Peter laughed and made an exaggerated display of cracking his knuckles and flexing his fingers before taking over the keyboard. Before he’d begun to travel, he managed most of the scanning and uploading of our translations into the computerized system of saving our history. I admit I was only slightly better at those matters than was Fitzhugh and was happy to leave all things involving the computer to Peter or whoever his successor might be.
“How did the meeting go with Karl?” Fitzhugh was obviously curious.
As Peter began his pursed lips impression, I scooted back to the kitchen to look for something to eat. Someone had brought in a tin of butter cookies, and there were still a few left in the bottom. Tea and cookies sounded good as I put on the kettle. Leaning against the edge of the counter, I glanced around the small room. The countertop really needed to be replaced, having been scarred over the years by the thoughtless placing of hot dishes from the microwave as well as the kettle on the surface. I guess it was easy, when one was not at home, to have no concern for the property of others. With that in mind, I pulled off a paper towel from the roll and began to wipe down the surface, hoping that a mild cleaning would indicate my good citizenship. Shortly, the kettle began to whistle as the water roiled, and I poured the hot water over the loose tea, which was in a diffuser. Just to establish my mark of individuality, I had chosen a spicy Chai tea that Peter had found at a tiny, out of the way market. Fitzhugh arrived, no doubt thinking I needed help.
“No Earl Grey?” His shaggy eyebrows rose.
“I decided to be bold and shake up the establishment,” I replied, laughing.
“Smells delightful,” he commented, nodding his head in approval.
Fitzhugh hovered, tut-tutting at me as I set out three cups from his antique tea service and placed the few remaining cookies on a small plate. I even placed some napkins in a fan pattern, thinking it would impress Peter. Fitzhugh never bothered this much at home with me, so I wondered what was going on with him. He seemed a little over-involved.
“What’s up with you?” I finally asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied gruffly, shaking his head at me. But he continued to hang at my elbow, seeming unsettled. Reaching toward the tray I was preparing, he broke off half of a butter cookie and held it between his fingers, not eating it.
“Fitzhugh?”
“Well, it’s just I was thinking that traveling is very dangerous business, as I know from my years with Lydea.” He was almost stammering. “And I wonder at what point will you and Kipp choose to settle down and stay home, permanently?”
He was worried about me and wouldn’t say so straight out, that much was clear. As I carefully considered my reply, I realized that our living situation had changed him as well as me. He’d grown a sense of affection, an almost fatherly type of love for me. I knew I’d need to proceed cautiously with my reply, and it seemed honesty was the best route to take.
“Fitzhugh, after Whitechapel, I have had doubts about traveling.” I looked up at him, registering his features, which had once seemed so foreboding and rigid and now seemed compassionate and caring. How was it, I wondered, I’d never seen that quality in the past? Humans were guilty of the same oversight with one another…not bothering to delve past the superficial and discover the complexities of one another. “I’ve had past trips that left me feeling sad, uneasy, and generally bad due to connections with the humans I got to know and left behind to their future. Especially if I knew their future to be a grim one, it hurts.”
Fitzhugh nodded. He’d once confessed to me he’d fallen in love with a woman he met while traveling. As much as Philo cared about me as a friend, he could never understand the personal toll taken on one’s soul by traveling.
“But Harrow, well…” My voice faltered. “He broke my heart.” I felt the tears come to my eyes but blinked them away. “And then Titanic. Oh, Fitzhugh, that was terrible. When I think about it, I still get cold and begin to shake, as if I were there again.”
“You were very hesitant about that time-shift, and perhaps I should have advised you more wisely,” he said, tilting his head to the side.
“No, everyone was right about that time-shift except for me. This is what we do, right?” I boldly reached out and put my hand on top of his, which was resting on the counter. For a moment, I saw what that long distant human woman had seen in him to fall in love. Despite his crusty exterior, he had a strength based on compassion and wisdom that was intoxicating. He turned his hand, so my palm touched his.
