As soon as Mama hears the shouts on the road, she bolts the door with us inside and sits out in front of it with her shotgun. Weeds In The Garden Meghan Dunn We re not supposed to talk about Daddy. Mostly that s not a problem since there aren t too many people around for us to talk to, anyway us being me, my little sister Martha, and Mama. There s a tinker that sometimes comes by, but all he wants to talk about is whether a pot bottom mended is worth three eggs or five. Mama says three, the tinker says five, and they always settle on four. Martha asked me once why they couldn t just say it was four straight up and save themselves the argument. I didn t know the answer, so I told her not to ask dumb questions. Daddy never comes around when the tinker s here. We don t see him when the cattlemen drive the cows down the road to town. We don t see the cattlemen, either. As soon as Mama hears the shouts on the road, she bolts the door with us inside and sits out in front of it with her shotgun. She says the cattlemen are dangerous. Too much time on the road, and too much dust on their clothes. Sometimes Mr. Franklin from over on the other side of the hill will come by in his wagon and ask if he can borrow me to help on his farm. He only says as much as is necessary. These days that means he doesn t say much of anything, because I m old enough now to know what needs to be done. He always sends me home with a bag of grain or a Meghan Dunn 21
wheel of cheese. To be honest, I think Mr. Franklin is a little bit deaf. He never answers me when I speak to him. He smiles a lot, though. Only once did anyone ever come by asking questions. We were helping Mama pull weeds out of the garden. Mama was building a huge pile at her end of the clearing while Martha and I were trying to decide whether that bent over plant with all the extra leaves was a weed, or just a rutabaga that grew funny. The problem was, if we pulled it up and it was a rutabaga, then it wouldn t grow as big as it should. If we went around pulling up every funny looking plant, we wouldn t have anything left to eat come winter. I heard the sound of hooves on the road below and gave Martha a nudge. Hey, someone s coming! said Martha. Mama stood up, brushing her hands off on her skirt. She looked at me. How many? I could have told Mama myself, but Martha hears better, so I looked to her for the answer. Martha tilted her head, listening. Just one, she said to Mama. A man on a horse. And it s no one we know. I didn t need to be told to go get the shotgun. By the time the man made his way to the top of our road, we were all waiting for him. Me, Martha and Mama. His horse looked tired. It didn t make any kind of fuss when he reined it in, just dropped its head and stood where it was. The man leaned over the pommel of his saddle and looked at us. We stared right back at him. Dust from the road had caked his horse's legs and turned his pants tan. His saddlebags were packed for a long journey and his suit jacket looked travel worn. He tilted his hat back and smiled. Good afternoon, ma am, he said, politely. My name s Ted Grover. No need to be alarmed. We re conducting a government survey of the population. I ll just need to ask you some questions for the census. Government? Martha asked Mama. What government? I was wondering the same thing. As far as I knew, government was something that had existed before the war. Our government went and fought their government, and after that there were no more 22 on spec spring 2010
governments. Mama ignored Martha. There s a freshwater spring right over there, she told the man, pointing down the road with her shotgun. Get yourself and your horse cleaned up. You can ask your questions after you ve washed the dust off. Thank you, ma am. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mama turned to us. Martha, you don t speak unless you re spoken to. No questions, and you only give the bare minimum of answers. To me, she said, You haven t said anything yet, so don t. Far as that man knows, you re completely mute. Martha giggled. He can t say anything? Not a word. Mama frowned at Martha. And no teasing him or you ll give the whole game away. The last instruction Mama gave us, as we dragged the big table out from the house and put out pickles and cold meat, was And you mustn t talk about Daddy! Well, said Mr. Grover, as he tied his horse to our front gate. This is a fine looking spread. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a thin board with papers clipped to the front. He had changed his clothes, putting away the dusty ones and replacing them with blue pants and a plaid button-up shirt. The colors were brighter than I was used to seeing, and I wondered how long he d soaked the yarn in dye to get it that way. Or maybe they ve got different plants, wherever he came from. He had good manners, though. He wiped his shoes off before stepping into our front yard. You said you were an agent for the government, said Mama, as she loaded up a plate for him. Our country is getting back on her feet, said Mr. Grover, eyeing that food with anticipation. Law and order. A postal service. Even schools for the kids. Mama didn t look impressed. Folks interfering in other folks lives, you mean. Mr. Grover tucked in. More opportunities for everyone. Trade and industry. Soon, ma am, you ll look out there and see cars and trucks whizzing down that road, just like in the old days. Martha and I exchanged a glance. Mama never had much good to say about the old days, but we d always thought it sounded exciting. Meghan Dunn 23
