Free Arcadia by Lauren Groff Page A

the sky, bigger than all that’s in his head. An overwhelm from two directions, vast and tiny, together.
    From behind him, footsteps. He hears them when they are still far away. They thunder the ground. He knows from his Grimm that it is probably a giant come to eat him, but he can’t find the energy to fight. Bit bends his head and waits for the great hand, the teeth. Instead, he smells something fleshy and feminine, blood and pus and sweat and rose soap. Astrid. She sits beside him and he waits for her to yell.
    She doesn’t. She just sits. When he dares, he lifts his head to look at her. She studies her feet, unshod and luxuriating in the cold mud. She smiles down at him. I love spring mud in the toes, she says. Makes me think of home. Norway, you know.
    He takes off his own shoes and wallows his toes in the mud.
    After some time, Astrid claps him on a thigh and stands. She scoops him up. So light, little Bit, she says. You are maybe twenty pounds? I’m sure I have delivered a new baby almost as heavy as you. You are a marvel.
    They come out of the forest onto the Sugarbush path, then up into the Sheep’s Meadow. Already, flowers spread on the ground like small open mouths, purple bells, white stars with golden hearts.
    He rests his head on her shoulder, and she says, Not to worry. You will grow. And one day things will not be so confusing. This I can promise you.
    When they come into Ersatz Arcadia, she says one last thing into his ear. She says, Don’t think that nobody knows you are not talking, that nobody worries about the words that are stuck in you. But you take your time. When you can, you will tell me the story of everything you feel and I will do everything to make it better. This I also promise you, she says, and Astrid’s face is kind as a field of dandelions.
    Astrid carries him into the Henhouse, and only now, in its warmth, does he know how cold he has been. It smells like chamomile and yarrow and lavender, other herbs that hang from the rafters in the kitchen. Someone moans above, and Flannery lopes downstairs naked, with a basin in her arms, her belly vast, her face panicky. She is one of the teenagers who have been showing up every few weeks, petrified but knowing, as they somehow do, that the midwives take care of the Pregnant Ladies who come to them.
    Oh, thank God you’re back, she breathes. Marilyn was called off to Amos the Amish’s daughter, and Midge had to go take a nail out of D’Angelo’s foot.
    Astrid looks down, and touches Bit’s head, and says, You’ll stay here, in the kitchen, with Flan? We can have our talk after Eden’s baby is born, yes? And Bit nods, though he knows he won’t say a word. Astrid strips off all her clothing and washes herself for a long time with soap and water so hot it steams. When she goes upstairs, she is nude, also.
    Flannery puts on a bathrobe and makes a face at Bit. So what’s your story, she says. You’re the retarded one, right? He shakes his head, but she snorts, and gives him a piece of apple cake, and goes off to lie down on the couch. Jesus, she says. I’m definitely not looking to get this little bastard out of me if it’s gonna be like that. She points, finger trembling, skyward.
    In a moment, she is asleep and breathing heavily. Bit goes upstairs.
    The room is murky where Eden is lying on her back. At first, he can see only the gleam of her coppery hair, then a lady’s swollen bottom and a great upswell of flesh. Astrid is astride her and rubs her belly with something glossy, breathing with her. You must remember, she says, it is a rush, it is good energy, it is the energy it takes to get this baby into the world. There is no pain here. Do not push. All in its own time.
    Eden grimaces and gives a low whine, and seems to release something, and Astrid says, Good, good.
    Astrid puts two long white fingers into Eden’s folds and feels around. They are bloody when she takes them out. She nods and grunts.
    The coil begins to wind again in