Dragon's Egg

by Emily Martha Sorensen

  “Rose!” her mother cried, throwing out her arms and embracing her. “We wondered where you were. Your papa’s quite annoyed that you’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rose said. “I was . . . delayed.”

  “Hello,” Henry said from behind her, reaching out his hand. “Would you be Rose’s mother? My name is Henry Wainscott. I’m Rose’s fiancé.”

  What? Rose spun around and gaped at him. What in the world is he saying?!

  “Oh,” Rose’s mother gasped. “I — I never even heard that Rose had a beau — George! George, you’ll never believe who Rose brought with her! You’ll never believe what they said!”

  She ran into the house, leaving the door wide open.

  “Why would you say that?!” Rose hissed incredulously. “We’re not engaged!”

  “I thought we were!” Henry whispered. “We agreed to be parents to the same child, and you said you wanted to talk to your father —”

  “About my tuition!”

  “Well, you might have said that!”

  “What’s this?” Rose’s father asked, stomping to the doorway. “My daughter brought a fiancé to see me?”

  “Henry Wainscott, sir,” Henry said, holding out his hand awkwardly. “Uh . . . I may have been a bit premature . . .”

  “You certainly were,” Rose’s father growled. “You haven’t asked my permission yet. Don’t just stand there, come in!”

  Henry shot Rose a panicked look.

  “You heard the man,” she said tightly.

  Henry removed his hat and ran his hand over his oiled hair nervously. He stepped into the parlor, twisting the hat around in his hands.

  “You’re engaged?!” Rose’s sisters gasped, barreling down the stairs. One of them wore fluffy yellow and the other wore fluffy blue. They were only nine months apart in age, and nearly interchangeable.

  “Hello, Sara. Hello, Louise,” Rose said flatly.

  Louise, the one in the blue dress, squealed and held her hands to her chest. “How did you meet? Was it love at first sight?”

  Sara pretended to swoon, and Louise caught her.

  “We met at the Museum of Natural History,” Rose said.

  “That place?” Rose’s father asked sharply. “Were you wasting your allowance on those blasted bones again?”

  Rose set her jaw. This was not a good beginning.

  “I know, I know!” Sara cried. “One of them fell on a dragon skull, and it was love at first bite!” She made a chomping sound.

  Louise giggled.

  “I’m so glad that Rose has a beau!” their mother trilled, coming out of the kitchen with a platter of ham and onions that were all rather scorched at the edges. “Here I thought we’d never see her be interested in anything but those dusty books!”

  “She’s a terrible cook, by the way,” Sara informed Henry. “She forgets there’s something on the stove and burns it.”

  “I haven’t done that in months,” Rose objected. She didn’t mention her roommates had nearly banned her from the kitchen.

  “Hush!” Rose’s mother said, shooing the girls away with a slightly panicked look. “Don’t scare him away! Shoo! Shoo!”

  Henry was chuckling in amusement when Rose’s father loomed up behind him.

  “So?” the man thundered. He snatched Henry’s hat and tossed it at the hat rack. It snagged the hook and spun around slightly, then stayed put. “Why don’t you tell me the reasons you think you should marry my daughter?”

  Henry swallowed visibly.

  Chapter 8: Engaged

  Don’t mention the dragon egg, Rose thought. Do not mention the dragon egg. Just find a graceful way to get out of it, and then leave.

  “To tell you the truth, sir,” Henry said, his fingers twisting nervously, “there’s no good reason why I should marry your daughter. We’ve only known each other for a short time. I’ve liked her since we first met . . .”

  Sara and Louise giggled.

  “Shhhh!” Rose’s mother hissed, waving them down and watching Henry avidly.

  “. . . but really,” Henry faltered, “I couldn’t blame you if you wanted to refuse me. I’ll go now.”

  He tried to get to the hat rack, but Rose’s father blocked his escape.

  “Hang on now,” the man said. “It would do Rose some good to be married. Teach her to be more realistic about things.”

  Rose’s jaw clenched.

  “Tell me about yourself, boy,” Rose’s father said. “What do you do?”

  “Uh . . . I’m a sophomore at City College. I study biology.”

  “That’s a good field to be in,” Rose’s father said. “Good way to earn a living.”

  Excuse me? Rose thought indignantly. You wouldn’t let me take the class I wanted to about it this semester!

  Henry murmured something noncommittal.

  “You should go into medicine,” Rose’s father said firmly. “There’s always work for doctors.”

  “My father says the same thing,” Henry said wearily.

  “Smart man,” Rose’s father approved.

  “Yes, I think the two of you would get along,” Henry sighed.

  “To the table, to the table!” Rose’s mother said, gesturing. “We’re already late with starting! Who wants to say grace?”

  “I will!” Louise volunteered. And then she said something so short and covered in giggles that nobody could understand a word of it.

  “. . . Right,” Rose’s father said, after a pause. He cleared his throat and reached for the butter knife and a roll. “So, how do you plan to support my daughter?”

