Starbird Murphy and the World Outside (9 page)

 7 

I
stayed in the orchard for a long time, not ready to take my thoughts back into the crowded space of the yurt. But my fingers were freezing cold and the music had stopped in the house, so eventually I wandered back across the driveway. There were no more lights on in the Sanctuary as I passed, and I felt another pang wondering if Lyra was still in there with Indus.

The yurt village was impressive when I was little, with twelve dwellings surrounding a central fire pit, two outhouses, and a bathhouse a short hike away in the woods. But most families packed up their yurts and took them during the exodus after EARTH left. Now there were just three yurts besides the one I shared with Fern, where she was sleeping soundly when I entered.

Our yurt was one of the more modest on the compound, with just enough room for three cots and a woodstove in the center, its exhaust pipe reaching through the canvas roof. A wooden platform held the round fabric structure off the ground and provided a deck area beyond the door. The building committee had constructed the yurt for Fern and Doug Fir before I was born. I left my boots on the platform and hung my coat on a hook by the door. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

 
 

“Starbird.” Two hands were gently rocking me side to side. They didn't belong to Fern. “Starbird,” Gamma said again, pushing me on the shoulder. “I'm sorry to wake you.” It was still dark in the yurt and Gamma was holding a flashlight, a wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders. “The restaurant called and they have to do another pickup. Cham and Ephraim are still sick and today is the only day Venus can make it. She's going to need all the eggs you can give her, so include the ones you were saving for the Farm. I know I asked you to run the math class today, but that can wait.” Gamma was talking a mile a minute even though my eyes were barely open.

“Sure,” I mumbled. I sat up in my cot and stretched.

“What happened to your hand?” Gamma took my right arm and shined the flashlight on it to inspect the red scrape where the barn wood had skinned me.

Memories of the night before came back, the image of Lyra and Indus, what Iron told me about the Farm's finances, my birth certificate.

“Just an accident,” I said, cradling it in my other hand.

“Be sure to put some arnica on that,” she said, and then shuffled out of the yurt.

I dressed in the dark and took a flashlight along to the bathhouse. When I came out, the orange sun was peeking one eye over the top of the Cascades. I heard Chocolate crow, followed by Bad Boy and the others. Pulling my jacket up around my ears, I went to the henhouse.

“Good morning, Chocolate. Any trouble last night?” I always inspected my roosters in the morning to make sure they hadn't had any scrapes with foxes or other predators. Bad Boy lost a toe fighting off something in April, but he had protected all the hens. Iron and I set a catch and release trap and nabbed two raccoons.

The roosters looked healthy, so I checked the feed containers for evidence of pests. “Okay, chickens, egg time,” I announced morosely to the flock of rousting birds. Normally, I didn't do my first collection until mid-morning, so I knew I would get a smaller take, but I only had twelve dozen stored for the Farm, and the restaurant would need all I could gather.

There is a special calm I have only ever experienced while collecting eggs from the coop. The endless mystery inside those perfect brown and white ovals always managed to sooth my anxiety. After five minutes of stacking eggs into my coated wire container, I heard Ursa at the gate.

“It's so early,” were her first words.

I reached into a box and withdrew three eggs. “Did Gamma wake you up, too?”

Ursa nodded and picked up another wire basket and started down the opposite row of boxes. “She said V is coming back.”

As soon as my hand released the eggs I was holding into the basket, it strayed automatically to my pocket where the envelope containing my birth certificate was still folded.

By the time we finished gathering, Ursa and I carried a hundred and twenty eggs to the house for washing. Other Family members were already making breakfast or gathering what vegetables they could harvest for pickup. Eve and Fern were furiously baking cinnamon buns, and the rich smell filled the house.

Ursa prepared the egg bath in the kitchen sink while I got the carriers ready. We barely got the eggs washed by the time we heard the truck rumbling up the gravel drive.

V walked through the front door of the house in the same sandals and jean shorts, but with a bulky wool sweater on top. Ursa and I were still drying eggs and placing them in storage containers at the kitchen table.

