Seasons: A Year in the Apocalypse Read online

  Plant, weed, protect, and pray for a good harvest—that was our life. When Walker came along, things became even harder, harsher. Keeping a baby alive without any modern conveniences was impossible, and that made it sound easy.

  Then came the awfulness. In a single hour on one autumn afternoon, my entire world disintegrated. Bradley was dead, I was beaten and abused, and Walker screamed throughout the whole ordeal.

  Shoved on the road, out of my home, I wandered for days in the wasteland known back then as southern Minnesota. If the Amish hadn’t come along—

  “Mother of God!” Sunshine shouted from the far end of the house. “Abby, come quick. We got a whole lot of trouble.”

  Standing next to our garden, I felt my frown grow. I would have cried if I hadn’t already shed three lifetimes’ worth of tears before that.

  I tried to move, but my feet were frozen in place. Next to me, Sunshine cussed and paced.

  “Well, this sucks,” Sunshine moaned, throwing her hands in the air.

  Yeah, that pretty well summed it up.

  In front of us sat our garden. Lying in the garden and next to the garden were our fence sections, flat on the ground as if we had placed them there.

  “I thought you said those stakes would hold them up until we found the brackets to hold them together?” she continued. “Lot of good they did us now. This is a real mess.”

  I stroked my chin, squeezing my eyes shut. I knew the brackets were essential. This essential, though? No, never had I thought the wind and rain would knock down the sections.

  “It could be worse,” I replied, letting out a half breath. “At least nothing was up, so no crops got damaged.”

  She spun and glared at me. “Now we got to lift these heavy bastards back in place. It took everything we had just to get them up.” Tossing her hands to the sky again, she turned and stared past me. “Could be worse? I don’t think…”

  Staring at the ground, I awaited her final blow. When it didn’t come, I peeked up and noticed her narrowed eyes looking in the distance.

  “Get ready,” she whispered angrily. “It’s about to get a whole lot worse.”

  Reaching for my shoulders, she spun me to the north. There, maybe 100 yards out, was a man on a horse. And not just any man.

  Chapter 18

  Our own personal devil circled the garden in measured steps. Going around the downed section on the far side, he paused and stroked his face.

  “Well this is a real fine piece of work you two done now,” he grumbled. Continuing his lap, he stopped behind Sunshine. She hunched forward as if she were afraid he might slap her head from behind.

  “You could screw up the sunrise, I swear,” he added, not necessarily speaking to one of us directly. “I just had a feeling I needed to check on this shit show over here today. I knew I’d be disappointed, but you two take that to a new height.”

  “It was an accident,” I begged. “I didn’t know a storm was coming. I didn’t know—”

  His left hand, still covered with a leather glove, went up. “You don’t know anything, do you, lady?”

  I meant to defend myself; however, that didn’t seem like a good moment for such bravery.

  He glared at me, and I felt like a child about to be scolded by a patronizing parent.

  “You two get this set back up,” he said quieter than expected.

  “We don’t know where the brackets are,” I countered.

  He leaned close and I witnessed firmness in his eyes. “Find ’em.”

  I nodded, as if that helped.

  “You get this back up and all put together, and we don’t need to mention it to Mr. Hulton,” he said, striding toward his horse. “I’m not so sure what he’d think of this kind of bungle on your part.”

  I chased after him. “Thank you,” I offered, looking up at him in the saddle. “I appreciate that kindness.”

  He turned the horse, shaking his head at me the entire time. “I’m covering my own ass, lady. You two are on your own. I was never here, if he should ask. And he won’t.”

  Sunshine took my hand as he rode off. “What we gonna do now?”

  I steered her toward the barn. “We’re going to find those brackets and get that fencing back up. Whether it takes us all night or not.”

  We lay on the couches exhausted, filthy, hungry, and numb. But we had finished the chore—all by ourselves. Not one bit of help was offered by our taskmaster nor our usually benevolent neighbors.

