Donor 23 (41 page)

The whole camp turned out for the wedding. The wedding party stood under a small, flowering apple tree. The sweet, honeyed fragrance of apple blossoms floated over them. Rays of sunlight sparkled through the branches.

The padre stood in front to them. Isabel had asked Joan to stand with her, as a witness. It was a position of honor, she explained to Joan. Joan was surprised to see that Duncan stood beside Bash.

The padre spoke in a language Joan didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. It was less like words and more like song. At one point, the padre stopped talking and stared at Bash. Duncan nudged him, and Bash, who was clearly nervous, uttered, “
Yo accepto.
”

Duncan placed a steadying hand on his arm. Bash stole a look at Joan and winked. Joan didn’t need One Who Sees to tell her He Smiles was happy. A few minutes later, Isabel repeated the same phrase. Throughout the ceremony Joan stole glances at Duncan, but their eyes never met.

Then it seemed there was confusion. The padre appeared to ask Bash something. Duncan understood and pulled a blue bracelet from his pocket. Joan recognized that it was made from the old, blue yarn of the tassel on Bash’s sword.

Bash took the simple bracelet. “I don’t have much, Isabel.” The padre said something and hovered his hands over the bracelet. Then Bash tied it around Isabel’s left wrist, whispering to her, “But all I have is yours.”

The padre announced the couple, and Bash and Isabel kissed. The crowd cheered and hollered. Someone started to play a guitar, and a few harmonicas joined in.

Lucas threw a wedding party for the couple. Everyone had fun—plenty of drinking, dancing, arm wrestling, and eating. Since they intended to meet other Resistance members who had a fresh supply of necessities for them the following day, Lucas ordered all the food to be enjoyed that night. Lucas, as did most people, had grown to like Bash.

Joan never had a chance to talk to Duncan. Reck stayed by her side all evening. Even if she had, she was unsure what to say. Duncan’s anger the other night was clearly evident. His outburst infuriated her, too.
How dare he blame it on her
? she initially thought. Over the last couple of days, however, she contemplated his words.

Perhaps she did hide things from herself. Duncan saw through her—her lies, her walls. He showed her to herself. The way others see us is different. One can never know the significance of each of us in another’s life.

He knew she was a donor—knew it the whole time. That revelation had shocked her. Did something exist between them? Love?
No,
she convinced herself,
not that
. It couldn’t have been love.
A closeness? At one time. But not now
. It seemed it was too late, too much had happened. Reck was her future, she had decided.

As they passed around a bottle of bourbon, Joan impulsively took a swig. She had never imbibed alcohol. It burned.
The intense searing traveled from her lips, down her throat, and into her stomach. She started to hand off the bottle and glanced at Reck. She took a deep breath, trying to cool off. Her mouth smoldered from the liquor. Her head swayed and felt light on her shoulders. She took another swig. And another.

The morning sun accosted her eyes as she woke. During the celebration the night before, she drank too much.
Why?
Her head ached. As she sipped coffee at the fire, she experienced the sadness she avoided the night before. The group was splitting up.

Bash and Isabel had already packed, and she walked over to them.

Joan forced a smile and greeted them, “Mr. and Mrs. Bash.”

“Sad day,
hija,
” Isabel lamented.

After hugging Isabel, Joan held out something out to Bash. “Here, maybe you should have this back?” She offered him
Jane Eyre.

Bash shook his head. “No, that was a gift. Did you enjoy it?”

She nodded, “Yeah, loved it. Funny coincidence—I knew parts of this book. My mom used to tell me bedtime stories. I remember the fire part, when the big house burnt down. You sure you don’t want it? It has your name in it.”

“My name?” he questioned.

Joan opened the book to the first page, “See, ‘A. Bash.’ Looks like you were a kid when you wrote it.”

Bash looked at the handwritten script, and a smile crept over his face. He ran his fingers over the name.

“Not me. That’s my sister, Ann. It was one of her favorite books. She died when she was thirteen.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said and touched his hand. “You sure? You should take it. Keep it.”

Bash thought for a moment. “No,” he said, shaking his head and remembering. He looked at Joan. “You keep it. You gave me back my sister, Joan.” He touched her cheek. “I don’t
understand it, so don’t ask me to explain. But now, when I think of her, a smile comes to my face, instead of a tear to my eye. Thank you.”

He glanced around and saw Reck packing up his pony.

Bash said tentatively, “Joan, before we leave, I have to say this. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing? Not about the Resistance. I understand that. But Reck? Do you—”

“Look, sometimes things are just meant to be.”

Isabel commented with concern, “I always thought Duncan and you had something—”

Joan interrupted by saying sadly, “No. We never did. He was a citizen. I was a donor…I don’t even know.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to stay with Reck. I like him. He’s a good kid, but I don’t see the two of you together. I wonder why?” Bash questioned.

Irritation raged through Joan, because she didn’t understand why either. She responded testily, “Duncan’s not Rochester, and I’m not Jane Eyre.”

Bash shook his head.

Joan continued, “And Reck isn’t St. John Rivers. Nothing’s wrong with Reck. You have to understand. He was a donor. As donors we had to live with certain…,” she struggled to find the right word, “hazards, risks. Everyday. We never knew if…”

Bash interrupted, “You said he never had to donate. That he didn’t have a, what do you call it, a benefactor?”

“That doesn’t matter…” She grew angry. “It’s not fair to compare him to Duncan. Duncan was a citizen. He had a different life.”

Bash grabbed her by the shoulders. “None of that matters because I’m not comparing him to anyone. Forget about the two of them. I’m talking about you.
You
. About what’s right for you.”

She broke free from his grip. “We have to play the cards dealt to us, as you say.”

“But Joan, you dealt these cards.”

