The Special Ones (11 page)

Lucille nods her head. ‘Yes, of course.’

A few days later, she presents Felicity with a skirt. It’s very simple and slightly wonky, but Lucille has clearly spent a lot of time on it. She’s even embroidered little bluebirds around the hem.

Harry is full of praise for her work. ‘She’s changed so much,’ he marvels to me, later.

And it’s true, she has. But although I’d never say it to Harry, this new obedient, rule-following version makes me nervous. Unlike with the loud, angry girl who first arrived, I have no way of knowing what she’s thinking.

Although life in the house has settled down, there are still things on my mind. The heatwave, for instance. The garden is rapidly wilting and turning brown. The trees look limp and tired. Felicity mentions that it’s taking her a long time to pump water out of the well. Bushfire thoughts steal hours of sleep from me. What would we do if everything outside started to burn?

He
would rescue us,
I tell myself.
He’d open the gates and let us out. We are the Special Ones, after all.

But there’s always another voice in my head that persists in asking,
But what if he doesn’t?

Harry returns one evening with a look I recognise. Something is wrong. He doesn’t say anything while Felicity and Lucille are there, but when we are alone in the kitchen after dinner, he leans against the sink as I do the washing-up.

‘The main water tank is almost empty,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m not sure how much longer it’ll last, even if we’re very careful. I’m giving the animals water from the creek but that’s almost dry too.’

I’ve suspected this for a while now – the water Felicity brings in has been getting progressively murkier. But when I actually hear Harry say it, I feel a squeeze of panic. ‘What can we do?’

Harry breathes out slowly and, for once, he has no reassuring words. ‘We just have to hope it rains.’

I say nothing. We both know from experience that relying on hope is pointless.

That evening during chat, I find myself doing something I haven’t done for a long time – fantasising about asking the followers for assistance.
We are about to run out of water. Please help us.

Maybe someone will come to our rescue. But there’s no question that
he
would see what I’m writing, and I would end up being punished, or renewed. It’s strictly forbidden to complain to the followers, or ask for assistance.

I force the thoughts from my mind and busy myself answering a follower’s question about curing her insomnia –
you need to listen to your inner voice and then reassure it
– instead.

Another week passes with no rain. Then another. Every day I get up and look out the window to be faced, yet again, with a smooth, blue, cloudless sky, the air more stifling than the day before. One by one the chickens die of heat exhaustion, then – even worse – one of the goats. I salt the meat, wrap it in cloth and hang it in a dark cupboard to cure.

We stop using water for anything other than drinking and even that is strictly rationed. Everyone’s hair and skin takes on a greyish-brown tinge. My tongue develops a furry coating.

I dream of water – especially of the fountain in the park near where I used to live. In the dreams I am standing in the fountain’s base, my head tilted back to watch the shining ropes of water arc up into the air. Droplets tumble down towards my outstretched arms and opened mouth but disappear before they touch.

Harry stops whistling, but works just as hard as ever. ‘The rain will come,’ he promises every time he catches me staring out the window at the sky. ‘Don’t fret.’

We have another sharing night, and this time Felicity manages to drop to the floor first, for the heinous crime of keeping a tomato all to herself one day. ‘I was thirsty,’ she admits.

My heart aches for her. But she seems pleased. ‘This time you don’t get punished,’ she whispers to Harry.

When she spins, the arrow lands on
knife
.

Harry shakes his head. ‘No. Spin it again.’

It lands on
knife
again.

‘Let me do it,’ says Harry, taking the spinner. The result is the same. Felicity protests but Harry insists on trying once more.
Knife.

‘Let her receive her punishment!’ says Lucille, exasperated. ‘It’s clearly what
he
wants!’

Felicity places her small hand on Harry’s arm. ‘It will be okay.’

I get up and go to the chest in the parlour, unwrapping the punishment knife from its dark square of velvet. Its handle is carved from bone and its hooked blade gleams.

Felicity’s hand trembles, just a little, as she takes the knife from me. ‘Not too hard,’ I whisper. ‘It doesn’t have to be hard.’

Harry seems frozen, his eyes fixed on Felicity. She lays the knife across both her palms and then squeezes her fingers tightly around it. Her eyes shut and a moment later there’s a trickle of blood from each side of her clenched fists. The blood drips onto the kitchen floor.

Two minutes isn’t even long enough to boil an egg. But right now, it feels like an eternity.

The moment I’ve mentally counted to 120, I say, ‘Time’s up, Felicity. Let go now.’

Her hands are a mess of dark blood but her face is radiant. ‘Now it will rain,’ she says. ‘I’ve fixed it.’

The certainty in her voice makes me want to cry.

I dream about being cornered by a large dog, growling and baring its teeth at me. As it’s about to bite, I see that it has the face of a man – someone I’ve never seen but somehow recognise.

Then there’s a loud crack, and I wake just as the room is illuminated by a flash of light.

At first I don’t dare to believe it.
A storm?

There’s a knock on my door. Harry. ‘Esther! Come out and look at the rain!’

