Grandma Robot

by Risner, Fay

  Karen let go of the kitten. It fell back in the manger. Henie gasped as Sock reached out and pawed the baby back into the boiling mass of legs and tails.

  “I don't blame you, Sock, for wanting to protect your babies from Karen. Don't worry. She will learn how to hold your kitties. Henie held her kitten out to Karen. “The little darlings spat, because they can't see, but they won't hurt you. Try again?”

  Karen put her arms behind her back. “No, thanks. You didn't tell me Sock was a female cat.”

  “You didn't ask. Besides, I didn't know she was expecting. If I had I would have smuggled her up to my room,” Henie said.

  “You wouldn't have!” Karen countered.

  “Oh yes, I would have,” Henie declared.

  “Don't think of doing it now. I didn't like one cat in the house. I don't want a house full of cats,” Karen said.

  “You really don't know anything about cats, do you? I can't move Sock and her family now. She might stop taking care of the kittens. That means they have to stay where they are until Sock moves them,” Henie said with disdain. “She seems content right where she is. Matter a fact, this old manger has seen plenty of kittens.”

  Karen narrowed her eyes at Henie. “And you know this fact how?”

  Henie said in exasperation. “Just look around. One time this was a working barn used for cattle and horses. Cats were welcome by Clell to keep down the mice and rats.”

  “That's true, but Sock isn't doing her job. I just saw a live rat,” Karen argued.

  “She has more on her mind than hunting food right now,” defended Henie. “I'm going back to the house and get her pan. It should be here close so she doesn't have to be far from her kittens.”

  As they walked back across the yard, Henie asked, “You said Amy would be coming. How long before she comes for me?”

  Chapter 7

  Karen explained, “I think that depends on me. When I tell her you're ready to sell to a customer, she'll take you back to the lab. Maybe two or three weeks from now.”

  “Is that all the time I have here?” Henie reached down for the cat's pan, hugged it to her and turned around. She paused to study the barn, the pasture and the grove of cottonwood trees behind the fence with the most dejected glance. With a heavy sigh, she ambled away.

  Karen walked with Henie to the barn long enough to set the cat bowl in the manger. After a glimpse at her watch, she decided she'd wasted enough of her time. She insisted Henie go back to the house with her. Henie consented, but she grumbled she was only leaving the cat because she still had to do kitchen cleanup.

  Karen started typing, but she had trouble keeping her mind on her story. She remembered the glow on Henie's face when she found the cat and her family. She lost that happy look quick enough when Karen gave her a hard time about the cat. Henie turned really glum when they discussed Amy coming after her.

  Karen couldn't stop Amy from taking the robot away, but if Amy was right about the robots having emotions, she should apologize to Henie for being so hard nosed about the cat. After all, Sock wouldn't be trying to get in the house any time soon now that she had to stay in the barn with the kittens.

  Karen tilted her head toward the door. The house was quiet. Earlier, she thought she'd heard Henie climbing the stairs. Maybe the robot was in her room, charging her battery.

  After a quick check in Henie's room, Karen called, “Henie, where are you?”

  She didn't get an answer.

  The third story attic door was open at the top of the second flight of stairs. Henie must be up there again. She was curious why Henie kept going to the attic. Karen climbed the narrow, creaking stairs to find out.

  Henie's head was leaned back against a rocker like the one in front of Henie's bedroom window. She had a framed, eight by ten picture upside down on her lap as she rocked slowly. The attic floor around her was covered with stacks of boxes and trunks, all trapped in dust and cobwebs. Henie's shoe tracks showed in the dust from the door to the rocker.

  “Henie, are you busy?” Karen asked.

  “Do I look like it? I was just thinking is all,” Henie said, straightening up in the rocker.

  “I've been wondering where did all the clothes in your closet come from? You have more changes than would fit in that satchel you brought with you,” Karen inquired.

  Henie pointed to the open trunk in front of her. “I found them in here. I didn’t think you would mind if I wore the dresses and aprons. After all, you're a little old to play dress up with the clothes in this trunk, and I needed clothes to wear. I can be a messy cook you know.”

  Karen looked around, thinking what an undertaking it would be to clean up the attic. “Why do you suppose the people who lived here didn't throw anything away or get rid of stuff?”

  Henie placed the picture face down in the trunk and gently shut the lid. “Attics seem to collect the past. Guess the previous owner couldn’t bear to throw away items that represented her memories.” She pushed herself out of the rocker. “I think I’ll go to my room awhile before I start supper, dear. I’m feeling rather tired.”

  Karen listened to the hollow, slow footsteps going down the stairs before she lifted the trunk lid and turned the picture over. A couple, in their forties, smiled at her. The picture was probably taken around 1900 from the style of their dark stiff clothes.

  Karen closed the trunk lid and sat down on it to take the old metal frame apart. She took out the cardboard and read on the picture's back - Henrietta and Clell Crane.

  She stared at the young woman's face. A chill went through her. If she didn't know any better, she'd think that was Henie when she was young. Now wasn't that the craziest thought in the whole wide world? Henie had never been alive. She was a robot. She was ageless, sealed within that metal body of hers.

