Memory Girl (19 page)

Over the next hour, I am swathed in soft, lovely fabrics. Lorelei and I are watched closely by her daughter, so our conversation stays polite, but we catch each other's glances, communicating in subtle gestures. Her daughter glares at me when I forget to call her Flavia. So I make a game out of saying her name with an exaggerated FLA-via or Fla-VEE-ah. It's very, very hard not to giggle.

I'm standing like a scarecrow with my arms stretched out and pins holding together the seams of a silky fabric when a man rushes in and declares a “stitching emergency!” I try not to laugh at the large rip in the rear of his pantons. Lorelei offers to help the man, but her daughter shakes her head.

“You lack the skills, Flavia. I'll attend to this and finish Milly later. Reschedule her for tomorrow.”

Lorelei's shoulders droop, but she doesn't complain. Her lips are tight, angry, as she yanks the pins from my fabric. I try to comfort her, but she won't talk to me. I know she's longing for memdenity so she'll never again be accused of lacking skills.

Outside, I sit on a brick planter, looking up and down the
paveway for Daisy. I lean forward with my elbows propped on my knees and my head resting on my palms. I think of Lorelei's sadness at not being allowed to help. Why couldn't her daughter give her a chance to show what she—not Flavia—can do? Lorelei is an amazing needle-weaver. She's saved me by repairing torn pantons so well the Instructors never suspected I'd damaged them. I believe in Lorelei's skill, but she doesn't believe in herself. If only I could convince her she doesn't need someone else's memories to be skilled.

I hear the whirl of a solar cart and look up expectantly. Not Daisy—another Family's cart. Daisy asked me to wait and I gave it a try, but waiting rips.

Time to explore
, I decide. I'll be back before Daisy returns.

City Central dwellings have wood plaques tacked over business entries to identify their services. Instrumental music sails through the window of a documenter office. Next door another building has large round windows and grand sculptures climbing up the steep brick steps.
Civility Keepers
, I read on the plaque over the door.

Across the road a door is wide open, inviting customers.
Fooders
reads the plaque. Cinnamon smells brings a memory from when I was age seven and going on my first lesson trip with Instructor Penny. The shop dazzled us with crates and crates full of sweet treats, like being inside a rainbow that had burst into candy pieces. Cakies, dough twists, sticklets, and sugar orbs shimmered like treasure. Charity Lawson, a sticklet-thin woman with freckles like cinnamon sprinkling her pasty face, invited me to choose one sweet for my own. I knew immediately what I wanted—a blueberry sugar cakie.

Now as I inhale a whiff of sugar, my mouth waters with
delicious memory. I would give anything for a cakie but have nothing to barter. After memdenity is complete and I'm accepted fully into the Cross Family, I'll receive a bartering allowance. But today I have nothing.

Charity Lawson has the cinnamon-freckled sameness of my long ago visit. I was half her height then, but now we stand at the same level.

“You're Milly—the Cross' youth,” she says with a smile that stretches wide across her face. “But why are you out alone?”

“I finished my fashionizing appointment early,” I say.

“I loved getting new coverings when I was Chosen by the Lawsons.”

I look at her surprised. “You were a youth?”

“I was one of the first. Since then my Family has welcomed three more youths. I've been Charity Lawson so long I don't even remember my born name.”

I stare at her, my mouth falling open. “How can you forget your name?”

“It started with an M, or was that an N?” She shrugs. “It doesn't matter.”

“But you had that name for fifteen years. You had Instructors and youth mates and many experiences.”

“I remember what's important.” She gestures around the candy shop. “I'm a Lawson with a wonderful husband, parents, two sisters, dozens of cousins, and five children. Now my Family has Digger too, and he's a fine young man.”

Digger? Oh, yeah. Ted wasn't a close mate, although I like him well enough. He has a disgusting habit of chewing with his mouth open.

“I'm glad for Digger,” I say politely. “He's a great match
for your Family.”

“He enjoys eating, perhaps more than store work, but he has an eagerness for learning.”

I sniff the sweet air and think enviously of Digger going to such a welcoming Family.

Charity Lawson smiles at me. “What would you like?”

“One of everything,” I tease, then shake my head. “But I can't today. I have nothing to barter.”

“Pick your favorite sweet as a gift from me,” she says, coming beside me and leading me to a case. I can hardly choose with so many delicious sweets, finally pointing to a blueberry sugar cakie.

As I walk slowly, savoring the flavor of blueberry, my thoughts circle from Nate to Rosemarie to Daisy and back to Nate. I'm not paying attention to where I'm headed, as if my feet have thoughts of their own. When I look up, I'm in front of the dismal brick building that towers over the paveway like a dark cloud. The sweetness in my mouth goes sour as I gaze at the jail. Its oppressive grayness chills my skin. Two Uniforms guard the entry, allowing no one in or out without permission.

Nate is in there
, I think. A tool—that's what Leader Cross called him. Not a human with feelings and fears, but an object to be used, then discarded. How long before his execution?

I don't know why he killed Leader Sarwald, but he didn't act alone. My Family was involved. I stare up at the brick building and long to see Nate. But I won't see him until his execution when I join my community to watch him die.

Sighing, I turn away from the jail.

I've only taken a few steps before the sound of a door opening causes me to whirl around. The Uniforms standing
guard slide aside and bow with respect as a woman leaves the jail. She lifts a corner of her shining gold and purple robe as she descends the stairs. Her hair is pulled back, her skin showing fine lines of age, and her expression is distant, as if her thoughts are far away.

What is Scientist Lila doing at the jail?

Lila shouldn't be here.