‘But we’re not allowed to leave our rooms during the night –’

‘It’s okay,’ says Harry. ‘These are definitely special circumstances.’

I pull on my robe and rush to the kitchen just as the rain starts to fall, drumming on the verandah roof. Harry is already there and Lucille and Felicity join us a moment later. Together we gather around the window and stare out.

‘I knew the cut would work,’ says Felicity triumphantly, clasping her bandaged hand against her chest. ‘I just
knew
it.’ She turns to me, her face bright with a sudden idea. ‘Can I go outside and run in the rain? I’m so hot and sticky.’

‘Yes,’ I say quickly, before I can think of a reason why she shouldn’t.

Lucille shakes her head disapprovingly. ‘You shouldn’t let her do that.’

‘Felicity shows our followers how to take a childlike joy in the world,’ I point out. ‘And what could be more joyful right now than playing in the rain?’

‘It’s not appropriate behaviour for a Special One,’ says Lucille.

‘I disagree,’ says Harry, suddenly. There’s a smile in his voice. ‘Come on, Felicity. Let’s go together.’ He hooks an arm through hers and they head outside.

‘Well, don’t expect me to help if you ruin your clothes,’ Lucille calls haughtily after them.

But I doubt they even hear her. The rain drowns out every sound.

I press my nose against the windowpane and watch them in the moonlight – Harry, so tall and broad, and Felicity’s small frame. Both of them are completely drenched. They dash around crazily, spinning and leaping and whooping.

‘Dancing is forbidden,’ Lucille states.

‘They’re not dancing,’ I say, although I’m not really sure about that. ‘You should go out there too. Cool down and wash off some of the dust.’

‘I’m not dusty,’ says Lucille indignantly, but I am sure I catch longing in her voice. ‘I will wait for the morning and wash in the proper way.’

I go outside and stand right at the edge of the verandah – the limit of Esther’s territory – enjoying the cool breeze. The wind blows some of the rain in my direction, peppering my skin. The lightning continues to flash, the thunder to boom.

Harry turns towards me, his eyes focused on a point just above my head, a broad grin on his face. He beckons. I laugh, shaking my head. He’s teasing, of course. He knows as well as I do that Esther is not allowed to leave the house. But it’s a beautiful idea, twirling in the rain with Harry.

‘The sky looks so beautiful!’ cries Felicity, her face turned upwards.

‘I used to love lying outside, looking at the night sky,’ I tell her, though I shouldn’t talk about before. Still, I doubt
he
could hear me over the sound of the storm. ‘It seems to go on forever, doesn’t it?’

When I glance back at Harry, he’s stopped moving. I’m surprised by how sad he suddenly looks. But a moment later, Felicity calls to him and then he’s smiling again, swinging her around.

I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for a month and have just let it go. I picture the tank and the dam steadily filling with water, up and up and up.

When Harry and Felicity finally come back inside, I find towels for them and then the three of us go to the kitchen window again, somehow unable to drag ourselves away from the sight of so much water. Lucille stands a little way behind, periodically reminding us that it’s time we all went to bed, that we’ll be exhausted in the morning.

I know she’s right, but I stay anyway. The rain shows no sign of stopping – if anything, it’s getting heavier. I’m glad. I hope it rains forever.

There’s a sudden clap of thunder so loud that the house shudders and Felicity yelps. ‘Hmm,’ I say thoughtfully. ‘That was a sign.’

Felicity looks at me, eyes wide. ‘A sign of what?’

‘A sign that you should go to bed, young lady!’

Felicity protests, but I can tell she’s actually glad to go. She’s almost tripping over from tiredness and she knows as well as I do that there will be no sleeping in.

‘Don’t be scared by the storm,’ I say as I tuck her under the covers, being careful not to touch her.

‘I’m not,’ she says, yawning. ‘This is my storm. I made it happen.’

In the morning the air is fresh and cool. There’s a small puddle of rainwater on my floor, shining like silver. I get up and look out at the garden, marvelling at how sparkling and clean everything looks. The leaves of the eucalyptus trees gleam. Even the old factory tower on the horizon looks new, its lettering more distinct than usual.

There’s a magpie warbling somewhere nearby and I suddenly feel a rush of something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Joy
.

Everyone is in a good mood over breakfast, and Felicity skips off happily to the farm with Harry, although she must still be very sleepy. I tidy up and put on a loaf of bread for lunch (the guiding word is
fresh
).

I’m just settling down to help Lucille put darts into the bodice of the dress she’s making, when I catch sight of Felicity hurrying up from the farm. She does this occasionally. Sometimes she’s forgotten something, and sometimes there’s good or exciting news to report – newly hatched chicks, for instance. But it’s clear from her face that the news she’s bringing today is neither good nor exciting.

Harry
, I think instantly, my stomach dropping. I’m already at the door when Felicity bursts through, straight into the parlour.

‘What’s wrong?’ My throat constricts.

At first Felicity is too breathless to speak. She holds out something in the palm of her hand. Two small peaches, green and hard. ‘The peach tree was struck by lightning last night!’ she blurts, between gasps. ‘It’s split in half. Right down the middle!’