  “I saw that old man out in the field,” Sunshine moaned. “I saw him even stop and look at us. Least he could have done was send a son over to help. Hell, even the five-year-old could have helped out.”

  I couldn’t even pick my head up. “It wasn’t really his problem. It was ours, and we needed to fix it.”

  “Little help wouldn’t have hurt.”

  I fought back the urge to rise from my spot and walk over to slap her ungrateful mouth.

  “You have the pride of knowing you, a woman, accomplished something a man would have found a difficult task,” I replied. “That, in and of itself, should be cause for celebration, I would think.”

  I heard her rustle in her spot; maybe my little speech worked.

  “Yay, me,” she replied in a weak, sarcastic tone.

  “You’re quite a pill, Sunshine Jones.” I heard her laugh.

  “If I had the energy, I’d come over there and kick your skinny white ass.”

  Before I could reply, I felt myself drifting off. That was a battle for another day, her ungratefulness. Right then, all we needed was sleep.

  Chapter 19

  With the fence in place—and just the right amount of rain and shine—our garden began its ugly stage. The time where weeds outgrew fruitful plants three to one. The waiting time, Brady always called it.

  Sunshine and I rested most days. Planting had been bad enough; setting the fence in place—twice—was a terrible blow to our spirits. Instead of being outside where we stood the chance of actually doing something, we lounged indoors, where it was cooler most days.

  Early summer breezes were our air conditioning. We read aloud together. When we finished The Great Gatsby, I acquired War and Peace from the Amish store. They didn’t even charge me for the musty brown-paged paperback.

  When we became bored with the difficult Russian and French names, we made up our own. Sunshine thought it was stupid at first, but once she realized she got to describe the person as well as name them, she jumped right in.

  Sometimes, we weren’t in the mood to read. Either our voices were hoarse from the previous days, or we simply weren’t up to it. That’s all either of us had to say: I’m not up to reading aloud today. We agreed we couldn’t allow that to go on any longer than from one day of rest to the next. That seemed fair to both of us.

  Our other major form of entertainment was a sticky deck of playing cards. When I had been younger, I played a mean game of Go Fish with some of the neighbor girls. As I got older, I learned Euchre and Hearts, even in the middle of the worst hell the world could throw at me. I always thanked my great-grandma Betty for my card-shark prowess.

  My playing partner made me look like an amateur at cards… and a bad one at that.

  “You’re not even trying,” Sunshine scolded me in a soft, condescending voice. “I damn near gave you two points there, but you didn’t take it.”

  I stared at the cards, the table, the board. “I don’t think I have the hang of this yet. I never really played Cribbage much before.”

  Looking up, I noticed the disgust on her face. “Much? How about any.”

  “It seems… complicated,” I replied, not sure if I believed myself or if I was just being lazy.

  She puckered her lips. “GeeMah taught me when I was six. It can’t be that complicated. You get two points for fifteen, two points for thirty-one, two points for a pair, a point—”

  “Can I ask you something, Sunshine?”

  Sitting back, she crossed her arms. “Don’t tell me you can�
�t add to fifteen or thirty-one.”

  I chased away her comment with the flip of my hand. “No, I want to ask you about something that’s been bugging me for a while.”

  She nodded. “Shoot.”

  “Why do you think Mr. Lasky made a point of telling us he wasn’t going to mention the fence incident to Mr. Hulton?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but I stopped her with a finger held high.

  “And why do you think he told Mr. Hulton the lie about us having all of our corn planted? What does he have to gain? I would think he would rather keep his job over there than put his neck on the line for us.”

  Her grin told me she knew the answer, at least what she thought the answer might be.

  “He wants to bang you,” she replied, shaking her head at me as if I were dense. “He’s probably always wanted to bang you. Ever since you showed up here.”

  Now it was my turn to be skeptical. “Mr. Hulton has women brought in over there… if Mr. Lasky ever felt so inclined for such a thing. What interest would he have in a scarecrow like me?”

