Clover Blue Read online

  Books by Eldonna Edwards

  THIS I KNOW

  CLOVER BLUE

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  CLOVER BLUE

  Eldonna Edwards

  JOHN SCOGNAMIGLIO BOOKS

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AUTHOR NOTES

  Epigraph

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  JOHN SCOGNAMIGLIO BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Eldonna Edwards

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2018912557

  The JS and John Scognamiglio Books logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1289-9

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-1289-7

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: June 2019

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1291-2 (e-book)

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-1291-9 (e-book)

  For Brer, my touchstone, my lodestar.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Before publishing my debut novel This I Know, I had little idea of just how much happens behind the scenes between completed manuscript and release. I am so very grateful for my supporting cast at Kensington. Thank you John Scognamiglio for honoring my work under your fabulous new imprint. Thank you Lulu, Vida, Lauren, Alex, and all the wonderful people whose names I don’t know but who work diligently to ensure that my cover is beautiful, the contents are close to perfect, and the book lands in the hands of influential readers.

  Thank you Claire Anderson-Wheeler for always being available to explain, to elaborate, to commiserate and to celebrate. Given Aladdin’s magic lamp, you’re exactly the dedicated, earnest, meticulous agent I’d have wished for. How lucky am I?

  Thank you to all the authors who’ve extended their hands in friendship and encouragement, especially those who took time out of their busy schedules to read and review This I Know. Barbara Claypole White, Amy Impellizzeri, Cathy Lamb, Lesley Kagen, y’all are the best of the best. A very special gratitude to Donna Everhart, who midwifed me through this process when you were going through one of the greatest challenges of your own life. I am so lucky to know you. Thanks also to my fellow debutantes from Authors ’18, where we learned that whole first novel thing, sometimes painfully, but mostly joyfully, together.

  Thank you Teri Bayus for trusting me with Central Coast Writers Conference attendees and for your voluptuous friendship. You are the definition of what it means to be a champion for writers. Thank you Peter Dunne for your invaluable notes that pushed me to make Clover Blue a story that belongs to all of us. Who knew that a young adult watching Eight Is Enough and Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman would one day be fortunate enough to have the writer/producer of those shows read her early pages? Your feedback was nothing less than gold, and I cherish our friendship.

  I enjoy a petulant relationship with social media; it’s difficult not to get distracted from writing and be swept down the rabbit holes of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. This is partly due to all the wonderful people I’ve met through these channels. People like Kristy Barrett of A Novel Bee, a veritable one-woman cheering squad for writers and readers who makes a special effort to uplift debut authors. You amaze me, inspire me, and make me laugh. Kudos also to your sidekick Tonni Callan, who is a book-loving Olympian in her own right. Thank you to all the Facebook reading groups and their moderators, too many to mention, who’ve introduced readers to my books. A special shout-out to the group I Grew Up in Sebastopol in the 70s for the wealth of research information while writing Clover Blue. I’m pretty sure a few of you would have lived at Saffron Freedom Community.

  Thank you Women’s Fiction Writers Association for all you do to inspire, educate, and support writers of women’s fiction. Thank you SLO NightWriters for providing a network for local writers. Thank you to my original writing clan, Collective Journey, for all your love and support throughout the years. We’ve been together for over two decades and I cherish every one of you.

  Thank goodness for libraries, librarians, and booksellers. Where would we be without your fierce love of books?

  Thank you to all of you who read This I Know and shared the book with other readers, for your lovely reviews, for reaching out to tell me how the story touched you personally.

  Thank you to my sibs Sharon, Luanne, Mari-Beth, LaVonne, and David, who show up at my readings and shout their adoration from the rooftops. You were my first commune and I’m so grateful for that. Thank you Anita for teaching me to read. I miss you, sis. Thank you to my children, who tell me how proud they are of their mom. A special thanks to my son Jacob, who offered a ton of helpful feedback on the voice of a young male narrator and who came up with the term “growing pleasures” that I used in the book.

  Thank you Lorena Rodriguez, “sister” kidney donor for championing my memoir, then my debut novel, and now this book. You are a true “book angel” and a very special person only some of us are fortunate enough to call friend.

  Thank you to my beautiful tribe of amazing massage therapists who’ve sustained Avila Beach Massage while I focused on my writing. I could not have accomplished this without you.

  Finally, thank you William “Brer” Braddock, my beloved, for the countless hours, weeks, and months you pored over my words and helped me reshape them into better ones. For inhabiting these characters as if they were your brothers and sisters. For your tender honesty and exuberant praise. As Rumi once wrote, “Every story is us.”