And now it sounded like the old days might be coming back. I gave Martha a quick grin. We re doing fine without any of that, said Mama. Mr. Grover leaned back, still chewing, and looked around. I can see that. He nodded at the deer hide curing on the frame against the side of the house. Your husband kill that? I don t have a husband, said Mama. No word of a lie. She told us once that she and Daddy never had a chance to get married before the war. My, said Mr. Grover. You manage this place all by yourself? Yes, I do, said Mama. And that was almost true, because about the only thing Daddy does is keep us supplied in dead animals. Mr. Grover didn t look as if he believed her, but he didn t say anything. Instead he just slid his papers over and licked his fingers before picking up his pen. Primary homeowner, full name please. Sheila Lynn Dixon, said Mama. Your address for the purpose of our records will be 1 Dixon Road. Dixon Road being the route leading from Highway 41 up to your cabin. Wow, I thought. Just like that, we had a number, and a road named after us. It will be your responsibility, of course, to maintain Dixon Road. Why, began Martha. I kicked her. Oh, sorry, said Martha. No, that s perfectly all right. Mr. Grover smiled at her. What s your question? Martha glanced at Mama. Mama nodded, looking only a little exasperated. Why wouldn t we take care of our own road? asked Martha. You d be surprised how many people don t, said Mr. Grover. Now, you, little girl, what s your name? Martha Sheila Dixon, said Martha. Do you need me to spell any of that for you? Mr. Grover knew how to spell just fine. You seem intelligent enough, Martha, despite the dwarfism. How old are you? What? I looked at Mama. What did you say? asked Martha. 24 on spec spring 2010
He said dwarfism, said Mama, glaring at Mr. Grover. She s six and she s perfectly healthy. There s not a thing wrong with her mind. True, true and true. Most of the time I forget, but Martha s like the rutabaga plant. She was born looking perfect, but then she grew wrong. Her arms and legs never got as long as mine and Mama s. Mr. Grover didn t seem to notice Mama s frown. Still smiling, he reached across the table and patted Martha on the head. Well, that s absolutely marvelous. As a Category Two citizen, you ll be a wonderful aid in rebuilding our country. We need every bright mind. You don t need her, said Mama. I was surprised to notice that her plate was untouched. Unlike Mr. Grover and us, she wasn t eating anything. Ma am, it s not like before, said Mr. Grover, earnestly. We re more enlightened these days. There s no shame in being Category Two. Depending on her intelligence scores, your daughter may even qualify for a free university education. She could become an architect, a scientist, a doctor, anything she likes. Martha s eyes were getting wider and wider as Mr. Grover spoke. I could see the visions of flying machines and moon rockets painted in glowing colors in her mind. Not anything she likes, said Mama. Only what the government says she must like. Education is every child s right, said Mr. Grover, firmly. He turned and smiled at me. And what about you, son? You ve been awfully quiet this afternoon. What do they call you? Martha told him. She didn t offer to spell it out. My son doesn t speak, explained Mama. Now I can speak just fine except when I m told not to. So, what she was saying was true. Mr. Grover lost his smile. Now, that s too bad. He looks like a healthy strong lad. His pen hovered over his paper. Is this a congenital defect or psychological? Has he ever spoken? Yes, he used to speak, said Mama. He was very sick last winter. He lost his voice. I was impressed. Taken by themselves, every word Mama said was true. I used to speak, before Mr. Grover arrived and Mama told me to stay silent. I was very sick last winter, for about two weeks. And I did lose my voice for a couple of days. But the voice I lost wasn t the one I Meghan Dunn 25
use for talking to people. It was the one I use for crying and laughing, and calling the chickens when it s time to feed them in the morning. But I sure didn t lose my ability to speak, not even when the fever had me confused and thinking the bombs were falling again and burning everything. Everything Mama said was true, but put it all together and it painted a picture in Mr. Grover s mind that wasn t even close to being true. Mr. Grover smiled at me. I ll mark him down as a conditional Category One citizen. We re so pleased, said Mama in a way that meant she wasn t pleased at all. Oh, said Mr. Grover, this isn t a promise. But there s going to be a clinic coming through here in a few months. They can do some tests on the boy and if they confirm his Category One status then you ll be able to register him as your heir. He turned to me. You ll have to pick a good healthy girl, and give your mother many strong grandchildren. From where? I wondered. There weren t any girls around here, and I didn t want to go to town to find one. I d gone once with Mr. Franklin, and all the noise the people made gave me a headache. I d like a baby, said Martha. Oh, not you, sweetheart, said Mr. Grover, patting her again. Your job will be to rebuild our country. But