apart from the rising panic, it all felt like a far off dream. I tried to picture this unlikely future and blurted the first thing that came to mind. “I’m a farmer. I know nothing of the military.”

  “That is not atypical of a fledgling soldier from the farming sector. You will learn.”

  A thought struck, and I was ashamed I had not wondered sooner. “What will happen to our farm? My da needs a second pair of hands, who will help him?”

  “The situation will be handled in the typical fashion. In your absence, a third or fourth son of another farmer will take your place until you return. Your father will not lose his shares.”

  I turned to my father, barely recognizing him. His usually sober face was swimming with emotion. Mostly he looked defeated and bitter. I desperately wanted to speak with him, but now was not the time. I’d wait until we could speak privately, away from the commander’s overwhelming presence.

  “There’s no way to avoid this, is there? I must go.” It wasn’t really a question, it was a statement, but I couldn’t help hoping that I would be given the opportunity to refuse.

  “I don’t leave without you.” His words were crushing, and quickly extinguished any hope that might’ve remained.

  Commander Clarke waited a moment, and when neither I nor my father spoke, he stood slowly. “Everything you need will be provided, though you may bring a few personal items and a change of clothing to wear during your free time. I’ll wait outside while you gather your things and say goodbye.”

  The instant he was gone I turned to Da and breathlessly asked, “What’s going on?”

  My father would not look at me, and when he spoke it was quietly, as if to himself. “Should never have come here, something like this would never have happened to us back on Earth.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. I enjoyed hearing my parents speak of Earth, but Earth was not home. Little Red was home. And I felt a certain loyalty, which was childish, but sincerely felt all the same.

  I tried to raise my voice, it was unnatural and odd for me to speak so, but I had to get his attention. “Da, did the commander tell you anything more? Do you understand what is going on? Why I must go?”

  He looked at me as if just waking up, his eyes slowly focusing on my face. “He told us as little as he told you. Your mum cried and I argued, but he was immovable. We have no choice but to comply.” I could see acceptance dwelling within the lines of his face. “I’m sorry, Fiona, but I don’t understand either.”

  Throughout the seventeen years of my life, my father had always been a fount of information. He always seemed to grasp political matters between Earth and Little Red, even so far away from the happenings and with so little news. That he did not understand my current situation left me feeling confused and afraid.

  Da stood abruptly, nearly overturning his chair. “I’ll go fetch Lizzie and your mum.” He left so quickly and without a backward glance that I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt ashamed for his ignorance and helplessness.

  Having no desire to wait for my family, I climbed the narrow stairs and wandered to my bedroom. I stood in the doorway for a moment, just looking, finding it difficult to believe that I would not be sleeping in my own bed tonight.

  The bright colored stones my sister collected winked at me from the window’s ledge where she’d set them to bask in the sun. I went to them and lightly drew my finger across each one. They were worthless, but pretty enough that my sister had washed them up and kept them like treasure. So like Lizzie, I would miss her.

  Movement from outside caught my eye. It was my family down below, come to say goodbye. With so little time, I felt a sudden urgency, like I needed to do something. But I didn’t know what. Impulsive and quick, I reached for the hand mirror my mother had given me. It was small, fitting perfectly into the palm of my hand, but it was also beautiful. A rectangle of black lacquered wood framed the oval shaped mirror, with a decoration of pearl inlay and gold filigree. It was the nicest thing the Frost family owned—and it was all mine. I think that was what I liked about it best. Not that it was beautiful and expensive, or even the fact that it was a family heirloom, though it was all of those things. What I liked best was that Mum and Da had given it to me when I was small, before Elizabeth was born. She often squirreled it away when I wasn’t looking, fondling the thing with pious intensity. Sure, it was petty, but I liked knowing that my parents had given me something they hadn’t given to her. Even knowing they most likely regretted it, I was comforted by the knowledge. And I wasn’t about to give it up. The mirror was coming with me, a reminder that some things couldn’t be taken away. My place would exist when I returned, I exhaled, nothing would change. I had to believe that.

  Moving quickly I continued gathering my things. I threw open the wooden chest that sat at the end of our bed. It was a precious piece of furniture, not only because it had made the journey from Earth, but because it was wood, a valuable commodity on Little Red. I rummaged through the clothes, ignoring Lizzie’s numerous skirts until I found what I was looking for stuffed at the bottom. It was my most comfortable trous, soft but sturdy leather in the warmest shade of brown. I hurriedly gathered a few other garments, unsure exactly what I would need.

  I was in the middle of packing my things into an empty flour sack when the door burst open and my sister ran in, tears streaming down her face. I suppose Lizzie had intended to fling herself into my open arms, but since they were full, she flung herself upon our bed instead. “You can’t go. I won’t let you!” she cried, sobbing into the blankets.

  I was much too worried over my own situation to muster up the small sympathy I would typically feel on behalf of her discomfort. So it was with a slightly sarcastic tongue that I evenly replied, “Please, Lizzie, if you can prevent me from going I will be forever in your debt.”

  The sarcasm, like all subtle things, was lost on Elizabeth. She continued to sob, repeating herself over and over again. It was not long before I was feeling a rise in pity which warred with my overall irritation. I knew the commander was waiting for me, and I had nothing left to do but say goodbye. Now that it seemed my future was sealed, I wanted nothing more than to be gone. I had no patience for lingering and the additional sorrow it would bring.

  I turned to my sister, knowing just what would cheer her up. “Lizzie, I want you to promise me something.”

  “Anything,” vowed Elizabeth.

  “I want you to wait until I return to be married. I want to see your wedding.” It was an empty promise, I knew, for my sister wouldn’t come of age for a few more years, long after my return. But it was the drama of keeping a promise that pleased my sister, and the mention of a wedding held its own appeal as well.

  Elizabeth pulled herself up to kneel on the bed, nodding emphatically. “I will wait, I swear it.”

  “Good, now let’s go downstairs and say farewell.”

  I said goodbye to my family at the front door. I silently swore I would not cry, but Mum m
ade no effort to refrain, which brought on a new round from Lizzie. Da insisted on walking me to the ship alone, which made Elizabeth cry all the harder because she had wanted one last look at the Scarlet. But he was adamant, and so with one last wave, I left my mother and sister behind.

  For just the barest of moments I forgot everything I felt, forgot the roiling tempest of emotions and knew only the thrill of rounding the barn’s corner where I would see my first Scarlet. Da’s hand descended heavily on my shoulder, pulling me back to the present and halting me in my tracks. We’d passed the wagon, obstructing our view of home and rendering us invisible to Mum and Lizzie, who I imagined were watching from the threshold. We were alone, but I didn’t feel like I was alone with my father. Instead, it felt like I was standing next to the impenetrable Mr. Frost, watching him look down at his eldest daughter. I couldn’t know for sure that he was intensely sifting through all the things he wanted to say for only the most useful advice. But I guessed as much when he said, “There will be no one to look out for you, so don’t be afraid or feel ashamed of doing whatever it is you must do to take care of yourself.”

  I frowned, but he was waiting for a response, so I reluctantly nodded, not quite understanding. He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze and then pushed me forward, saying only, “Go.”

  Chapter 4

  I went, less enthusiastic than before, rounding the corner and getting my first glimpse of the famous Red Fleet.