The Good Atheist (15 page)

“This isn’t just a problem with a man, is it?”

She shook her head. “I wish it was that simple. If it was I’d just go to the police.”

“But you can’t go to the police, can you?”

The woman just held me in her gaze, not saying anything. I felt the eyes of her children on me as I looked back at the young woman, trying to decide what to do.

But whoever she was, I couldn’t just put her and her children back out on the road – not at this time of night in this weather – and still look at myself in the mirror.

“You can stay the night with me and we will figure this out in the morning.”

The woman looked relieved, and a faint smile flickered across her narrow face. “Thank you.”

I turned the car around and drove the fugitives back to the cottage.

9

I carried her single suitcase inside and showed them to the spare bedroom, placing the suitcase on the bed. They were soaked to the skin, and probably hungry. The two children shivered in their wet clothes.

“I’ll make us something to eat and hot to drink while you get changed,” I said.

A ghost of a smile. “I’m very grateful.”

I left them alone and went into the kitchen. I heard the door to the bedroom shut and the muffled voice of the woman speaking to her children in hurried, hushed tones. The strange assortment of spare clothing Selene and I had discovered in that bedroom now made sense. Clothing for children of all ages, along with women’s and men’s clothing.

It seemed that Grandpa was used to strangers, like this woman and her children, showing up at his door, and he was prepared for them.

I fired up the propane stove and set a pan to boil. I pulled the box of hot-chocolate mix from the cupboard and spooned some into four mugs. When the water boiled I poured some into each mug and mixed, marveling once again at how labour-intensive something as simple as a cup of hot chocolate took in these primitive conditions. Waiting for water to boil, of all things. It took forever.

But I found myself enjoying the activity.

I set the mugs on the table and got busy making sandwiches, another labour-intensive activity I was learning to enjoy.

They came into the kitchen just as I was finishing up and stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. The young woman dressed much the same way as I imagined my grandmother might have when she was young: tight black jeans and sneakers, with a baggy cotton blouse hanging loosely that exposed her left shoulder, covered in tattoos. More tattoos adorned her neck. All in all, very traditional. She must have come from a conservative background.

“Please, sit down. I’ve made you some hot chocolate and sandwiches.”

The kids sat down, but the woman remained standing, looking around at the ancient appliances and kerosene lamps. The stove was an ancient black monstrosity. “Oh man, this place is like something from the last century.”

“Or more like the century before,” I said.

She walked up and ran her hand along the old counter. “Is this real wood?”

“Sure is.”

“Must be worth a fortune,” she said.

“Probably,” I said.

She went to the porcelain sink and grabbed the black iron water pump. “What’s this?”

“That’s the water pump. You move the lever up and down to pump water.”

She tried it, and water splashed into the sink. “This is wild.”

“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I’m Jack Callaghan. Ben Callaghan, the man you were told to ask for, was my grandfather.”

“I’m Paige, and this Micah.” She pointed at the boy who nodded.

“And Amanda.” The little girl smiled shyly at me.

“You’ve had a long night, and you must be tired and hungry. Let’s eat so you can get to bed.” We sat down at the table and the kids started munching immediately on their sandwiches.

“Children,” Paige said reprovingly. “Remember to give thanks.”

I was about to object that thanking me was not necessary, but instead of addressing me they bowed their heads and thanked God instead. I watched them pray in startled silence. When they finished, the kids wasted no time and took big hungry bites out of their sandwiches.

“And we have you to thank as well, Mister Callaghan,” Paige said.

“Think nothing of it.” I wasn’t all that hungry, but I sipped on my hot chocolate at the table to be sociable. I was still curious about my guests. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Not at all,” she said but there was a guarded look in her eyes.

“Why are you running?”

She regarded me for a few moments. “I was forced to run after my husband was arrested.”

“You prayed just now. You must be believers.”

“Yes.”

“Your husband was arrested for religious convictions?”

She didn’t answer and a long silence stretched between us.

“Paige, you can trust me – not that you have much choice at the moment. I could turn you in now if I wanted to. You may as well tell me what’s going on.”

“Yes, he was arrested for his faith. I knew it wouldn’t be long before they came for me, and that they would probably take the children. So I fled. Some people in our church have contacts in the underground, and they got me out. They’re going to get us to Canada where we’ll be safe.”

“What makes you think they would take the kids?”

“They usually do. According to the law, religious education is a form of child abuse. The law authorizes the state to take the kids away. It happens all the time.”

It was not a topic for polite conversation, but everyone knew it was happening. “Many think it’s the right thing to do. That it’s best for the children.”

“And what do you think, Mister Callaghan?” I could see in her eyes that it was not a light question, and that she grasped her situation. In a very real sense I held her fate in my hands.

“I’m supposed to turn you in.”

“I know that. But I think you also know in your heart that it would be wrong,” she said softly.

I was less interested in what my heart was telling me, and more concerned with the trouble my head was warning me of. But I knew she was right. “When did you say your next ride gets here?”

“In the morning.”

“Let’s hope it gets here promptly, then,” I said.
Before I change my mind
, I added under my breath.

10

The next morning I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. The storm had broken during the night, and bright light streamed in through my bedroom window. It was late, and I had overslept. I pulled on my clothes and followed the smells into the kitchen.

A pot of coffee sat on the stove, and bacon sizzled on a pan. The counter was tidy and the dishes put away. Paige was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. She looked up when I came in.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I thought I’d make myself useful.”

I’d never seen anyone clean a floor with their own hands. I found the sight a bit disturbing. In the city we had servbots for that kind of menial work.

“How did you know where to find the cleaning supplies?”

“You don’t have robots, so I assumed you had to have brushes and cleaning supplies somewhere. I just looked until I found them.”

“There’s really no need.”

