Eight EightDana’s eye’s fluttered open as she regained consciousness. She glanced around her strange, new surroundings. The soft bed that enveloped her body amazed Dana. She had never known anything could be so comfortable.
Scuffling sounds just outside the room drew her attention. She tried to sit up. Weak and disoriented, Dana threw her hand out to steady herself, knocking items off the bedside table. They clattered on the floor, making more noise than she wanted.
A plump, dark woman hurried in with a tray of food. “Good to see you finally awake,” she said. She put the tray down and helped Dana into a sitting position.
Dana slumped against the pillows, too weak to hold herself up. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Minny,” said the cheerful woman as she placed the tray in Dana’s lap. “Now eat up. You’ve had quite an ordeal and need to put some meat on them bones.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re too skinny. Now eat up. If you need anything, just holler.”
Minny left the room and went about her daily tasks.
Dana studied the tray of food and its contents: buttered toast, bacon, eggs, sausage, an apple, an orange, hollandaise sauce, and a sprig of mint. She couldn’t believe the amount of food. Never in her life had she been allowed to have so much in one sitting.
Minny returned. She stopped, stared at Dana’s still full plate, and put her hands on her hips. “Why, you haven’t eaten one bite. Now I know there isn’t anything wrong with my cooking, so there must be a problem with your appetite.”
“I’ve—I’ve never been allowed to eat food like this before,” said Dana.
Minny pulled up a chair. “What do you mean, honey?”
“Where I come from,” said Dana, “such food is forbidden. Deemed unhealthy.”
“You mean Dystopia,” said Minny. “Honey, Sampson and I knew you were from there the moment we first saw you. Your clothes kind of gave it away.”
Minny pointed to the uniform that Dana had put on to help George escape. “We found these as well,” Minny said as she handed Dana the locket and disk.
Dana quickly put them around her neck. “Thank you.”
“Well, you eat up,” said Minny, “No one’s going to stop you from having a full stomach here.”
Dana speared a sausage and took a bite. Instantly, her mouth filled with saliva as she savored the taste, glad to be able to eat something. It took her close to an hour to finish. When she had, Minny took the tray and made Dana rest some more.
Several days passed as Dana recovered from being lost in the wasteland. The cut on her leg healed nicely.
“Wasn’t so bad,” Minny had said one day when she changed the bandage, “Just needed attention. You should be able to walk on it now.”
Dana heaved herself up. Gingerly, she put her weight on her leg. It still smarted, but not so bad. Limping, she managed to walk across the room without too much trouble.
“Here,” Minny handed Dana a walking stick. “Sampson!”
Sampson walked into the room.
“Why don’t you take Dana here for a walk in the sunshine? Show her around.”
“Woman, you know I got work to do.”
Minny gave Sampson a menacing stare.
“Getting the truck right now.”
Within the hour, Dana and Sampson rode out to the fields he owned. She couldn’t believe how vast the space was. “How much sand is out here?”
“More than you can imagine.”
“And how much of it are you allowed to work on?”
Sampson looked at her funny. “Allowed? I own it. From that fence there to about five miles in that direction is my land. It’s mine to do with as I please.
“I plow it, plant it, and harvest it. I hire people from time to time to help me out, but the land and its contents are mine.”
Dana couldn’t believe it. “You mean, no one comes in and tells you what to do with it?”
“Nope,” said Sampson, “And if they dare try, they can argue with my little friend here.” Sampson patted his shotgun.
Dana looked at it in horror. Back home, only the officers were allowed to carry weapons. “Aren’t you afraid of getting into trouble by carrying that thing?”
“Nope,” replied Sampson. “Why shouldn’t I be allowed to? It’s my right to defend myself. You see, out here are all sorts of wild animals. We still have thieves and bandits that roam through here. They used to steal my crops until I killed one of them for trying. Now they stay clear of me and I prefer it that way.”
“And you weren’t punished for murder?” People who killed someone for breaking in their home in Dystopia were arrested and never heard from again.
“Why should I be? The man trespassed on my land and was making off with my harvest. He had no right to it.”
Confused, Dana just sat in silence as the beat-up pickup rocked back and forth as it bounced along.
“Here. I’ll show you something.” Sampson pulled the truck to a halt. He and Dana got out, and he led her to a place with clear plastic plating on the ground.
