Chapter 36: Contagious Storms

The invitation really began due to excess, a strange problem to have on a farm constantly visited by the state. Typically, there was enough for the two owners and their daughter, two hired hands living on the property edge (and one ate for two!), and a little bit for storage. Group dinners usually meant a potluck, where Mr. Solway and his swollen bride brought steamed vegetables and the Cartwells dug into the barn and served salted pork. People weren't invited, except on special occasions, like a son's departure and a feared funeral. Birthdays were no hurrah. Weddings, even, were dancing affairs where visitors went home when they got hungry (except for the fancy ones which no one really has time to enjoy). But when Larmie dug his hands into the ground for the first bout of their yam crop—such an experienced farmer, anyone could tell, with hands never cleansed of sweet earth and a soothing touch known by every tiller's wife—his curling shout could be heard from inside the house, from far in the wheatfield, and in the barn loft. Three pairs of ears raised at the noise, and three pairs of feet came running, until Corini, Hajule, and Edie bent over their patriarch with frantic voices.

"Not unless you're bleeding and dying and dead, Larmand Dean Cartwell, will you live to see tomorrow!" Hajule pressed the back of her hand against her forehead and wheezed from the sprint. "My nerves can't take such surprise."

"Oh, you lovely girl," Larmie laughed. He jumped to his feet and swooped her into a kiss.

Corini and Edie searched for somewhere to stare, looking quite like the radishes a kilometer away. They met eyes at a moment and shrugged defeatedly. "I don't know why you're so squeamish," she mumbled. "You've got a child, after all."

"Oh, get off it." Corini glanced over his shoulder—a cursory look. "Tinnul's not going to be happy that I'm away from her and Dansk much longer."

"Break into a run. You're much faster than Larmie."

"Not if I want to get paid," he mumbled.

Corini came in waves nowadays. Some days, he stared longingly at his little cabin on the kale field's edge, humming tunes and tying his hair out of his face, skipping out as soon as the day was done to take a quick dip in the pond. Other times, he kept his head down, grunting and yawning, letting his hair fall below his chin. Those days, he stayed until sundown, trudged through the dirt and respected the farm's grids. Edie preferred the latter. He was easier to talk to, friendlier, even, without all the sighing that gave the impression you were wasting his time. Besides, dreary Corini got his work done instead of pushing it to someone else (usually her – a downside to living on the property and being fourth in command).

She didn't see Tinnul much and never really asked. According to Hajule, new mothers were supposed to make their infants their whole personality, and for Tinnul, that meant light picking in the morning and a whole afternoon of cleaning her baby, feeding her baby, napping her baby, and taking her baby to see their neighbors. The baby really was something to behold (especially when he was first born; Edie would've never guessed they were that tiny), but after beholding, they had other things to do. Corini never let anything on other than tiredness, but gloominess is hardly an emotion on its own.

Mrs. Solway and Mrs. Corini visited often; Edie spotted them walking the shaded border. Mr. Solway's unborn child (whom they hoped was a girl) had seven months left to simmer before it made an appearance, so the two mothers found good exercise and company in one another. It was fine by Edie. Curtain colors and dress patterns and gossip pamphlets and husbands and motherhood—the ladies had each other, and that was that. But Corini had no Mr. Solway to confide in, nor men on the property who didn't answer to him. He knew better than to confide in a subordinate or ask Mr. Cartwell (a man bound by oath to tell his wife everything, and his wife, bound to Corini's, by sisterhood to complete honesty). So, when they worked in proximity on those grumpy days, she took a little of it in, Corini's cloud. They had a sort of kinship, she felt; two unknowns with no last name, a man whose spouse had to carry his first and whole being, whose son was simply Dansk. He hardly voiced his lack of sleep or missing his wife, but she saw it at least once a week. With each prayer for his returning health and strength of his little family, she thanked the heavens that his fate would never befall her.

As for Larmie's outburst, his excellent health lost their interest. Corini was having the second kind of day and seemed disappointed that this would not keep him longer.

