Upon a Time

by R. L. Stedman

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Jamie asked.

  “Stunning.”

  Ebony lifted Aroha’s hair from her forehead, smiled into her eyes. He grinned at Jamie. “And women.”

  “Excuse me?” Aroha asked.

  “They haven’t changed much either.”

  Aroha

  That afternoon, the first time they’d kissed, she’d taken Ebony’s hand and, very naturally, led him out through the gate. It had seemed easy; no effort at all.

  “Can’t believe it! Can’t believe it.” He’d stared up at the sky like a child praying to an angel. “Thank you, thank you!”

  Aroha was never sure, but it had seemed as though a white bird had lifted from the woodland beyond, and circled away. Although it might have been a haze, or a cloud, or just her imagination.

  She had stuffed the plants into the trunk and, after some persuasion, stuffed Ebony into the passenger seat. For such a big man he was remarkably childlike. (What is this? No way am I getting into it! What’s that noise? Let me out!) Finally, she gave up arguing, just locked him in and drove away. The car’s interior had felt very small.

  Jamie had nearly had a heart attack when he’d clambered out. “It’s not a man, it’s a beast!” Although he had admitted that, after a shave, Ebony improved.

  Christa knocked on the glass. “Hey, Boss-lady! A package for you. Looks important.” Cupping her hands against the window, she inspected the rose in Ebony’s hand. “Is that the new breed?”

  “Possibly,” Jamie nodded. “It’s early days.”

  “I’ve got a good feeling though.” Aroha ducked from the house.

  Christa might not be that gifted at gardening but she sure shone at marketing and admin; it was almost spooky, the way she loved her spreadsheets and forecasts. Christa was studying, but at night classes. She preferred this, she said, to full-time college life. She liked getting her hands dirty. Which Aroha thought was probably metaphorical, as Christa did not dig.

  But now that they had this baby coming, Aroha felt relieved to know the office was in safe hands. Although sometimes she had a nagging feeling that Christa was desperate for her to take pregnancy leave, just so she could reconfigure the office.

  “Come on, boss! Looks exciting.” Christa looked up at the sign above the newly built office block and smiled. “Oh yes.”

  A stone building encircled within the petals of a rose. Christa had commissioned it as part of her role: Marketing Manager. She took the position very seriously.

  Aroha laughed. “You see that logo all the time. Do you have to stop and admire it like, every day?”

  Christa looked at her. The look said I can’t believe you’re even asking me that. “That logo is part of me, Aroha. I created it.”

  “Whatever.” Aroha shook her head. Getting excited over a frigging logo? Some people were plain weird. Anyway, it wasn’t the design or the new image or the new, improved office layout that she found exciting – it was the air conditioning!

  It had taken Ebony an age to get used to the concept of cooling the air, and even longer to become comfortable with the thought of paying for it. “In my day we just sweated,” he grumbled.

  “You want me to be comfortable, don’t you?” Aroha shoved her pregnant belly at him like a challenge.

  He looked surprised, and a little wary. Wise man. “I guess.”

  “Good!” she said brightly. “I’ll tell the builders to install it.”

  He opened his mouth and she held up her hand. “Just trust me. I’m a modern girl. I know best.”

  He closed his mouth slowly, and said nothing. Finally, he was learning.

  They’d been married for two years, together for three. Ebony sold his decaying mansion to a Hollywood actor with four children and dreams of a ranch lifestyle. The money paid for the new office, Christa’s salary, a new computer and a (smallish) house for Ebony, Aroha, and the baby.

  Aroha wanted to convert the old office to a café, but Jamie was reluctant. He didn’t like change. Although he did like coffee, so most likely he would come around.

  Ebony never mentioned his past. Talking about the folk he used to know seemed to make him sad. So Aroha avoided asking, and instead they concentrated on the day-to-day of growing roses and running a business. And making babies. That last part was her favorite.

