Starbird Murphy and the World Outside (7 page)

Ursa and I stayed in the coop until the dinner bell rang and then ate with the Family in the long room. Indus sat near Caelum and Iron at the end of the table, and I sat with Ursa and Fern near the middle. I caught him glancing at me a few times, but I tried to act like I hadn't noticed.

It was Wednesday and time for Story Night, so after cleaning up, we all gathered in the living room to share songs, poems, and memories. The living room was large enough for thirty people if folks sat on the floor as well as on the sofas and chairs. The fir floors were covered with a red rug, and there was a coffee table made from a tree slab in the center of the room. Our farm dog, Steven, a twelve-year-old yellow Lab, curled up on his bed in the corner near the fireplace.

Adam usually led the Story Night music on guitar, with Caelum playing the banjo and Bithiah on our un-tuned piano. Children on the Farm were encouraged to switch around on instruments until something resonated to their touch. Mine was a wood flute that made a lonely, mournful sound when played on the hill by the apple orchard, but managed to sound happy around the fire in the family room. Indus played an emotionally raw harmonica, his rough farmer's hands holding it like a tiny bird. Lately, Lyra had lately been smashing about with a tambourine, drowning out all the subtlety of the music with her clanging.

I sat on the worn velveteen couch, my feet tucked under me to make a ball. With fourteen people in the room, I saw no one but Indus. He sat on the floor with his back to the bay windows, his long legs stretching to the middle of the room, where his socked feet were crossed. If I reached out my foot, I could have touched his. I didn't know a foot could long to touch another foot.
Will he walk me home again? Will he kiss me against the spruce tree? Will he even look at me?

“Thank you for coming together tonight, Family.” Adam gave our traditional opening words and then strummed his guitar as other members joined in on a formless jam. After two songs, Adeona offered to tell the first story.

“My Outside parents were drug addicts in eastern Washington.” She stood near the fireplace as people put down their instruments. Her voice was thin and she held on to the mantel like it was a walking stick. Adeona was probably thirty years old and didn't have any children herself. She was our primary teacher. She never used to tell stories or speak much in large groups, but her confidence had bloomed in recent years since she started spending most of her time with Gamma.

“They lost custody when I was seven, and I got put in the first foster home. It was a nightmare place, and the other kids there were vicious. The second one wasn't horrible, just sterile. I was actually happier on the streets. Street kids are decent, as long as they aren't addicts.” Adeona's voice grew thicker as she spoke, but she still held the mantel. Gamma came in from the office and sat on the arm of the sofa next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“We all panhandled and shared whatever food we could get, tried to make sure no one went hungry. Anyway, I was singing in front of the co-op in Spokane when he saw me. I was Jennifer then, and I had a dog and a sleeping bag and a sign that said,
ANYTHING HELPS
on one side and
FRE
E HUGS
on the other. I kept nodding off leaning against a brick wall, because it had rained the night before and I could never sleep when it rained.

“‘Child of God, are you hungry?' said this man's voice. I opened my eyes and there he was, standing over me in gray robes and long hair outlined by a watery sun. No one ever talked to us. They tossed money at us if they were nice, but they never talked to us. I thought God had come to save me. He gave me an entire bag of groceries that he had just bought at the store, and he left. He didn't ask me for anything. All the street kids had a feast under the bridge that night, on hummus and bread and organic fruit. The next day, the Mission van drove by the co-op again and they asked me if I wanted to move to the Farm. They said I could bring my dog. They said all the kids could come, but I was the only one who got in the van. EARTH came to Spokane to save me. He said the Cosmos told him where to find me.”

Family members nodded and sighed, some touching their hands together over their hearts. Gamma squeezed my shoulder.

“I don't know what happened to the rest of those kids, but I think about them all the time. It's hard having EARTH gone right now, but I know he's out there finding other Family members who need to be found,” she finished, thumping a hand on the mantel for emphasis. More people nodded and murmured, “Yes.” Every part of me smiled. Adeona was a true Believer and she was right about the importance of EARTH's Mission. I gave myself a harsh lecture about my day spent moping and complaining about the chicken coop.
How could I be so selfish?

“Thanks, sister Adeona,” said Adam. “Anyone else?”

Caelum propped himself up and squatted on his heels. “One time I saw EARTH hypnotize a chicken.” Caelum loved to tell stories. He always volunteered. “It was a Feast day and I was out there helping Pluto collect eggs. This was before you worked in the coop, Starbird. Anyway, EARTH was out in the driveway talking to Mars and Jupiter, and I didn't latch the gate right, so a few chickens got out. I went to collect them and one walked right up to EARTH. So EARTH scooped up the chicken and held its wings down close to its body.” Caelum imitated the action of holding the bird. “Then he bent down and laid the chicken on its back in the dirt. He took a stick and drew three straight lines in front of the chicken's face and the chicken froze. EARTH took his hands away and the chicken just lay there like it was paralyzed, staring at those lines in the dirt. Mars started laughing and the chicken stayed there for, like, a minute, until it finally jumped up and started walking around again like nothing had happened.”