“Fitzhugh, I will retire one day, of course. But Kipp needs this right now so he can maximize his capabilities. I don’t even think we’ve touched the surface in terms of what he can do.” I laughed. “I was bugging him recently about finding a mate because I was feeling grandmotherly and wanted a room full of his pups bringing chaos to order.”
Fitzhugh laughed, too, as he conjured the image in his mind.
“But it’s not time for me to quit, yet. As much as I have grown to appreciate working here,” I said, spreading my free hand to indicate the library, “this is not my destiny. I actually don’t know what I’d do with myself if I weren’t complaining about another time-shift. I’ve never wanted to do anything else.”
He broke his half of butter cookie into a quarter and held out the piece to me. “I understand completely. I felt the same way for most of my earlier life and was only forced to stop traveling when I lost my focus and the motivation to take such risks had disappeared.” Then he did something unexpected. He pulled me close and let me rest my head on his chest. Since Fitzhugh was tall, my head naturally tucked beneath his chin; it was a comfortable place from which to view the world. I could hear the steady beat of his heart from that vantage point and probably could have stayed like that for a while, except Peter, who had the most unfortunate timing of any symbiont known to existence, bumbled in, looking for tea and cookies.
“Whoops!” he blurted out, as if he’d caught us in the act of illicit behavior.
“It’s okay,” I said, withdrawing from Fitzhugh’s arms. “I needed a hug.”
“And, unless you find this impossible to believe, so did I,” Fitzhugh added.
“What if I need one?” Peter asked, lifting his eyebrows.
“Well, you won’t get it from me,” Fitzhugh huffed, breaking the spell he’d cast.
Karl, I have to admit, was a much more efficient worker than was Suzanne and finished our wardrobes under the time frame allowed by the Twelve. He had to work us in, balancing the needs of one of the new pairs of travelers we’d inherited with the fruit basket turnover that had resulted in Suzanne and Mark’s departure, along with some others I’d known for years. Once again, I bit back any lingering anxiety that my predictable environment would be disrupted and focused on the issue at hand.
Elani had completed the presentation of the proposed time-shift to the Twelve with no complications whatsoever. I was proud for her but wondered why, over the years, I’d had to fight tooth and nail for every trip I proposed. Was it just something about me, I wondered?
“Yes, it is you,” Kipp replied to the questions rolling around in my often empty skull. “They sense your combativeness and the fact you want to argue every point to tedium with them. As much as they appreciate your skills, they don’t like working with you or managing your business.”
“Well, thanks, Kipp,” I replied, blinking my eyes.
“You asked.”
“Not really,” I replied. I liked to think of myself as open to feedback but found the positive feedback was much nicer than the alternative. Honestly, who enjoys a shellacking about one’s character? Oh, yes, humans ask for honest impressions, but I don’t think they really want to hear the negative ones. They just say that so they will appear open, earnest, and willing to adapt and conform. Changing one’s character is no easy feat.
It was the third week of October, and Philo and Vashti invited us to go for a nice ramble through Duke Forest, one o
f the places over the years that had been a private refuge for me and Philo. It had, in many ways, become our place to think and process all things impacting our worlds.
“I appreciate you and Vashti moving in with Fitzhugh and Juno,” I began, pausing to pick up a leaf with unusual coloration. Looking up at the canopy above us, the leaves were fully into their change due to an early fall that brought a crisp coolness to the mornings, stretching on until mid-day when the sun hovered directly overhead. There was a mild breeze that caused the leaves to stir, and occasionally one would float downwards to join the others which formed a carpet beneath our feet as we shuffled noisily through the debris.
Philo smiled and took my hand as we walked. “It works good for me, too. Closer to work and someone to fuss with about who is gonna fix the coffee.”
“You mean tea, right?” I laughed. “And I will have clean sheets on the bed and make sure my bathroom is acceptable,” I added.
“Petra, your house always looks so nice and clean,” Vashti remarked. A stray ray of sunlight was caught up in her fur, bringing out an extra dimension of color I’d not seen before.
“Ha!” Kipp snorted derisively.
“You forget, I lived with Silas,” Vashti said, “and he was a slob.”
