Free Venus of Dreams by Pamela Sargent Page A

other small children in a crib-filled room.
    The women of the household, and all of the women of Lincoln, had gone to the fields for one of their most important ceremonies, as they did every year. The autumn night was clear, a good sign; a full moon would shine down on the assemblage. All of the young girls who had passed menarche during the past year would be honored in the ceremony, and Elisabeth's daughter Lilia was among them. Lilia had begun to bleed shortly after last year's ceremony, and a small party had been held for her then, but she had needed to wait until now before being officially welcomed into the ranks of Lincoln's women.
    Iris sprawled on the sofa, letting her feet hang over the side. One day, she would be taken to the field and would return to town as a woman. She was already beginning to dread it, and that had to mean that there was something wrong with her; other girls looked forward to the rite. She would lose her child's allotment and have to earn her credit with labor; the Nomarchies were not likely to continue the payments for her lessons then, for she would be more valuable as a working farmer. Her lessons would become only a pastime. She knew that children at schools postponed puberty with various biological techniques so that they would not be distracted from their studies; they prolonged their childhoods until it was time to work or attend a university for more training.
    She could go to Letty Charlottes, the town physician. Iris sat up, shocked that she would even consider such an action. Letty would have to keep Iris's request confidential, but others were bound to find out Iris had gone to the doctor for more than the usual complaints if she could not make up a convincing story; illness was rarely kept a secret. Anyway, Iris was sure that Letty would refuse her. The physician had only basic medical training, and no Link; she always called in specialists for difficult cases, or sent such patients to the hospital in Omaha. Letty was not even likely to know the proper techniques for prolonging childhood. Plainswomen took pride in being women; menarche, the signal of womanhood, had become a symbol in their minds representing the fertility of their fields. If Angharad even guessed that her daughter had considered postponing maturity, Iris would suffer much more than the loss of her lessons. Wenda would probably say that Iris would put a curse on the farm if she succeeded in prolonging her childhood.
    Iris leaned back. It might have been better if Celia had advised her to give up the studies. The pain of the loss would have faded by now; she would have been at the town hall with her friends, stealing bites of food and looking forward to her own celebration, instead of sitting in an empty house with her dark and irresponsible thoughts. She could still give up the lessons. Celia would not care, the Nomarchies would save that small expenditure, and Angharad would be relieved to see her daughter accept her responsibilities.
    I can't, Iris thought. I can't give it up.
    She had a little time; the women would probably not get to the town hall for another hour. She could review some of her work and put the time to use. As she stood up, a chime suddenly began to sound; someone was calling.
    Iris hurried toward the screen console in the corner and pressed a button, wondering who could be calling now; everyone who knew them would be aware of the festival and would have called the town hall instead. She pressed another button, preparing to record the call for the household.
    A woman appeared on the wall screen. Iris approached the image hesitantly; the caller's light brown face was contorted with grief.
    "I am Miriam Acella," the lifelike image said, sounding as though the words were strangling her. She was sitting on a small bed that jutted out from a white wall.
    "I'm Iris Angharads," the girl replied.
    "Of course. Isn't anyone else there?"
    Iris shook her head. "They're at our festival." She had noticed that