“This is one of five greenhouses,” said Sampson. “It took me 10 years, but I built them into the ground like this to protect them from the weather. As you can see, the land is trying to come back from whatever turned it into a desert in the first place.”
Sampson pointed at some green tufts of grass.
“But I can’t rely on the weather and we need food year round, so I made five underground greenhouses. This plastic ceiling is 10 inches thick to block out the elements. However, you will note that you can see right through it. So it lets the sunlight in.
“I have the professor to thank for that. He even made it so that I could block out the excess sun during the summer months.” Sampson pressed a button on a control pad. Instantly, the plastic fogged up.
Dana studied the mechanism. She had never seen one like it before. “Don’t the plants need water?”
“Yes, ma’am, they do,” replied Sampson. “There is an underground river that goes through here. I drilled into it and set up an irrigation system, using the river water to water my plants. I control how much they get so they are never over or under watered. And this plastic ceiling opens up when I want to ventilate the greenhouse.”
He pressed another button and slits appeared in the plastic covering.
Ingenious, thought Dana. “How can the river be underground? I thought they were always above ground.”
“Most rivers are, but sometimes they end up underground. There have been instances of sinkholes forming near a river. When that happens, it and everything around it falls into the earth until it is completely covered. The river I tapped into is the Platte River.”
“Oh.”
“This is an orchard here,” said Sampson. “I have an orange field in another, and the remaining three are full of various vegetables.”
“You were plowing your fields above ground when I arrived.”
“Yep,” said Sampson. “I plant stuff in the ground as well to hold the dirt down. If I get anything worthwhile from them, I sell it as well.
“I’ve been planting various grasses and plants over there that are indigenous to the area. Figure it might help cut down on the dust storms we get.”
Dana looked around the sand-ridden expanse. She had been told stories about what caused this area to become barren, but they were the government approved stories. “What happened here?”
“No one really knows,” said Sampson. “It happened so long ago. I found some material in the library dating back to that time. People blamed it on the wrath of God. Some blamed man-made global warming. One group actually thought that the apocalypse was coming and decided to prepare themselves through rituals of purification. Another group blames capitalism. The blame goes on from there.”
“But man’s greed is the cause of many of our troubles,” said Dana, repeating a line from her textbook.
“And did your schools in that area teach you that?”
Dana nodded.
“Spend enough time working the land and you’ll learn that no human being can dictate the weather. I figure all this happened because Mother Nature saw fit to put us back in our place.
“Whatever the cause, it doesn’t matter. What matters is how we deal with the situation. One thing I do know is that one day the rains stopped coming and the land dried up. But these last several years, I have noticed an increase in the amount of rain. So maybe this will become fertile once again.”
“How do you get in there?” asked Dana, pointing at the greenhouse.
“There’s a door right over there. It leads to a staircase that takes you down. Not going there today though.
“Well, time to get going.” Sampson led Dana back to the truck.
She opened the squeaky door and climbed in. Sampson put it in drive and steered the vehicle back to the town.
“Minny and I live just outside the town, but not too far. It ain’t a big place, but we like it here.”
“What’s the name of the town?” asked Dana.
“We call it Libre,” said Sampson. “It’s a great place to make a new life.”
Sampson slowed the truck. He pulled out some binoculars and used them to study the horizon in the distance.
“What is it?” asked Dana.
“A group of people are approaching town.” He reached for his weapon.
Dana squinted into the distance. All she saw were black specks.
“Ah, they’re just traders.” Sampson released his hold on his gun.
“Traders?”
“Yeah,” said Sampson. “People who come through here with things we need. They travel to the ruins that surround us and bring back anything of value for which we trade for. For a moment, I thought they were a party of bandits, but they’re not.”
“What would happen if they were bandits?” asked Dana.
Sampson looked at his shotgun before answering. “Nothing good.”
They rolled into the town of Libre soon after. Many passersby waved at Sampson as he and Dana drove through the town.
“Morning, Mayor,” greeted one man.
“Mayor?” asked Dana.
“Oh, yeah,” said Sampson. “Almost forgot to tell you. I’m the mayor of this town. And Ross there is the sheriff.”
“Sheriff?”
“Our law enforcement. Most people settle their own differences around here, but every so often, we have need of a sheriff.”