It was strange to see scientists at the Celebraze and Sunday Fair, but visiting the jail? This goes against all I've been taught about the separation of Families and scientists. The scientists' compound is a community of its own, with secrets and locked doors. Scientists take no active role in the community.

“Jennza, is that you?”

Lila Farrow's commanding voice stops me before I can move away. She smiles at me as if we're close friends. I can't smile back. Did she see Nate in the jail? Has he been tortured? Did he tell her about Leader Cross and the others who conspired to kill our Head Leader?

“Jennza, what a nice surprise.” Lila comes up beside me, putting a gloved hand over my arm. “But why are you out alone?”

“I had a fitting.” I glance toward the fashionizing shop, plucking at a corner of my faded white tunic. “Rosemarie says I lack suitable coverings.”

“You deserve new tunics and much more. I hope you're adjusting well to your Family.”

Her mouth twists when she says “Family,” and I wonder if she still disapproves of me being Chosen by the Cross Family. I don't understand her interest, but a burst of hope
rushes through me. Scientists are all-powerful, and if they make a decision, even if it's against rules, leaders must obey. If Scientist Lila asks again if I want to be in the Cross Family, I'll tell her the truth.

She points to my head. “The Cross Family scarf looks good on you.”

“I'm not so sure.” I hesitate, searching her face for a sign that she might still want me. “The black cross on red fabric isn't very … um … interesting.”

“It depends how you wear it.”

“I'd rather tie my hair with colored bands or wear it loose … is there a way to … to wear my hair however I choose?”

She arches her brows. “You'll have to ask Rosemarie. She knows more about fashions than I do.”

There is a closed door in her expression. She gave me one chance and I ripped it. There are no second chances.

“I'll ask her,” I say with a forced smile.

“I hear you are becoming a skillful house-crafter. You have a long, useful life ahead of you.” She looks back at the jail, and her lips purse as if she's thinking of something distasteful. “I'm glad for you, Jennza.”

I hide my disappointment with politeness. “Thank you. But I'm called Milly now.”

“Of course … Milly.” She studies me. “Where are you headed?”

“My ride hasn't come yet, so I'm taking a walk.”

“Rosemarie is late?” she asks. “She's usually more responsible.”

“Not Rosemarie. Daisy drove me.”

“Ah … Daisy. You may have a long wait,” Lila says with a
sly smile, so I know she's heard the rumors about Daisy too.

“I don't mind. I enjoy seeing more of City Center,” I say.

“What's to see? Dull boxy dwellings.”

“It's not dull to me. I like exploring.”

“As I do too. But I'd rather explore a natural vista of sky, trees, and sea. All the buildings here look alike.”

“Except the one you left.” I point at the jail.

She nods solemnly. “It's a grim place I'd rather stay far from.”

I raise my brows in question. “But you were inside.”

“Sometimes it's necessary to get involved with the community.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Yesterday we witnessed a shocking tragedy, but the Nocturne is behind bars, so there's no reason for you to be afraid.”

“I'm not.” At least not for myself.

“Of course not, fearless Jennza.” She touches my cheek softly. “When I first saw you on the stage at the Celebraze, I could tell you were strong-willed and independent. I think you would find my compound interesting, and someday I'd like to take you there for a walk along the sea cliff trails.”

“Really? Could you do that?” I ask, surprised because no one
ever
visits the scientists.

“I usually get what I want. But don't speak of this to anyone.” Her brown eyes brighten to yellow-gold as she brings her finger to her lips. “My fellow scientists didn't want me to come here, but I feel a responsibility to our community and wanted to offer my support on behalf of all scientists.”

Something in her tone, an urgency mixed with excitement, makes me ask, “Did you see the prisoner?”

She peers at me as if she can hear my thoughts, and I squirm uneasily under her golden gaze. I shouldn't have
asked a scientist something so rude. But nothing I've been taught about scientists fits the way Lila treats me.

“What do you know about the Nocturne?” Lila asks me.

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? At the playformance, when Grand Sarwald fell, everyone focused on helping him—except you. You were fixated on the Nocturne,” she says in a tone too casual for her barbed-wire words.

“I don't remember that—only my shock. I stared at Grand Sarwald too, until I was too sad to look anymore.”

“There's something more you aren't disclosing.”

I make a face of complete innocence, which I've perfected from childhood. Wide eyes, arched brows, and slack mouth. Even Instructors who know I did wrong doubted my guilt. But Lila peers intently into my face.

“I feel a connection with you, Jennza,” she says softly. “When we met, I sensed we were very much alike—adventurers, leaders, not followers. I know most Instructors were tough on you, not understanding your need to question rather than conform. I understand how that feels, and I will honor any secret you share with me.”

Her silky words spin a web around me, and I'm tempted to unload all my worries on her steady shoulders. Still, something holds me back.

“I don't have any secrets.”

“You can trust me,” she says. “Speak freely about whatever is on your mind. Are you troubled by Grand Sarwald's death?”

I glance away, sighing. “It doesn't seem real.”

“Sadly, it's too real.” Lila shakes her silvery head. “Grand Sarwald was a dear friend, and I'm sorry that I'll never speak
to him again. I already miss him.”

“But his memories were saved,” I say, wanting to comfort her. “He can be born again in a youth.”

“Perhaps ….” She bites her lip, then glances up at the sky. “Scientists believe the essence of a person is stored in memories.”

“Essence?” I repeat. “Is that the same as soul?”

She touches my cheek softly. “What does a youth like you know of soul?”

“Not much.” I shrug. “What is it?”

“No one really knows, not even scientists, although we may say we do. It all comes down to faith.” She sighs. “You would think a long life would mean knowing the meaning of everything, but time only gives us more time to ponder over questions.”