Hajule finally had enough, smacked his shoulder thrice, and pushed him away. "Pull yourself together! You sound like a rooster at the butchers. I can't imagine half a good reason for making such a ruckus."

"See for yourself." The harvester bent over the plant and coaxed the dirt away again, revealing twelve fat tubers on a single system. Corini counted them once standing up, in a low whisper, then bent next to his boss and counted again, this time for all to hear. Hajule, whose mouth grew wider with each number, finally screeched louder than her husband.

Edie forced a laugh and squatted, too. "How many are there usually?"

"Now, now, this is quite a lesson for you, my blossoming horticulturist. We can suppose, as I already have, that this phenomenon is duplicated on the whole field."

"…yes."

"After that confirmation, how many tubers do you suppose this row will produce? Our rough estimate for the dastardly police?"

Edie multiplied the rows quicker than Corini, and her chest welled up. "Two hundred plants in the row, so four thousand and eight hundred, likely less, with occasional bad vegetables."

"Good. And this is a vegetable, good. Good, good. So how much in the field, therea—?"

"Fifty thousand," Corini answered with a biting tone.

"Excellent. Wonderful experts in the making we have here, Hajule, wouldn't you agree?"

Hajule, still wheezing, and now pacing in an oval, had no rebuttal.

"This—this is a miracle. For our family, our town, and for humanity. Even though we are one farm among thousands, and looking to feed hundreds of thousands, this is promising. It is seed which may be duplicated, saved, instead of eaten. The government may look at giving our oil-knit farm a land grant."

"Tell them forty-nine thousand, then!" Hajule butted in. She grabbed her husband's shoulder (as he was still knelt on the ground) and shook him. "Carver has cinnamon, a whole barrel of it, that Sari commanded him to keep, or at least to sell in increments."

"Your yam casserole?"

"When else will we have a hundred to spare?"

The couple embraced again, and the two workers headed to the barn. Hoes, shovels, and spades were needed to coax fifty tubers each out of the ground before the military police sent in their laborers to harvest the field, leaving hardly enough soil for the next planting. They dug, and dug, and dug until well after dark, as Larmie composed his letter to Sina and Hajule sent her own invitations.

Mr. and Mrs. Solway responded immediately, making the gathering already a family dinner. Corini and Tinnul responded enthusiastically, thrilled for whatever form free childcare took. Edie sent letters of her own, and while her captain was only dependent on his schedule, Hange sent her regrets. The commander, oddly enough, responded in thanks and assurance. With some more of Hajule's neighborhood friends (the whole party not exceeding fifteen), the Cartwells prepared for the evening's festivities.

"Edie will sit near her captain, and Larmie and I will be as far from them as possible," Hajule explained the afternoon of, setting folded cards around the table. "Corini and Tinnul, of course, near Mr. and Mrs. Solway. Justo knows Carver from our school days, and his wife will get along with Sari quite well." She flicked the loner cards against her knuckles. "Which leaves the ladies, Montae, and the commander."

"Won't Erwin be next to Levi and me?"

"Oh, dear, with two unmarried ladies at the table, do you think I'll sentence the commander next to his right-hand man? No, no; I'm sure he'd much rather have a demure young woman clinging to his every word. You know how these military men are."

"Erwin…might despise our family if you do that." She took the remaining place-cards and set them at chairs. "There. Now Erwin is in between me and a corner, and across from Nalda but near Mr. Solway. He and Mr. Solway got along awfully well at Jamie's going-away party, so I'm sure they'll have a decent time. The married couples are at the ends, and Marciela is near Tinnul. Marci never stops talking about her own ideal wedding, and hearing every detail of Tinnul's might dull the jealousy that Nalda is closer to a bachelor. Plus, she can sit next to Montae, and he'll give her his awful little compliments that make everyone laugh."

"Oh. Well. I wouldn't—well, and there's—so be it." Hajule touched a hand on Edie's cheek and huffed. "I've trained you well."

"No one ought to be quiet at dinner."