At the mention of Silas, we all felt Philo withdraw just a bit from the pleasure we shared. Vashti’s ears drooped as she thought she’d been a little careless with her comments.
“Okay, guys,” Philo spoke up, his voice a little louder than was needed. Overhead, a wedge of crows cawed noisily as they migrated through the trees, threading a flawless patch through the outstretched limbs. “No one needs to tread carefully around me anymore. Here is the reality going forward. I had a wife, Claire, who is no longer my wife. We had a good many years but have gone in different directions. I wish her well. I have a son, Silas, with whom I disagree about his life choices. I wish him well, too. And now, I have a daughter, Vashti, and we are enjoying our time together.” His hand reached down to gently caress her head, finishing with a gentle tug on her left ear. “You all don’t need to be so tentative.”
I sort of knew what he meant. After I lost my husband and son, my co-workers and friends were afraid to mention their family members for fear it would provoke a sad memory. Actually, I enjoyed hearing of their exploits and happiness, and all my thoughts about my lost relationships were good ones. There was no sadness in terms of the actual core of those connections to me. Yes, I experienced the grieving process that symbionts and humans, as well as some other creatures that walk the earth, have, and for too long would not display pictures of George in my home. Now, thanks to Kipp, my son’s smiling face met me every morning, resting from behind a piece of glass on my bureau.
Kipp nudged close to me, pushing his shoulder against my leg. His thoughts became an embrace, a veritable love bomb. Reaching down, I tangled my fingertips in the warm fur of his neck. Humans would never understand the bond between symbionts, both physical and mental, since it was unique in its qualities. We were separate, but then we were not.
“I see you and Karl managed to work past your difficulties,” Philo said, clearly ready to move on past sentimental notions.
“Yes,” I replied. Spying another pretty leaf, I leaned forward to retrieve it from the ground. It was from a sweet gum tree and was still bright green in the center, with orange tips on all five prongs, looking as if someone had dipped it in paint. “I had to put my foot down in terms of actual hoops and sensible shoes, and he finally heard me. Since he’s not traveled, he doesn’t seem to realize there is often a lot of walking involved, and I have no wish for blisters.” Closing my eyes, I recalled the moccasin-like footwear I’d worn while living with the pre-historic tribe when Kipp first met me. Those were sweet.
“Juno will assume Elani’s English class in her absence, while Vashti is taking on Kipp’s ethics class,” Philo mentioned idly as I nodded my head in response.
We’d drawn near a familiar narrow waterway, and the sounds of the water rushing around a deep curve were soothing to my soul. The gurgling was sufficiently hypnotic that I could have easily stretched out and taken a nap. In fact, I’d done so many times in the past in that particular spot. The smell of the rotting vegetation of nature combined with the mustiness of the dying leaves piling on top of an already crowded forest floor made for a fragrance unique to autumn. I inhaled deeply, welcoming the familiar sensations.
“What?” Philo asked, stopping to look at me.
“I never thought you’d be a manager,” I replied. “And here you are making staffing decisions.”
Philo must have noticed his shoulders were slumping because he straightened his posture, twisting his neck slightly as he did so. “You need some new shoes,” he remarked critically, staring at my feet.
“When I get back,” I replied.
Twelve
The leaving party was memorable, and I welcomed that playful energy after the lackluster one that preceded our trip to the Titanic. Peter’s mother, Evelyn, brought her genteel self and had finally decided she must capitulate with Peter’s choice to travel or risk a permanent fracture of her relationship with her only son. As a nod to his ancestors who traveled, too, he wore his grandfather’s pocket watch. This time, Evelyn didn’t take me aside to secure a promise to bring Peter safely home. It was nice to believe that perhaps she had developed some trust in me but even more importantly in Peter, whose abilities were starting to expand and solidify.
Our friends who attended the leaving party had departed, leaving my house curiously empty. Often those parties more closely resembled a roast, and I had frequently been the main topic of discussion with my past embarrassments being brought to light. I was happy, since Peter was developing a history of his own, to find he was the focus of a few less than charitable remarks, one of which left his face burning red. Evelyn was predictably horrified but showed restraint in keeping her thoughts carefully guarded from the rest of us.
