She stood on the moon, wriggling her toes into the golden sand and gazing at the sparkling blue earth. The teaching Songs said the moon was a huge rock circling the earth, but she had decided long ago that a rock could have sand and that sand on the moon must be golden – after all, the moon’s light was golden, wasn’t it, except when it was white – or silver - well, she had brushed those objections aside then and she ignored them now. Now she wondered if the earth would really sparkle. The Songs said the oceans rose and covered the land so there must be a lot of water on the earth; water sparkles when the sun shines on it, so the earth must be sparkling.
Pleased with her reasoning, she spread her arms and breathed deeply. The air was pure and fresh and ... A hard thump on her thigh startled her. Her eyes snapped open, the golden moon sand and sparkling earth replaced by vast green meadow, fiercely blue sky, harsh yellow sun. In the distance, trees clung to the edge of the small river where the People camped; beyond them, the lake sparkled.
She looked down to see the oldest ewe of the flock gazing up at her intently, ready to butt again if the girl didn’t respond.
“Bina!” she exclaimed. “You interrupted the best dream!” She laid aside her wool and spindle (thankful she hadn’t dropped it!) and reached down to fondle the old sheep under her chin and around her ears. “What’s the matter, old girl?” she crooned. “Am I neglecting you? Oh, you are so spoiled!”
Rafe, the black sheep dog, stood up, yawned, stretched, ambled over. Laughing, the girl stroked under his chin, then scratched his stubbled back. Like the sheep and other dogs, Rafe had been shorn against the heat; his shaggy locks would be spun and woven along with the sheep’s wool.
The girl stretched and pushed away from the mound she leaned against. “Now, Bina, my dear, what are all of your pesky daughters and granddaughters doing?” She scanned the meadow, counting the sheep as she spotted them and waving to the girls working on the other side of the field.
“Well,” said a male voice behind her. “Can you spare some of that attention for me?”
“Palm!” she squealed, whirling toward him and dropping her spindle. “You’re back!” The ewe backed away, glowering intently at the intruder, but Rafe ran toward him barking.
The girl ran too, then remembered her manners and stopped, bringing her palms together and bowing her head. “Peace be with you, my brother Palm.” Then, because he was a Jessie, she added, “May God make your path clear to you.”
The man repeated the gesture. “And also with you, my sister Jilly.” And, because he was a Jessie, he added, “May the blessing of God be upon you.”
Then she did run to him and flung her arms around him. Her head came up only to the middle of his chest, and she buried her face in the rough wool of his tunic. Palm hugged her to him.
“So you do remember me, curly one!” he laughed, ruffling hair.
Still self conscious about her short curly hair (shorn after tangling with a ferocious bramble bush), she retorted, “You haven’t been gone that long.”
“A whole moon! But you have so many other things to think about.”
“Don’t tease. I am a charted woman, you know.”
Jilly tried to sound grown up, but Palm laughed and hugged her again. “Of course I know. I made that chart myself, didn’t I?”
“And a damned good chart it is,” exclaimed another male voice.
Jilly sprang back as if stung. Cole! Well, of course. They had traveled together. Jilly was more than a little in awe of Cole – a skilled forager, a clever hunter, with three former companions who still loved him, even poor Glora who had not borne a child.
The thought that she was charted to Cole filled Jilly with delicious terror.
But he mustn’t know. She turned abruptly and snapped, “How long have you been standing there?”
Cole grinned. “Long enough to hear Palm bragging about his charting skills.” He clasped his hands and bowed his head in formal greeting. “Peace be with you, my sister Jilly.”
“And also with you, my brother Cole.” Jilly returned the greeting and walked to him. She could not refuse to hug her future companion but .... Cole had stripped down to his leather hunting shorts. He was as tall as Palm. Jilly’s face rested on his bare chest and her arms embraced his bare body. She trembled, and Cole must have noticed, because he whispered, “Don’t be afraid, little one. It will be alright.”
At least she thought he said that, but when she drew away, he was grinning. She stepped back.
“Oh, don’t frighten the child!” Palm walked over and ruffled Jilly’s hair again. She shrugged off his hand, opening her mouth to protest, but Cole spoke first.
“She’s not a child, are you, Jilly? She’s a woman and she’ll be my companion come Longest Day. Thanks to you,” he added, bowing in Palm’s direction.
“You’re welcome.” Palm smiled. “Although it’s really up to the charts, not me or the other Jessies.” He turned to Jilly. “But first, you still have work scheduled with me on the Reclaim. God’s work.”