  She leaned forward, drawing me closer as well. “Forbidden fruit.” The answer came in a whisper, not that that helped clear anything up in my mind.

  “Because I’m a married woman?” I asked, perhaps making sense of her strange logic.

  “Maybe,” she answered, a glint of mischief in her eye. “Plus, you’re Mr. Hulton’s lackey. Be like those old slaver drivers banging some young slave girl. At least that’s what GeeMah said happened way back.”

  I needed to think about that. It was true that Mr. Lasky and I were close in age, he was a decent-looking man, and as far as I knew, he was generally a kind individual. But every time he looked at me, I got the impression the only feeling he might harbor was that of complete disdain.

  He knew I wasn’t a farmer yet expected me to act like one. He knew I wasn’t strong, but he still scoffed when I begged for help requiring extra strength. He also knew I was a miserable mother. Though he’d never said it aloud.

  I had to face the fact every day of my miserable existence: What kind of a woman loses two husbands and two children—her only children? Even the way things were, as bad as life was, most people still held their families together. Not me, though.

  Tugging on my lower lip, I gazed up to find Sunshine scowling at me.

  “Stop it, Abigail Turner,” she demanded in a sharp tone. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t go there. Stay in the now. Keep focused on getting Walker back and then trying to find Sasha. Please don’t go back on me. I can’t take it again.”

  Tears began to streak my face before I could hold them in. I was pathetic, wasn’t I? Even my best friend knew.

  Chapter 20

  Several days passed before my most recent battle with melancholy wore off. Sunshine tried to make me happy, get me to laugh, even perhaps just make me smile. But the malaise took time to move on. It always did.

  We watched the garden daily, trying to tell the difference between weeds and edible plants. I think I was better at it than my friend, but of course she thought she knew everything there was to know about gardens. After all, GeeMah had taught her.

  Each morning, I rose before her and watched the road without her knowing. But I’m sure when her eyes opened each morning, Sunshine Jones knew exactly where I was—both physically and mentally.

  I began to devise a plan, a good plan, a solid plan. I would go to Rigby myself and find out once and for all what was keeping Brady and Sasha.

  Something had to have happened to keep them this long. Perhaps the man Brady went to trade with needed help for the winter. Brady was a generous fellow, so I could see him being that kind to another human.

  Perhaps they’d sent a boy with a message. Perhaps that boy was given decent directions to our farm but never found us. Or he stopped by when Sunshine and I were at the Amish store or on some other errand. The boy went home, I’m sure, and lied to his father and my husband. They know you’ll be back next spring, he told the men. And of course, they’d had no reason to doubt him.

  I refused to believe that either Brady or my darling Sasha were gravely ill or worse. I would not give up on them that easily. There were no feelings of dread or fear that had ever invaded my thoughts, whether awake or asleep. Thus, I knew they were all right.

  They’d be back soon, I decided every morning. Craning my neck, I checked the road one last time. Sunshine was up and moving; she’d chastise me again if she caught me looking.

  Sitting in the old rocker on the porch, I noticed her in the doorframe from the corner of my eye. She didn’t know. She had no idea what I was doing out here.

  “Your Amish boyfriend should be showing up anytime,” she announced. She thought herself clever for referring to Mr. Frederickson that way. What he really was, was our savior.

  “You’d best get your hair combed, your face washed, and clean clothes on,” she continued. “You don’t want him to think you’re letting yourself go now, do you?”

  I nodded without looking up. Rocking forward, I went to stand, still not looking into her face.

  “And get that damned worried look off your face,” she scolded. “They’ll come back if and when they come back. And ain’t one damned thing you can do about that, Abby. Not one damned thing.”

  I turned and pushed past her, brushing her shoulder softly as I did. Maybe there wasn’t much that could be done. But I still had a plan.

  On most days that he stopped by, Mr. Frederickson visited us somewhere between dawn and an hour after sunrise. Once in a great while, he came later in the day, but most times before the sun was a full orange ball in the eastern sky, the man had come and gone.

