Filaria - Brent Hayward [38]
“Sweet pea.” Her face was sad. “Come here, give me a hug.”
“Why are we leaving? And why are we dressed like this? Father would not even . . .”
The words died in her mouth: her mother also wore a soiled shift, crude and patched. But her hair, once luxurious, long and red, had been cut unevenly, hacked off, as if by a knife. Heart in her mouth, Deidre looked at Miranda — who did not meet her gaze — and back at her mother.
Voluminia hissed, “We all look ridiculous.”
“Stupid,” Estelle said. “This is all so stupid.”
“Girls, don’t make this harder than it is. We have to be strong. For each other.”
Deidre sat down on the hard plank next to Miranda. The market cart rocked suddenly; Lady had taken her place on the driver’s bench. Deidre saw the servant’s broad back through the aperture of the cover. The world seemed to buzz with heat. She could not think straight. Now Lady peered over her shoulder, squinting, her upper lip pulled back over her great teeth as if this homely expression might help her see within the gloom of the cart. “Ready, ma’am?”
“We are,” mother said.
The engine started with a rumble. Backfiring loudly, backfiring again, the cart went noisily into gear and lurched forward. Gravel spat out from behind. Lady shifted as if she had already lost control or had forgotten how to drive altogether; at the wheel, the servant always gave this impression.
So they left the courtyard. Simple as that. Drove right through the gates. Deidre looked out the back but her father was not watching. He was nowhere to be seen.
Elegia’s trees, the path, her beloved estate: all fell behind.
“We’re going to stay in a seasonal residence,” mother said. “One your father and I used to stay in, when we first met.”
Across from Deidre, Voluminia pursed her lips, showing her disdain; Estelle, turning her head away, muttered something unclear.
Elegia looked like a doll’s house. And the huge tent-like structure covering the mouth of the lift shaft, descending to the plantations and beyond, also appeared, to Deidre, as a child’s toy.
Footmen pushed the receding gates shut. They stood in miniature to watch the cart dwindle.
“Before he was elected to the position of Orchard Keeper, your father worked in the private sector. We lived in a place called Timberline. He was so handsome, with eyes like yours, Miranda, and hair the same colour as yours, Vole.” Their mother pushed herself back until she leaned against the rear of the driver’s bench. A breeze came through the cart but it was still muggy and close underneath the chamois. Over her mother’s right shoulder, Lady fought the wheel. The cart rumbled on.
“He used to work very long days, interpreting research for his supervisor. A project trying to improve the general labourer, biological tweaks to a digging model. I was attending Timberline Academy. I was only nineteen. We didn’t get to see much of each other. I worked at the library on weekends and sometimes he would be coming in and I would be going out — ”
“Mother,” Deidre interrupted. “Is there going to be another war? Won’t you at least answer me? Is that why we’re being taken from Elegia?”
Her mother’s nostalgic smile faded. Looking at her four daughters, almost radiating the concern she obviously felt, her body appeared to shrink, and Deidre regretted her question. When her mother finally did respond, it was in a quieter voice. She said she hoped war would never scar the world again but that some people and the machines they had made were mean and hateful, and would humanity never be able to live together, in peace, in a million years? Would they never learn how to do that?
Voluminia kicked Deidre when their mother lowered her head to wipe covertly at the corners of her eyes. Deidre felt awful. She wished she had heard the end of the story. She wished she had let her mother talk.
Over the next hour, the mood did manage to brighten