"Quite right. Now go. Get in something nice."

Edie took a few moments to brush her hair and tie it nicely with green ribbon before hurrying out the back door to check on Dia. Her mother's mare had a slight limp but nothing in her hoof or joint bulge. She brushed the horse's mane carefully, working out knots with her fingers, and humming a soothing tune. Dia, holding her fragile leg above the ground, nuzzled her rider's shoulder every few minutes to keep her from leaving. Larmie had said that his veterinarian was making his rounds about twenty miles northward and would be in town in two weeks' time.

Edie picked rheum from the horse's eyes and shushed her pained whinnies. "Hang in there, girl. Dr. Otalia will be here before you know it, and she'll have some quick fix that geniuses know about. Just stay standing until then."

She heard the Solways arrive, then Tinnul and Corini. The third in command popped his head in to mention their arrival, subtly saying it was the former kind of day, leaving Edie with no reason to head inside just yet. The Zitos, ladies, and Montae would take longer to arrive, given they had families of their own to pry away from. The laughter grew greater inside the house, so Edie sang a little stronger, leaning closer to her steed's ear. Dia grew calmer, even putting her foot down, though her weight still lay to the left.

Dia's ears flicked up in a moment, and she whinnied softly. Edie leaned into one particular note, humming more forcefully, until the strands submitted to her will. But Dia tossed her head, sending a wave over Edie's face. She spat out some of the hair and bent to check the hoof, but Dia still stood, as firmly as she could. Through her right legs, Edie spotted a straggler's boots planted by stacked crates. She grinned and returned to her work with vigor. "It's very rude to spy on people."

"Even when they're singing beautifully?"

She leaned around Dia's head and shot him a sly look. "Especially."

Levi put his hand to the mare's nose and stroked her gently. "And how are you?" Dia whinnied and nudged his shoulder. The captain peered around her front and frowned. "Not feeling well?"

"She started limping out of nowhere. Larmie says it's out of his skill set, so we have to wait for the doctor."

"Tell Erwin to take a look at it. He's been working with horses for close to twenty years."

"Oh, you didn't leave him in there by himself, did you? After last month's disaster?"

"He's faced worse."

"Yes, well…still." Dia stepped back, and the two embraced. Edie felt her limbs soften, melting into his familiar form. She breathed deeply, recognizing every scent and texture. His hands clasped against her back with assurity, and she exhaled. "Hello."

"Hi." He released his grip just enough to stare in her eyes, tuck some hair behind her ear, and hold her in a kiss just a while longer. A fever ran down her spine and left her toes burning, aflame as the captain retreated and pressed his forehead to hers.

Edie closed her eyes. "Long day?"

"No, only paperwork."

"Is Hange acting crazy again?"

"She never stops." He retreated and held his hand gently over her ear, rubbing her hair between his fingers. "I'm only glad to see you."

"You're dressed much fancier than I am. Where's the warning letter?"

"Would you like a drawing beforehand?"

"Yes, or a thorough description. I'm in a market dress, and you've come in a three-piece suit." She straightened the folds of his jacket and laughed. "Who are you looking to impress, captain? From what I've heard, you're already far more effective than your commander on the field."

The captain hid his smile. "Don't say that in front of him."

"Fine, fine. Only if he drives me up the wall. Besides, it doesn't help that I'm covered in horsehair." She picked a few tufts from his shirt. "Now you are."

"Good. I've got an alibi."

"For what? The crime of the missing yam casserole? I'll have you know that a closed off building and one witness won't save you on the stand."

"So be it. At least my girlfriend and I will have more than a few hours to spend together, being behind bars and all."

"Oh, I have an alibi of my own."

The captain grasped her elbow as Edie bent over in a fit of giggles. "You're abandoning me?"

"You're the one without a viable case!"

"Will you visit me?"

"Of course."

"Every day?"

Edie scrunched her eyebrows. "I am a working woman."

"That you are. Once a week?"

"Now that's reasonable."

"But you do know it wasn't me."

