Q APPELLE, MARTYRS OF JACOB
You could hear the 'crunch' of the SmartPhone as the crew-cabbed, oversized pickup pulled out from the Hilton, and rolled over it. I'd never been in such a huge truck as this, the large tires and having to climb up to the cab. The woman driving it was obviously proud of her expensive 'wheels', I got the whole description from her.
In Gilead, such a monster-truck could have only been owned by the State. Here in Alberta, even women drove these as a matter of course!
"The government, they confiscated our old one during the Freedom Convoy in Ottawa. I loved that truck. Typical government, they just stole it. So we bought this one. We were the post peaceful protest Canada has ever seen, and they stole our stuff. Arrested our leadership."
I took a peek at the two strapping, younger man behind me in the back, which she said were her boys. I then asked, "Where are we going?"
"Honey, we're your rescue party. You're going to our place, in the foothills. Our ranch. I think you'll like it."
I asked, "Ranch?"
"Well," she said, "our compound. We have a few acres. You're our honoured guest. More than 100 stay there now, we have a lot of mouths to feed. But you, you're an original, we've never had that. Q Appelle told us about you, so we're taking you home. To what we now call the Martyrs of Jacob ranch."
IT HAD FALLEN APART
The hairdresser had just left my room at the Hilton, and I had a good stretch of time just to relax. There was a cool breeze outside, so I planned to leave a little early for the Consulate and walk - no need for a taxi just for two blocks. I would stop in one of the clothing stores and make a note of what I'd need.
At that there was a noise. A ringing noise of some kind. I picked up the SmartPhone and looked at it. It was calm, no indication of activity. The ringing went again. I looked over to the sidetable beside the bed, and one of the boxes there was flashing a light, flashes in tune with the ringing. Right. My telephone, a hard-wired one. The one I called out for room-service on. In my time in Calgary here in my room, no one had ever called me on it.
So I picked it up, "Hello, Naomi Putnam speaking."
"Hey, bitch!" came the reply, obviously that nutcase, Aunt Janine. Ok, ok, I had better remember my Christian manners, after-all she had been the lady who'd rescued me from the Colonies. I'd never asked her 'how' that had been accomplished, but no matter.
Like I've written, I'm not very good at putting my more difficult moments onto paper. Once again, I fear any reader of this might think I always had it together. I did not.
"Hey, bitch, you still there?" she demanded.
Gathering my thoughts, I said, "Aunt Janine, I've never properly thanked you for saving my life. Where are you?"
She said, "I'm not an Aunt, not any more. I'm in Seattle waiting for a flight to Hawai'i." I was in awe of that girl, she was certainly determined! "But I'm pissed, pissed at you."
"Why?" I said defensively. "I haven't done anything."
"I know! That's the point. You're supposed to be looking for Charlotte, you ungrateful bitch."
I steadied my voice, said, "Janine, I've got both the Canadians as well as American consulate people jumping through hoops for…. for Charlotte." I pondered out-loud, "What have you heard? I mean, isn't Seattle still in the Northwest District? Why are you even safe?"
She filled me in, "I've just come down from Vancouver, they have beaches there. Who knew? No luck with Caleb. There's no sunscreen these days, so I'm burnt to a crisp from wandering beaches in California and Oregon. Militias loyal to Fairbanks control the Northwest District here all the way to the Rockies, as well as to the Canadian border. Me, I'm now off to Hawai'i, a friend told me that Kaua'i has a beautiful beach on it's north shore. Lots of kids."
I did not know what to say. So I said, "You've been busy! Why are you not an Aunt anymore."
"It was the brown robe. I got rid of it, too hot anyway on the sand." She paused, seemingly talking to someone at her end. She resumed, "but I'm pissed, Naomi. I read what you had told that Canadian reporter. You're living the life of an entitled bitch up there. A bitch-Wife."
"Isn't that what you wanted!?"
"No! Not if you're not looking for Charlotte. You keep your shit, together, bitch." She then said that all it would take would be 'one call to June Osborne'…. a reference that I 'got'.
So - I had a new agenda item for Ms. Waeger-Monster. Security. Twenty-four seven. Gilead's enemies seemed to have free rein here in Canada.
CALGARY CONSULATE
I found myself shouting. See, I was not keeping it together. I shouted, "Mark Tuello is not returning my calls! This is unacceptable."
Waeger-Monster said, "with all due respect, Mrs. Putnam, you did yourself no favours talking to The Herald."
"Oh, I see," I accused, "Gilead is accused of lacking a free press, and you forbid me from talking to one here in Canada. Hypocrisy much?"
She answered, "I am so done with your games." She then laughed, "I'm at the point where I can do both sides of this conversation. Let me guess, you're about to want to speak to the Ambassador!"
I looked straight at her, "Well? Am I am security asset, or aren't I?"
She said, "I'll make you a deal. Technically you're not one of mine, you're not strictly an 'American' refugee. You certainly know how to play both sides of the fence." She paused, "so, here's the deal. Mr. Tuello has canceled tomorrow. Says, when you're ready to start answering his questions, you can call him. Then and only then we'll put together for you what we have about Angela. Deal?"
I said, "I've been an open book with you people!"
She laughed, "No you haven't! You're an entitled elitist! You've worked the seams like a pro!"