  Karen recalled what Henie just said. She was tired. How could a robot feel tired? Oh, my! Her battery must need charged. She said she could do it herself, but Karen hadn't seen her do it. Or, was that teenage Henie that was so sure she could charge herself?

  Karen put the picture back together and placed it in the trunk before she raced down the steps to Henie’s room.

  Henie wasn't on the bed or in the rocker by the window. She turned to leave and did a double take. Henie was stretched out in the wicker basket. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were folded over her chest.

  Flashbacks of deceased people at visitations posed just like Henie. Karen felt there was too many things too unreal since the robot moved in. Weird enough that Karen didn't know a single person she could talk to about this that wouldn't call her crazy.

  Karen walked to the basket. “Henie, can you hear me?”

  Henie's dull eyes opened wide. “Yes, of course I can hear you. I have excellent hearing.”

  Karen stood over her. “What are you doing in this basket?”

  “I sleep in it sometimes,” Henie said.

  “Why? If robots sleep, there is a comfortable bed in the room to lay down on,” Karen declared.

  “Of course, there is, dear. I just got used to using this basket I guess, and it feels natural to me now,” Henie said, sounding confused.

  “I'm pretty sure this basket wasn't in this bedroom when I bought the house. Where did it come from?” Karen asked.

  “The attic. I slid it down the stairs to here so I could use it.”

  Karen asked, “What was it doing in the attic?”

  “Well, that is something I'm not supposed to know. I guess the family that lived here had a use for it once in awhile so they just kept it handy,” Henie said, her voice fading as she lost energy.

  “Have you charged your battery lately?” Karen asked.

  Henie paused. “You know I've been so busy I forget if I recharged or not.”

  “Where is the attachment that plugs in to you?” Karen asked.

  “In the satchel in the bottom of the closet,” Henie said and closed her eyes.

  “Hey, don't space out on me yet. Where do I plug it in on you?” Kar
en asked urgently.

  “On my left side under my arm is a plug in,” Henie said, her voice growing weaker.

  Karen rushed to the closet, dug under the clothes and tennis shoes in the satchel to find the cord. She plugged one end into the outlet. After she rolled up Henie's dress sleeve she plugged in the other end.

  By that time, Henie looked so out of it Karen wondered if she might be fixing her own supper.

  The phone broke the silence about mid morning the next day. Karen answered. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

  “How's it going in the house by yourself? Do you want me to come out and help you tidy up?”

  “No, thanks, Mom. I've been doing that believe it or not. While I've got you on the line, Mom. I'm curious about something. Did we ever have a woman named Henie in our family?”

  “That would be my grandmother and your great grandma. Her and her husband was the first ones to live in your house. They built the house when they homestead the land. Actually, her name was Henrietta. Why?”

  “Oh, I found a picture in the attic from a long time ago and wondered who the couple was. That's all. Did you ever see a long wicker basket in the house? Maybe the attic?” Karen asked.

  “Sure I did. My goodness is that creepy thing still in the house. That's the death basket. Years ago, my grandparents used it for visitations in the living room when someone in the family died. The attic is where they kept it all right,” Helen remembered.

  “I see,” Karen said.

  “Is everything all right out there? Why so many questions?”

  Mom's radar is working well today. “Just curious about all the old things in the attic. Did you know the whole top floor of this house is full of junk? It would take forever to clean that stuff out and haul it off,” Karen groused.

  “I'm sorry, but I didn't know. I didn't ever have a reason to go up there. After your grandparents died, your father and I didn't go check on the house much. Even then we just checked to make sure the windows and doors were locked. There's always a chance of a break in when a house is empty.

  Maybe you can find a few antiques worth something so don't throw away anything without getting it appraised first,” Helen cautioned.

  Karen changed the subject. “Okay. Mom, do you remember if at one time there was more outbuildings besides the barn?”

  Her mother paused to think. “Yes, there were two small buildings. One was a chicken house and the other a hog house I believe. The buildings finally collapsed. My father burnt them. The buildings dated back to the beginning of the farm. Why?”

  “Oh, I drive by farms with so many outbuildings and wondered if there hadn't been more here,” Karen excused. “Was there ever a pond in the pasture?”

  “Yes, years ago. It dried up when we had a drought for a couple years and didn't fill back up when the rains came. If you walk out north of the barn, you might be able to see where the pond was. I believe a portion of the dam is still there.”

  “Thanks, Mom. That's all interesting,” Karen told her. “One more thing. Did your grandparents work the farm with horses?”

  “Sure they did. That was before tractors were invented,” Helen said.

  “Do you remember what the horses looked like?”

  “Goodness, girl, you ask the oddest questions. Best I remember Grandpa had two draft work horses. Big blond ones with white feet. He had a pair of dappled gray horses he used to pull the carriage.

  After they got a car, he still took the grandkids for rides in that carriage. We always thought it was fun, but it had been a way of life for Grandpa Clell. One he hated to give up. He loved his horses,” Helen said in a far away voice. “Such good times.”

  When the house seemed too quiet that afternoon, Karen couldn't concentrate for wondering what Henie might be doing. She should check on the robot to make sure she hadn't slipped outside to visit the cat again. Not that she minded Henie going to see the cat, she just worried that the robot might fall and break something. The rough terrain wasn't as easy walking as on smooth floors.

