The Dream Widow (4 page)

A hand touched his shoulder.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” said Father Reed.

Wilson shook his head. “We need a council meeting.”

“Today?”

“I talked to Jack last night and the situation is critical.”

Reed smiled. “Whatever it is can wait a few hours, but I’ll make the arrangements.”

A handbell rang three times from the mist of the main plaza. The women of the village began to sing.

I walked down in the valley to pray

Learning about the good old way

And who would wear the starry crown

Oh Lord, show me the way

Oh Brothers, let’s go down

Let’s go down, come on down

Oh Brothers, let’s go down

Down in the valley to pray

From the boulders and rocky slopes behind Wilson came the voices of the village men.

I walked on the mountain to pray

Studying about that good old way

And who shall wear the robe and crown

Good Lord, show me the way

Oh Sisters, let’s walk up

Let’s walk on the mountain to pray

Oh Sisters, let’s walk up

Walk on the mountain to pray

Both groups of singers traded verses back and forth, the women’s voices steadily coming closer. A line of figures in white dresses appeared from the mist, walking with a measured pace up the mountain. A vanguard of young girls waved yellow handkerchiefs. Badger must have walked in the midst of the group but Wilson couldn’t tell––the ghostly women surrounded her like a herd of sheep around a tottering lamb. Protecting Badger? Wilson pinched himself to avoid an unmanly giggle.

He rubbed his palms on his brown robe as the women approached and Father Reed straightened the sleeves of his dark blue jumpsuit.

The group of women stopped in front of Wilson and backed away with bowed heads. Badger stepped forward to the flat granite. 

Following the tribal––not Station––fashion, she wore a crimson dress. The bust and long sleeves were tailored snug, and the knee-length skirt puffed out from her waist like an apple. Tiny flowers and rabbits were embroidered along the high throat, waist, and hem. Badger’s hair had been wound into a pair of tight, black braids and coiled at the back of her head below a blue-and-white spiral of columbine. A stripe of blood-red paint covered her eyes. She held a bouquet of purple flax, buttercup, and white mouse-ear.

Wilson swallowed. He stepped to his place beside her and almost tripped over his own feet.

Father Reed held out his hands, palms to the sky.

“Dear friends. Today we celebrate the coming together of two young people, Ensign Lee Wilson and Airman Bryant Chen, known to many of you as Kira. The love they share was a comfort and strength for both during the tragic events of the summer. They now wish to declare before the village their desire to walk the road of life together.”

The crowd of villagers clapped vigorously.

Reed lowered his chin and stared at the two young people. “Are you both standing here of your own free will?”

“Yes,” they said together.

“Wilson, do you wish to spend the rest of your life with Kira? To protect her with your life and love her with your heart, in sickness or in health, forsaking all others?”

“I do.”

“Kira, do you wish to spend the rest of your life with Wilson? To protect him with your life and love him with your heart, in sickness or in health, forsaking all others?”

“Yes, I do.”

Reed took a midnight-blue box from his robe and opened the top. “Instead of the traditional gifts, Wilson has requested that you exchange these bracelets. Take one and place it around the left arm of your partner.”

After the pair squeezed their wrists through the silver bands Reed placed his hands on their shoulders.

“Let these symbols bind your hearts forever and remind you of the promise made before each other, the village, and most importantly, before God. Two have become one, and let no man separate them. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I declare you husband and wife.”

The crowd cheered and threw sprays of buttercup and yarrow in the air. Wilson held the red-faced Badger around the waist and kissed her.

SURROUNDED BY CONGRATULATIONS and happily gossiping villagers, the newlyweds walked hand-in-hand down the mountain toward Station.

Badger lifted her wrist and watched the delicate pattern on the bracelet shine in the morning sun.

“What’s wrong?”

Badger smiled. “Nothing. It’s wonderful––where did you find it? This doesn’t look like tribal jewelry.”

“It’s wedding present from Jack,” said Wilson. “In the old days they traded rings so I thought, why not?”

“Good choice. But this is from Jack? It’s not going to blow my arm off or anything?”

“Would I do that to you? Don’t worry, it’s just a bracelet.”

Village girls had transformed the circular stone plaza at the center of Station into a bright wedding festival. White and pink ribbons fluttered from wooden poles on the perimeter of the circle. Packs of children played around the poles and ran laughing through the crowd of hundreds of celebrating villagers. Food and drink lay on wooden tables covered in yellow cloth. The traditional sweet cornbread made by Badger and Wilson’s mother the night before had been cut into square sections and covered with blackberry syrup. Wilson’s venison had been added to a carrot-and-potato soup and supplemented by several roasted wild boar. A tea had been brewed from dried dandelion leaves and hawthorn berries.

An older man in tribal leathers and with a tan, bearded face approached Wilson and Badger. He bowed.

“Congratulations to both of Your Graces. To Kira, the most beautiful. And to you, Wilson savisto.”

Wilson smiled. “Thank you, Yishai. But you don’t have to call us that.”

“I know. It’s simply a habit from your father–”

Wilson jerked up his palm and looked left and right through the crowd.

Badger stared at him, wide-eyed. “You still haven’t told her?”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“Suits me. I just want to take off this stupid dress.” Badger pulled at the tight red fabric squeezing her chest.

“Patience, dear,” murmured Wilson.

Badger slapped his arm. “Not for that reason!”

Wilson grinned and turned to Yishai. “Chefa, we haven’t talked recently. How are your people faring here in Station?”

