by Alma Boykin
“I don’t know, ma’am. I don’t remember her, and she has no contact with me. She’s on a colony world.”
Mrs. Morgan smiled. “My, what a fascinating family, you have, dear. A war hero on one side and a colonist on the other. You must be very proud of them.”
Alonzo and a buzzer in the kitchen saved her. “Mother, is that the pie?”
“Oh heavens yes. Let me get that, in case the filling overflowed. Cherry will try and get away, you know.” Mrs. Morgan bustled off to see about the baking, and her son winked at Marleena.
“Let me get that out of the way,” he said, removing her plate. “You’ll want to keep the fork and spoon. My mother doesn’t believe in letting people leave hungry.” Marleena did not protest. She felt a little full already, but the smell from the kitchen was overwhelming her sense of self-preservation.
Instead she got up and walked over to a glass-fronted cabinet to look at the wooden figures on display. They looked like balsa and something else very light and delicate. Cork? Surely not. She leaned closer, staring at the detail. No wonder Alonzo was so good, if this sort of thing ran in his family. One group of figures showed a young woman milking a cow, just like in the really, really old farm pictures. Another had a man fishing off a bridge, all one piece of wood, none of it larger than her palm. A half dozen cats, their markings carved into the wood, washed, napped, and played. Some of the pieces looked very old, pre-War old. Marleena shook her head in wonder.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Alonzo said behind her.
“Oh yes, sir. Someone did magnificent work.”
“It wasn’t me. My father carved the cats and the fisherman; Grandfather Morgan did the milkmaid and some other pieces. He managed to save them and the antique ones from the first attack on Old Omaha.” Alonzo sounded wistful. “He said that the old Morgan house dated to the mid 1800s and had beautiful wooden floors and walls, all carved with flowers and foliage and squirrels. But it’s gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “Yes. Thank you. And if we don’t get back to the table, mother will fuss.”
Marleena turned around and beheld three slices of crimson-hearted cherry pie, each with a ball of cream-colored ice cream beside it. “The ice cream is left over from Founders’ Day,” Mrs. Morgan said. “I apologize for not making fresh, but there’s a limit to the space in my freezer, and Alonzo doesn’t eat enough.”
Alonzo rolled his eyes, before returning to the table and sitting. The hot pie was melting the ice cream, and when Marleena took a bite she tasted a warm spice in the cool cream that brought out the best in the pie. Oh my, she thought, savoring every bite. She wanted to lick the plate and she still had most of the dessert still to eat. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Morgan!”
“Thank you, dear. I’m glad you like it.”
Like it? This must be what the religions teacher meant when he’d talked about the rewards you got after death. Not that Marleena had believed him, but maybe there was something to it if paradise had hot cherry pie and ice cream. She didn’t lick the plate, but she was very careful to use the side of her fork to get every bit of filling and ice cream off the surface.
Alonso insisted on “doing the dishes,” which Marleena took to mean putting them in the cleaner. After a mild fuss Mrs. Morgan gave in and led Marleena to the “sitting room.” They sat, and looked at each other. Marleena did not quite know what to say.
Mrs. Morgan nodded once and pulled a folder out of a shelf in the end table beside her. “I took the liberty of doing a little looking, Miss Marleena,” she started. “After your discovery on New Founders’ Day. I called in some favors at the public records office. I hope you don’t mind. I thought you might be a nice girl for my oldest grandson, but he announced two days ago that he has found someone.” The old woman presented Marleena with the folder.
Since she couldn’t think of anything else to do with it, Marleena took the folder and opened it. It was a print out of a public record file, and pictures, and a letter. The record was of her parents’ separation, with some of the details marked out. Marleena had never looked at it. First she’d been too young, and then, well, why bother with parents who did not want her? Under cause of separation, it read, “Col. Patterson fears doing injury to his family. States that counseling has not improved his condition. Pharmaceutical intervention not desired or recommended.” Marleena skimmed down the sheet, heart racing. Her mother had not objected to the separation, and had agreed to the child-support payment reduction, because of her own income and the no parental contact clause. Behind the separation form were copies of flat images, probably from news-sheets: one of her father and mother, and one of her father in a formal uniform, taken at the first decade of the New Founding. He had been handsome, but his eyes looked cold and distant. Had he been insane? No, not possible, Marleena reminded herself.
“He reminds me of how Arnold would look some times,” Mrs. Morgan said, interrupting Marleena’s thoughts. “His mind would go back to the war, as if he were fighting it again. I never cooked rice because of him. He said it brought up bad memories.” She smiled, her brown eyes sad, a little wistful. “He didn’t want to talk about the War, even though he was not in the front lines like your father was. And then he left, disappeared.” She sounded accepting.
“Did, did Mr. Morgan know my father?”
“Probably not,” Alonzo said from the doorway. “Mother do you want coffee?”
“No thank you, dear.”
Alonzo sat down in the chair beside his mother, then leaned forward, tapping the picture with a bandaged finger. “When Dad looked like that, we just stayed away from him, went and played with friends until he came back from wherever he’d gone. He always apologized.”
The last page in the folder was a short official announcement dated 7 A.N.F., saying that Colonel Andrew T. Patterson had been awarded the Stellar Cross for actions during the War. Marleena read it twice. “Only four living soldiers ever got the Stellar Cross,” she whispered. “Three of their names were held in restriction until last year.” The words blurred as she started to cry.
“Indeed. Your father, whatever else he was, must have been quite a warrior. I’m sorry he couldn’t find a way to keep his demons at bay,” Mrs. Morgan said. She offered Marleena a piece of cloth. Marleena wiped her eyes.
“What’s a demon, ma’am?”