"So tell me," I said calming myself, "tell me what you have about Angela, and I'll talk with Mr. Tuello." I emphasized, "Like. I. Always. Do."
"Short answer?" she said. "The short answer is that you are a hermit state in Gilead. No one knows where one, lone child is. My bet is that none of your Chanceries, none of your Red Centres, none of your Angels or Guardians even know. She's one child in a state which hates children."
"That's enough!" I yelled. "You know nothing of Gilead." I stood up. "I'm leaving. Mr Tuello, he knows where to find me."
The taxi dropped me off at the hotel. On the way to the elevator, I passed the front desk. Seeing me, the clerk waved me over.
"Yes," I said.
"Mrs. Putnam, my apologies. I've just heard from the Consulate. The end of the month is coming up. You won't be covered after that. My sincere apologies." She paused. "Also, your expenses are now frozen. You'll still have two meals a day in the restaurant until the end, but they will be proscribed. I am so sorry to have to tell you this."
Later, it turned out that not even Waeger-Monster was taking my calls. When I asked, 'where am I going to go?' the clerk said, "The armouries south of town are still in business." Was Tuello really not coming out to Calgary, or had they just lied to me?
MARTYRS OF JACOB
A few acres!? This ranch was huge! Americans used to brag about Texas, and how big it was. We'd passed the property's gate twenty minutes ago, and were still driving. The woman pointed out all the scenic points on this 'ranch', I had trouble keeping up. I mean, this was Canada, and those AR-15s held by the men back at the gate seemed so un-Canadian!
Then over a rise, and back down into a valley with dozens of buildings below. It looked like a small town. The woman said, "There it is, our humble abode."
Driving up to the main house about 25 people were waiting on its stairs, and on a wrap-around veranda. We pulled up, one of the boys in the back jumped out, opened my door and offered me his hand. At that, the people at the house started to applaud.
I felt immediately at home. Except it did not last long.
"Mrs. Putnam," the driver woman said, "my daughter will take you inside. She'll take you to your room and see to your needs.
Inside, the daughter took me to the base of some rather ornate stairs. Beside the stairs, though, was a long hallway which I guessed went back to the kitchen. On that long hall were large pictures, no less than portraitures of Commanders of Gilead.
I asked the daughter if I could look at them. She said, "Of course, we're here for you! This is our memorial wall."
Towards the kitchen, I could see a picture of Andrew Pryce, he was killed in the Rachel and Leah bombing. Then there was Glen Deeds, Ray Cushing….. and shock of shocks, Fred Waterford and my Warren Putnam. (It was disconcerting seeing traitors like Deeds and Cushing there, but I did not yet have my bearings…)
Seeing that I had stopped in front of Warren's portrait, the daughter said, "It must have been horrible for you. Stay here for as long as you like."
I put my hand to my mouth. Warren's portrait, as a High Commander from a recent photograph, had him with both limbs. I'd heard about PhotoShop, but this was uncanny. I asked, "I see that Warren has both his arms….."
"Oh yes," she said proudly, "you'll be pleased to know that Q Appelle has kept us up to date with the facts about Gilead. Has corrected the lies the fake media spread about God's righteous State."
"Of course," I said, "but two arms!?" I turned to her, "By the way, who is this Q Appelle?"
"My parents swear by her." She explained that her family had been like a lot of Canadians, misled about Gilead. Misled about the realities of the 'liberation of the US Congress', as she called it. Misled about the Sons of Jacob, who have always been persecuted here in Canada.
She said, "Online, you have to do your own research. It was mom who found Q Appelle. That woman knows more about Gilead than anyone."
I asked, "Woman?"
"Well," the daughter said, now motioning me up the stairs. "Dad thinks Q Appelle is a woman."
GUEST OF HONOUR
A light rap on my door woke me. "Mrs. Putnam, it's dinner time! Can I escort you down?"
After a moment, I descended the stairs refreshed after a hot bath, and a new set of clothes - Wife's clothes that fit perfectly. I had not been in teal-blue for the longest time.
The daughter led me past the portraitures, through the kitchen to a large party tent out back, the kind Warren and I had had when we entertained. You could hear the mumble of a sizable crowd in conversation, and the smell of the large 'country cook-out' as she called it….
….. the murmuring of which stopped when I appeared. People stood and once again, applauded. There must have been 100 people.
My driver, the woman of the estate, came up to me, turned to the crowd and said to them, "I present to you a Wife of Gilead, Mrs. Warren Putnam." The clapping continued for a good minute, then people stopped and sat at their places.
I was taken to the head table, where the ranch's family sat. Me, I was between the Mr. and Mrs.
As we were being served, I leaned into the Mrs. "Can I have a word," I asked. She said I was the guest of honour, that I could ask anything I wanted.
"It's about Warren's picture. You know, don't you, that he had been subject to the righteous discipline of the New Gilead Chancery?"
"Oh that," the woman said waving it away. "Q Appelle has long since covered that." She paused and looked at me. "There was no such disciplining. Fake news, fake news."
Of all the feelings I have had since being arrested back in Boston, the despair of the first tasering in the Colonies, the elation of Aunt Janine spiriting me north…..
This was the first time I felt my blood boil.