"I don't know that." She brushed his hair up and kissed his cheek. "You've got a shadowy streak, underneath all that gentile. And I wouldn't want those prison folk to think less of you."

Levi's mouth hung open for a few moments as Edie dissolved in laughter. "I looked forward to seeing you for weeks, and all that's transpired is a brief hug and a criminal accusation."

"Okay, okay. You're right." Edie kissed him once, twice, a third time, barely containing herself. He shook his head between kisses, shrugging, looking into the corner with a grumpy frown. "I think you're wonderfully, ruggedly handsome and not mysterious at all." His frown softened, but his eyes were still narrowed. "Okay, not without mystery, but an intriguing kind, and not at all dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"I said not dangerous. Are you listening at all?" He huffed again, so she positioned his hands back where they were and rested her chin on his chest. "Do you really want to be angry with me?"

"I don't know. They say the best way to survive imprisonment is fury."

"Levi."

He made the mistake of looking into her quivering eyes and leaned into another kiss. "Not at all."

"Good."

Four minutes later, they joined the party in the house, still missing two of its guests. Edie needn't have worried about the commander, for he listened to Mr. Solway with bright eyes and a lean. Ofelia, Tinnul, and Sari sat on the couch, leaning close, with Dansk in Sari's arms, over her growing belly. Corini, Justo, and Larmie stood near the table, drinks in hand, chatting about the Zito's window repairs and an evasive leak. Hajule busied herself in the kitchen, halfheartedly listening to Montae. The bachelor raised his cup at the entering couple.

"So, here's the famous captain! Is he as ruthless as they say, Edie?"

Edie rolled her eyes. "Montae, you would poke a bear with nothing but a spoon in hand."

"That's true." He held out his hand, which Levi stiffly shook. "Hajule was telling me that you two met when that ugly bastard tore through here." He smirked. "The titan, not the cop. Although you could argue that one is more dangerous than the other."

"Yes, well…and at Corini's wedding."

"Tinnul's, more like. I was invited, but I can't stand those formal affairs. Ladies always find a reason to lick their thumbs and wipe some soot off my face."

"How bizarre." Hajule pursed her lips. "Are you sure you don't leave it there on purpose?"

"Come on, Julie. No need to be curt." Montae pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "She's been a drag since our schooldays."

"And yet you're the unmarried one," Edie oozed, looking at her captain with a puzzled look.

"Very strange," Levi chimed in, not missing a beat.

Montae frowned at the three, one at a time, but Edie paid no more thought. "Do you need any help?"

"No, only for Marciela and Nalda to get here." Hajule pointed her with a sticky spatula. "I'll eat without them, I tell you."

The ladies arrived in ten minutes, together, and the guests gravitated toward the table at their discretion. The gentlemen came first, then the ladies with the baby (though they took several minutes deciding who got to hold him through dinner—Tinnul won), and Mr. Solway and Erwin last. Levi and Edie insisted that Hajule take a seat and brought the dishes to the table before they joined the others. The seating arrangement was genius; both ladies were already in fits of stammering and waterfalls of pointless talk. Edie hung back as Hajule tried to contain them and the food circulated.

Her captain served her, estimating her portions perfectly and avoiding a salty carrot sauté. She passed the dishes to Erwin, then, and kept her left hand resting on his back. When the food had gone by, but others hadn't finished, she rested her head on his shoulder while he passively heard Corini describe the rows upon rows of bursting potato plants. The eccentric farmer's attention turned as he received his due of casserole, and the captain kissed his belle's head. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing at all."

With Corini's plate full, the party dug in.

Hajule lifted her voice above the din, tapping her glass with a fork. "Well, thank you all for joining on such short notice. It's been so long since we've shared a meal like this, what with all the insanity of the last two years." She put a hand on Larmie's shoulder. "It means the world to us, what you all have been for our family, and that we're here to celebrate tonight a wonderful harvest and wonderful friends. Thank you."

"Yes, ditto." Larmie raised his glass.