Jilly nodded. Of all the work the People did, exploring the Reclaim was her favorite. She wasn’t strong enough to shovel dirt or move bricks and beams – that was left to the men and older boys – but she was patient at combing through the dirt and rubble and quick to spot anything unusual. This was her third summer. So far she had found only bits of pottery and metal and something the Jessies called “plastic”, none of which looked like anything she recognized.
She started to say this, but Cole cut in. “Ha! God’s work! Searching for the leavings of people so stupid they fracked the whole world and destroyed themselves! What kind of ‘work’ is that? What kind of God asks us to search for the knowledge that destroyed them and could destroy us?”
Jilly gasped and clasped her hands to her mouth, as horrified as if she had said the words herself.
“Now you really are scaring her!” Palm said reprovingly. He put his hands on Jilly’s shoulders, squaring her around to face him, and said calmly, “Jilly, you’ve heard these questions before. Everybody asks them – Cole’s just more outrageous that most.” He smiled at her. “And you know the answers.”
Jilly lowered her hands. “I do?”
“Of course. Listen. Jilly, who are the People?”
She relaxed into the familiar Catechism, taught to everyone in childhood. “The People are the remnant of the humanity created by God. They were made in God’s image and given the entire world for their home, but they squandered their inheritance and despoiled the earth. In their arrogance, they ignored the fundamental rules of nature. They violated their relationship with God and the world and each other and so were destroyed, by war and disease, flood and fire, heat and drought. Only the People survived.”
The Catechism was very old. Some said it was written by the first Jessies; others gave credit to the Saints who helped lead the People to safety. Whatever the source, Jilly loved the sound of the ancient words, loved the feel of them on her tongue, loved learning what they meant.
Palm continued, “How did the People survive?”
“Through the mercy of God and the work of God’s servants – the Jessies and the Saints – who led the People north, away from the wars and fires and floods and drought.”
“What became of humanity’s knowledge?”
Jilly closed her eyes. This was not from the Catechism. This was a teaching question that children were asked when learning the history Songs. There was no rote answer to such a question. Indeed, the whole purpose was to put the lessons of the Songs into your own words so you could understand them and remember. Understand and remember. She could still hear Brother Thom, God rest his soul: Understand and remember.
Palm took his hands from her shoulders, but the connection was still strong. She could answer this question. She opened her eyes.
“Much of their knowledge was lost. The Jessies and the Saints tried to save what would help us – help the People – things like spinning and weaving and making cloth, caring for our sheep and dogs, finding food, making tools and shelters and pottery and baskets, caring for the sick. The Saints wrote books and taught the People. But again, much of this was lost when the People fled north, and now we have the teaching Songs and lessons from our elders and pages from the Saints’ books.”
Jilly knew about – had even seen – some of these pages, copies of copies of copies of originals written a thousand years ago. There was even one page – with a picture! – said to have been drawn by the patron saint of weavers whose name Jilly shared. The Jessies guarded these fragments carefully. She didn’t know how many pages they had, but the carved box in which the precious items were stored seemed painfully small. Brother Thom had taught that the most important, the most precious knowledge was carried in the hearts and minds of the People.
“Excellent,” Palm said. Jilly flushed.
Cole interrupted. “You left out ‘farming’.”
“Because I don’t know what that means,” Jilly snapped. “Nobody knows. Brother Thom said so.”
Cole raised one eyebrow, looked at Palm inquiringly, but Palm continued, smoothly, returning to the Catechism.
“And what does God require of the People?”
“To do justice and love mercy and walk in harmony with God, the earth, and each other.”
“What work has God given the People?”
“God asks the People to seek and reclaim the knowledge the Jessies and Saints tried to preserve for us. We do this by finding the ancient places of the Jessies’ communities and searching for information left behind.”
“And this is God’s work for us...”
Jilly completed the sentence. “To recover knowledge that will help the People.”
Palm smiled and hugged her again, quickly this time, and said, “Cole, I think we had best be getting home.”
“Right,” said Cole, then to Jilly, “Do you stay with the flock overnight?”
“No,” she said. “The night shepherds will be here later.”
“Good,” he said, and made the same formal bow over his clasped hands. “Stay in peace, Jilly.”
“Go in peace, Cole. Go in peace, Palm.”
“Stay in peace, Jilly. God’s blessing be on you.”
* * * * *
When Jilly was out of earshot, Cole said, “Thank you for soothing her. I didn’t intend to shock her.”
“I don’t want her to consider you a heretic.”
Cole laughed. “Am I?”
“No, not yet. Just outrageous.”
“So Brother Thom taught that we don’t know what ‘farming’ is. When did the Jessies decide that?”