Yishai watched the eating and chattering crowd around them. “What can I say? Mothers without sons, sons without fathers. We are grateful to you, Wilson savisto, for bringing us here, and for letting us stay. But when you’ve lost so much, it cannot be fully healed.”

Wilson nodded. He watched a group of teenagers at the edge of the celebration. Many of the citizens of Station celebrated in white or blue clothing, but these young men wore brown hemp trousers and jackets with the white cross of David.

Wilson pointed his chin. “Any more problems with those boys?”

Yishai shrugged. “Not in recent days. Too few of us survived the flight from David, and the shock has been especially hard on the young people. It will take time for many of us to feel happy again, even with this new beginning.”

All three turned at a hoarse bark. The crowd parted and a hideous dog trotted toward Wilson.

The black fur was patched with mange. The skin was exposed in furry divots and mottled with liver spots and scars. Swollen lumps on his skull and body gave the animal a monstrous, sickly appearance. Wilson rubbed the dog’s floppy ears and a half-missing tail wagged.

“The beast is disturbing you, savisto. I’ll remove him,” said Yishai.

A short girl in chestnut braids giggled. “Chefa, you’re so funny!” She stroked the dog’s back. “You can’t forget the dog that saved Wilson’s life.”

“No, Kaya, I was joking,” laughed Yishai. “It’s hard to forget something this ugly.”

The girl in braids hugged Badger first, then Wilson. “Congratulations, both of you,” she said.

“Thank you, Kaya,” said Wilson. “Any disasters in the leather shop lately?”

A chant from the crowd drowned out Kaya’s response.

“Speech, speech, speech!”

Mast climbed onto a chair in the middle of the cheering throng and waved his arms. Wilson groaned.

“All right! I’ll speak,” said Mast. “Let me tell you a story about my good friend Wilson.”

The crowd cheered and Mast waved his arms again.

“You think Wilson is a genius now, but he used to sleep during his lessons. One time Father Reed asked a question: ‘Who created Heaven and Earth?’ I poked Wilson in the ribs with a stick and he yelled ‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ Father Reed was pleased. The next day he fell asleep again. Father Reed asked, ‘Who died and rose again?’ I jabbed Wilson and again he yelled, ‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ ‘Correct again,’ said Father Reed. The next day Wilson fell asleep again, the third time in a row. Reed asked both of us, ‘What did Eve say to Adam after having so many children?’ I poked Wilson with the stick and he screamed, ‘Stick that thing in me one more time and I’ll break it in half!’”

Half the villagers groaned while the other half roared with laughter.

“I wish I could say that story was a lie,” said Mast. “But the truth hurts.”

He waved his arms until the boisterous crowd was quiet.

“To be serious, I owe these two everything. If they hadn’t rescued Mina I’d be single and ten pounds thinner. Hello, baby!”

A blonde girl waved from the edge of the plaza.

“They’ve been through a lot during the last few months. All of us have, especially our friends from David.”

Mast looked down. “Today reminded me of the last time we were all together like this. Mina and I were married at David–”

Wilson felt his stomach twist.

“–by Wilson’s father.”

“No!” yelled Wilson, but he was too far from Mast.

“I wish he could have been here––”

Wilson let go of Badger’s hand and pushed through the crowd to the food tables. His mother stood behind one with a serving spoon in one hand, her eyes as white and round as the full moon.

“What did he say?”

“I wanted to tell you,” said Wilson. “But we always–”

“Tell. Me. What.”

Mast had stopped talking. Wilson felt the eyes of the crowd smothering him like a thick blanket. He walked around the table and touched his mother’s sleeve.

“Let’s go somewhere–”

She pulled away. “No. Tell me now. In front of everyone.”

Wilson sighed. “Father didn’t die in the ambush nine years ago. He left Station. We found him living in the wastes, helping the people of David survive.”

“But that village was burned to the ground, so where’s he now?”

“He was killed by tribals on the way to Springs.”

“Ridiculous.” She stared at Father Reed, who’d pushed through the villagers and stood next to Wilson. “You lied to me, Alan. You told me he was dead.”

Reed took a deep breath. “Mary, we thought–”

She pointed at his nose. “Shut up.”

His mother walked away. Wilson started to follow but she shoved him back with one hand.

OVER THE CENTURIES Jack had decorated the garden with bits of his past. He’d transformed the stark white wooden recliner into his old chocolate-colored La-Z-Boy. During his last deployment Joanie had thrown away everything including his chair, but now it lived again. He always liked having the last laugh.

His motorcycle sat in a corner of the garden. Every day he started it up, even though he had no room to ride. Every month he took the engine apart for a cleaning, even though it didn’t need it.

Days ... months ... words for those who were awake, not a half-dead machine with a fish-eyed view of life. But if hitting the snooze button means you’re alive, then I guess I’m alive, thought Jack.

He’d experimented with things he’d never owned in real life––pools, spas, waterfalls. He felt bored and uncomfortable with all of it, like staying in Vegas more than two days.

Working on his motorcycle calmed him down. And sitting in church.

A wooden gate faded grey by the sun opened to the congregation hall. A dozen pews lined each side of the aisle. The lacquered blonde wood gleamed in the light of frosted windows. On a raised platform at the far end of the azure-carpeted aisle sat a massive, walnut preacher’s podium. Directly behind were three levels of choir pews in the same lacquered wood. An upright white piano stood in one corner. The wall beside it held a black sign with uneven white letters and a cross. The sign was labeled, “Raccoon Creek Baptist Church” with a list of services and weekly attendance numbers.