  Ebony rarely slept. Often at night she’d get up and he’d be down in the office, learning how to drive the computer. Come to bed, she’d say, and he’d shake his head. “I’ve slept enough for one lifetime.”

  Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she’d wake and catch him staring at her with the oddest expression – part gratitude, part amazement – on his face.

  When Aroha asked him what he was thinking, he would smile and shake his head. “I can’t believe my good fortune.”

  “Me too.”

  Once asleep, though, Ebony seemed to dream plenty – he’d murmur and shout and once he even swiped her across the face. One name figured large: Fatima. Was she a lost love? Should she be jealous? The way Ebony laughed when Aroha had asked this suggested otherwise.

  Christa touched her shoulder. “Aroha? Are you okay? You seem a little … I don’t know. Remote.”

  “I was just thinking. It must be hard, when everyone you know is dead.”

  “Ebony?”

  “Ebony.”

  “Sometimes I forget, right? I mean, mostly he’s just like one of us. You know, normal.”

  “We’re normal?”

  “I am,” Christa said smartly.

  “Not sure about Jamie, though.”

  “True,” Christa agreed. “Not sure about him at all.”

  “Compared to Jamie, Ebony’s like, totally modern.”

  The two girls laughed.

  “Strange, isn’t it?” Aroha added. “Ebony is the oldest by miles, and yet, sometimes he seems like the youngest.”

  “You do love him though.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I do.” Aroha smiled. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

  Christa ran her swipe card at the office door and it clicked open. “That’s what matters then.” She pushed open the door. “By the way, this parcel? It’s not exactly small.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Aroha surveyed the brown paper and packing tape monstrosity. It overwhelmed her desktop. “What the heck?”

  “It took two men to deliver it.”

  “What,” asked Ebony from the doorway, “is that?”

  “A parcel.” Aroha opened the invoice document. “It’s from New Zealand!”

  “That’s where your Mom was from, right? Perhaps it’s from a relation.” Christa retrieved a pair of scissors from her obscenely neat desk. “Come on, boss. Put us out of our misery.”

  Jamie put his head around the door. “We having a work meeting?”

  “Parcel opening,” Aroha said.

  She didn’t think she had any relations in New Zealand – Mom had been an only child. Perhaps there was a cousin or something, but none had ever taken the trouble to reach out to her. Carefully, she ran the blade of the scissors under the packing tape.

  “While you’re here, Jamie, can you take a look at these emails?” Christa asked.

  Jamie grunted reluctantly.

  “In my day,” Ebony observed, “we used string.”

  He really was sexy with his wavy dark hair and dark stubble. “In your day, darling, you’d never send a parcel halfway around the world.”

  Ebony seemed offended. “Sure we would. Amy, Miss Carmichael, travelled by ship from England to California.”

  “Miss Carmichael? Who’s she?”

  “Someone I used to know. She and her cousin …” He stared off into the distance. “I wonder what happened to her?”

  “Miss Carmichael?” Aroha asked.

  “I was thinking about her cousin. Daphne. Miss Possett.”

  “Possett?” Aroha tried not to smile, but honestly, what sort of a name was that?

  Ebony hated these moments, when he realized again just how far f
rom his home he was. Time was a journey in one direction.

  He frowned at the parcel. “It doesn’t matter. It was all a long time ago. Do you want some help with that?”

  Aroha straightened gratefully and put a hand on her belly. “Thank you.”

  I’m having a child. We’re having a child. Ebony was suddenly amazed by this new life. After all that time asleep, to wake to this felt like a miracle.

  “The rose,” he said suddenly. “Let’s call it Awakenings.”

  “A good name,” Jamie smiled, then stopped. His face fell. “Oh no. Brace yourself, children.” He pointed to the window, to the driveway, and to Becky’s red Ford, just pulling up outside.

  “I’ll deal with it.” Christa trotted purposefully from the office into the waiting room. Click click click went her heels. She loved conflict.

  Ebony remembered the sound of his shears against the rose stems; sunlight and white moon and time speeding by. All those days, he thought. All that time I had, and never realized it.