“Some time after we were boys, obviously, since we both know what it means. And before you ask, no, I don’t know why. It was before I joined. But they must have thought it was for the good of the People.”
“Hmm,” said Cole. “I think I agree.” He paused. “Will Jilly notice you didn’t answer my question?”
“I hope not. One of you worrying that bone is enough.”
* * * * *
But Jilly didn’t have time to notice because the other shepherd girls promptly besieged her. Mara and Lena reached her first. Mara was the same age as Jilly – thirteen summers – and like Jilly had celebrated First Blood during the winter. At Longest Day she would claim her first companion, a tall skillful hunter named Treg who had already fathered two sons. Lena was a year younger; she was already focused on next summer.
“Well,” Lena demanded, running up. “What did they say? Is anyone coming?”
“I ... I don’t know,” Jilly stammered. “I forgot to ask.”
“Forgot to ask?” Lena cried. “They come back from negotiating with the Eastern People and you forgot to ask!?! What happened? Couldn’t take your mind off Cole?”
“You wouldn’t have done any better,” Mara retorted, seemingly in Jilly’s defense. “Not if you were charted to Cole and he showed up practically naked!” Lena giggled and Mara turned on Jilly. “So, how was that particular ... ah ... contact, eh?”
Jilly blushed and stammered again. Keeli and Jude rushed to join them. When they learned that Jilly had no news – had not even asked for news! – they joined in teasing her about Cole, until someone noticed the sheep were beginning to wander, and the girls hurried back to their positions, calling out commands to their dogs as they ran.
Just before dusk, the night shepherds arrived and told the girls to hurry back to camp: the elders had called for a feast that night. “The news must be good,” Lena squealed. But although she ran all the way back, she had to wait until everyone had shared in the roasted fish (“you wouldn’t think anything as big and ugly as these fish could taste so good,” Mara commented) and spicy greens (“must be Glora’s doing,” Lena said, “she always knows where to look”), supplemented by a basket of berries Palm and Cole had collected on their way home.
“Funny,” thought Jilly as she accepted her small portion of fruit, “I don’t remember seeing a basket.” What she did remember was the feel of Cole’s bare body, and she was thankful that the evening shadows now hid her face.
Eventually Brother Rob, the eldest Jessie, called for attention. “I think it would be well to begin by remembering our ties with the Eastern People. With the Singer’s permission,” he bowed in the direction of a tall frail man, who nodded in return, “I will speak of that.
Kata, who was only ten, whispered in Jilly’s ear. “Isn’t the Singer supposed to tell these stories? Why is Brother Rob doing it?”
Jilly whispered, “He will shorten the story so we don’t have to listen to hours of Songs before we find out the news. Now, shush.”
Rob began. “We and the Eastern People are one People. Long ago we lived in this land. To escape the war and disease, flood and fire, heat and drought, caused by humanity’s abuse of the earth, we fled north, with our flocks and dogs, and lived for a thousand summers in the wilderness of James Bay.”
Jilly and the others recognized phrases from the history Songs, and they responded: “Many of the People died, and much knowledge was lost.”
“Then, when the world calmed,” Rob continued, “we began to return. Some of us stayed at a place called Soo, and some at a place called Ignace [“after the founder of the Jessies,” someone whispered loudly] but many crossed the vast lake that surrounds this land and settled in a place on the lakeshore called City. There we lived for many summers, hunting, fishing, exploring the ruins left behind by our human ancestors, salvaging metal from the ruins, and learning to work it into knives and shearing tools and shovels. In winter we took their flocks south, but each summer we returned to City to celebrate Longest Day.”
“And in all those years we never found another human being,” Jilly whispered.
“But there was no record that City had ever been a Jessie community, and some of us longed to take up the work given by God.”
The crowd responded: “To seek and reclaim the knowledge the Jessies and the Saints tried to preserve for us.”
Brother Rob smiled approvingly. “Yes. So we left City, traveling south and west along the shore of the great lake, looking for a place called Pesk, a Jessie community legendary in our stories and songs, guided by a fragment of ancient map (“copies of copies of copies,” Lena murmured). The Songs say the People who fled north struggled through forests, over roads reduced to rubble, but now we led our flocks across a green and pleasant grassland. Eventually we came to a large bay. Here, at the southeast corner, near the mouth of a river, amidst a cluster of large grassy mounds that covered the ruins of humanity’s buildings, we found the worn and weather remains of a stone cross.
“We believe we have found Pesk, and for fifty summers we have explored these ruins, seeking traces of the ancient Jessie community. In winter we take our flocks south, but each summer we return here to continue our exploration and to celebrate Longest Day.
