The Jeremy brothers had worked out an intricate dance, more subdued than the flower dance, but requiring concentration and endurance. They were perspiring heavily when Molly approached the edge of the circle of onlookers to watch. There were six Jeremy brothers, and Jeremy was only two years older than the rest; there was no discernible difference between any of them. Molly couldn’t tell in the confusion of their twisting bodies which one was Jed, who would be one of her fellow travelers down the river of metal.
The music changed, and Molly and her sisters swept out to the floor. Dusk turned to night and the electric lights came on, the bulbs now covered with globes of blue, yellow, red, green. The music grew louder and more and more dancers spun around, while other groups of brothers and sisters lined up at the festive tables. The little Kirby brothers started to cry in unison, and someone took them away to be put to bed. The little Miriam sisters were quiet now, mouselike against a wall, eating cakes with their fingers; all had chosen pink cake with pink icing, which stuck to their fingers, their cheeks, their chins. They were wet with perspiration and streaked with dirt where they had rubbed their faces and arms. One of them was barefoot.
“Look at them!” Miri cried.
“They’ll outgrow it,” Miriam said, and for a moment Molly felt a stab of something she could not identify. Then the Miriam sisters rushed off in a group to the tables and consulted and disagreed on what to choose and finally ended up with plates filled with identical tidbits: lamb kebobs and sausage-filled pastries, sweet-potato sticks glazed with honey, whole green beans, bright and glistening with a vinegar sauce, tiny steaming biscuits.
Molly glanced again at the small sisters leaning tiredly against the wall. No more pink cakes with pink icing, she thought sadly. One of the little sisters smiled shyly at her and she smiled back, and then went with the others to find a seat, to feast and await the ceremonies.
Roger, the eldest of them all, was the master of ceremonies. He said, “A toast to our brothers and our sister who will venture forth at dawn to find — not new lands to conquer, nor adventures to prove their courage, nor riches of gold or silver, but rather that most priceless discovery of all — information. Information we all need, information that will make it possible for us to erupt into a thousand blooms, a million! Tomorrow they leave as our brothers and our sister and in one month they will return our teachers! Jed! Ben! Harvey! Thomas! Lewis! Molly! Come forward and let us toast you and the most priceless gift you will bring to us, your family!”
Molly felt her cheeks burn with pleasure as she made her way through the crowd, now standing and applauding wildly. At the front of the room she joined the others on stage and waited for the cheering and applause to die, and she saw her little sisters standing on chairs, clapping with abandon, their faces red, smeary — they were going to cry, she thought. They couldn’t contain such excitement much longer.
“And now,” Roger said, “for each of you we have a gift . . .”
Molly’s gift was a waterproof bag to carry her sketch pads and pencils and pens in. It was the first time she had ever owned something not shared by her sisters, something uniquely hers. She felt tears welling, and could not hear the rest of the ceremony, was not aware of the other gifts, and presently they were being led to the dock and the final surprise — a pennant flying from the mast of the small boat that would carry them to Washington. The pennant was the color of the midsummer sky, deep blue so clear that in daylight it would blend into the sky perfectly, and in the middle of it, a diagonal lightning blaze of gleaming silver. A canopy covered the forward section of the boat, and it too was blue and silver.
There was another toast, wine that tingled and made her head light, and then another, and now Roger was laughing as he said, “The party will continue, but our brave explorers will retire.” Jed shook his head, and Roger laughed again. “You have no choice, my brother. Your last toast was doctored, and within an hour you will be sound asleep, so you will start your trip fresh and rested. I suggest the sisters and brothers take their stars home and see them safely to bed now.”
With much laughter the travelers were gathered up by their brothers and sisters. Molly protested feebly as her sisters half led, half carried her back to their room.
“I’ll repack your things,” Miriam said, examining the gift bag. “How beautiful this is! Look, it is all carved . . .”
They undressed her and brushed her hair, and Miri caressed her back and rubbed her shoulders, and Melissa brushed fairy kisses on her neck as she unwound the ribbon from her hair.
Molly felt a pleasant inertia envelop her and she could only smile and sigh as her sisters prepared her for bed, and then two of them unrolled the floor mat and waited there as the others guided her to it, all of them laughing at her unsteady walk, the way she almost buckled at the knees, and her attempts to keep her eyes open. On the mat they caressed and delighted her until she floated away from them entirely, and then they carried her to her own cot and pulled the thin summer blanket over her, and Miri bent over and kissed her eyelids tenderly.
Chapter 11
By the end of the first hour, life in the boat had become routine. The shouts had been lost in the distance and there was only the quiet river and the silent woods and fields and the regular splash of oars.
For weeks they had been in training, and now all six were hardened and worked well together. Lewis, who had designed the boat, stood forward on guard against unexpected hazards. Three of the brothers and Molly rowed in the first hitch, and Ben sat forward, behind Lewis.
There was a covered section forward, with the canopy down now, and a permanently closed-in rear section with four bunks. The forward section could be closed as snugly as the rear. Every available inch of space had been used, mostly for food, extra clothes, medical supplies, and waterproof pouches folded neatly, to be filled with documents, maps, whatever they found of value.
Molly rowed and watched the shoreline. They had left the familiar section of the valley, with its cultivated fields; the land was changing. The valley narrowed, then widened, then narrowed again, with steeply rising cliffs to the left, wooded slopes on the right. In the silent morning the trees were unmoving; there was no sound except the splashing of oars.
Her sisters would be in the food-processing kitchens this week, Molly thought, as she watched the oar dip into the clear water. Laughing together, moving together. Perhaps they missed her already . . . She pulled steadily, lifted the oar, watched it dip again.
“Rock! Ten o’clock, twenty yards!” Lewis called.
They shifted course easily to give it a wide berth.
“Nine o’clock, twenty yards!”
Thomas, in front of Molly, was wide-shouldered, his hair the color of straw, and as straight as straw. A slight breeze lifted it and let it fall over and over. His muscles moved fluidly, and perspiration glazed him. Molly thought he would make a fine drawing, a study in musculature. He turned and said something to Harvey, across the boat from him, and they both laughed.
Now the sun was higher and the heat was in their faces, along with the breeze they created moving through the water, slowly, but steadily, smoothly. Molly could feel sweat on her upper lip. Soon they would have to stop to put the canopy in place. It would offer some wind resistance, but they had decided the pluses were greater than the minuses; the trip was planned to provide the maximum of safety and comfort, and neither was to be sacrificed to speed.