  Aroha put her hand on his. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Carefully, Ebony ran the scissors under the wrapping. Whoever had sent this had taken care to wrap it securely; there was more tape than paper.

  From the waiting room came the sound of voices. Christa, explaining something to a querulous Becky.

  Ebony smiled at Aroha. She smiled back. How fortunate he was! If he had never fallen asleep – well, he would have made all manner of mistakes. He might have married Miss Carmichael. What a disaster that would have been. Perhaps Fatima had done him a favor. Fatima – whatever had become of her? Perhaps he could use a computer to find out. Once he finally learnt how to drive it.

  Aroha peeled back the wrapping, stared at a wooden framed object. Had someone sent them a painting? She pushed back more of the paper. “It’s a cloak.”

  “A cloak?” Ebony looked over her shoulder. Who would put a garment behind glass? Was this a modern custom, to treat clothes as art?

  “It’s quite beautiful,” she added.

  He nodded. Yes, he supposed it was. It looked a little like something the Indians would make: tightly woven creamy-white fabric, decorated with delicate, brown feathers. More feathers about the neck formed a lacey ruff.

  “Why would someone send you a cloak?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve no idea.”

  “There’s this, too.” Jamie extracted a tightly wrapped book from the remains of the wrapping paper. He tweaked a folded slip of paper from the corner of the glass. “And this. They might tell you something.”

  “Thanks.” Aroha unfolded the paper and frowned at the lines of neat copperplate. “I’ve seen this handwriting before.”

  “What does it say?” Ebony asked.

  Slowly Aroha read out loud.

  “My dearest Aroha.

  My darling girl, how proud I am of you. You may not remember me, but not a day goes by when I do not think of you and your poor father.”

  “It’s from Leah,” Aroha said. “Jamie, it’s from Leah!”

  “I am sorry for the size of this parcel, but I had to wrap it securely.”

  “Securely!” Ebony eyed the pile of paper and packing tape. “I should say so.”

  “Tell Ebony not to complain about the packaging.”

  Abruptly, Ebony stopped laughing.

  “I think of Ebony daily. Indeed, together you quite occupy my thoughts. Which is as it should be. When you are as old as I, it is good to think on family.”

  Aroha stared at her husband. “How does Leah know you?”

  Ebony looked stunned. “I have no idea.

  “I have sent you two things, my dear, beside this letter.

  The first item is this cloak. It is old and very precious. Pania, your grandmother, called it a cloak of mourning. But what is mourning, if not the beginning of healing?

  Ebony, your sorrow will end. This cloak is a promise, as it was to me, many, many years ago.

  I entrust this cloak to you, Aroha, and your husband, and to your unborn child. You will have a son, my dear, and you will name him Charles after your father, and Ebony, after his. And you will have a daughter, too, but I will not tell you her name; I want you to discover that for yourself.

  I have also enclosed my diary. It is nearly as old as this cloak, but not as well crafted. Like me, my diary rambles, but still, you may find it of interest.

  My dear, take this gift as a blessing from a very old woman. I am glad you have found each other.

  Your godmother

  Daphne (Leah) Possett”

  Aroha looked at Ebony. “You knew Aunt Leah?” The baby kicked inside her; a hard, firm reminder of new life.

  Through the walls they heard Christa’s voice. The meeting between her and Becky seemed to be going well. Thank goodness. With Becky, you never knew how things might turn out.

  “I knew Daphne Possett,” Ebony said. “A long, long time ago.”

  “Before you fell asleep?”

  He nodded. “She saved me.”

  Aroha looked at the letter, at the thick bundled diary. “All those years, she was watching over you?”

  “Us,” he said. “She was watching over us.”

  Christa came back into the room. “Whew! That woman is toxic. Sorry, Aroha.”

  Aroha smiled tightly. “Thanks for dealing with her.”

  “Oh, I like a challenge.”

  “What did she want?” Jamie asked.