“We have never lost contact with the People who remained at City and continued the older ways. We trade our fine wool and weaving for their metalwork. We call them the Eastern People; they call us the Western People. But we always remember that we are all one People.
Everyone nodded in response. They knew that a chain of shallow streams and small lakes lay between Pesk and City, marking a path through the featureless grasslands. This was the path Palm and Cole had followed.
“Now there are four of us who wish to join the Eastern People. You all know their stories.” Rob looked around the group; everyone nodded in reply.
Jilly and her friends knew the stories, had in fact discussed them endlessly, marveling at such drastic action. Two of the People involved were boys just entering their 15th summer. When they were charted for the first time, they discovered, to their horror, that there were no permissible companions for them. They were too closely related to everyone! Rob had explained this to the boys as gently as he could, adding that next summer might be different, but “next summer” was an eternity, and after a few days of pouting, the boys asked if it were possible to go to the Eastern People.
When the rest of the People heard about this, two women asked to be included. A young woman, her first child still suckling, had lost her companion in the winter to a fierce fever none of the healers could cure. She still grieved, and wanted to start a new life away from the places that saddened her. Another woman, who had not borne children but was a skilled weaver and cloth maker, offered to accompany her. She said she wanted to make sure the young woman and her infant were treated well, but her friends thought she was simply restless.
Rob was still speaking: “And you know that this is not as simple as following the path to City. It depends on two things: whether the Eastern People will welcome these four who wish to go, and whether any of their folk are willing to come in return.”
He did not need to add that it would be unwise to lose four hardworking members (and a child) without bringing in new blood. Anyone who came would not be eligible as a companion until next summer, but the younger girls like Lena were already looking ahead.
“Now,” Rob said (finally! thought Jilly), “Palm and Cole will tell us of their journey.
Palm stood up. Yes, he told them, the Eastern People would be pleased to accept the four volunteers. What’s more, four of their folk had offered to come in exchange: a hunter of seventeen summers who had sired one child and wanted a new adventure; an older man skilled in caring for sheep and their illnesses – he had trained his own replacements and now hoped to be of help elsewhere; a girl of thirteen for whom no charted match could found. (Lena narrowed her eyes at the description of her competition, but Jilly and Mara tickled her until she giggled and Brother Rob frowned at her to be quiet.)
But Palm’s description of the fourth person caught everyone’s attention: a boy of fourteen summers who was a gifted Singer.
(“We already have a Singer,” Kata whispered. “Why should we want this boy?” Mara hissed, “Don’t you know anything,” but Jilly answered, “It’s about keeping the songs pure and accurate. Brother Thom said we can change them without meaning to as we sing them over the years. A new person can listen tell us if they hear changes. Now be quiet.” And indeed Brother Rob was looking at them meaningfully. The older girls adopted a look of great innocence, but Kata turned very red.)
“The elders have discussed this exchange,” Rob said, turning back to the People and gesturing toward the Jessies and older men and women sitting to his right. “We believe it will be good for the People. It will bring us new blood and more talents. Palm and Cole have talked to these volunteers and examined their charts. They believe they can become part of our community if we welcome them. Do the People agree?”
“Yes,” came the response, and some applauded.
Treg stood up. Jilly heard Mara gasp behind her. “Brother Rob,” he said, “I do not disagree but I would like to hear what our own Singer and shepherds have to say.”
Janel, the senior shepherd, stood up to reply but waited respectfully while the Singer struggled to his feet. The Singer was not old, but he was frail, had always been frail. But the People valued his beautiful voice and copious memory.
“My students are talented,” he said, indicating the two girls sitting beside him. “But they are young. I met the Eastern People’s Singer long ago. If he vouches for this young Singer, then I welcome him.”
Janel bowed respectfully as the Singer sat down. Then she said, “I do not know this man of whom you speak, but I trust the judgment of Cole and Palm. More knowledge is a good thing. I only hope he knows how to deal with silly shepherd girls.”
She gave a mock scowl toward Jilly and the other girls, who dissolved into fits of giggles and had to hide their faces. Many of the People chuckled, but Rob said, “Let us pray that silly shepherd girls are the worst problem he ever meets.” Then to Treg, “My brother Treg, are your questions answered?”
“Yes,” said Treg, with a small formal bow. “Thank you. Thank you, Singer. Thank you, Janel.”
“Very well,” said Rob. “Are we all agreed?”
There were murmurs of assent.
“Cole, when is the exchange to take place?”