  When she found the living room was empty, Karen rested her hand on the stair railing. She heard the faint sound of Henie's voice in her bedroom. Karen slipped up the stairs as easy as she could. One of the steps squeaked, and she hadn't paid enough attention to remember which one.

  Henie was in her rocker by the window. Her SAS shoes were spread apart to make more lap. Resting on her apron was the picture from the attic.

  Henie picked the picture and spoke to it. “Clell, it's nice enough here yet, but this house just isn't the same without you in it.” After a pause, she said, “What do you mean I should be used to the way things are after all this time? I really don't want to get used to you not being here with me, but it does help that I can talk to you when I want to. Don't ever go completely away. I always want to be able to hear your voice. That always makes me feel better.”

  Karen couldn't figure out why Henie was talking to a picture like she knew the man in it. Odder yet was the fact that Henie seemed to hear the man in the picture talking back to her. It was another mystery. Could an elderly robot become senile?

  Henie laid the picture on her lap. One hand rested on her knee. With the other she fished a flowered hanky out of her apron pocket and wiped her nose. She laid her head against the rocker. Her focus was out the window now, but her mind seemed to be a long ways off.

  Eerily, the cemetery popped into Karen's mind. She knocked on the door lightly. When Henie twisted to look at her Karen saw moisture on Henie's cheeks. She'd been crying. “Sorry to bother you, Henie. I just wondered if you've plugged yourself in lately to charge your battery?”

  Henie looked at her blankly and sniffled. “I forget if I have or not.”

  “Just to be on the safe side, we better charge the battery as long as you're sitting down.” Karen grabbed the coiled up cord off the dresser and inserted it under Henie’s arm. She glanced out the window, wondering if Henie's view of the cemetery was what made the robot sad.

  Other than the cemetery, there wasn't much to see but fields and pasture. Karen wanted quiet. In this place, she had that. Watching Henie, she realized the robot looked out that window and saw a different scene. One that made her nostalgic and brought her to tears.

  “Karen, do you know anything about your family tree?” Henie asked out of the blue.

  That question surprised Karen. Was Henie's hearing so exceptional she overheard the phone conversation between me and Mom from up here? “No. I really don't.”

  “Everyone should know their family history. It’s important information. The problem is, no one thinks to ask until the old folks are dead. Then it's too late,” Henie said, putting her finger on the window pane as if she was trying to touch the white fluffy cloud drifting by.

  “Sit still,” Karen told her. “I'll come back and check on you. Just relax and get your energy back.”

  Before she left, Karen took another look out the window. That old cemetery behind the field was always part of Henie's window scene. That place must be connected to her sadness for some reason.

  Chapter 8

  While Henie was recharging her battery, Karen got in the car and drove down the gravel road to the end of the bean field adjoining the pasture. She wanted a better look at the cemetery. Maybe she would find out some answers. What kind she didn't know.

  A rough, rutted lane ran along the field fence. The farmer drove a tractor and machinery to his fields when the lane was muddy. Karen had a tight grip on the steering wheel, driving in ruts that were rough and bouncy.

  The lane ended at the cemetery with a row of evergreens on the north border. The entry had a wrought iron arch over the metal gate. The arch's attached letters and numbers spelled Crane Cemetery and established in 1859. So this cemetery was the Crane family burial place.

  Karen got out and walked in the calf high grass between the tilted limestones. The words on most of the oldest ones were barely readable. Near the back corner, she found the two stones she was searching for. She pulled th
e tall dead grass away to read Henrietta Crane and the other stone read Clell Crane. Henrietta died in 1959 at 80 years old. Clell had died ten years previous at 70 years old.

  The next stone in line was a shiny, black, double one with the names Mary and Samuel Crane. The dates were more recent. Karen just barely remembered that set of grandparents, her mother's parents, living on the farm.

  Karen needed to talk to her mother again. She took her cell phone out of her pocket and poked the numbers. “Mom, I’m working on a family tree. What was your mother and father’s name?”

  “Mary and Samuel Crane.”

  Karen asked, “Where did they live?”

  “They moved to Crayville when they retired from the farm. If you want to get dates, go just north of the farm to the family cemetery. The lane is in between two fields.”

  “I'm standing in the cemetery right now. I could see it from upstairs. Who all owned the land?”

  “My father’s parents, Henrietta and Clell Crane, at first. They built that big farm house. I loved going out in the summer to visit them when I was a kid. He died a few years before Grandma did, and my parents moved on the farm after that to take care of Grandma until she died. You have bought yourself a century farm house since you're a descendant.”

  Karen's mind swirled with all sorts of ridiculous ideas. How creepy was this situation with Henie getting? She talked to Clell Crane in that picture as if he was her husband. She said she liked sleeping in the death basket since she was used to it. Had some apparitional part of Henie been stored in the attic since 1959?

  After supper, Karen went back to work, but all she could think about was Henie in a conversation with a picture. She shut the computer off, unable to concentrate. As the monitor went black, she scolded herself she was never going to get her book finished if she kept this up.