Joan shuddered. She pulled away, hid her emotions, and said her good-byes calmly to the two—but stalked off angrily.
What was that supposed to mean?
She didn’t think of herself as a martyr.
Did she? Was she?
She shook her head. She had always done what others wanted. Been what others wanted her to be. First, it was the System. She had been a good, compliant donor. In being with Reck, was she just doing what Reck wanted? What Kaleb would have wanted? What everyone always expected?

She kicked the dirt.
What was she doing?
Bash had told her that by freeing herself, she could free others. He meant she had to be true to herself. In his parable, Old Owl also told her she had to find the earth—the person, who would nourish her, and then she would likewise offer strength to that person. But she had to find the one. She would know. Someone, who, like with One Who Sees, would lift a shadow from her and shine a light on his own face and on hers.

She spied Reck wiping his gun. He glanced up, smiled, and waved. Reck. A good man. She had desperately tried to convince herself she loved him. All these years, she had made him something he wasn’t—made herself something she wasn’t. And she never saw what
she
really was. The System had branded her wrist, making her into a donor. And she had gone along with it, not thinking whether it was right or not. She never really knew Reck, not really. And he didn’t know her. He never would. A life with him would be a lie. And it suddenly flashed through her brain, that if Reck really understood her—really knew her—he would never have loved her.

She toyed with the book in her hands and flipped through a few pages. If she was going to be true to herself, she had to be true to her passions and her emotions. They did not reside with Reck. Reck was not the earth that would nourish her, and she could never strengthen him—not with lies. Reck would
never know her, but he would—unintentionally—extinguish her passions and her identity.

Who was she? The Lionheart?
That’s what Reck wanted. No. She was Joan Lion. She would be the Lionheart for the Resistance—for all her fellow donors. But not for Reck. Oh, they would fight side by side—defeat the Alliance or die trying. But she didn’t love him.

Shaking her head, she knew she had to talk to Reck—
finally
explain her true feelings for him. They could never be more than friends.

“I’m just about finished packing up.” Duncan appeared, surprising her out of her thoughts. “Here, why don’t you take this?” he offered her his wrist phone.

She looked at him questioningly.

He continued, “It has photos of your parents on it.”

“My parents?”

“Yeah, I downloaded them from your wrist phone, the one you left outside the sewer when you evaded. Since you don’t have that photograph of your parents anymore and when I get to the cities, I’ll be able to contact my parents…I thought you should have this.”

“Thanks,” Joan said, moved by the gesture. “Duncan… what happened between us…”

Just then Reck walked over. He stood next to Duncan. Reck towered a full four inches over Duncan.

Duncan said, “It’s OK. I wish you the best. Both of you.”

He still hasn’t said my name,
Joan thought. She wanted to hear him say it.

43

“T
hey’re good people,” Reck uttered, as Duncan walked off. He referred to the departing trio of Duncan, Bash, and Isabel.

“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah. I’ll miss them,” Joan agreed, although she wasn’t sure Reck would miss them.

Gathering her thoughts and taking a deep breath, she said, “Reck, let’s go over there. Where we can talk.”
How would she tell him?

“Sure thing, Lionheart,” he smiled. He had taken to calling her that. She didn’t like it.

A strong voice interrupted them, calling, “Tyndall! Reck Tyndall!”

It was Colonel Spiller.

Reck twisted his head. “Here Colonel.” Turning back to Joan, “Colonel needs me. Be right back.”

Sighing, Joan walked to a shady spot under a tree and waited for Reck—for the conversation she dreaded. She watched Bash, Isabel, and Duncan ride south, with a packhorse trailing behind them. Reck was taking longer with Spiller than she had anticipated. To pass the time, she decided to look at Duncan’s phone.

Finding a file named “Joan’s phone,” she clicked on it. Inside resided her photos. She sighed to herself and smiled, as she gazed upon her parents. Clicking through the pictures, she stopped when she noticed the ones of Duncan. He obviously saw these.
What did he think, knowing she sneaked pictures of him?
She chuckled. At that point she was past embarrassment.

She returned to looking at the photos of her parents. One was of their wedding day. Joan had snapped it from a still on the mantle in their house. She focused on the love in their eyes—his arms wrapped around her, her hand rested on his face.

While reminiscing about them, her eyes fell on the “message” function of the phone. Duncan’s script messages. She clicked on it. Nothing since he’d been on the road and out of range. In fact, most of the last messages were from the day of her escape. That was the last day she used her phone, too, receiving those two warning scripts from Jack.

Joan was about to switch back to the photo file, when a realization came upon her. She scrolled through Duncan’s sent scripts that day. There they were: the two messages she received. The two messages warning her to get out. Duncan sent them, not Jack. Duncan helped her in more ways than she knew, not only missing her with the tranquilizer dart but also alerting her to the impending arrest.

Then came a second realization, more startling than the previous. More critical. The other day Duncan said he had sent two messages to the girl he loved. Loved. She hadn’t understood. She thought he referred to Tegan Gates. Maybe she
didn’t want to understand. Those were the two messages.
He loved me
. Duncan loved her—Joan, a donor. He risked giving up his privileged life, risked imprisonment and possibly worse, to help her, because he loved her. She shook her head. He didn’t just risk it; he
did
give that up.

Duncan had been right. She had been hiding from herself all along. She believed her lies were only to others, but they were really to herself. Those are the worst kind of lies. She had many lies to confront. First to Reck—she had to tell Reck the truth.

Then…Duncan. Every friendship, every love travels a long road, and none was more difficult than the road the two of them had traveled. They’d each built barriers around themselves.
Does he still love me? Could he still love me?
she wondered. There was only one way to find out. She had to know. She had to confront Duncan. No matter what happened with Duncan, no matter his current feelings for her, she could move on and fight the Alliance.