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In Year Ten there was no vaccine. It was only after the flu season had passed that we learned the vaccines wouldn’t have helped anyway. They were never intended to deal with the disease, only to change our DNA to make us stronger in the hopes that some of us would survive.
History of a Changed World, Angus T. Moss
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TILLY HAD SENT A NOTE with the lunch cart for the Soapmakers as they were calling themselves. She had asked a representative to come up and discuss their wares with her. Nick had quickly agreed to let her do the negotiating. She’d called an impromptu meeting in her office with Lottie, Eunice, Mary and Jean in attendance.
A slender man, smelling strongly of sheep, arrived with a fat satchel. “Hello,” he said doffing a worn cap. “I am Ander.”
Tilly did the round of introductions as she beckoned him to a chair. “I hope you liked your lunch.”
“It was wonderful.” He smiled at Tilly with strong white teeth. His face was weathered, with a few strands of gray in his brown hair, but she put his age on the low side of forty. Giving her a respectful nod, he snapped open his case. Inside were small lidded ceramic pots, each carefully tied shut with a twist of grass.
“I like those pots,” Eunice said. “Do you sell those?”
“These are just my samples. I could ask the potters to make more once we get their kiln set up.”
“I’d need them a bit larger.” Eunice caught Tilly’s eye. “Might be a good size for some of the barter items.”
Tilly made a note. Then a wonderful fragrance filled the room, and she forgot everything else. “What is that?”
“This is our Rose Cream,” he said, handing her a little pot.
The fragrance got stronger, enveloping her in a cloud of memories. “Oh, my.” Her voice creaked with emotion. It wasn’t the fact that she was holding the first cosmetics in a decade. She’d never worn much. And it wasn’t just the lovely smell although that was precious in itself. This was a piece of normal when she hadn’t been expecting it. A little peek at her old life that reminded her of better times. She dipped a finger into the salve and passed the pot to Eunice.
There were a lot of sighs as the little pot went around the room. Tilly worked the salve into her chapped hands. It was a little too heavy for a face cream, but it certainly felt good on her skin.
“It may be awhile before we have that scent again,” Ander said. His lips pursed in an expression somewhere between resignation and frustration.
“Why?” Mary asked, her question sounding sad.
“We couldn’t bring the rose bushes with us. With the sheep, the crates of fire brick and all the rest of it,” He shook his head. “It was hard enough without digging up plants.”
Mary’s eyes went shiny with tears. “We had to leave a lot behind when we left, too. We had an Austrian Copper rose that my great-grandmother planted against the side of the house. In high summer, it would be covered in blooms. When they burned the house...”
“Talk to Bruno.” Tilly jumped in before they all dissolved into tears over things they’d left behind. “He’s done an extensive plant inventory. He might be able to find what you need.”
“Thank you. I think we’re supposed to see him later when we’re going up to the blow-down?”
“That’s what they call the woods that got knocked down by a tornado,” Eunice whispered in a pointed aside. She smiled at Ander conspiratorially.
Tilly opened her mouth to comment, but when Ander returned Eunice’s smile, there was a bit more warmth than she expected. That was a surprise. She glanced back to Eunice in time to see her blush.
Ander brought out three more pots, carefully untying the lids before showing them off. “We have lavender, lemon balm and thanks to Nick a small sample of our new bayberry.” He passed Tilly each one as he named them.
When he handed her the last one, she was swamped in memories of Christmas. Bayberry candles and the scents of pine always brought back the days of her childhood. Those were memories long before Zero Year, and it surprised her to find that they didn’t hurt at all.
“Why Nick?” Jean asked.
“He helped us get a trade going with Seaview for the bayberries. It tends to grow along the coast.”
Tilly was struck again by the things she didn’t know about. And maybe didn’t really need to know. It didn’t affect High Meadow if Nick had helped the Soapmakers barter directly with Seaview for something they didn’t need. She sniffed the pot of salve again and was simply thankful it had happened.
“These are lovely,” Mary said, her voice rough with emotion.
“And essential,” Lottie said. She held out her hand showing the raw, cracked skin on her palm. “I’d bet Creamery and Holly Hill would be glad of some, too.”
