“It was an accident. An accident, I’m sure of it. The implant failed. Aren has a boy in town; they spend all their time together. We thought nothing of it because of the implant, but then it failed, and — we didn’t say anything because we were scared. That’s all. We should have told the committee as soon as we knew. I’m sorry — I know now that that was wrong. You’ll take that into consideration?”
“When did you know? All of you, starting with Aren — when did you know of the pregnancy?”
The young woman’s first words were halting, choked. Crying had thickened her throat. “Must . . . must have been . . . two months in, I think. I was sick. I just knew.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No, no one. I was scared.”
They were all terrified. That sounded true.
“And the rest of you?”
Murmurs answered. The men shook their heads, said they’d only known for a month or so, when she could no longer hide the new shape of her. They knew for sure the day that Frain ranted about it. “I didn’t rant,” the man said. “I was only surprised. I lost my temper, that was all.”
Felice said, “I knew when she got sick. I’ve been pregnant —” Her gaze went to the banner on the wall. “I know the signs. I asked her, and she told.”
“You didn’t think to tell anyone?”
“Frain told me not to.”
So Frain knew, at least as soon as she did. The man glared fire at Felice, who wouldn’t lift her gaze.
“Aren, might I speak to you alone?”
The woman cringed, back curled, arms wrapped around her belly.
“I’ll go you with you, dear,” Felice whispered.
“Alone,” Enid said. “Bert will wait here. We’ll go outside. Just a short walk.”
Trembling, Aren stood. Enid stood aside to let her walk out the door first. She caught Bert’s gaze and nodded. He nodded back.
Enid guided her on the path away around the house, to the garden patch and pond behind. She went slowly, letting Aren set the pace.
The physical state of a household carried information: whether rakes and shovels were hung up neat in a shed or closet, or piled haphazardly by the wall of an unpainted barn. Whether the herb garden thrived, if there were flowers in window boxes. If neat little water-smoothed stones edged the paths leading from one building to another, or if there were just dirt tracks worn into the grass. She didn’t judge a household by whether or not it put a good face to the world — but she did judge them by whether or not the folk in a household worked to put on a good face for themselves. They had to live with it, look at it every single day.
This household did not have a good face. The garden patch was only just sprouting, even this far into spring. There were no flowers. The grass along the path was overgrown. There was a lack of care here that made Enid angry.
But the pond was pretty. Ducks paddled around a stand of cattails, muttering to themselves.
Enid had done this before, knew the questions to ask and what possible answers she might get to those questions. Every moment reduced the possible explanations. Heavens, she was tired of this.
Enid said, “Stop here. Roll up your sleeve.”
Aren’s overlarge tunic had wide sleeves that fell past her wrists. They’d be no good at all for working. The young woman stood frozen. Her lips were tightly pursed, to keep from crying.
“May I roll the sleeve up, then?” Enid asked carefully, reaching.
“No, I’ll do it,” she said, and clumsily pushed the fabric up to her left shoulder.
She revealed an angry scar, puckered pink, mostly healed. Doing the math, maybe seven or eight months old. The implant had been cut out, the wound not well treated, which meant she’d probably done it herself.
“Did you get anyone to stitch that up for you?” Enid asked.
“I bound it up and kept it clean.” At least she didn’t try to deny it. Enid guessed she would have, if Frain were there.
“Where did you put the implant after you took it out?”
“Buried it in the latrine.”
Enid hoped she wouldn’t have to go after it for evidence. “You did it yourself. No one forced you to, or did it to you?” That happened sometimes, someone with a skewed view of the world and what was theirs deciding they needed someone to bear a baby for them.
“It’s me, it’s just me. Nobody else. Just me.”
“Does the father know?”
“No, I don’t think . . . He didn’t know I’d taken out the implant. I don’t know if he knows about the baby.”
Rumors had gotten out, Enid was sure, especially if Aren hadn’t been seen around town in some time. The anonymous tip about the pregnancy might have come from anywhere.
“Can you tell me the father’s name, so I can speak to him?”
“Don’t drag him into this; tell me you won’t drag him into this. It’s just me. Just take me away and be done with it.” Aren stopped, her eyes closed, her face pinched. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
She was done with crying. Her face was locked with anger, resignation. “You’ll take me to the center of town and rip the baby out, cut its throat, leave us both to bleed to death as a warning. That’s it, isn’t it? Just tell me that’s what you’re going to do and get it over with —”
Goodness, the stories people told. “No, we’re not going to do that. We don’t rip babies from mother’s wombs — not unless we need to save the mother’s life, or the baby’s. There’s surgery for that. Your baby will be born; you have my promise.”
Quiet tears slipped down the girl’s cheeks. Enid watched for a moment, this time not using the silence to pressure Aren but trying to decide what to say.
“You thought that was what would happen if you were caught, and you still cut out your implant to have a baby? You must have known you’d be caught.”
“I don’t remember anymore what I was thinking.”
“Let’s get you back to the kitchen for a drink of water, hmm?”
By the time they got back to the common room, Aren had stopped crying, and she even stood a little straighter. At least until Frain looked at her, then at Enid.
“What did you tell her? What did she say to you?”
“Felice, I think Aren needs a glass of water, or maybe some tea. Frain, will you come speak with me?”
The man stomped out of the room ahead of her.
“What happened?” Enid said simply.
“The implant. It must have failed.”
“Do you think she, or someone, might have cut it out? Did you ever notice her wearing a bandage on her arm?”
He did not seem at all surprised at this suggestion. “I never did. I never noticed.” He was going to plead ignorance. That was fine. “Does the local committee know you’re here?” he said, turning the questioning on her.
“Not yet,” she said lightly. “They will.”
“What are you going to do? What will happen to Aren?”
Putting the blame on Aren, because he knew the whole household was under investigation. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“I’m going to protest to the committee, about you questioning Aren alone. You shouldn’t have done that, it’s too hard on her —” He was furious that he didn’t know what Aren had said. That he couldn’t make their stories match up.
“Submit your protest,” Enid said. “That’s fine.”
She spoke to every one of them alone. Half of them said the exact same thing, in exactly the same way.
“The implant failed. It must have failed.”
“Aren’s got that boy of hers. He’s the father.”