“On the full moon before Longest Day,” Cole answered. “We told them that if there were any problems or changes, one of us would return immediately. Otherwise we will meet them on the north side of the third lake from here, where the pathway stream enters the lake.”
* * * * *
A few days later, Jilly’s work time as a shepherd ended and she returned to her main task of weaving. She loved weaving, even more than exploring the Reclaim. She had been teaching two younger girls – beginners – and she was pleased to find that in her absence they had practiced and improved. Their work was not expert, but the cloth they made would be useful.
It took so long to make the cloth! If there was one bit of ancient knowledge Jilly hoped and prayed to recover, it was how to make the weaving go faster. Wind the shuttle with weft yarn; weave it up and down, over and under the warp yards stretched in the loom frame; beat it into place with a comb; then start again from the other side. The shuttle and comb were carved from wood. The loom was two smooth poles placed at either end of the length of warp yarn and held in place by small poles pounded into the ground. The patterns for these tools had been preserved, along with their names, but the secret to making the process quicker had been lost.
Jilly was sure there must be such a secret, some way to move the shuttle faster, to make the beating quicker. The Songs spoke of enormous numbers of humans, covering the whole earth. (Brother Thom had said, think of the stars in the sky; that’s how many people there were.) They must have worn clothes, and some of these clothes must have been made of cloth. But there was no way to make cloth for so many people unless there were countless girls like Jilly spinning and weaving endlessly.
“Maybe that’s just how it was,” the other girls said when she voiced these thoughts, but she couldn’t accept that. The secret must be part of the knowledge that had been lost, but she couldn’t puzzle out what it might be. In the last winter camp, Palm had shown her the picture from Jilly’s book. She had studied it intently, had drawn the image repeatedly in the dirt with a stick to help her remember, but she could make nothing of it.
“Why do you care?” the other girls would ask. “What’s wrong with the way we do it now?”
“Nothing,” she would reply, embarrassed at her discontent, and the weavers laughed and called her a dreamer and said she would end up as a Jessie if she weren’t careful. Jilly pretended to laugh with them. What she didn’t – couldn’t – tell them was the need she felt to search for the secret, to recover the knowledge the Saint had worked so hard to preserve.
* * * * *
Four days before the new moon, the People gathered early in the morning to bless and bid farewell to the four who were leaving, and to Palm and Cole who would escort them and return with the newcomers. Before the ceremony, Cole walked over to where Jilly stood with the other girls. He put his hand on her cheek.
“Tears?”
She nodded. “They’re making such a big change. I don’t know if I’m afraid for them or in awe of them.”
Cole hugged her and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t be afraid, little one. It will be alright,” he said softly.
Jilly was so surprised that she forgot to snap at him.
That same day was the beginning of Jilly’s work time on the Reclaim . Palm would be gone for at least nine days, so Sister Clara was in charge. She was the same age as Palm and Cole – twenty-three summers – the three had been close friends since childhood. She had borne one child. She taught Catechism to the smallest children in the winter and worked on the Reclaim in the summer. She was very skilled at fishing and had brilliant red hair. Jilly liked her immensely.
The first excavation in Pesk had been the mound at the base of the stone cross. This yielded bricks, stones and beams, pieces of metal, and many bits of brightly colored glass. When the workers discovered a metal framework still holding some of the colored glass, the Singer and the Jessies searched the ancient songs and stories and determined that these frameworks must have covered the windows of a building. The People were very excited by these discoveries. They used some of the bricks and stones to build a shelter to store the items they found, and they added to it year by year. But so far (and now they were on their third building excavation) they had not found anything that the Jessies and Saints had left behind.
No one was discouraged. The work lasted only a short time each year. Moving mounds of dirt and bricks and beams was hard, but not more difficult than what they were used to. If asked, the Jessies would point out what the People had learned from working at the Site: how to construct a shelter that kept out the winter rains, how to modify their woven baskets to make strainers for searching through the excavated dirt, how to improve the shovels made by the Eastern People.
Still, everyone hoped to find something important. To Jilly, that “something” was more pages of the Saint’s book on weaving, maybe pages that would explain the drawing Palm had shown her. Perhaps (she thought) they might even find a loom the Saint had used!
After the farewell blessing, Jilly went to the Reclaim. Clara said her job would be (as usual) to sift through the baskets of dirt the diggers brought from the Site. Yesterday’s team had sifted through everything; while Jilly waited for new diggings, she perched on some stones stacked near the excavation and began to spin. Kata came to sit beside her.
“Jilly, are you ... does the Longest Day frighten you?
“Of course not... oh, you mean because I will claim a companion?”
