26 Revolutionaries

Lily

 

A door creaked somewhere behind us and we flew around. We hadn ’ t noticed a section of the fence was a hinged gate. A woman with wisps of white in the front of otherwise dark hair stood a meter or so away. She must have seen Arturo ’ s light probing her property.

“ May I help you? ” she asked.

“Don ’ t call the police! ” Arturo pleaded. It wouldn ’ t have been my first response .

The woman smiled slightly, her tired face kind and gentle. “ No,” she answered, “ I wasn ’ t planning to. ” She wore a large, long-sleeved shirt covering a scant nightgown.

“ Um, is this your place? ” I asked, trying to remember the protocol.

“ Yes, ” she said, watching us intently, “ this one here, with the flowers on the fence. ” She patted the fence as she spoke.

“ Oh, um, well, do you know where Amber Jensen lives? ” I’ d practiced it so many times, not wanting to say the wrong name when the time came.

“ In fact, ” she said, “ I do. Won ’ t you come in for a rest? My name is Sara Jane. ”

Sara Jane, thin as a whisper and an indeterminate age, walked us through a spartan living room where large fans loudly circulated the midnight air. We ended up seated at the kitchen table. From a tiny refrigerator she drew a polka-dotted glass pitcher.

“ Tea? ”

“ Yes, please, ” I answered as Arturo nodded.

The three of us sat in silence. Arturo and I drank the cooling beverage, my tiredness weighing on me like a lead suit. Before I could figure out what to say, a loud and rude yawn escaped, contorting my face as it ripped from me.

Arturo ’ s eyes, wide in astonishment and embarrassment, met mine.

“ Oh my, ” Sara Jane said simply. “ I guess whatever we need to say can wait until morning. Let me get your rooms ready. ” S he whisked away, leaving us alone . Not gone long, she returned with an armload of towels.

“ Follow me. ”

We obeyed, following her through the modest house.

“ Y ou get the guest room, ” she said to me as she stopped in a doorway. “ Arturo, you will sleep in my son ’ s former room . ” S he pointed to a door down the short hall and to the left. “ This is the bathroom, ” she said, motioning across from my room. “ There ’ s only one, so be conscientious. ” S ara Jane placed towel s and washcloths in each of our arms. “ I’ m going back to bed. See you in the morning. Sleep tight. ”

With that, she entered a room next to mine and gently closed the door. Arturo and I looked at each other. I opened my mouth to speak, but he put his finger to my lips. “ Ma ñ ana ,” he said. Which, by now I had learned, meant both “ tomorrow ” and “ morning.” I nodded and shuffled into my room.

 

Though I had intended to wash up and brush my teeth, somehow I ’ d fallen asleep before making it to the bathroom. L ight streaming into my room woke me . There I was, atop the bed, still in the clothes I ’ d worn the day before. It took me a moment to remember where I was and how I ’ d gotten there. Voices. Laughter. A woman, and a man—Arturo. I got up and walked to the door, stuck my head out and peered around. The voices came from the kitchen.

I jetted across the hall into the bathroom and nearly cried out when I saw my reflection in the mirror. What a fright! My hair had dried into thick ropes from swimming, and my face had an odd-shaped sunburn where the helmet and sunglasses had been. My clothes were filthy and wrinkled. In the reflection, I spied the shower stall behind me and instantly recalled the towels Sara Jane had given us. Mine was pink and Arturo ’ s dark blue. His towel hung wet and used on the towel rack, and a fresh scent still clung to the air. I returned to my room, grabbed the towel and washcloth, locked myself in the small bathroom, stripped, and stood in the shower, warm water pelting and caressing my skin.

Being on the road was teaching me about the small pleasures in life we take for granted— like hot showers.

 

“ Good morning. ” Sara Jane greeted me cheerfully, yet measured, as I stepped into the kitchen. Arturo turned, beaming.

“ Good morning, ” I answered. “ Thank you very much for everything. ”

“ You ’ re welcome. ”

By then I had walked over and pulled out a chair , joining them at the table . I glanced at the empty plate in front of Arturo, wondering what he ’ d eaten and feeling a pang of hunger.

“ Arturo tells me you ’ ve come from Florida. ”

“ Yes. ” I looked at Arturo, suspicious and fearful of what he may have told Sara Jane . They read my apprehension.

“ It ’s okay,” she said. “ He hasn ’ t told me much. He said it was up to you, and I respect that. As I ’ ve told him, you can be assured I ’ m a friend. And I don ’ t work for GRIM, so you can stay here as long as you like. I am fully set up to help those in the Movement. And though I ’ m a Seed Saver in name, I don ’ t grow or save seeds. Arturo did tell me that you hadn ’ t been given my whereabouts, that you stumbled upon me. I ’ d say you are very lucky. ”

“ Gracias a Dios ,” Arturo whispered to no one in particular.

“ So how can I help you ? Obviously you ’r e part of the Movement if you asked about Amber Jensen. ”

“ Yes. Um . . . ” I wasn ’ t sure where to start. “ Do you know a lot of Seed Savers? ”

“ Yes, ” she answered. “ As I said, this is a safe house for those who need it. ”

“ Do you know—” I wanted to ask about Aaron and Meg but was still plagued by doubt. Darn that Rose, what had her betrayal cost my ability to trust? I tried again. “ Can you give me some names of people you know? ”

“ There are so many . . . where would I start? ”

“ How about those in Florida? ” Arturo suggested.

She shrugged her shoulders and started reciting names. On and on she spoke, name after name. I was beginning to understand the futility of my request and also the enormity of the Movement. And then there it was: Aaron and Meg.

“ Stop! What did you just say? ”

“ Bob White? ”

“ No, no, before that. ”

She paused and thought. “ Aaron and Meg Steadman? ”

“ Yes! ” Arturo and I shouted together.

“ Oh yes, Aaron and Meg. We go back a long ways. You met them? Aren ’ t they still farming with GRIM? ”

We nodded.

“ And yet they hosted you? ” she asked incredulously. “ I’ m shocked. That ’ s pretty risky given the situation down there lately. ”

“ What situation? ”
“ How much do you know about the history of Seed Savers? ”
“ A lot, I guess. ”

“ So you know the major names of the Movement—the Gardeners, O ’Shea, Cruz?”

“James Gardener . . . I’ ve heard of him. ” My voice came out small.

She was studying me hard. “ Yes, and Junko. People often forget about Junko, but she was crucial. ”

I nodded.

“ James had been imprisoned in Cuba but recently escaped, so the government has had Florida under extra surveillance. They think he might be there or at least have passed through. So I ’ m surprised Aaron and Meg would take in revolutionaries. ”

“ But we aren ’t —” Revolutionaries?