Her eyes felt hot, and her throat clogged.
But she shook her head. There wasn’t time to wallow. Or grieve. She had to figure out what she was doing, how they were going to live. She had to make this into a place where they could hole up for as long as necessary—and where the precious knowledge they’d rescued could be preserved. But without the library, without its stacks and its order and its peace and its historical, cultural, and political importance . . . What was the point? Who was she with all of it gone? What kind of future did she have?
Caz jumped into the sink. “More water, please.”
She pumped water onto him and, using another towel, helped wash the dirt, grime, and soot from each of his leaves. When he climbed out, his soil ball was saturated. He dripped dirty water over the counter, which then trickled onto the wood floor.
“What’s first?” Caz asked. Then he asked: “Are you okay?”
Kiela nodded, unable to speak, then shook her head. “The library . . .”
He laid a leaf on her hand. “I know.”
“Everything we worked for. Believed in. Cared about.”
“We’ll be all right. We’ll make it all right. Kiela, you can’t break down on me now. You’re all I’ve got.”
She sucked in air and steadied herself. They only had each other and so, like Larran had said, they had to look out for each other.
But where to begin?
“We have to make this our home,” Kiela said.
After she’d dragged the crates of books into the back bedroom, Kiela surveyed the house. First step was to see what they had. Next step was to figure out what they’d need.
“Pull everything out,” she said. “We’ll take stock.”
That was what they did whenever a fresh donation of books and manuscripts arrived at the library. First they’d sort through the collection. Spread it all out, see what they had, catalog it, and then proceed as appropriate.
And so Kiela and Caz dug in. Together, they rooted through the house and dragged out everything in a cabinet or closet or drawer into the center of the main room.
She was pleasantly surprised at how much remained. Her parents had abandoned a heap of old Caltreyan clothes. Selecting one of the island dresses, Kiela shook it out. Dust plumed in the air. The skirt was a quilt of blue—sky blue, sapphire blue, sea blue—all stitched together with silvery thread and hemmed with silver ribbon, and the bodice was a soft white blouse. Not at all a city style, but it was perfect for a picnic in a garden or a stroll on a shore. With a few repairs, she could wear a lot of her mother’s abandoned clothes, and she could use her father’s for . . . She wasn’t sure what, but they were nice to have. She’d find a use for them. If nothing else, she could chop the fabric up into cleaning rags. Or perhaps learn to quilt? There was a moth-eaten blanket in one closet, in addition to the old quilts on the daybed and her parents’ bed. Each quilt had its own pattern—one was comprised of colors of the sunset and sewn in strips like rays of light, while another was the brown and pale green of a spring garden with pieces cut like petals and sewn like abstract flowers.We left so many beautiful things behind.She’d had no idea. She’d been too little to help much with the packing, though she remembered she’d tried. Carrying an armful of clothes into the kitchen, Kiela dumped them into the sink to soak in water. She planned to use the excess line from the boat to hang them out in the sun to dry.They’ll be even more beautiful once they’re clean.
The kitchen cabinet produced more treasures: a few plates, bowls, and cups. Each bowl was painted with pictures of strawberries and raspberries, and the plates were painted with tomatoes and asparagus. The teacups bore delicate pictures of flowers. In one drawer, she found a decent knife with a carved antler handle. In another, she found a somewhat warped but still usable pot, as well as a frying pan and a teakettle. One chest held a stack of slightly yellowed yet serviceable papers—useful to a librarian normally, but less vital right now. Of greater interest was the bucket behind the door. And in a closet, miraculously: a broom and a shovel, as well as a full set of garden tools (hoe, trowel, clippers, and a set of leather gardening gloves with only a few holes in them). She also found a pantry closet full of empty glass canning jars and bottles that had once been used to store fruits, vegetables, and herbs. Her parents hadn’t planned to garden or can in the city, and so they’d left all their equipment behind. She hadn’t even begun to explore the yard that used to hold their garden—it was so overgrown that the fences were swallowed in vines. But perhaps she could clear it, plant a few vegetables, and see if anything edible had survived their abandonment . . .
Kiela began to feel a shred of hope.
This was a good place.
It could be made whole again.
And so can we.
Kiela scrubbed the blanket and the clothes as best she could and then strung up a line between the corner of the house and a tree—there was an old plant-basket hook on the corner of the house, which worked nicely to secure the clothesline. She spread the wet clothes out on the line and admired how much better they looked already. The blues and the greens had brightened from the wash. She then stuffed the quilt from the daybed into a bucket of water and left that to soak.
Together, she and Caz cleaned the kitchen. They swept the near-petrified mouse droppings out of the cabinets, washed the plates and glasses and utensils, and scrubbed the privy until the copper bathtub shone and the walls were a cheerful white again. She found sprigs of lavender in the front herb bed, wrapped their stems with a ribbon, and hung them above the privy washbasin. Once the daybed quilt was clean, she washed an armload of faded but usable towels.
At midday, they took a break, and Kiela ate some of the peaches and pecans she’d brought from the library—at least she’d been clever enough to stash them in the boat, though she wished she’d packed more—while Caz rooted himself in a sunny spot where the floorboards were broken enough to expose the earth beneath. When she finished, she screwed the lid back on the peach jar and stored it in a cabinet. She then stepped back and allowed herself to think about the one thing that their search hadn’t produced:
Food.
She had a finite amount of it from the city, enough for a few days if she stretched it. She’d need more very soon. She’d never had to worry about the possibility of hunger before. All her meals had been provided by the library kitchens, delivered via the chutes, and Kiela was only just beginning to realize that what she had right here was all she had.
That was . . . unsettling. She felt a bit like she was standing on the very top rung of a library ladder with the safety rope unclipped.
Yes, she could reclaim the garden, but it would take time. Also, seeds. And maybe some clue how to garden? She’d never planted anything before. The same went for the ocean. She knew there were fish and crabs out in the cove, but she didn’t know how to fish or . . . crab? Was that what it was called? She didn’t even know what the verb was, much less how to do it. And as for wild berries, yes, she could gather whatever she found, as well as nuts and mushrooms, but how was she to know what was edible or what wasn’t? If she accidentally poisoned herself . . .
She’d need medicine. If she hurt herself. If she became sick.