“Yes, and you will ... you and Cole will ... I mean....” Kata took a deep breath. “Jilly, I’ve watched the sheep breeding. Lena says it’s just like that with a man. It’s horrible.”
Jilly stared at her. “Why on earth would you listen to Lena? What does she know? I’ve talked to Janel and Clara and Glora. They say it’s not the same. It’s not horrible.”
“But it is like sheep breeding,” Kata said obstinately. “The Jessies figure out our charts, just like the sheep, and they tell us who our companions will be. We don’t even know them.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kata! Don’t exaggerate! We all know each other, there aren’t that many of us. It isn’t like some man we’ve never seen before can come in and claim one of us. And the Jessies won’t force you to claim a companion you don’t like or who won’t be kind to you. And it’s just for a year. Besides, you know why we have the charting. We plan for our babies like we plan for our lambs. We don’t want our babies or our lambs to be deformed or so weak they can’t survive. Now that would be horrible!”
“You do sound like a Jessie. I think the girls are right – you will end up as one of them.”
Before Jilly could reply, Clara called them to the sifting area where a mound of dirt was growing quickly as the diggers dumped their baskets onto it. Kata and Jilly retrieved their woven strainers and began sifting the dirt into baskets for the diggers to carry away. Anything that remained in the strainers was set aside, but for a long time the girls found nothing but pebbles, and tiny bits of metal and plastic, and slivers of wood.
Finally, toward the end of the day, “Jilly! Look at this! Have you ever seen anything like this? It’s plastic, isn’t it?” Kata held up a white object, as long as her hand and as wide as two fingers, smooth on all sides but with an oblong hole in the middle.
“Yes, that’s plastic, and no, I’ve never seen ... wait, I have one too.” Jilly pulled another white piece from her sifter. “Quick, go find Clara while I see if there are any more in this mound!”
Kata ran to find Clara, shouting with excitement: “Look what I found. I found it. Come look what I found!”
When they came back, “Yes,” said Jilly, holding out her strainer for Clara to examine, “Kata found one first, and now I’ve found three more.”
Clara took Kata’s piece and laid it in the strainer next to the others. They were all just alike. “It looks like a fence,” Clara said. The diggers made fences – poles pounded into the ground close together - around the Reclaim site so no one would fall in.
“It does,” Jilly agreed, “but the pieces are so small. It does look familiar, somehow.”
“That’s because it looks like a fence,” said Kata contentedly. “Hey,” she cried to the diggers near them, “look what I found.”
Kata continued to revel in her discovery for the rest of the day, although they found no more pieces. Jilly, however, puzzled over the pieces, wondering why they looked so familiar. She didn’t think they had anything to do with fences, but she couldn’t think of anything else.
On the following days, the work continued. The new moon came and began to grow again. Palm and Cole and the newcomers returned and were welcomed into the People. Longest Day approached, and anticipation drove thoughts of white pieces of plastic from Jilly’s mind.
Until two nights before Longest Day.
Jilly slept that night in the women’s tent, next to Mara and the other girls who would claim their first companions at Longest Day. She dreamed (not for the first time) of the saint she was named after. In this dream, the four white plastic pieces floated above the Saint’s outstretched hands, circling and swooping. The Saint spread her hands and the pieces flew down to the ground and arranged themselves side by side, just as Clara had arranged them in Jilly’s basket, but closer, right next to each other. Then the Saint reached down with a stick and drew around the pieces. She looked up and smiled directly at Jilly. Then the pieces flew up in the air again, and hung before the Saint in the same order, close together. She reached up and pulled a thread between two of the pieces, then another thread through one of the holes, then another between two pieces, and repeated this until all of the holes and spaces were filled. The she looked again at Jilly and smiled. She didn’t speak, but Jilly seemed to hear her say, look, Jilly, look, understand and remember. The pieces began to move up and down, all together, and the threads in the holes moved up and down with them....
Jilly sat bolt upright.
“What’s the matter?” Mara murmured.
Jilly realized she could do nothing until morning. “Nothing, nothing at all.”
But in the morning, as soon as the camp stirred, Jilly bolted to the Jessies’ tent. “Palm! Clara! I understand! I understand! Where is the Jilly page?”
First she had to tell her dream and then draw in the dirt what she had seen. Then Palm did open the box of ancient fragments and brought out the page from Jilly’s book, while Clara retrieved the plastic pieces from the shelter and Jilly ran to fetch weaving yarn. While Palm held the four pieces in place, Jilly poked lengths of yarn through the holes and spaces – four holes, three spaces. Then as Clara and another Jessie held the lengths of yarn together at both ends, Jilly moved Palm’s hand, and the plastic pieces, up and down, up and down.