  “I . . . have no plans, sir. I know that must be a problem. We must have been too hasty. How about you forget what I said before, and I can come back later . . .” He got up from his chair.

  Rose’s father grabbed his arm and shoved him back down.

  “How are you paying for your rent now?” he demanded. “Do you live with your parents?”

  “N-no, I have a stipend from my grandfather,” Henry stammered. “It covers my tuition and living expenses until I graduate.”

  “Ah.” Rose’s father sat back in satisfaction. “So you do have some means. Good. I assume that getting married wouldn’t cause a problem there?”

  Henry shook his head. “My older brother got married during his senior year, and it wasn’t a problem. But, uh, sir —”

  Rose’s father plowed right on. “Now, tell me about your classes. I assume you’re getting good grades?”

  “I was at the top of all my classes this semester,” Rose said sourly. “Thank you for asking, Papa.”

  “Oh, look at how fun this is!” Rose’s mother put in bubbily. “It’s so nice to have another man around! George loves a solid intellectual discussion, and he never gets them around here!”

  Rose’s fists tightened on her lap.

  “Rose strikes me as quite intellectual,” Henry said.

  “That’s why she’s going into teaching,” Rose’s father said, wiping his knife clean of butter and taking a large bite out of his roll. “Or was. Won’t be necessary now that she’s getting married, eh?”

  Rose’s fists were clenched so tightly, her arms started shaking. If this meant her father tried to pull her out of college altogether, she would never forgive Henry.

  “Oh, no,” Henry said, some sharpness in his voice. “I’m sure she’ll want to keep studying. In fact, I’d say it’s a necessity. I certainly wouldn’t want to marry a woman who gave up on her schooling.”

  Rose’s father looked rather taken aback.

  “When are you going to get married?” Rose’s mother asked excitedly. “Have you chosen a date?”

  “I’ll have to discuss that with Rose,” Henry said vaguely. He flicked a glance over at her.

  Rose kept her face still, betraying no emotion.

  “We should try for late spring,” Rose’s mother said, her eyes bright. “You know what they say about June brides.”

  “That’s up to Rose,” Henry said.

>   Rose fixed her gaze on the hideous cubist painting her father had bought last year. It was hanging on the wall where her mother’s oil pastel picture of squirrels used to sit. Her mother’s choice had been a trivial thing, amateur work, but Rose had loved it. The two squirrels fighting over one acorn while several more hung on a branch above them had reminded her of her sisters.

  Then Rose’s father had come home with a painting he had bought at a gallery, one with jagged edges, garish colors, and a hefty price tag. Now she was forced to stare at it every time she ate dinner with her family.

  “Excuse me,” Henry said, pushing back his chair. “Would you mind if I excuse myself for a minute? I’d like some air.”

  “You want to smoke?” Rose’s father asked. “I have cigars.”

  “No, thank you,” Henry said. “There’s something I’d like to speak with Rose about. Rose? Would you mind coming with me?”

  Rose pushed her chair back and got up, her face still and her voice silent. She followed Henry to the front door, which he opened. They went outside and stood on the front step, and he shut the door.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really thought you were thinking the same thing. This is a sincere apology.”

  There was a rustle and thump on the other side of the door.

  “Speak quietly,” Rose said. “My sisters are listening in.”

  Henry eyed the door. “People do that?”

  “Constantly.”

  Henry rubbed his forehead, then his bare upper lip. He looked uncertain of what to say.

  Rose stood there for a moment in silence, looking at him. He wasn’t wrong that getting married was the logical thing to do. She simply hadn’t thought about it. The thought of marrying a stranger was not terribly appealing, but the thought of splitting a child between two households wasn’t appealing, either.

  Then again, the thought of marrying purely for logic was . . . fairly depressing. Besides, she’d already chosen to make one lifelong commitment today. Two was far too many. The man also had several annoying qualities. She wasn’t sure she wanted him in her life permanently.

  Not that it would be easy to avoid that in any case, since they’d both agreed to raise the dragon.

  So the real question is, Rose thought, do I think someone better will come along that I’d regret not being able to marry?

  Rose surveyed him silently. He wasn’t unattractive. He seemed like a decent man, and one who respected her. There were things about him that were maddening, but that would probably be true about anyone. Unless some terrible secret came to light, he was probably as good a prospect as any.

  Somehow, the thought of being engaged didn’t seem nearly as daunting as the thought of parenthood had, and she had already agreed to that particularly terrifying change. She already had roommates. She supposed she could get used to the idea of having one permanently.

  “I’ll consider it,” she said.

  “Consider what?” Henry asked.

  “Consider marrying you. It’s not impossible.”

  Henry let out a long breath. “That doesn’t sound very flattering.”

  “It’s not, not really. It’s practical.” k'12

  “I was hoping to be something a little more than practical,” Henry complained.

  “We’ve barely met. You can’t expect there to be anything more.”

  “I liked you from the beginning.”