The trading network formed up in Tilly’s brain. If the Soapmakers gave them these creams for food, they could add them as part of the barter to their other suppliers. Or should they offer them the new currency? Or should they let the Soapmakers barter with each of the trading partners? She looked at Ander. He was watching her with an anxious expression.
“I want these,” Tilly said. “Jean, can you sort this out?”
“I’d be happy to.”
“But what about Nick?” Ander asked, concern in his eyes.
“Jean is Nick’s second in command,” Tilly said. “I’d like you to talk to our doctor and our chemist. They might want some of your ingredients for medicinal compounding.”
Ander’s salt and pepper eyebrows worked their way up his forehead. “You have a chemist?”
Tilly thought a moment. She didn’t think that was what Kyle called himself, although she was pretty sure his office had been a chemistry lab. “He’s something like that. He’s been working on distilling some herbal tinctures, and I think it would be a good idea to look into making some ointments.”
“I would be...” Ander sputtered he was so startled, “...delighted to speak with them.”
“Jean, can you follow up on that, too?” Tilly reluctantly passed the pot of bayberry to Eunice.
“Of course,” Jean said.
“And what about the army?” Ander asked.
“We’re preparing as best we can,” Tilly said wearily.
“I mean, what do we have to do?” he asked patting his chest.
Tilly shook her head. “Nothing for now. We need farmers and bakers and shepherds as much as we need soldiers. Somebody has to feed and clothe them.”
“Oils,” Eunice interrupted.
“Yes?” he turned his attention to her.
“I heard that you were raising plants for the oil.”
He held up the pot of rose salve that had just gotten around the circle to him. “We use it for the soaps and some of the salves.”
“I need cooking oil. Butter is okay for some things—“
“You have butter?” he burst out.
Tilly leaned back in her chair to listen to the conversation. They had a new, important product in the line now. Soap, in itself, was important, but these salves were something new. They still had a small supply of foraged supermarket shampoos and soaps. Now they had a solution for when that ran out, and possibly cooking oil and lanolin and wool from the sheep. She was feeling very pleased with things for the moment. Until Mary reminder her of the next hurdle.
“Shouldn’t we be getting ready for the cherries?” Mary asked with a glance at the clock.
“Cherries?” Ander asked.
“A harvest coming in,” Tilly said with a forced casual tone belying her excitement.
“Who gets those?” Ander asked wistfully.
Tilly couldn’t stop the grin on her face. “I think we’ll have enough for everyone to get some.” She stood to end the meeting. “Jean if you can take it from here? Mary and I should get on the cherries and Eunice?”
“I’ve got bread rising and canning jars to sterilize.” Eunice was out the door before she finished speaking.
Jean led Ander out as they discussed the new contract. Tilly gestured for Mary to precede her. They headed down the back hall to get the cherry processing area set up. With all the newcomers taking up every spare bit of floor space, she’d been forced to use the stage in the amphitheatre.
They had just started setting up tables and chairs when the volunteers arrived. Tilly was sorting out who could do what when Young Joe came by to let her know that Wisp was missing. She left Mary to oversee the group of too old, too young and too weak for strenuous labor that had shown up.
“What should I do?” Tilly asked. Young Joe was the new head of the Rovers and reported to Martin. Somewhere along the line, he’d found a big black cowboy hat that he wore as a badge of office.
“Nothing you can do. But if he happens to show up, let Martin know right away.”
A chair crashed over, drawing her attention. By the time she looked back, Young Joe was halfway out of the amphitheatre. She went back to sort out the chair kerfuffle. This wasn’t the best place to work, just the last place left where she could set up a bunch of tables.
