The Book of the Unnamed Midwife (26 page)

Honus laid the plate reverently in his lap and folded his arms. Jodi folded hers as well. Dusty watched, waiting.

“Dear Heavenly Father, thank you so much.” Honus burst into tears. He struggled to get a hold of himself. “You know what’s in my heart. I am so grateful at this moment, for everything, for every breath. Thank you. Amen.”

He tore into the food like he hadn’t eaten well in weeks. Looking at the sunken parts of his face, the prominent bones in his hands, Dusty thought maybe he hadn’t.

“Drink plenty, go slow. Your body will get used to it.”

 
He drank, blinking.

They sat with him in silence while they ate. Jodi stared at him, her eyes shining with happiness and the deep satisfaction of having been proved right. Dusty found it impossible to look at anything but the fire. It was too intimate, too odd, and she found herself deeply uncomfortable being three where once were two. He didn’t want to talk about where he had been and so there wasn’t anything to talk about.

Dusty took his dishes to the kitchen and washed them. Jodi led Honus to the back of the house where the bedrooms were located, three along a line with a bathroom at the end. She could hear them whispering on the other side and waited for the sound of a closing door. She followed them after a minute, hoping suddenly that she didn’t have to hear them fucking before she fell asleep. She hoped it with an emotion that she couldn’t identify.

She reached her bedroom door and stopped. Jodi had gone into the bedroom she had claimed, the one that had previously belonged to a teenage girl in the before time. Dusty’s bedroom stood open, the bed was made and a candle had been lit for her. The third bedroom door was closed. Neither of them had used this one; the bed sagged in the middle and they thought it had belonged to an older family member because of its fussy quality. Dusty put her ear to the door and heard Honus moving around in there, probably undressing for bed. She jerked away from it and looked back to Jodi’s room. She was in there, humming. Dusty looked back and forth between the two, puzzled.

Jodi was ecstatic to see him. Why didn’t she take him to bed with her?

Mystified, Dusty went to bed.

* * * * *

The rhythm of days started to reassert itself. Honus took more than his share of chores and offered to go out raiding on his own. Jodi resisted this at first, afraid to let him out of her sight. He won her over with his first trip, taking the snowmobile and returning in less than half the time a walk would have taken, bringing with him extra gasoline, candles, and cans of chocolate syrup. He was excited to observe Jodi’s check-ups and delighted in feeling the baby move and kick. Their joy in anticipation was amplified when they came together, and Dusty couldn’t imagine trying to tell them not to get their hopes up.

She started to think of reasons why their baby might make it. The Huntsville ward had been isolated from the disease, and maybe Jodi had never really been exposed. Maybe the constant cold made it difficult for the virus to multiply or move. Maybe the two of them were both naturally immune and could pass on that immunity. She felt like a medieval doctor, working without germ theory or any understanding of immunity. She was reasoning about this disease with hardly any understanding of its virulence or nature. Hope was with her; it would not go away.

They did the same for themselves and each other, but their frame of reference was not epidemiology.

“But if the original covenant was damaged, and we’re married in the restored covenant, then the baby should be fine.”

“That is what the prophet said. But none of the sisters in Huntsville showed any sign while I was there.” Jodi’s thin, fine eyebrows rushed together.

Honus couldn’t stop smiling. “I know. But they’re older, and they might not have been… very intimate all the time.”

Jodi blushed.

Kill me.

“Anyway, we did everything right. We waited until we were married, we were joined together by the bishop, our baby will be born in covenant. We’re not sinless, but we’re faithful and obedient. This can’t go on forever. Healthy adults can have healthy babies. We might be among the first, but we won’t be the last.” He nodded to himself, satisfied. Sure.

They wove this narrative of surety to themselves every time either one of them felt doubt. They returned to it over and over. Their faith was the touchstone and they checked again and again to ensure that their gold was the real thing. Dusty was always quiet during this exchange, never sure what to say. Their jargon was thick.

Dusty was grateful to have someone new to talk to. It felt terrible to admit it, but she was tired of Jodi. Honus was smarter than his wife. He was funny and even quick sometimes, and could see the solution to a problem steps ahead of Jodi and only a few behind Dusty. He was terribly interested in how Jodi had come to Utah and she told the story again, but kept a few things back.

When she came to the end of it she asked, “So what happened in Colorado?”

Honus looked down at his straight razor where it lay against the strop in his lap. “I don’t… I’m not sure I can tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I… we saw some terrible things. And I lost my companion. I came back without him. I just… I don’t know what would be gained by telling it. It would only upset Jodi.”

Jodi was napping in her bedroom.

