Rise

twenty three

IN THE EARLY MORNING HOURS THE BEACH WAS QUIET. CLARA started the wash, plunging the clothes into the cold water. She looked so natural doing it, rubbing the fabric together, loosening the dirt, I hardly recognized her as the girl I had met in the City Palace so many months before. She spread the clothes out on the rocks to dry, adding them to the rest. Shirts and pants, sweaters and socks-they all laid there, colorful shadows on the shore.

As Sarah and I started down the sandy incline, carrying pots for lake water, I noticed Helene. She sat off to the side, her bad foot resting in the shallows. The swelling had gone down, but it was apparent now that the bone hadn't healed right. Her ankle was turned outward at an odd angle. She reached for it, pressing her fingers against the tender spot where it had broken. "Best not to," I said, setting the pots down. I leaned over to examine the bone. The skin was a greenish blue-the remnants of bruising.

"It looks horrible," she said. "Last night I woke up because it was throbbing. It's always going to be like this, isn't it? I'll never be able to walk on it again." She searched my face, looking for some answer.

"We'll get you better help when we reach Califia. There's a woman there who studied medicine. I don't know enough to tell you," I said, brushing back her braids. But it seemed, more than a week later, that the bone had set wrong. There might've been a chance to rebreak it, but I couldn't imagine that-to have to suffer through the pain all over again. I picked up the two boards and set them down on either side of her shin, helping her tie the splint back in place.

Sarah dropped her pots at the edge of the lake. "That's what Beatrice keeps saying, but how long do we have to stay here before we can leave?" She pointed out over the water. "If we're going to be here much longer, you have to at least teach us how to swim. How are we supposed to help fish if I can't even go in past my knees?"

"This is a good place to rest," I said. "We have supplies here, and we don't need a lookout at night. We should stay a day or two more." I stared at a spot across the lake, just barely able to see Ruby and Pip behind the trees. They went out every morning, alone, gathering berries and wild grapes. I didn't know if it would ever seem like enough time here. Three days or thirty, when I left I'd be leaving them all over again.

I pulled my sweater down, over the width of my stomach, making sure it was covered. Every day my body felt different. I'd traded my worn jeans for wider pants, adjusting the belt. My breasts were swollen and sore, my face fuller, and I could feel my stomach expanding out, growing harder to conceal. I hadn't wanted to tell the girls. I'd imagined how it would change their perception of me, that I might seem weaker, more vulnerable if they knew. When we were back on the road, dividing our meager supplies, I didn't want them worrying that there wasn't enough. Beatrice and Clara had already insisted on sharing their small portions, trying to keep up my energy on the way to the dugout.

Then there was Caleb. It had been so long since I'd spoken his name out loud. How could I explain what had happened between us? How could the girls understand that I'd not only spent time with him but that I had loved him? Wasn't I just like those women the Teachers had always spoken about, ruined, in some ways, by that love? It was as though some invisible wall had been erected, separating me from everyone else. Now that Caleb was dead, what was I supposed to do with the love I still felt? Where was it all supposed to go?

Pip and Ruby were coming closer, weaving through the trees. I could feel Clara watching them, waiting to see if they turned toward us, onto the beach. They'd decided to eat separately, taking their meals to their room for the past two days. They spent the afternoons with Benny and Silas, the mornings scavenging the woods by the lakefront, coming back with the occasional find-a plastic cup, bent fork, or unlabeled can. I hadn't tried to speak to them since our first night. A silence had settled between us. I would think of the words to say, carefully forming another apology, then we'd pass in the corridor. Pip would barely look up, barely acknowledge me, and I'd be reminded again that it wasn't enough. Nothing I said could ever be enough.