“I'm super sorry about this.” She dropped into a chair and pushed her sunglasses back on her head. “I couldn't leave the restaurant this weekend, so it was now or never.”

“Ease your mind,” said Eve, setting down her rolling pin and putting both hands on her lower back. “We all have to work together for the greater end.” Even in the hard moments, Eve could be counted on to quote EARTH. I wondered how she would give birth on the Farm with no midwives left to help her.

“What a glorious morning,” announced Lyra Hay, walking into the kitchen and tossing her thin arms over her head. “Ooh, cinnamon buns . . . I'm starving!”

All the little hairs on my arms stood straight up, and I bit my bottom lip hard enough to taste blood. The jealousy I'd felt in the apple orchard made its way to the kitchen.

“Lyra, you must wear shoes in here.” Fern put her hands on her hips. “We're baking for commercial sale.”

A flash of irritation passed over Lyra's face. “Sorry, Mother,” she said sweetly, backing up over the threshold so that her feet were technically in the long room.

It was only because I treasured my eggs so highly that she wasn't scraping yolk from her forehead.

“Gamma said she looked for you to ask for your help baking,” Fern said, stirring some orange icing with a wooden spoon.

“I wasn't in my room,” said Lyra.

The egg I had been drying broke in my hand. I turned away quickly and started washing it off in the sink.

“One less omelet for the weekend,” V said, laughing. “Hey, Starbird, are you going to come back with me and be our new waitress?”

“Yes,” I said, over the running water of the faucet.

“What did you say?” asked V.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. “Yes,” I said again, turning around to look at the room. All eyes were pinned on me. Fern had stopped stirring.

“Really? That's awesome,” V was saying, at the same time Ursa was saying, “Yes, yes, yes!” and Fern was saying, “Wait a minute, what?” and Eve said, “I don't know how we will manage without you, but a Calling is wonderful news.” Lyra Hay just stood under the doorframe, inspecting her fingernails.

“Okay, well, I'm going to go get my stuff. Ursa, will you finish packing the eggs?” I said awkwardly, putting down the towel and grabbing my jacket.

Fern took off her apron as I put on my coat. “Let's talk outside,” she said, following me toward the front door and then onto the gravel driveway. It was still brisk out. Although the sun was fully risen, the fog hadn't burned off yet.

“There's no reason to rush this,” Fern started as soon as the door was closed. “I'll ask Gamma if I can share her room and give you the yurt to yourself. That's better than what you would get at Beacon House.”

“This isn't about space,” I said, walking quickly through the gravel.

“You'll have to enroll in school if you go to Seattle. Ursa isn't old enough to manage the chickens. You don't have a birth certificate.” Fern rattled off a battery of reasons.

I stopped in the middle of the driveway and turned my heels in the gravel. “Family members don't lie to each other.”

Fern took a step back and almost lost her footing. She looked at me with eyes the size of eggs. My mother's hair was once strawberry blonde like mine, but streaks of gray gave it a silvery glow in the morning light.

I took the envelope out of my pocket. “Starbird Murphy,” I said, slapping it against my thigh. Fern had kept the information from me before, but she hadn't flat-out lied about it until now. I squeezed the paperwork until it crumpled. Turning again in the gravel, I walked faster toward the yurt. I didn't bother taking off my boots before going inside.

“It was for your own good.” Fern followed me through the door. “You don't know about the World Outside, about how cruel people can be. You haven't seen that here. You're not ready.”

“Do they do things worse than lie out there?” I asked, stuffing two flannel shirts, a skirt, and two wool sweaters into the canvas bag I used for hauling wood.

“Yes, Starbird.” Fern dropped down onto the cot. “They do much worse than lie.”

“Well, you weren't worried about Doug Fir out there,” I said. “You didn't try to get him back.”

“That's not true. I went to the police,” Fern said, her voice starting to break. “What more could I do?”

I froze. “You went to the police? On the Outside? How many other forbidden things have you done?” Tears starting to roll down Fern's cheeks. “Are you even a Believer, or is that a lie, too?”