They found Euclid walking between rows of plants and herbs on the palisade, examining labels and taking notes on a clipboard. He was round in the belly, and had a lamb chop-style beard. Spectacles dangled from his neck. A holstered pistol hung from his belt, as well as a lash. Another man was working on the palisade farther away, tilling the soil. He must be the one Barbara called Mutt.
“Welcome,” Euclid said, flashing an unbridled smile. “Just tending to the crops here. Did you know Jefferson grew more than two hundred and fifty varieties of more than seventy species of vegetables?”
Mehta looked at Barbara, who tilted her head back to him expectantly. Apparently the question was being asked of him. “No, sir, I didn’t,” Mehta said.
“Yes, and quite of few of them managed to survive the winter. Parsley, parsnips, rosemary and sage.” Euclid gestured to the rows.
Mehta nodded and tried to look interested.
Euclid examined the group of them more closely. “Ah, so this must be Flora.” Euclid’s eyes were shining in the sun.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for… acquiring me,” Flora said.
“I’m enchanted, my dear, enchanted.” He held her manacled hand and then looked her up and down. He donned a knowing smirk and nodded to Barbara with satisfaction.
Flora looked down, letting him feast on her with his eyes.
Mehta couldn’t help tapping his hand on his leg impatiently. He was eager to return to the detention tower. These people sickened him, especially Euclid. But he needed to wait until Euclid had given him leave.
“So are we all settled?” Euclid asked, without averting his eyes from Flora.
“Provided you pay the remaining balance by the end of a week,” Mehta said.
“Yes, of course. That’s what we agreed.”
Flora was looking over at Mutt working in the distance. She was squinting.
“Interested in Mutt, are you?” Euclid asked. “Yes, well he was SLS once too, I think. Hard to remember. He doesn’t chat much. Makes him more agreeable if you ask me. You’ll see.” Euclid then called out across the palisade. “Come here, Mutt! Let’s meet the new girl!”
The man dropped the hoe and began moving toward them. Flora had been calm at first. In fact, she’d been docile and compliant much of the day. It seemed she’d been ready to accept her fate with Euclid. Remarkably, she even accepted the more repulsive requirements of the placement without reservation.
With the man’s first steps, however, her posture changed, her eyes opened wider. She was like a cat that had seen a mouse cross its path.
Mutt came closer. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a wiry frame. His dirty rags fell off him loosely. His hair was unkempt, tied back into a ponytail. He kept his head down except for the occasional upward glance toward Euclid.
More and more, Flora’s face came alive with a kind of visceral urgency that needed release. She glanced at Euclid, she glanced at Mehta, and then she looked back to Mutt with a yearning Mehta had never seen. Even through the sessions Mehta hadn’t seen such desperation.
As soon as he saw Flora’s face in this state, a sinking feeling hit Mehta. He regretted not telling her of his suspicions. He should have given her forewarning that there was a slave fitting Granger’s description on the estate. Now she was caught off guard, and there was no telling what she would do.
“Should I take off her cuffs now?” Mehta asked Euclid. Mehta casually made his way over to Flora. It was just an excuse to get closer to her, of course. His intention was to hold her there, to tell her to keep her cool, to prevent her from running to Mutt.
But he didn’t get there in time. She burst into a run, her chain-linked cuffs jangling across her stomach. She whispered “Granger” softly at first but then yelled it aloud at full volume.
The man named Mutt looked up slowly, a look of bewilderment on his face. When his eyes connected with Flora the bewilderment changed to shock, and he stopped walking, his feet fastened to the earth.
Flora reached Granger. Encumbered by her manacles, she was unable to embrace him, so she simply fell into his body. He caught her, holding her against him, his face still a tempest of confusion.
Mehta moved quickly, eager to separate them. There was no telling how Euclid would perceive this. To reinforce Mehta’s concern, a quick glance back to Euclid showed his soft features hardening, and his face turning a ruddy color. He didn’t look happy—not at all.
Granger gently pulled Flora up, back onto her feet, and stared at her. She stared back at him, looking into his eyes. She lifted her cuffed hands up and cupped his chin, holding his face firm, like a trophy for her to cherish. Mehta heard her say his name more softly this time, with gentleness and emotion. “Granger, my love.”
Finally, Granger responded, “Flora?” He looked like he was still coming to grips with the situation, still in a state of first recognition, still reaching back through the years to find her memory.
But the moment didn’t last. Mehta had learned long ago that this world wasn’t made for lovers or happy reunions. Theirs was a world where more often families were torn apart, where children were impaled on stakes, where love was a luxury few could afford.
The shot rang out over the palisade, and Granger’s face rocked back from the impact, out of Flora’s hand. Mehta instinctively dove to the ground, his head angling to find the source of the bullet. Euclid had stepped forward over a patch of rosemary and fired his pistol. His face was beet red, infused with jealousy and anger. This spoiled child couldn’t stand having his forbidden fruit tasted by another, especially not on the cusp of his first bite.
“Not for you, Mutt,” Euclid said.
“No!” An inhuman wail of anguish escaped Flora as she jumped on Granger’s body, now limp on the ground.
Mehta scurried the rest of the way to Flora and Granger and stood above them, hovering over their entwined bodies. The bullet had entered through Granger’s cheek, shattering the side of his face. Blood had splattered over his hair and rags, covering Flora’s hands with red spots. His eyes were lifeless.
“No!” she wailed again, sobbing violently.
Mehta tried to pull Flora off, gently at first, and then with more strength. Her knuckles were white, and her hands felt as if they were welded to Granger’s arms. Pulling her up only resulted in dragging them both along the ground. Mehta looked back and saw Euclid standing there in the same position but with the pistol now lowered. He breathed heavily, his face one part anger, and one part seething satisfaction.
Mehta stopped trying to separate Flora from Granger’s corpse. It was pointless to push and pull the two connected bodies through the dirt.
All this turmoil popped some kernel of control within Mehta. His heart raged, and raged, and his head spun. Maybe Euclid would still accept Flora under the contract, but it felt sullied. It would add another landslide of suffering to Flora’s mountain of melancholy. Yet it was a contract he had architected, an outcome he was responsible for.
A bird crowed on a tree nearby. It was a hawk or a raven. It cared not for what had befallen this woman, for the tragedies that continued to plague her. In fact, no one cared. No Spoke, no Essentialist, no one.
Mehta walked back toward Euclid.
“You should have had her better trained,” Euclid said in disgust.
Mehta said nothing to the man but instead sized him up, his eyes boring into him. Euclid still held his clipboard in one hand, with a string and pencil dangling from it. This man surely knew something about seeds and vegetables. This man surely knew about men from three hundred years ago. He knew about politics and puddings and wine. None of this was important. He was a sick parasite of a man.