Marciela echoed the sentiment and swiveled to see the striking commander. "I know the other bimbos at the table, but who are you two?"

"Erwin Smith," he answered.

"Levi."

"Levi who?"

"Just Levi."

Hajule quickly swallowed her wine. "Levi and Edie are dating."

Marciela waved her hand and huffed. "Yes, yes, I can see the short one's taken. But you, Erwin, what's your story? Have you got any lovely lady waiting for you at home?"

Edie steadied the captain's hand. "Easy, boy."

"I'm above it."

"Sure you are."

"I'm afraid not," Erwin had replied with a demure smile. "My work leaves little time for personal pleasures."

"Oh? What is it you do?"

"You're the commander of the Scouts, aren't you?" Montae butted in. "I've read your name in the papers. You took over two years ago, yeah? When those monsters took Maria."

"That's correct."

Nalda leaned halfway across the table. "It must get lonely out there, with only soldiers to talk to."

"Quite the contrary. I've found comrades in one's own line of work are more inclined to understand your perspective."

"Oh, that's true. You all know Mr. Emerson retired, yes? The poor chap hasn't had anyone over and rarely leaves his house. I think it's because he doesn't have any fellow teachers in the area, and all his old students see him as a rather despondent fellow. Too bad." Montae sipped his drink. "He was always a smart old man. Oh, he taught all of us in the area. Some walked twenty minutes to the schoolhouse; they'd get a whipping otherwise. I'd never send my children to school with that kind of attitude."

"A problem you'll never have to deal with," Tinnul added. She went back to rocking her baby.

"Oh, do you all remember how Mr. Emerson used to brew a pot of tea right in the middle of a history test? Corini, you wouldn't believe it, dear. Tinnul can tell you. He would hand out the papers, make sure everyone was separated, then make a huge ruckus with his tin of awful smelling leaves and his iron pot over the fire. The whole time—because he used to give test that took you an hour to do properly—he would stand over the pot, glaring at all of us, as if we controlled how slowly water boils."

"What a strange man," Mr. Solway muttered. "He retired not long after Jamie left, didn't he?"

"Right before, I think," Hajule said. "He was a good teacher. You all were horrible students."

"And look how we turned out!"

"Well enough indeed," Larmie laughed. "I never had to go to school much. My father taught me all I needed to know with this homely house. What about you, Levi? What did your schooling years look like?"

The captain swallowed dryly. "No schoolhouse. A…family friend taught me. He's not around anymore."

"That's how it goes. And you, Erwin?"

"My father was one of the schoolmasters in our town. He taught forty students at a time, in one room. It was a dangerous place to be, with so many unruly minds."

"And you were one of them?"

"Yes." Erwin paused eating as a solemn gaze came over him. "He died when I was twelve."

Larmie drew his own shrouded look. "It's awful to lose a parent so young."

"It was difficult. The circumstances were…unbecoming."

Edie's father leaned forward to inquire (as did she), but Marciela suddenly interrupted with shrill laughter. "And of course, Edie and Corini didn't have to live with any of this! I forget, sometimes, how you both came to live in our village. You don't have any memories of schoolhouses and homework, do you? For all we know, the two of you skipped out on the whole miserable affair."

"I'm sure it wasn't all bad," Corini admitted.

"No, no, but schoolmasters are quite dull. And who knows if what they're teaching is actually the truth? You wouldn't believe how many times I would go home and tell my mother about some science lesson, and she would correct him startlingly! It's a shame, really."

What a shame, too, how quickly the dinner ended, and the people dispersed. The single ladies, the bachelor man, and the two couples lingered on the porch with Hajule, screeching with laughter and waking the whole area. So much for harvest discretion. Levi and Larmie chatted near the fireplace, and Edie asked Erwin into the backyard, to take a look at Dia. He agreed, and they stepped into the darkness.

"Do you really have no memory of a schoolhouse?"

Edie shrugged. "I've really stopped trying to remember anything before I came here. Besides, it doesn't seem very productive to remember a time everyone else seems to dread. I mean, do you have nice memories of your father, the teacher?"