  AUTHOR NOTES

  When I was a teen I briefly “house sat” at a small commune while the inhabitants were away. During those few days I slept in a shack on a pad piled high with musty fur coats purchased at thrift stores. I rode bareback on horses as they grazed between lumps of melting snow. My two friends and I heated up gruel from the local food co-op on top of a cast-iron wood stove. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I much preferred my soft bed and the hot, palatable meals I’d enjoyed all my life. However, living in that commune for a few days also planted a seed of wonder. I relished all the earthy smells and sounds living so close to nature. I began to romanticize living in a wilderness community with people who espoused shared ideals.

  I never realized that dream except to write about it here in this book. I chose an area near Freestone, California, because of its proximity to Sebastopol, a hub of freethinkers and leftover flower children. I didn’t learn until much later while on a research trip that an actual commune
existed north of Freestone at one time, apparently a pretty famous one. This is to say that Saffron Freedom Community and her members were borne of my imagination and are in no way a representation of any place or person other than the ones living in my mind. And after reading Clover Blue, hopefully in yours as well.

  Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

  —Kahlil Gibran

  1

  September 3, 1974

  The Olders are letting us watch the birth. Harmony runs down the path ahead of me, her bare feet kicking up a cloud of dust. When she gets to the teepee she turns and yells, “Come on, Blue! Aren’t you excited?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.” I balance on one leg to brush a sharp acorn cap from the bottom of my foot.

  “Okay, but hurry up or you’re going to miss it.” She opens the canvas flap and disappears inside.

  Letting us watch is a stretch. More like they insisted. Harmony and I were asleep when Moon was born so we both missed that one. Sirona says we’re old enough now. Sirona is the family midwife. She delivers babies in people’s houses around Sonoma County. This is only her second birth here at Saffron Freedom Community. The first was when she gave birth to Moon four years ago.

  I walk slowly, taking small steps. I might be old enough at ten, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for this. I can’t shake the memory of when our nanny goat, Inga, had a baby a couple years ago after one of the neighbor’s goats got loose and mated with her. Inga ate the sac around her kid and the other stuff that came out of her afterward. I hope we don’t have to eat anything that comes out after Jade’s baby is born. We’re vegetarian so probably not. But you never know with this family.

  I want to be excited, but I’m a little freaked out. I’m worried Jade’s baby might not survive, just like the baby goat that got sick and died. Goji forbids doctors and hospitals. We believe in natural medicine. Sirona probably knows what she’s doing but what if she doesn’t? What if none of them know what they’re doing?

  When I reach the teepee Harmony pokes her head through the doorway and grabs my hand, pulling me forward. “Come on, slowpoke.”

  I take a breath and step inside.

  Jade is propped on pillows in the middle of the room. Her belly button looks like the tied end of a balloon, one that’s about to burst from too much air inside. Willow and Coyote are on their knees near the head of the mattress, each holding one of Jade’s hands. Sirona crouches at the other end, her red hair like a lit match piled high on top of her head, softly coaching Jade. The rest of the Olders sit with their backs against the far wall of the musty canvas, quietly chanting the ohm.

  The minutes drag on for what seems like forever. Harmony paces back and forth behind Sirona. Every time Jade moans, Sirona tells her, “Almost there. Almost there.” I’m pretty sure she’s been “almost there” for over an hour now.

  Jade tilts her head back to look at Coyote, her tired eyes begging for comfort. I hate that she’s hurting. Goji often tells us that every light has a shadow, and pain is the price of joy. Goji is the leader, but he doesn’t call himself that. He is kind of a guru, though, and everyone looks up to him. Still, this seems like too high of a price if you ask me. I wish Sirona would fix it. I thought that was her job.

  Coyote pulls the tie-dyed headband off his Afro and dabs sweat from Jade’s forehead. “You’re doing great,” he whispers.

  Another moan from Jade that turns into a howl. I glance at Moon, asleep on a mat on the dirt floor, his head on his favorite blanket. He doesn’t move. I can’t believe the noise doesn’t wake him.

  Sirona lays a hand on each of Jade’s thighs. “Here we go, sister. Baby’s crowning. On the next contraction, go ahead and push.”

  Harmony hovers behind Sirona, trying to see over our sister-mother’s wide shoulders. I stick as close to the doorway as possible. I don’t like the noises Jade is making. She sounds like one of the neighbor’s dairy cows when they low for their calves after they’re taken from their mothers.

  Jade lets out a low growl, then holds her breath, straining as Willow and Coyote support her upper body until her face turns beet red. Harmony drops to her knees next to Sirona. She practically has her nose in there between Jade’s legs, trying to get a close-up view of the action.

  She glances over her shoulder and waves at me. “Blue, get over here! You gotta see this! The head is coming out!”

  I stay put.

  Harmony rolls her eyes and turns to Sirona. “Can I touch it?”