“See!” she cried. “Look! The lines in the drawing are threads. If you hold the pieces together, they lift threads up to make a space for the shuttle to go through. If you push them down, there’s another space. It’s about weaving!”
She had to run and fetch a shuttle to show them, but after she wove several rows, they were convinced. She had actually woven a bit of cloth, very quickly, without the over and under action usually needed, but the weaving was very loose because she hadn’t brought a comb to beat in the weft threads.
By this time, others had gathered. Glenna, one of the older weavers, stepped forward. “Palm,” she said, “move your hands forward and beat in the weaving with those things.”
Palm moved the pieces over to the woven edge and pushed against the weft threads. They settled into place just as if beaten with a comb.
“Amazing,” Glenna said, as she registered the implications of what she had seen. There were murmurs in the crowd, but the weavers were the ones who truly understood.
“Well,” said Rob. “Now we need to figure out how to make more pieces like those, and how to hold them together.”
“And how to move them up and down,” said Clara.
“And back and forth,” said Glenna. She turned to Jilly and hugged her. “Amazing,” she repeated.
Then everyone was hugging Jilly. Palm and the others put the weaving and the pieces down carefully. Clara was crying as she embraced Jilly, and Palm smiled broadly. “I knew,” Clara said, “I knew we would find something. This is a part of the ancient knowledge, a part that will help us. Thank you, dear God.” She crossed herself. “And thank you, Saint Jilly. And thank you, our own Jilly.”
Kata stood at the front of the crowd, looking shocked. Jilly reached out and drew her in. “And Kata found it. Thank you, Kata.” Kata burst into tears.
Later, after breakfast, Jilly went back to the Reclaim and began sifting.
“Looking for more discoveries?” said Cole, walking up.
“No, I couldn’t concentrate. I just needed something simple to do.”
“You’ve certainly given us a lot to work on. The artisans are trying to figure out how to make something that looks like those pieces, and the weavers are trying to figure out how to work it into a loom.”
“I’ll have to think about that too, but right now I’m worrying. Cole, do you remember what you said to Palm? About God’s work? About looking for knowledge that destroyed humanity and could destroy us? Do you think what Kata and I found is dangerous? It must be only a little tiny bit of humanity’s knowledge. Do you think it could destroy us?”
“Oh, Jilly.” Cole took the basket from her hands, set it aside, and embraced her. “Oh, my Jilly,” he repeated, holding her and kissing the top of her head. “It is only a tiny bit of knowledge, although it should be of great help to you and other weavers. Who knows where it leads? But my fears are more complicated than that.”
She drew back a little and looked up at him, questioning, but not speaking.
“I think,” he said carefully, “there is knowledge we could find that would be dangerous, that might eventually destroy it. I don’t think this is that kind of knowledge. I will not worry about this.” He laughed. “But I will worry about being companioned with such a clever person!”
“Oh, Cole, don’t tease.” She started to pull away but he held her tightly against him.
“Don’t be afraid, little one. It will be alright.” And then he kissed her lips, for the first time. For a long time.
* * * * *
The old woman worked at the loom, the new cloth growing with each firm shot of the shuttle. New cloth for a new day, she thought. And sighed. She tried, really really tried, to welcome each new day as a blessing, but some days were harder, bleaker, than others. On the bleakest days, she concentrated on the cloth.
The pre-dawn light was still very faint, but she had done this work for so long, had woven so many yards of cloth on this very loom, that she didn’t need the light, had in fact snuffed the candle as soon as she had maneuvered past the chairs and table and other looms to reach her work space. I could probably do this with my eyes closed, she thought, and then closed her eyes for a moment and laughed softly. If I make a mistake – in this light – how will I even know?
She had slept badly – again – last night and had sought refuge – again – at her loom. The rhythmic clack of treadles and harnesses soothed her. The open window caught a light breeze off the lake. She could hear the voices of people beginning their work in the garden. Imagine! Planting vegetables in March in northern Michigan! The younger people thought nothing of it, but she was old enough to remember winter, to remember even the decade of Endless Winters, with snow on the ground and ice on the lake well into May. Now there were children in the community who had never seen snow, who laughed with disbelief at stories of water turning hard enough to walk on, who marveled at a rare film of light frost as something wondrous. Imagine!
A tap on the door frame. “Good morning, my child. I hope I didn’t startle you.”
She looked up at the man entering the room and smiled. It was an old joke: she was the older by at least ten years, but he had addressed her as “my child” for decades. At first she was annoyed; now she found it oddly reassuring.