Dana glanced around at the streets bustling with activity. Stores and shops stood proudly with their signs. People went in and out of the shops at will. One man pushed a cart down the walk.
“Hot dogs! Fresh hot dogs!”
Dana watched as a child walked up to him and bought a hot dog. Amazed, she couldn’t believe that he just ate it right there in public.
“Where are the officers?”
“The what? Oh, yeah, forgot where you’re from. No officers around here. We formed our own police force. Mostly, folk just band together when necessary. Our sheriff was elected, and when the time comes, both he and I will have to face re-election.”
“Elected? You actually choose your leaders?”
“Well, yeah.” Sampson pulled the truck to the side of the road and parked. “This is a good spot to walk around.”
Dana got out, using her walking stick to support herself. She found she was walking more easily, but didn’t want to overdo it.
“Hot dog?” The man with the hot dog cart looked at her questioningly.
“Uh, I don’t have any money,” said Dana.
“No problem,” said the man. “Have one on the house. If you like it, then you can pay me for the next one.”
He handed her a hot dog in a soft bun. Dana took it, unsure of how to eat it.
“Ketchup? Mustard?”
“Uh, sure,” said Dana.
The hot dog man put some ketchup and mustard on her hot dog. Carefully, Dana took a bite, getting the ketchup all over her face.
Sampson burst out laughing. “Ain’t ever had one of those, have you?”
Mortified, Dana grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth. Surprisingly, she liked the hot dog. “So, this is your cart?”
“Yep,” said the man. “Set it up a week ago.”
“That quick? Permits usually take months to get approved.”
“Permits? Oh, you’re not from around here. I don’t need a permit. Why should any man need a permit to start a business? Nope, I saved up until I had enough money to buy the items I needed and set up shop.
“You enjoy your hot dog, now. I’m here most days if you want more.” The man walked off to sell more of his stock.
“What about food safety?” asked Dana to Sampson.
“If he sells a bad product, he goes out of business.”
Dana had never thought about that. Then she remembered what the milkman had told her once about how cooked manure was still manure. She shoved the remaining hot dog into her mouth.
“If someone wants to start a shop, they can,” said Sampson. “If they wish to work for someone else, they can do that too. Plenty of folk have work that needs doing. If we have disputes, there is a board—its members elected—which mediate those disputes.”
“So, you live as you choose,” said Dana.
“Precisely,” said Sampson. “We have agreed to live according to a certain set of rules, but our lives are our own.”
“Says you.” A man swaggered up to Dana and Sampson with a bottle in his hands. His slurred speech told Dana he was drunk. “I’ve been stuck in this cesspool forever.”
“No one’s keeping you here,” snapped Sampson, the disdain prevalent in his voice.
“Well, I don’t got money to get out,” said the man.
“Dana, meet Bert, the town drunk.”
“Spare me a coin?” asked Bert.
Dana backed away from his foul-smelling breath.
“Get out of here,” said Sampson.
“Won’t even give me anything,” muttered Bert.
“You wouldn’t need anything if you’d quit drinking and learn to work for a living,” said Sampson. He steered Dana away. “Bert is one of those people who feels he ought to just be given the things he wants out of life.”
Dana watched as Bert staggered away, talking to himself.
“What are your skills?” asked Sampson.
“What?” The question surprised Dana.
“We got to find you a job,” said Sampson. “You can’t keep living at my place. Well, we can rent a room to you.”
“I don’t really have any skills.” Dana had never had to think about it.
“What did you do back in Dystopia?”
“Waste Management. It was decided for me.”
Sampson rubbed his hand over his chin. “I think I know where you can start. Betsy here has an eatery. She’s getting on in years and could use the help. You can work there a bit and earn some money. After that, you can decide what you want to do.”
They walked over to Betsy’s diner. It was a simple place with a counter, stools, and the grill right behind it. Dana marveled at the place.
“Hey, mayor,” said Betsy. “Who’s this?”
“Dana, and she needs a job.”
“I don’t need any help,” said Betsy.
“Now, look here. You know you’re having trouble doing some of the harder tasks. She can help you. And I know you got more than enough to afford to pay her.”
“Can you clean?” asked Betsy.
“Yes,” said Dana.
“Can you cook?” asked Betsy.
“No,” said Dana.
“How do you feed yourself?”
“Now, Betsy, you take it easy on her.”