"I do. Outside of the schoolhouse."

"Did he pretend not to know you when you were in his class? Or were you his favorite?"

"Neither." Erwin held opened the door, and she voiced her thanks. "He was cordial during class times, and honest afterwards."

"He wasn't honest in class?"

"No teacher can afford to be."

"Is it painful to talk about?"

"Yes." He lit a lamp and followed her to the stable. "But the memory is ever present." He held out his hand to Dia, who nuzzled him twice and held her ground. Erwin knelt and lightly touched her leg. "He had a theory, about our place in all this."

"Oh?"

"I brought it up in class one day. He was teaching about humanity's demise outside the walls, and how the great builders had erected Maria, Rose, and Sina to protect the remnant. He read from the book, verbatim, how we were the final survivors. The story didn't sit right, so I raised my hand. I asked my father, in front of my thirty-nine classmates, how this could be. How could we be sure humanity had been completely destroyed? What if there were parcels of people, hidden behind other walls, beyond our communicative reach? What if there were civilizations underground where humanity lived in greater number than our own? How had the walls been erected, and the titans held back longer enough for their construction? Were the walls already built? Why?"

Edie mindlessly stroked Dia's neck. "What did he say?"

"Nothing, in the moment. He said that this was history, and that was the end of it. We took the test and moved on. But that evening, at home, he took me aside, out of my mother's listening reach. And mind you, her range was quite acute. He said there were holes in the curriculum, and many of his questions were unanswered. He had a theory about the world outside the walls, that there were others living beyond."

"Jamie said the same thing." Edie faltered. "That's half of why he wants to be a Scout. To find and help someone out there."

"We've spoken of his theory. I advised him not to repeat it."

"Why?"

Erwin seemed to find something on Dia's ankle, for she pawed the ground and snorted anxiously. "Because I told my classmates of my father's theory, excitedly, foolishly. Within a week, he was reported dead, as an accident."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't have to explain my theory behind his demise."

"No, you don't. And it's well grounded." Dia pushed her shoulder, as if asking why this stranger had to keep on prying. Edie kept stroking and gripping Dia's mane. "Thank you, by the way, for looking after Jamie. He's got a good heart and a strong will, but there's some things he doesn't understand."

"I know. We do the best to keep the next generation alive, don't we?" He motioned, and Edie knelt next to him. "There's a slight divot in her muscle here. It may be an infection, due to old age, or a tapeworm. The doctor can confirm, but only an infection is incurable."

"Be realistic. What's the change?"

"If her diet hasn't changed, then likely not a worm."

"Thank you."

"Really, I have you to thank."

Edie paused for a moment as he steadied himself (nearly bumping his head on the support beam) and thanked Dia for her kindness. "You're the one examining Dia here."

"I haven't talked about my father in decades."

"Oh." She looked at the ground. "Not even with Levi and Hange?"

He shrugged. "I've never forgotten, but…sometimes it's easier for your orders to be followed if people don't know it's in pursuit of blind ambition."

"I don't it's blind. It's not brilliant, either, but there's good reason behind all those questions."

"He thought so. Besides, I want to be fair in all my dealings, and in complete truth, I haven't been fair to you."

"Don't be ridiculous; of course you have."

"No, I've treated you coarsely and without cause. The truth of the matter is that you've been a good partner and friend, for the Scouts and for my captain. I want there to be intimacy between us, moving forward."

Edie blinked. "Thank you."

"Of course."

They returned to the living room, where Levi kissed her and bid them goodnight. The parents and Edie watched them leave, with arms around their daughter. She was smothered in a flurry of kisses, excited whispers, and shrieks of surprise. Larmie, especially, kissed her on the head at least three times before going inside, and hugged her twice before going to bed. Hajule fluttered about, talking without pause about how wonderful the captain was, and how civil the commander was this evening, but more importantly, how exquisite and wonderful of a partner the captain was. Edie shrugged. The excitement of the yams seemed to be getting under everybody's skin.