I could build stuff and also have a baby. Martha looked around the table in confusion. Mama s had us, and she still has time to work. Martha s big on babies. She tries hard to keep them alive, and we really thought that maybe the last one Samuel might even grow up to be our new little brother. He made it almost a whole year, even with turning blue every time he cried. But last winter s fever killed him. Mr. Grover helped himself to a pickled onion. If a plant comes out of your garden deformed, do you use those seeds to grow new plants next year? No, said Martha, slowly. We use only the best seeds. Exactly, said Mr. Grover. And you children are the seeds of our new country. But don t feel bad. If your brother is allowed to have babies, then perhaps you can help raise them. Allowed? I thought. Who allows anyone to have babies? We re not plants. Looking at Mama s pinched face, I suddenly understood why she 26 on spec spring 2010
didn t want me to speak to the man. I didn t think being the only one who didn t use his voice to speak meant anything after all, I don t know very many people. I never thought it mattered. Now I wasn t so sure. This man, with his clipboard and his pen and his easy smile, had a category for everything. Martha was Category Two. He gave me Category One, but that s only because he thought a fever took my voice. I didn t know what category he d give me if he knew the truth. He wanted Martha to go away to school. He wanted to match me up with a girl I ve never met, just as if I was the big black bull that Mr. Franklin lets us breed with our three-horned cow so she ll keep making milk. I didn t know why exactly, but I knew I didn t want everything about me to end up on that piece of paper. It was one thing to live on a numbered road. It was another thing to be a number. Mr. Grover took one more pickle and then he got up from the table and started looking around our place. He counted our chickens, examined our cow, and pretty much poked his nose into everything we had. We couldn t hide the burying ground from him, so he counted all the little tombstones for babies that didn t live, and gave Mama a really fishy eye when she claimed those were all baby cattle. We didn t invite him to stay, and he left just as the sun was touching the western treetops. I was listening to the hooves of his horse going down Dixon road, when Mama drew in a sharp breath. Get in the house, she said. I turned. There was a man standing in the shadow of the trees and I knew by the look of him that it was Daddy. Now! snapped Mama. We didn t need to be told again. I grabbed Martha and pulled her into the house, bolting the door. Then we scrambled up into the loft, among the dried herbs and hanging onions. I opened the wooden shutters and together we looked out the small window. What are they saying? asked Martha. I told her to be patient. Daddy s not a big talker at the best of times and Mama hadn t said anything yet. Mama was holding her hands out from her sides, as if showing Daddy that she had no weapons. Who was that? asked Daddy, still in the shadow of the tree. I repeated his question to Martha. Meghan Dunn 27
Just the children, said Mama, calmly clearing the table. Beside me, Martha stuck her thumb into her mouth and began sucking it. Her thoughts were a little noisy, so I gave her a nudge and told her to quiet down. It s hard to hear when people are thinking right beside you. Daddy took a step forward, out from under the tree. I could see that the hair on his shoulders was standing on end and his lips were drawn back from his teeth. I saw a man. He wasn t looking for you, said Mama. He was a government man, said Daddy. He ran his thumb along the sharp curved nails of his fingers and I saw them gleam in the waning light, like silver knives. Mama moved back behind the table and began stacking the plates. He was asking questions about the children. It s nothing to do with you. Another step forward and Daddy was a little too close to the coop for the chickens comfort. Squawking, they rose up in a flock and huddled at the back against the wire fence. You can t let them find me, said Daddy. Up in the loft with me, Martha pulled her thumb out of her mouth and said, I don t think Daddy cares what happens to us. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. She s right. Daddy loves Mama, and that s all he loves. A lot of the time, I think he forgets Martha and me live here too. Mama put down the cup she was holding. He wasn t looking for you! But Daddy was already gone, vanished back into the trees. Mama sat down on the bench and put her head in her hands for a long time. After a few minutes, Martha wiggled out from under my arm. Do you think Daddy looks like a bear? I agreed he did. I think, said Martha, people like Mr. Grover might think Daddy was a weed in their garden. Sometimes, when Mama s teaching us our history, I like to imagine a world where the skies are packed with flying machines and no one worries about radioactive dust or cattlemen. But I know if Mama has her way, we ll live our whole lives right here. I ll go work for Mr. Franklin on his farm, and somehow we ll find a good man for Martha 28 on spec spring 2010
and she ll have all the babies she wants. And almost every single one of them will live. I think, said Martha again, Mr. Grover might meet a bear on the road tonight. Martha s never wrong. Meghan Dunn 29