“Fine,” said Betsy. “I’ll pay you 250 a week.”
“Four hundred,” said Dana. She had no idea where that came from or why she blurted it out.
“Well, the girl knows how to negotiate. Three seventy-five.”
Dana decided not to push her luck. “Done.”
“Fine. Report to work in the morning.”
Dana and Sampson walked out. Sampson noticed the downhearted look on her face.
“You don’t have to work there the rest of your life,” he said. “Just long enough to figure out what you want to do and get on your feet. No one here is going to force you to do anything you don’t want.”
Dana smiled.
They walked back to his truck and got in. Once again, she glanced at his gun.
“You ever handle one of those?”
“No. It was forbidden.”
“Think I’ll take you out sometime and show you how. Though we’re pretty safe here in the town, every so often, unsavory folk come about.”
Dana thought back to the bandits that had kidnapped her. She hoped she never met them again.
“A person ought to know how to defend themselves.” Sampson steered the truck up a hill. “I think it’s time you met Karl.”
Dana watched the buildings pass the windows as they drove through town. Sampson expertly steered them from one road to another until he reached a small neighborhood of houses that seemed to be well-built, or at least constructed better that Dana would have believed possible.
When they reached one with charred siding, Sampson stopped. He parked the truck on the side of the road. “That is Karl’s place. You can usually tell it’s his because it stands out with its uniquely decorated siding. Come on.”
Dana hopped out of the vehicle. She followed Sampson up to the door of the house. She fidgeted slightly as he knocked.
“Now, Karl is a bit eccentric, but there isn’t anything you need to fear from him,” said Sampson as they waited for someone to answer the door. “Just don’t let him talk you into helping with any of his projects.”
“Projects?”
“He is constantly building something, which usually blows something up.”
The door ripped open. Before them stood an old man with wild hair and goggles on his face, which made his eyes look huge. Black smudges covered his pasty face. “Sampson, come on in.”
The door widened as Sampson and Dana entered. The cluttered house had papers and books everywhere. Only one chair remained uncovered. Dana figured that was where Karl spent most of his time. A workbench was in the next room. On it was some weird machine that she couldn’t identify.
“Who’s this?” Karl asked, pointing at Dana.
“Dana,” replied Sampson. “She’s new in town and I thought I would introduce the two of you.”
“You just wanted to show her the crazy mad scientist of the town.”
“Something like that,” said Sampson.
“What’s this?” asked Dana, indicating a big cylinder about waist high, shaking and rumbling.
“My washing machine,” said Karl. “Made it myself.” He opened the lid and pulled out some soggy socks.
“Oh,” said Dana.
“But this over here is more interesting.” Karl led her to another room. In it was a homemade computer terminal with wires leading from it, buzzing with electricity.
“What is it?” asked Dana.
“This is my homemade communication system,” replied Karl. “I hacked into the satellite network of the Dystopian government. Now I can bring up all of their broadcasts and communications.”
“You what?” asked Sampson. “Are you insane? You’ll lead them right to us.”
“They won’t even know,” said Karl, waving away Sampson’s concerns.
Sampson snorted.
“And over here,” Karl grabbed Dana’s hand and led her to another part of his house, “is my indoor garden. I got these specialized UV lights—made them myself—hooked up here for the plants. My own irrigation system goes through here and waters the plants. It’s all on timers. It’s all very clean and neat. And because it’s indoors, I don’t need to worry about the weather.”
“Neat compared to the rest of your house,” muttered Sampson.
“Oh, who cares about cleaning house when there are more important things to do?” Karl bounced around as he continued to show off his various inventions. Amazed, Dana just looked around, barely able to take it all in, wondering how he managed to create it all. She reached out to touch an ornate box.
“Stay away from that!” Karl seized her and yanked her back, just as the box opened and snapped shut.
“What was that?” demanded Dana as she tried to catch her breath.
“Mouse trap,” said Karl.
“Rule number one,” whispered Sampson to Dana, “Touch nothing. You never know what might bite back.”
Dana counted her fingers, making certain all of them remained.
“Well, Karl,” said Sampson, “we appreciate you letting us visit, but now we must go. There is a lot of stuff we need to do.”
“Oh, okay.” Karl’s face fell.
“We’ll be back,” said Sampson.