People in the room laughed and a few clapped their hands. I wished I had been there to watch EARTH hypnotize a chicken. I made a mental note to ask him to do it again when he got home from his Mission.

“Let's take a tea break,” said Adam.

 
 

Gamma disappeared back into the office as Family members went to the kitchen for tea and cookies. Indus got up, put down his harmonica, and then sat down next to me on the couch. My heart did fifty-seven jumping jacks. Then it did three back handsprings. I tightened my ponytail. I pulled my sweater sleeves down over my hands, and felt the splotches start appearing on my chest.

“So, what's the story with that girl Venus who did the café pickup today?” His broad shoulders seemed to take up half the small couch. I pulled my feet farther under me, making myself into a tighter ball.

“She lives at Beacon House, but she's been to the Farm before. She stays with Mercury in the tree house,” I said. “Why?”

Indus shrugged. “She seemed cool. You know, like, really
Seattle
.” Indus gestured with his broad, coarse hand and I remembered how that hand had reached for mine in front of the fire pit at the mouth of the yurt village. How it had pulled me around to face him and then pushed me until my back was touching a spruce tree. And how he had pressed his body against mine and into the tree trunk until a tidal wave of blood flooded my every vein and artery. On the couch, with him so close, the sap was rising inside of me again.

That's why it was so wildly aggravating when Iron John emerged from the long room and tapped me on the shoulder. “Walk me to my cabin,” he said gruffly.

“Story Night isn't over.” My voice was a higher pitch than I wanted.

“It's important.”

“I'll meet you there after.”

“You should go.” Indus put his hand on my arm. Indus respected Iron over anyone else in the Family.

I tried not to look as thoroughly pissed off as I felt when I dropped my flute back into the instrument chest and followed Iron out through the front door. I resisted the urge to look back.

We walked along the gravel drive from the main house toward the rest of the property. To our right, the corn was high enough for hiding in, and I could hear Pavo and Ursa chasing each other through the stalks, Ursa screaming Pavo's name. The sun had just gone down and the ground was covered in a red-orange glow; my favorite time of day, despite the relentless and bloodthirsty mosquitoes that also kept a community on the Farm. Gravel crunched under our feet as we passed the Sanctuary, a crack of light peering from under the door.

“The boys are moving in this week.” Iron pointed to the structure that was once a barn and now our most sacred meeting space. “I said I'd help them weatherize. Gamma needs to keep those boys happy, because there's no way I can get the back field harvested without them.”

“Eve doesn't approve,” I said. “She wants to know what will happen when EARTH comes back and the Sanctuary has been turned into a residence.”

“I'll worry about the harvest and let Eve worry about EARTH coming back,” he said. It was a hard subject in my relationship with Iron. We had become very close while working on the coop together, but I hated the way he talked about EARTH. Of course Iron was a valuable part of the Family, but he didn't participate in Translations or Feasts, and it had always seemed as if he tolerated EARTH when he should have loved him.

There had always been people in the Family who weren't true Believers, kids whose parents were Believers but they themselves weren't, or people who once Believed but lost their faith. But it had gotten worse since EARTH went on his Mission. Some non-Believers left, but others just stuck around and murmured about how EARTH wasn't coming back. Even Indus had expressed doubts the night we kissed. I wanted the non-Believers to either regain their faith or leave. Iron was an exception, though; we wouldn't last very long without Iron.

We walked on, past the chicken coop and the entrance to the yurt village, toward the dark stand of woods beyond them. “Follow me through here,” he said as we reached the edge of the fir trees. “The way can be tricky before the moon comes out.”

The path to Iron's cabin was a small dirt one that was endlessly encroached on by ferns and fir needles. For several years, the Family had a business selling the young firs off as Christmas trees, allowing customers to wander into our woods and cut their own. But attracting customers who could manage chopping and hauling their own trees wasn't easy, and the advertising cost more than the money we made. Like most of our Family businesses, it had been abandoned within three years. The hand-painted sign advertising
FREE FAMI
LY CHRISTMAS TREES
still leaned against the old growth near the driveway.

“Mind the roots,” Iron told me as we passed through a narrow spot on the path, but I was already stepping over them. I knew the way to Iron's well enough to walk it in the dark. I had been racing through these woods my whole life.

We made it to the front porch of Iron's cabin, a platform just large enough for two chairs, hand carved from cedar stumps, to sit side by side. As Iron opened the door, I wiped my feet on his mat and started unlacing my boots. Inside the house, we both took off our shoes.