“So just tell me. I won’t repeat it to her. I’m very curious, though. I know conditions are rough out there. You know what I went through-“

“It wasn’t like that!” His cheeks colored and she could see his pulse throbbing in his long, thin neck. “It was like… Heart of Darkness. It was like being on another planet. I can’t even describe it.”

“Do you keep a diary?”

He looked up at her. “Why would you ask me that?”

She shrugged. “I do. I always have, but lately it’s felt even more important. I’m processing all this, the changes in the world, everything. It’s like a mental health exercise.”

Honus sighed. “Did you know missionaries are required to keep a diary?”

“No, I didn’t. So did you keep one?”

“I did. It’s in the saddlebags on the snowmobile. I don’t ever want my son to read it. Every night I think of burning it.”

Quick, without a thought. “Give it to me.”

“What?”

She was thinking fast, knowing she had to bring him over to the idea before he had a chance to think twice. “It’s the story of a missionary working in a field that no one has ever faced. It should be kept for… for whoever is left to read it.”

I’m greedy for it. I want the intimacy of someone’s whole thoughts. I want to get past his gatekeeper.

He didn’t speak for a second. “I can’t. I just can’t. I’m too ashamed of it. I’m sorry.” He picked up the blade and the strop. He walked back into his room and shut the door.

She sat motionless for a long time. When she thought it had been long enough, she crept to the door.

Turning the latch with agonizing slowness, she opened the door as silently as she could. Cold wind blasted her in the face. She put one of Honus’ shoes in front of the door to hold it open and keep it from swinging against the wall if the wind suddenly gusted.

Glancing back over her shoulder, she picked her way down to the snowmobile. The wind cut through her clothes; she hadn’t stopped to bundle up. With freezing hands, she pulled open Honus’ saddlebags. She pawed through pairs of jeans and a stack of juice boxes. Tucked against the side of the leather, she found one slim linen-covered journal. It was tied shut with a ribbon. Hastily, she closed the bag and dashed back toward the warm yellow glow of the open door.

Closing the door as slowly and quietly as she had opened it, she held her prize at her thigh, ready to hide it if necessary. Sitting down with it, she pulled at the knot in the ribbon. It yielded softly and the deed was done. She held Honus’ diary in her hands, and she could not have stopped herself if she tried.

THE BOOK OF HONUS OBERMEYER

AS SCRIBED BY THE UNNAMED MIDWIFE

Middle of the night, middle of the winter

Shouldn’t be doing this, but I have to know. Skipped most of the early travel. They walked and rode bikes for a long time through Utah, they didn’t see anybody. What I wanted to get down was this story. Starts about a month in.

Day 34

Elder Langdon and I arrived in Grand Junction late last night. As we were advised, we are trying to find the temple in Denver but I doubt if we will ever reach that place. The desolation of the road that brought us here is very discouraging. We try to keep fear at bay, to derive strength from the Lord, but our hearts are heavy.

We have seen no live persons. The dead lay in every building, in parked cars, just everywhere. Some of them killed themselves or each other, wasting the gift of life given to them by Heavenly Father. Even in times of such trial, it’s still a gift. I’ve stopped crying. But I am troubled. I fervently hope that Colorado holds more promise than we found in Utah outside of Huntsville. I pray that we find people to bring home with us to enrich our ward.

Day 35

We found the stake center here in Grand Junction, but it’s utterly deserted. We fed ourselves from the storehouse and spent the night in the chapel. It is bitterly cold here, especially at night. We studied scriptures by candlelight and Elder Langdon led us in a song. He hasn’t spoken to me much in the last few days, and this is turning into a very lonely mission. He woke in the middle of the night crying. I hadn’t fallen asleep. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he missed his mother.

I miss mine, too.

Day 37

Staying in a ruined Wal-Mart tonight, somewhere along the highway. We saw the sign and Elder Langdon just headed for it without even a word. I knew it would be emptied inside and I was right. It must have been the first place people looked.

It was like a war zone inside. What hadn’t been looted was destroyed. Some sections were cleaned out. There were no bikes, no camping equipment, and no knives. Only the most impractical shoes were left. The grocery section smelled like rot and we had to content ourselves with cookies and crackers. Elder Langdon did not want to read scriptures or talk at all tonight. He slept on a pallet of dog food. When I knew he was asleep, I prayed for him.

Day 40

I don’t know how to talk to Elder Langdon about his indiscretion. I’m embarrassed to bring it up. It’s not like I’ve never done it. It’s much harder now that I’m married and I know what the blessings of the covenant are like. I’m tempted every day, but it’s for her sake that I keep myself pure. I guess he doesn’t have anyone to feel that way about, and he’s still a virgin. I feel pity for him. Maybe if I can approach it in sympathy rather than in judgment, he’ll understand.