  That day, he was late. And when he jumped down from his wagon, he greeted us with a smile and a large red kettle.

  “Be careful,” he said, handing me the heavy container. “It’s still pretty warm, almost hot. The missus has been up since before dawn, cooking. We had extra meat, and we didn’t want it to spoil. So she made extra for me to bring to you.”

  I doubted his wife had sent it with her kindest regards, but the thought was still appreciated. Sunshine grabbed the half bucket of milk, a small bag most likely containing flatbread, and a wicker basket with a jar of red jam and a large hunk of mustard-yellow cheese.

  “Well, be sure to thank your wife for us,” I said, signaling him to take a spot on the back stoop with Sunshine and me. The company would do us both good, especially me.

  We chatted about the weather, about his children, about his animals. When talk of himself ran out, he asked how things were. Lying was stupid; most of our follies could be easily seen from two miles around. Given his close proximity, he knew the dire status of things.

  “I meant to come over and help put your fence back up last week,” he offered, looking apologetic. “But I had just too many tasks that day myself. I hope you understand.”

  I gave him a soft smile and told him I did. It was a good thing Sunshine was inside putting our gifts away. She might have not understood his explanation all that well.

  “How long would it take you to ride into Rigby, I wonder?” I asked almost as if it were just a meaningless thought.

  His face screwed up as though he’d eaten a piece of rotten fruit. “Can’t see why anyone would want to go to that place. They had the fever there bad three or four years ago. Not a good place to visit.”

  I peeked sideways at him through my hair. “Brady went there.”

  “I know. Even after I told him it was a bad idea,” he replied, stroking his long beard. “On a horse, you could probably get there and back in three hours. I’m afraid you’d never have the strength to get there and back on foot, though. Not enough meat left on you.”

  “Do you think that’s what happened to Brady and Sasha?” Speculation was something I was good at.

  “I suppose,” he said, pushing away from the step. “Makes the most sense to me. They got there, and they just couldn’t get back right away. Probably too weak. Yo
u’re not thinking of going there, are you, Mrs. Turner?”

  I shrugged to show my faux noncommittal intentions.

  “Bad idea,” he said in a tone that almost sounded sad. “They’ll either come back, or they won’t. That’s just the way it is nowadays. Too many people go looking, and pretty soon ain’t nobody ever found again.”

  I considered his wisdom, his advice for a few quiet moments. Sunshine broke the silence, coming back out and joining me with a bowl of steaming stew.

  “You gotta try this, Abby,” she exclaimed. “There’s meat in here, real honest-to-God meat.”

  She shoved a heaping spoonful between my lips, and I had to wipe the excess off my chin. It was hot but not too hot. There were large chunks of carrots and potatoes. I tasted green beans and peas. And the meat was sweet, cut into inch-square chucks.

  “This is so good,” Sunshine raved. “What kinda meat did you say this was?”

  Looking down for a moment, Mr. Frederickson kicked at the gravel beneath his feet. “Don’t think I really said. Some people ain’t fond of it. But when you’re hungry enough…”

  The memory from 20 years back slapped at the back of my brain. I’d had this meat before. The sweet taste, the slightly stringy texture. It was from an animal the Amish had plenty of, keeping them mostly at pets.

  “It’s dog,” I announced. “I’m sure it is.”

  His shrug confirmed my findings.

  “Huh,” Sunshine said next to me, taking another large bite. “Who’d thought dog tasted like this? Go figure.”

  Summer

  When I was young, my parents took me on a vacation out west. It was a real all-out family vacation… from hell, as I remember.

  The dude ranch we stayed at was cheesy. I was eight, so if I remembered it as cheesy, it had to have been bad. Everyone there wore cowboy hats and said words like “howdy” and “buckaroo.” I think I recall my parents saying on the drive out there that the couple who owned the place was originally from Chicago. Yeah, real cowboy types.