“It’s just part of the magic of traveling,” I reassured him.
“But why us and not Kipp or Elani?” he asked. “I didn’t hear any humorous comments about either of them.”
“We are perfect,” Kipp replied, wagging his tail. “You two are goof-ups.”
I forced Peter to help me clean up the mountain of dishes. I’m not sure when the post-party clean up had evolved into the actual travelers having to do all the work, but it had. Maybe it helped distract us and decreased anxiety over the upcoming travel. There was no actual history on that, and I knew since I’d researched the topic previously after I’d spent three hours washing dishes. My thoughts were particularly dark that day. Fitzhugh, Juno, and Lily were all that remained other than us. Fitzhugh was sitting at the dinette, quiet and contemplative, while Peter and I labored at the sink. I had taken a cloth and was struggling with a stain of tomato sauce on the counter that proved to be particularly vexing.
“When will you replace that?” Peter inquired, nodding at the chipped tile countertop.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Fitzhugh quickly suppress a smile. He knew the answer in the back of my mind…never, if I had my druthers.
“It’s still serviceable,” I replied, my tone more defensive than I’d wished.
“Yeah, but it looks awful. They have this new composite stuff that looks like granite,” Peter began before noticing the expression of intransigence on my face.
Was I that stubborn? Probably. I shuttered the thought before Kipp could weigh in with his opinion.
Walking to the back door, I went outside, enjoying the burst of cool air on my heated face. Kipp and Elani moved in the shadows, following the trail of a long-departed field mouse, their noses busy, pressed against the crisp stalks of grass which would be covered in frost by the morning.
As I stood in the darkness, I reflected upon the preparation for this time-shift. I was surprisingly content with Karl’s clothing designs, which were based upon a functional skirt and blouse with a little, fitted jacket over my blou
se. He’d actually let me chose the colors, something unheard of in Suzanne’s workshop. I’d gone with a nice, deep brown for a change. We’d decided to keep our clothing very simple for several reasons. One was that we wanted to project an image of people who were far from wealthy, hoping to mingle and disappear amongst the masses. Also, the war had resulted in issues with import and export and procuring fabrics was iffy at best. So plain was good. I actually liked Karl’s planning. He had me wearing three skirts, the navy one beneath the brown, the green one beneath the navy, two pairs of undergarments as well as a fairly adaptable hat with extra ribbons I could add to match my clothing. Suzanne had never shown that foresight. In my backpack, I had four extra blouses, nightwear and a robe, tights, and other assorted items. I’d definitely not feel the push to gather clothing as quickly as I had in the past. I wore a nicely tailored coat of wool, geared for warmth, which fell just below my knees. Karl thoughtfully added a woven muffler for my neck as well as some gloves. I was beginning to like him. He remained rather stingy about jewelry but did allow for a couple of less valuable brooches that I could wear at my collar. Of course, Harrow’s pearls were always with me, hidden, cool, and smooth against my flesh. Peter and I delightfully compared our loot.
“Check this out!” Peter exclaimed, holding up a third pair of pants. “Karl came through, big time.” He put on his hat and strutted in front of the mirror, swinging the walking stick Karl had included.
“Put in a monocle, and you’ll look like Mr. Peanut,” I observed dryly.
“Who’s that?” Kipp asked in his eternally curious manner.
As I conjured up the image of the character, Kipp began to giggle, as did Elani, who let her loyalty to Peter falter for just a moment.
We had decided, since it was Elani’s trip, it was fitting she should plot our journey. The ability to hone in on a particular destination was inherent in our species and accuracy was enhanced by either having been to the locale previously—so I knew for a fact I could materialize in Harrow’s drawing room without breaking a sweat—or studying maps that depicted the topography and other features. So, we had left it to Elani to do the homework, with Kipp’s collaboration. She would lead the time-shift, and Kipp could help make any minor corrections as needed. He naturally possessed more talents with all things involved with time-shifting, which came to him like a reflex versus the contemporary process of plotting and deliberation.
A Conspiracy to Murder, 1865 Page 12