Read Drought for Free Online

the Elders never have been easy with seeing me cut myself.
    “It’ll heal in minutes,” I remind him.
    He nods and stares at the wall over Mother’s head, far from the bucket.
    My blood drips into the water; I squeeze above the cut to make it flow faster. That should be more than enough, really. The muddy swirl has become Water.
    I grasp the bucket and move it in a slow circle to mix it. Then I dip a metal cup into it and pour it over the worst of Mother’s wounds. While I wait for that to sink in, I can heal Boone.
    “Drink,” I order, giving him a fresh cupful.
    Boone takes a tiny sip. I catch Ellie’s pursed lips from the corner of my eye. He must feel her disapproval too.
    “You’ll need more,” I tell him.
    “That’s more than the rest will see for Communion all month.” Boone shakes his head and turns to the door. “Give it to Sula. All I need is rest.”
    “Good night, then. And thank you,” I say.
    He raises a hand good-bye, and then it is just me, and Mother, and Ellie. She hands me a rag soaked in the Water, and I press it to one of Mother’s wounds. And then another, and another.
    “Why don’t you frown when I heal Mother?” I ask her.
    “Otto will need her here, when he returns,” she says.
    “Won’t he need all his followers?” I ask.
    She holds up her hands to ward away the full cup I am offering her. “If Otto wishes me to live, he’ll come in time. And if I’m meant to pass, then that’s what I’ll do.”
    “You take Communion,” I remind her.
    “As Otto taught us—one drop, every week. After that, it was his choice.”
    “He never denied anyone,” I say, even though I never knew my father. All I know are the stories my mother tells me.
    “You are as generous as he was.” Ellie lifts a rag off Mother’s skin to inspect it. “She is improving.”
    But her body is still striped with deep cuts, some of them down to the bone. I swallow back revulsion, watching the muddy Water seep into her body.
    “We could fight,” I burst out.
    Ellie sighs and lays another bit of cloth over the cuts that circle Mother’s wrist like a bracelet. “We are not fighters.”
    “Not until now.” I tilt some Water over one of the deepest gashes on Mother’s torso.
    “That’s enough. A grown woman has to think more wisely.” Ellie pulls my hand away, and a little of the Water splashes on Mother’s bed. It soaks into the mattress; a bit of dried blood turns vibrant red.
    Then she peels away the cloth that’s layered on Mother’s skin.
    “Put it back. Mother’s still bleeding,” I say.
    “She’ll need to have some bumps and lumps, still. Darwin must never suspect what we do for Sula.” Ellie’s voice is hard now, and she does not put back the cloth.
    He likes seeing her scars and scabs, I think. Some mornings, after he’s beaten her hard, he smiles when he sees her—smiles like a man proud of his handiwork.
    “I hate him,” I say.
    “All of us hate him.” Ellie presses a dry cloth against the closing cuts on Mother’s skin.
    “Mother didn’t, once,” I say.
    “True. Things were different, then.” Ellie straightens up now, walking away from Mother’s bed. The floor creaks beneath her dust-streaked boots, even though her step is light.
    I slide another wet cloth on Mother’s skin when Ellie’s back is turned.
    “Tell me,” I say, because I love any story of the days before Darwin trapped us in the woods, even though I’ve heard them all hundreds of times. Besides, when Ellie tells tales, her mind travels back. She doesn’t notice if I give Mother just a little more healing, take away just a little more pain.
    “After your father …” Ellie swallows. “Disappeared from us …”
    That is another one of the old stories I know by heart. Mother crept away to their secret meeting place, but Otto wasn’t there. Just a wooden box waited for her, with the four vials of his blood inside.
    She went there every day for a month. But he never returned.
    “Darwin hoped