“Alright,” Karl’s face brightened. “I get so few visitors.”
“I wonder why,” Sampson whispered to Dana.
“Thanks, Karl,” said Dana as she left, “for showing me your home.”
“Come by anytime. My door is always open.”
Dana waved good-bye and limped after Sampson out the door. They headed down the walk to his truck.
“So what’d you think?” asked Sampson.
“He’s nice,” said Dana.
Sampson laughed. “That’s Karl. Strange, but nice. He’s a good man and he knows his stuff. Anyway, whether you decide to visit or not is up to you. I just figured you ought to meet.” Sampson held the passenger door open for Dana. “Well, it’s time we head back. Minny will be worrying about what’s happened to us.”
~ ~ ~
Colonel Fernau drummed his fingers on his desk, staring at a picture of Dana Ginary. Rage filled him. She had humiliated him once too often, and he vowed to get even. No one ever embarrassed him and got away with it.
A knock sounded and a female officer walked in. “The requisition reports you asked for.”
He snatched them from her hands.
The woman noticed the picture of Dana. “Pardon me, sir, but you have been staring at the photo for weeks. Don’t you think it’s time to move on to other things?”
In response to her question, Colonel Fernau grabbed his stick and smacked her across the face with it, knocking her to the ground. He rose from his chair and paced around the frightened officer as she looked up at him. Without a word, he raised his stick and struck her repeatedly until she no longer moved.
“No,” Colonel Fernau’s callous voice terrified even the cockroaches in the room.
Two more officers charged in, having heard the commotion.
“Take this filth out of here,” said Colonel Fernau as he wiped the blood from his switch, “and find me a new secretary. Preferably one who won’t ask annoying questions.”
Too frightened to disobey, the two officers rushed to the still body on the floor and dragged it away.
Colonel Fernau approached the photo of Dana hanging on his wall. “Dana Ginary, wherever you are, I will find you. And I will break you.”
He paced to the other side of his office before yanking out his knife and chucking it at the picture, striking Dana’s photo in the face. A vindictive smile crept across his face as he retrieved his knife.
~ ~ ~
Dana sat in a rocking chair on the porch. She moved it back and forth as she stared at the vast stars in the sky while holding George’s locket. She wished he were here.
“Am I intruding?” asked Minny as she walked out onto the porch.
“No,” said Dana.
“A friend of yours?” Minny pointed at the locket in Dana’s hand.
“Yes.”
“He live around here?”
“No, he’s dead,” said Dana.
“I’m sorry,” said Minny. “You know, sometimes when a person has a lot on their mind, it helps if they talk about it.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“He meant a great deal to you.”
“His name was George,” said Dana. “He looked out for me at the plant. I never appreciated it until now. But I betrayed him. They made me do it. Your parents or your friend, that was the choice they offered me.
“I betrayed my friend to save my parents, but they were already dead. I betrayed George for my own selfishness.”
Tears streamed down Dana’s cheeks. Minny reached out and comforted her, holding her close.
“There, there,” soothed Minny, patting Dana’s back. “It isn’t selfishness to want to save your family. You love them.”
“But George is dead because of me.”
“Honey, I don’t think that’s true. Those men you spoke of, they forced you to make a terrible choice, one no one should ever have to make. They are the selfish ones.”
“But he’ll never know how sorry I am. I wish I could take it back.”
“Hindsight does that to us,” said Minny. “Learn from this. Don’t play their game next time.”
“But George died thinking that I am a horrible person. And he’s right.”
“That isn’t true. Did he give you the locket?”
“Yes,” said Dana, sniffling. “It belonged to his wife before she died. He carried it with him always. Then, right before they killed him, he gave it to me. ‘Live for the both of us’, he said.”
“Then, honey, I think he knew you loved him. He knew you were forced to hurt him. And he forgave you.”
“How do you know?”
“He wouldn’t have given you that locket if he hadn’t.”
Dana stared at the tarnished gold plating of the locket with new eyes.
“You should say good-bye to him and honor his memory. Out there in the field are a lot of rocks. Write George’s name on one and stick it on the ground.”
“It won’t bring him back,” sobbed Dana.
“No, it won’t,” conceded Minny, “but it will help you to say farewell to a friend and move on. It’s something we all must do.”
Dana wiped her tears with her hand.