  “I think,” Christa said slowly, “that actually she just wanted to say hello. I told her you were busy right now, and she said she’d come back at a better time.” Christa nodded at the framed cloak. “What is that? Some kind of blanket?”

  “It’s a cloak, darling,” Jamie said. “From Aroha’s godmother.” He looked over the top of his glasses at Aroha. “Could Becky actually be wanting peace?”

  Aroha didn’t really care that much about what Becky wanted. Although it would be nice for the baby to have one grandparent. Perhaps they could make an effort, and get along. Perhaps. She inspected the fine, detailed weave of the cloak.

  Aroha had a feeling of time threading and unthreading, of hands snipping, reworking, transforming. Caring for the next generation. Stories are like that too, she thought. They don’t end. They’re changed, reworked. Because there’s always something new.

  “Listen to this.” Ebony picked up the diary:

  “ ‘A long time ago, Fatima told me that there could be no end unless there was first a beginning. For good or for ill, she said, the story must start. So here we are, diary, at the beginning. ‘Once upon a time …’ ”

  “Don’t stop,” Aroha said. “Keep reading.”

  Part Three

  Gingerbread

  Chapter One

  Traps

  Flames flicked at the edge of her vision, hot and burning. Sometimes the heat threatened to overwhelm her, wash her away. But she couldn’t let it, for then Dylan would be swept away too, and there would be nothing left but the heat and the hunger.

  “Christine?” Dylan said softly.

  His fingers were as cold as ice, but probably hers felt like fire to him. Although Dylan liked her heat; it kept him warm. In return she liked his coldness, because it drove away the fire. At night they curled up together like squirrels in a burrow. She told Dylan this, we’re like squirrels, and at first he looked confused until she caught two squirrels for him and showed him how they fitted together and he’d smiled in understanding. Although when she’d bitten the head off one of the squirrels he had cried, big fat tears, so she let the other squirrel go, even though this was a waste, because Dylan needed to eat to keep his strength.

  So instead she found Dylan berries and mushrooms and stuff. Once she raided a squirrels’ burrow for nuts. He didn’t seem to mind that, which was confusing because without food the squirrel would die, just like pulling off its head would made it die, but she decided not to explain that to Dylan, in case he refused to eat.

  She was lucky to have him as her brot
her, or so her mother had said. Look after Dylan. He’s special. We are lucky to have him.

  How long had they been walking? She’d lost track of the days. First through the woods, then into the crumbling city, full of feral dogs and people who wanted to kill her. Dylan hated the city. She couldn’t blame him, although the people were easy enough to avoid – she could smell them coming. Dylan couldn’t smell them, though. That was one of the differences between her and Dylan. Well, he was a boy and she was a girl so of course there were differences. But that wasn’t what she meant.

  Yesterday they’d found this little woodland, and they’d both felt happier, although it was still surrounded by tall buildings, so it wasn’t as nice as the one they’d lived in with Mom and Jeremy. But at least there was soft grass underfoot, and trees.

  Behind her, a sudden scratch, a non-forest sound and a whiff. Man! She froze.

  “Christine?” Dylan tugged her arm. “What’s wrong?”

  Gradually, the smell faded.

  “Nothing.”

  The children walked on under the gold and green of the autumn leaves. A small breeze played in the branches and leaves fluttered to the ground, twisting in the sunlight, like pieces of gold.

  “You remember the snow globe?” she asked Dylan.

  They’d found it on the shelves of an old store, among a pile of broken glass. It had been worth the scratches – they healed fast anyway – to see the smile, the look of wonderment on Dylan’s face. He had the same look now, as he watched the leaves dance and fall.

  Chapter Two

  Hunter

  Hunter, spread-eagled along the branch, watched the children through binoculars. Could they be human? Holding his breath, he twisted the focus of the binoculars. No, the girl’s eyes glowed red. Of course she must be Vay – no one else would walk in the open like that. The boy was looking away, so Hunter couldn’t see his eyes. But he was with a Vay girl, so he must be Vay too.