She kept scrubbing, paying particular attention to a corner between the wall and the end of the counter that probably hadn’t been reached in years. “I’m hardly going to take your hospitality and eat your food without doing something in return.”

I hadn’t been up long enough to argue the point. I poured a large mug of coffee and took it into the living room, where I hoped to sit quietly. Instead I found Micah and Amanda sweeping out a corner. Micah held the dust pan while Amanda swept towards it. They both wore jeans, and Amanda’s long hair was newly braided.

“Good morning, Mister Callaghan,” they said in unison.

“Good morning, children,” I said, and kept going out the front door.  Outside the morning air was warm and already turning muggy. I followed the porch around to the west side and sat down in a chair facing the wooded hills. Steam rose from the pond, and the dew was still heavy on the grass.

For most of my adult life, my morning routine usually involved nothing more sophisticated than sitting in a chair with a cup of coffee, alone with my thoughts or a good book. Mornings had always felt sacred to me. A time to read and be alone with my thoughts before the busyness of the day imposed itself. The holo-vision or wall-screens never got turned on until Selene got up.

So far, living at the cottage had suited me fine.

I sat looking out at the pond and the woods while drinking coffee and found myself thinking about keeping the cottage. Living here seemed like an impossible dream, however. Even if we both found work, Selene would never agree to it.

My thoughts were interrupted when Paige found me on the porch. She stood next to the chair, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel. She spoke and behaved with a mature certainty and clarity that seemed at odds with her youthful appearance. “How do you like your eggs, Mister Callaghan?”

“Please, it’s Jack.”

“All right, Jack. How do you want your eggs?”

“Scrambled.”

“They’ll be ready in a minute if you want to come in.” She turned and left. A minute later I finished my coffee and followed her in.

After breakfast Paige insisted on cleaning up, with the help of her children. It was mid-morning and still no sign of her ride.

“Any idea when you’re to be picked up?” I was sitting at the table with my second cup of coffee while Paige and her kids tidied. Amanda washed at the sink while Micah dried. Paige put the clean dishes away. When I tried to help, she shooed me away.

“I was only told that they would be here in the morning.”

This presented a dilemma. I had things to do in town, but I didn’t want to leave her at the cottage alone. She seemed decent and trustworthy, but she was still practically a stranger. And I also wanted to be here when they – whoever they were – came to pick her up. I had a few questions for them. Not the least of which was what my grandfather’s role had been in all of this, and whether I might expect more fugitives showing up at my door in the middle of the night.

“And you don’t know these people?”

She shook her head while reaching into the cupboard to put a plate away.

“How are you supposed to recognize each other? How will you know it’s them? Do you people have a secret handshake or something?”

She laughed. “No secret handshake, at least not that I know of.”

“Seriously then, how will you know it’s them?”

“How many people do you get at your door offering you a ride to Canada, Jack?”

“I see your point.”

• • •

I kept myself occupied for the rest of the morning in the tool shed. There was a delivery van parked inside, with pictures of tomatoes and ‘Grandpa Ben’s Organic Hothouse Tomatoes’ written on the sides. I wondered if it would start for me, so I climbed in. The on-board system recognized me as the new owner, and the engine started up easily. I turned it off and got back out.

The shed was large enough to park several cars if it hadn’t been filled with old junk. There were enough tractor and lawnmower parts strewn around to build a tank. A rusted tractor sat next to the van. It didn’t look like it would start, and I wasn’t interested in choking on the diesel fumes even if it did, so I left it alone. Tools hung from pegs along the wall over a workbench. The tools brought back long-forgotten memories of Grandpa. He seemed to always be tinkering away at something. He had been handy, but as I looked around now with the eyes of an adult, it was plain that he hadn’t been much of an organizer.

Afternoon came and there was still no sign of Paige’s ride. Paige kept busy with the children through the afternoon raking and bagging last year’s dead leaves.

The sign on the sides of the van reminded me of the long-neglected green house, so after lunch I decided to check it out. I found it bursting with overripe tomatoes. Most of the crop had already fallen off the vines and were beginning to rot in the soil. I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up the rotten tomatoes and harvesting the good ones. The soil was moist, and the automated watering system seemed to be working fine. But I would need to learn something about running and maintaining greenhouses if we decided to keep the place. It was doubtful that was a point that would help me sell the idea to Selene, so I put that on the ‘con’ side of the decision matrix I had been building in my mind.

Afternoon turned to evening and Paige’s ride still didn’t arrive. I started to worry. We sat on the porch with coffees after dinner, watching the final hues of dark-blue sky give way to night. The first stars appeared. We were on the west side, looking over the expanse of lawn that stretched down towards the pond. The kids played hide-and-seek among the trees and bushes in the fading light.

“They’ve never seen anything like this,” Paige said.

“Like what?”

“So much property with trees and grass to run around in, with woods and a pond. It’s like a dream. The only woods they’ve ever seen are on holographic wallpaper in the living room.”

I wasn’t in the mood for pleasant small talk. We both had a problem, and it weighed heavily on my mind. Finally after a few moments of silence I broached the subject.

“Your friends are very late. Is there any way for you to contact them?” I asked.

“I don’t know who is picking us up. I don’t even know the name of the woman who dropped me off.”

“Can you get word back to the people who put you in touch with the underground? Surely you know how to reach your friends who got you into this.”

“I can make a call, but my cellphone doesn’t work out here,” she said.

“Nothing works out here. There are no telephone lines or cell coverage. No internet access. You’d have to go into town to make a phone call,” I said.

“I don’t want to miss my ride to Canada. What if they come while I’m in town?”

“We’ll figure something out. I guess I can give your mystery ride another day. Let’s see what happens tomorrow.”

“I take it you’ve decided not to turn me in?” she asked.