“Good morning, father.”
“Bad dreams again?” She nodded in response but continued weaving. “Me too. Fire and loss and looking for something I couldn’t describe but couldn’t find.” She nodded again. “You went to your loom; I went to chapel.”
“I could tell,” she replied. “You’re wearing your monk’s robe, not your work clothes.”
“Some people would say that prayer is the proper work for a monk.
She put the shuttle down on the bench beside her, lifted her feet from the treadles, and turned to face him directly. Apparently this was not just an early morning pastoral visit. He did not pick up their old friendly debate about whether or not Jesuits were monks; there must be something on his mind. She waited.
He studied her for a moment. The light was better now. “You would have made a good monastic. You do well with solitude and silence, and you give a very credible imitation of obedience.”
She smiled, and he continued. “I want to talk to you about this new project. You’ve heard about it, of course.”
“Yes.”
“Of course. Impossible to keep secrets in a religious community. If the Lord God himself had lived in a monastery, all of the holy mysteries would have been disclosed long ago. But this project isn’t actually secret. It’s just taken awhile to persuade the Council that it’s necessary.”
“From what I’ve heard,” she said, carefully, “I don’t understand why it’s necessary either. You want each of the ‘Masters’, as you call them, to write a book about their craft. I don’t see why. We’ve each taught our crafts to many pupils so the knowledge can be preserved – that’s the main purpose of this community, isn’t it? And you’ve already collected a library full of books. There must be a dozen books on spinning and weaving alone, not counting duplicates. Why spend our time and resources creating yet more?”
The priest sat down on the bench of another loom. She could see him clearly now. The lines on his face matched the strain in his voice. But, she thought, we probably all look like that now.
“The Council and I are convinced that the community will have to move, and sooner rather than later. Ah, you aren’t surprised. Well, I guess I should expect people outside the Council to be thinking about it. Every year the news from downstate – what little we receive! – is worse. Every year the summer is drier and hotter and the harvests are smaller. Every year there are more fires. But fewer refugees.”
She nodded. “Where can we go?”
“There’s already a community at the Sault. [He had lived there long enough to know it was pronounced ‘Soo’] It makes sense to join them, but I don’t know how much of our own community we can rebuild. Everyone who wants to go will be able to go, of course, but I don’t know how many books, how much equipment, how many looms for example, we can take with us. As you say, one of the main purposes of this community is to preserve knowledge, but this makes me realize how easily both community and knowledge can be lost.
“So while we still have time and a printing press and paper and Masters who know their crafts, I want us to create books that future people can learn from. Simple books, with many drawings, that show what tools are needed for each craft and how to make them and how to use them. Books that can be copied by hand onto paper or deerskin or on the walls of caves or in the dirt if necessary. Books for people who have forgotten.”
She shivered. “Father Robert, that is the stuff of my nightmares, and yours too, I suspect. Do you really think it will come to that?”
“I don’t know. I pray it won’t, but I fear it will.”
“Well, then, father, I will write this book for you.”
“Not for me. For those people in the future, people who have forgotten.”
“For them.”
“For them.”
Her words were a toast; his were a prayer. Then:
“Thank you, Jilly,” he said. “Thank you.”
it.
Every year the news from downstate – what little we receive! – is
worse. Every year the summer is drier
and hotter and the harvests are smaller.
Every year there are more fires.
But fewer refugees.”
She nodded. “Where can we go?”
“There’s already
a community at the Sault. [He had lived
there long enough to know it was pronounced ‘Soo’] It makes sense to join them, but I don’t know
how much of our own community we can rebuild.
Everyone who wants to go will be able to go, of course, but I don’t know
how many books, how much equipment, how many looms for example, we can take
with us. As you say, one of the main
purposes of this community is to preserve knowledge, but this makes me realize how easily both community
and knowledge can be lost.
“So while we
still have time and a printing press and paper and Masters who know their
crafts, I want us to create books that future people can learn from. Simple books, with many drawings, that show
what tools are needed for each craft and how to make them and how to use them. Books that can be copied by hand onto paper
or deerskin or on the walls of caves or in the dirt if necessary. Books for people who have forgotten.”
She
shivered. “Father Robert, that is the
stuff of my nightmares, and yours too, I suspect. Do you really think it will come to that?”
“I don’t
know. I pray it won’t, but I fear it
will.”
“Well, then,
father, I will write this book for you.”
“Not for
me. For those people in the future,
people who have forgotten.”
“For them.”
“For them.”
Her words were a
toast; his were a prayer. Then:
“Thank you,
Jilly,” he said. “Thank you.”