“A kind of evil spirit. Supposedly they can take people over, possess them and make them do bad things, or see bad things.” Mrs. Morgan reached over and Alonzo took her hand. “Arnold called the bad memories his demons.”
Marleena closed the folder. “Thank you. I— Thank you.” She never knew quite how, but she found herself hugged by both Morgans, crying into the old lady’s shoulder.
“You can keep this if you want it,” Mrs. Morgan said after everyone had recovered their composure.
“No, thank you. I, I think I understand a little, now. And I’ll be moving soon, and don’t want anything to happen to them. Could you keep them for me, for a little, please?”
“I’d be delighted to, my dear.”
#
The next day, Kelsie cornered Marleena in the locker room. “You are a slummer and I have proof,” she gloated, a nasty gleam in her blue eyes. “You’ve been living off taxpayer largess for too long, slummer. Taking a job, stealing work rights from someone who really needs them, you greedy scum.”
Marleena met the girl’s eyes. “Really. And I suppose you are going to tell Mr. Otterson again, and call in a vid crew, and impress all your friends with this great discovery.” She folded her arms.
“Of course.” Kelsie waited. Marleena did not respond. “If you confess and quit, I’ll keep quiet, only tell the tax bureau and no one else.”
“Feel free. Now if you will excuse me, work is piling up and I am on the clock.” Head high, Marleena walked away and left Kelsie spluttering.
Something had changed the night at the Morgan’s. Marleena couldn’t say what, but Kelsie did not scare her
anymore. Her father had cared enough for her and her mother that he had separated, leaving because he loved her and didn’t want to hurt her. Marleena did not understand it, not entirely, but she respected his decision. If he could stand up to his demons, she could stand up to a sneaking snitch.
That afternoon, a rising whisper and murmur swept the shop as two men in suits followed Mr. Otterson down the floor. Marleena did not look up, instead concentrating on finishing the rabbet she was trying to cut. The men waited as she double-checked her work, then set the rabbet plane down. “May I help you?”
“Miss Marleena Drakulovna?”
“I’m Marleena Drakulovna.” Her heart started thudding but she ignored it.
“We are from the Bureau of Taxation. A complaint was brought to us that you were abusing the employment system to gain financial assistance that you did not need and falsely claiming skills in order to obtain housing from a private charity.”
“And what did you find, sir?” she asked when the taller of the two men fell silent.
The shorter man, very broad shouldered with large hands, shook his head a little. “That there is no proof to the claim. You are your sole means of support, you have no family pension or spousal support, and that you have a full employment right. If anything, Miss Drakulovna, you may be entitled to more than you have claimed, because of your parent’s war service.”
“Thank you. I am glad that there were no problems, and I am sorry that someone wasted your time on the matter.” Marleena worked very hard to sound grown up and professional. Inside she wanted to dance, and then run over and stick her tongue out in Kelsie’s face and make rude noises.
The taller man picked up one of the finished pieces and ran his finger along the edge. “This is lovely work. Do you take commissions, Miss Drakulovna?”
Behind the tax men, Mr. Otterson seemed to be swelling with pride. Marleena stifled a smile. “No, sir, not yet. I am still an apprentice, but I will be taking my finishing examinations soon.” Which he should know, but maybe not.
“Hmm, that is good to know. Thank you, Miss Drakulovna. I apologize for interrupting work, Mr. Otterson, but some things are best quashed in the bud. The Tax Service should never be used as a tool for personal gain or retribution.”
Otterson nodded so hard that what little remained of his hair flopped forward and backward. “Of course, sir. I quite understand. This way, please, and mind the red line. It’s a safety line.”
Kelsie left the shop that afternoon. Marleena let her imagination run through all the horrible things that might happen to the nasty little get, but didn’t come up with anything truly satisfying. It really was too bad that Changing couldn’t be used on the unwilling, not anymore, because the thought of her father-the-dragon eating Kelsie-the-goat made Marleena very happy indeed.
Two months later Mrs. Morgan stood next to Marleena at one of the viewing sites in the Reserve. They’d rented a small observation copter and sent it farther into the Reserve, watching the images on the full-dimension holo projection. The Rocky Mountains loomed in the distance, blue and white under fresh snow. A giant eagle flapped overhead, on her way to something only she knew. But what Marleena watched was a dragon. A small one, only a few meters from snout to tail, but a dragon. It was eating a cow and making a mess of it, scattering bits left and right. The women could hear a funny humming sound, the dragon’s purr, as the reptile devoured lunch.
“That’s not your father,” Mrs. Morgan said.
“I know, ma’am, but he’s happy. This dragon, and my father too, I think. He’s out in the desert, my father is, away from the Rockies, or so the official told me.” She still was not pleased, not entirely, but Marleena had come to accept Col. Patterson’s decision. “He also claimed a summer territory not far from here, at Rocky Flats. The official said my father was very insistent about having that particular area, for some reason.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Morgan left it at that. They watched the dragon eat, then guided the ‘copter away from the big reptile before commanding it to return to the Reserve’s headquarters. The women checked out of the viewing site and took the rover-pod back to the headquarters. After watching a vid about the history of the Change, they got a little to eat before starting the long trip back to New Omaha.
“I still cannot believe that someone actually wanted to become a firebird,” Mrs. Morgan tutted, dipping a potato stick in salsa.
“The hippogriff boggles my mind, ma’am. At least it didn’t last too long.”
“No. There are limits to the laws of biology, thanks be. But a firebird? Did he not read the stories?”
Marleena chewed her sandwich before answering. “But it’s so trendy! Everyone is Changing to eagles, dah-ling, I just have to have something better.” She mimicked the recording of the man.
“Character will out.” Mrs. Morgan averred. “And you need to eat more. How will you find a husband if you don’t eat?”
Marleena Drakulovna laughed, but behind her hand, and ate.