“Here,” said Minny, handing her a handkerchief.
Dana sniffed and smiled shyly as she took it. “Thanks.”
“Now you go on and say your good-byes.”
Clutching the locket tightly, Dana walked out into the field and searched the ground. She strolled by several rocks. None of them seemed good enough to be George’s memorial. She spotted one. Picking it up, Dana brushed the dirt and grit off it.
Perfect.
She scratched George’s name into it and placed it carefully on the ground by some bushes. Gingerly, Dana scooped dirt around it to hold it. Once finished, she stood up.
“To George,” said Dana. “To the man who saved my life.”
Dana pulled out the locket and started to place it around the rock. She stopped. Unable to part with it, she put it back around her neck, took one last look at the stone, and left.
Morning dawned on Dana’s third week in Libre as she reported for work at Betsy’s diner. She tied an apron around her waist and poured coffee for the first customer. A group of weather-worn men walked in and settled into a couple of booths. Immediately, Dana grabbed a pot of freshly brewed coffee and filled cups for them.
“You must be new here,” said one of the men.
“Yes,” said Dana.
“In that case, we’ll all take some specials.”
Dana smiled and went back to the kitchen. “Seven specials.”
“I know. I know,” came Betsy’s crabby response. “Those traders always get the special.”
“Traders?” asked Dana.
“Yeah. They’re the ones who come through here every now and then with stuff to trade that they’ve found from Lord knows where.”
Interested, Dana decided to keep an eye on them. She had heard about the traders around town, and the idea of living an independent life free from the constraints of society thrilled her. Though she didn’t mind the steady work at the diner and she received more respect there than at Waste Management, Dana wanted to do something more.
“Order up!”
Dana grabbed the plate of food and set it before the lone man at the counter. Casually, she walked over to the traders and the man who had placed the orders. They chatted in a language unfamiliar to her.
“Excuse me,” said Dana, “do you know this place that is northeast of here? It is a ruined city with all sorts of tall, crumbling buildings.”
“Yes, we know it,” said the man who had spoken before. “Why do you ask?”
“I got lost in there when I was lost in the wasteland,” replied Dana.
“You must be that new girl everyone is talking about,” said the man. “My name is Malcolm, and these guys, well, their names aren’t important.”
“Dana.”
“How do you like working here? We come here every time we stop in town.”
“It’s all right,” said Dana.
“Dana, get on back here. These plates won’t carry themselves out,” came Betsy’s voice from the kitchen.
Groaning, Dana retrieved the tray of completed orders and carried them out to the traders.
“You could come with us,” said Malcolm.
“Really? You don’t mind?”
“We always welcome new traders,” said Malcolm. “Get yourself a horse and some provisions for a long trip through the barren lands and you will be welcome to join us. We’ll be back through this way in about three weeks. If you have your gear by then, you are welcome to come with us. We’ll make sure to bring you back.”
Dana eyed the smiling faces around her. She nearly jumped at the chance. Betsy’s crassness wore on her, and she wanted to do something different for a change, something of her own choosing. “How much does a horse cost?”
“You’ll have to work that out with Mr. Callors,” replied Malcolm. “He owns the stable down the road here. But I’m sure he’ll work something out with you.”
“Thank you,” said Dana, thrilled at being able to do something spontaneous.
Betsy’s drumming fingers caught her attention. “I better get back to work.” She ran back to the kitchen area for more finished orders.
“So, you’ve been here three weeks and already you are plotting your departure,” said Betsy.
Dana looked at the woman with wide eyes unsure of how to answer.
“Oh, don’t give me that look, child,” Betsy waved her hand, “I’m an old crank, but I know that you young people like to have your moments of adventure. No one stays here for long. That’s how I like it.”
“So, you don’t mind if I take some time to travel with them?”
“No, go ahead. This diner will always be here.”
Ecstatic, Dana rushed off with the plates.
“Mind you, it’s temporary work. You’ll need something to do when you return.”
“I could work here during those times,” said Dana.
“What makes you think I want you?” said Betsy, her mouth twitched in a tight smile.
“What makes you think you have a choice?” Dana retorted.
“Go on and serve those platters before the food gets cold and the customer complains.”
Grinning, Dana rushed out with the orders and placed them before the respective customers. Her mind raced with the possibilities of being able to see a new world and follow her own mind.