She was angry that Bruno hadn’t given her enough warning about the fruit. Or had he? There was a calendar in her office with so many things on it that she’d stop checking it. That needed to change. She needed more staff to help her deal with all of this. He had told her that he’d cataloged all the fruit trees in the area. There were apples and pears and maybe some plums, grapevines, berry bushes and possibly a nut tree. It was a gift to get food that they hadn’t had to work for. But now that they had it, the work would begin. A good portion of the fruit would be canned for the winter. She wanted to dry a lot of it for travel food. The rest would be eaten fresh as a special treat. All the cherries that would be canned or dried needed to have the pits removed. Eunice had found three small pitters in the kitchen. Mary had brought one of her own. Tilly hoped Bruno could find a couple more or they would spend days pitting however many bushels of cherries the pickers brought in. And hope they could get through them all before they spoiled.
“What did he want?” Mary asked.
“Wisp is missing.”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “What happened?”
Tilly shook her head. Wisp had become so important to the settlement. Was it possible that he’d just left them? She didn’t think he’d go without talking about it first. He seemed to have fitted into the quirky chain of command here. She needed to keep busy, or she’d break apart with worry.
“Let’s work out how we’re going to do this.” She walked to the back of the stage where it opened into the scenery shop which had loading doors out to the underground garage. “Fruit comes in here. We’ll dump them into the sinks here a bucket at a time.” She walked over to the industrial sinks. Despite the paint spatters on the walls and a few dents, they were now clean and ready to receive the fruit. “Give them a rinse and put them into a clean bucket here. Then they come over to the tables. First table sorts out bad ones and removes stems then puts them in these bowls. We need two people per pitter. One to bring the cherries, and take away pits and another to work the pitter. Then I need a runner to take the bowls of pitted cherries to the kitchen and bring back empty bowls which will go back here to the people sorting. Every third bucket will go to the kitchen for fresh eating.” Tilly looked up to see all eyes on her. These were people eager to help and too weak to do much. She took a few minutes to figure out who could lift and carry, who needed to sit and sort.
Micah rushed in carrying a crate. “Found a bunch of stuff for you,” he said as he dropped the crate at her feet. “Bruno said to expect the first baskets in about a half hour.” Micah grinned at her before leaving. She couldn’t avoid smiling at his cherry stained lips and hands. He would work as an excellent recruiter for the next picking foray.
The crate held four more pitters and three apple peelers. She gave the pitters to the sink crew to wash and sent the apple peelers to the kitchen to be stored. Then sent another person off to get them a couple more tables and to tell Angus that she’d need more people, so she could rotate her crew. By the time she’d checked for clean hands and handed out aprons, the first baskets of fruit were arriving.
Old man Larson supervised the delivery yelling at any of the kids who were too rough with the tender cargo. Tilly joined him, a mixture of joy for the fruit and dread at the processing warring within her. The fruit arrived in baskets, cardboard boxes and small wooden crates.
“Save the wormy ones for my chickens,” Larson said.
“We’ll do that,” Tilly said. She was grateful to know that none would go to waste.
“We’re gonna need more baskets,” he grumbled
“We’ll give them back as soon as they’re empty.”
He nodded at her once before starting back in on his over-enthusiastic crew. They joked as they brought in the last containers. Quick fingers stole a handful of fruit before heading back to the van. Tilly called her thanks after them, then turned to the herculean task before them.
She watched her plan go into effect. The first basket of cherries went into the sink, swished around and was dumped dripping into buckets. As the pitters began clunking into action, she mentally inventoried the fruit. There was a lot. This was going to take a long time. She went back to inspect her assembly line. Eight pitters designed to be used at home to prep a bowl of cherries for a pie, and she had bushels of fruit to process. It was overwhelming, but they needed every ounce of food they could get their hands on to get through the winter. Voices in the audience made her look up.
Lottie clumped up the steps to the stage. “Heard you might need a few more hands.” She was the first of a long line that extended up the aisle. Tilly swallowed against a tightness in her throat. There were people from every committee, off duty Watch members and a handful of newcomers.
Lottie brandished a paring knife. “It won’t be pretty, but we’ll get it done.”
Tilly forced a smile with trembling lips. Her eyes pricked with tears. This was the way she and Angus had hoped things would go. That people would invest in their community enough to join in wherever they were needed.
Drew winked at her. “You know we’re all just here to eat fresh cherries.”
She barked a laugh, too hard, but it pushed back the tears. “In that case, you’re in charge of collecting the pits.”