  Sirona nods.

  I feel a hand on my back. It’s Goji. He nudges me forward just as Harmony touches her finger to what looks like one of those aliens she sometimes draws in her sketchbooks. The head turns sideways. The mouth opens and closes but it doesn’t make any noise.

  “One more push,” Sirona says.

  A gush of blood and water, then Jade’s baby slips out from between her legs and into Sirona’s hands. I feel like I might pass out. All these smells, like the sea on a hot day.

  “It’s a girl!” Harmony squeals. “Woo-hoo! I’ve got a new baby sister!”

  Doobie and Wave stop chanting and move to join Goji and the others next to Jade’s bed. Jade perches on her elbows, glancing from the baby to Sirona. “Why isn’t she crying? ”

  I take a step backward to watch from a safer distance. Sirona squeezes a funny-looking bulb into each side of the tiny nose. Nothing. She leans over the baby’s blue face and puffs into her mouth. The baby makes a squeaky sound, then lets out a lusty wail as she kicks her little legs. Everyone breathes a sigh. Sirona hands the baby to Jade’s outstretched arms, a rope-like cord still leading to where she came from. I feel like I’m about to cry but I don’t know why.

  The brothers slap each other on the backs. Willow and Sirona drape their arms around Jade, crying happy tears, as if all three of them just gave birth. Having been raised equally by all three women, I’ve been taught to consider each of the sisters my mother. It’s never been important to know who actually gave birth to me.

  Until now.

  “Who did I come out of?”

  All heads instantly turn toward me. I look at Willow. “Are you my mother?” Then down at Jade, now clutching the baby to her bare chest. “Or you?”

  Harmony stares at me, her big eyes suddenly mirroring my question, the one I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to ask. Willow glances at Goji. He shakes his head slightly and whispers to Doobie. Doobie takes my hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  I pull away from him but he practically drags me out the door. As he leads me farther from the teepee I try to guess his answer to my question. It can’t be Sirona. I was five when she joined SFC. As far back as I can remember it was Willow who watched me the most. But Jade’s always been nicest, liked to give me baths and tuck me in at night. Which one? Maybe neither. Maybe like Harmony’s mother, my mom left Saffron Freedom Community a long time ago and never came back.

  Doobie stops and rests both his hands on my shoulders. I close my eyes and wait for him to reveal the name of my mother.

  “Goji will talk to you about this later, Blue. Now isn’t the right time.”

  My eyes pop open. “I don’t want to wait for Goji. Why can’t you just tell me now?”

  Doobie glances toward the teepee and back at me. He crouches lower so we’re eye to eye. “It’s complicated, little brother.”

  I look away from his face and focus on the peace symbol embroidered on his beat-up denim hat. “Seems pretty simple to me. Just point to her.”

  He hangs his head and combs through his beard with one hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that. You’ll have to wait for Goji to tell you.”

  I kick at the dirt with my bare foot. “Can’t or won’t?”

  Doobie stands and motions toward the teepee. “Come on, Blue. Let’s go meet your new baby sister.”

  I give up and follow him. He opens the flap and waits for me to step inside. The room smells like sweat and copper and bread. The Olders a
re all laughing and crying at the same time. The naked baby is still waxy and bloody as it squirms against Jade’s bare skin. I sit on the floor next to Harmony and try not to look at the pink streaks on her legs where she must have wiped her hands. She throws her arms around me and squeezes. “We’ve got a new sister. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  The slimy new baby is not what I would call beautiful, but Harmony’s arms feel like the only thing holding me together right now so I just nod.

  Coyote kisses Jade’s cheek and the top of the wet little head in her arms. After a few minutes Sirona wraps the baby in a blanket and hands her to Goji. He holds the bundle high in front of him with one hand behind her head, studying her face.

  “She has such a bright glow about her. Like a million stars packed into one tiny being.” He lowers the baby and kisses her tiny nose. “We’ll call you Aura. Welcome, little sister.”

  “Welcome, Aura!” everyone says.

  One by one they pass the fussing baby from arm to open arm. When Harmony hands Aura to me, she stops crying and stares into my face.

  Doobie nudges me, grinning. “She digs those baby blues, brother.”

  Everyone laughs. Jade jokes that Stevie Wonder is the father but we know it’s Coyote. Not just because of the baby’s dark skin and black hair. You could see Coyote falling in love with that baby from the instant he laid eyes on her. It’s the same way I’ve felt toward Sirona when she’s patched me up after I’ve hurt myself, or when Willow made sure my bathwater was the perfect temperature, or when Jade used to sing me to sleep. And how Gaia used to twirl me around until the sky and the trees blurred into one. All the sister-mothers feel like moms, which is probably why I never bothered to ask which one gave birth to me before today.