  Heat rose in Rose’s cheeks. “Well . . . thank you. But that’s the rose-tinted glasses of hindsight speaking.”

  “No, it’s not,” Henry insisted. “I did.”

  Rose glanced at the door, embarrassed to think of her sisters overhearing any of it.

  Henry glanced at the door, too, and cleared his throat.

  “So . . . the answer’s maybe?” he said in a lowered voice.

  Rose nodded. “Maybe.”

  Henry rubbed his forehead. “Does that mean I should stop sabotaging myself with your father?”

  “Did you think that was sabotage?” Rose asked with amusement. “No, by all means, keep going. He loves persuading people to do something they’re reluctant to do.”

  Henry looked ill.

  Chapter 9: Eavesdropping

  As dinner wrapped up, Rose pushed away her half-eaten piece of cherry upside-down cake, which was soggy in the middle, and cleared her throat.

  “Papa,” she said. “May I have a word with you?”

  Rose’s father turned a deaf ear. “Henry, do you play cards?”

  “Sometimes, when my roommates and I aren’t too busy.”

  “Good lad. Come, play with me.”

  “Uh, don’t you usually need four people?”

  “We’ll make do,” Rose’s father said. He thumped his arm around Henry’s shoulders. “Do you know gin rummy?”

  “No . . .”

  “Papa!” Rose snapped. “We need to talk!”

  “I don’t see what we have to talk about,” Rose’s father growled, barely glancing at her.

  Rose drew in a deep breath, trying not to lose her temper. “Remember? Last week, I told you that we needed to talk about my classes next semester. You said we’d talk about it next week. It’s next week now, and I have my schedule planned out. The first class I need to take —”

  “Just a small wager between friends, eh?” Rose’s father said to Henry.

  “Wager?”

  “Papa!” Rose shouted.

  “Come with me. I’ll teach you the game.” Rose’s father shoved his chair back and pulled Henry up to his feet. Henry flicked a panicked look over at Rose, then a panicked look back at Rose’s father, as the man dragged him down the hallway.

  “The first class I need to take,” Rose shouted, following after them, “is —”

  The door to her father’s study slammed in her face. There was a clicking sound.

  Rose stared at the solid oak door, fuming. He always did this. It was maddening.

  “You’re never going to get through to him that way, dear,” Rose’s mother said, passing by and carrying two crumb-covered plates. “He doesn’t like to lose arguments. He likes to win.”

  “Then how am I supposed to convince him?” Rose demanded.

  Her sisters scampered over, each carrying an empty glass. They each pressed their glass to the door and their right ear to the end of the glass.

  “Have you two no shame?” Rose asked.

  “Shhhh!” Louise said, putting her finger to her lips. “Papa’s explaining the rules now.”

  “He wants him to make a wager of five dollars,” Sara said. “Mr. Wainscott made a choking sound.”

  “Now he’s saying he doesn’t have any money on him at all,” Louise said. “I bet he’s lying.”

  “No wonder, if Papa wants him to bet a month’s worth of groceries,” Rose snorted.

  “Papa’s saying Mr. Wainscott can owe him,” Sara said. She was silent for a moment. “Mr. Wainscott refused.”

  “Now Papa’s really keen,” Louise said. “He’s offering ten-to-one odds. And a handicap. He’s really confident, isn’t he?”

  “Papa usually is,” Rose said. She’d heard him bragging to her mother once that he could beat his friends more often if he wanted to, but it was better to make sure they kept on coming.

  “Mr. Wainscott still refused. Now Papa’s saying they can do a practice round first, and then twenty-to-one odds.”

  “He should really take Papa up on that,” Sara opined.

  “He did!” Louise cried. “He’s saying he’ll bet five cents!”

  “He should’ve done more than that,” Sara said. “Papa will probably let him win the first round.”

  “Five cents is still a lot of money,” Rose said. “That’s a trip on the subway.”

  “Shhhh!” Louise said, putting her finger to her lips. She listened for a long moment, intently.

  Rose’s mother walked by with two more crumb-covered plates.

  “Do you want help clearing the table?” Rose asked her.

  �
�No, no, dear,” Rose’s mother said. “Would you like a glass so you can listen with your sisters?”

  “I am not a nosy busybody,” Rose said huffily, “unlike some people, who —”

  “They’re talking about you, they’re talking about you, they’re talking about you!” Sara gasped. She yanked her ear away from the glass and gestured at Rose. “Come listen, come listen!”

  Rose hesitated, but her younger sister grabbed her and shoved her ear against the glass.

  There was a muffled, echoing quality, but she could hear the sounds surprisingly well. There was noise as her father expertly shuffled the deck, partly drowning out Henry’s words.

  “— to thank you for not letting her take science classes,” Henry was saying. “That’s not really a woman’s place, is it?”

  There was a scuffing sound as Rose’s father dealt out the cards. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”

  Rose’s mouth gaped. What in the world is he doing?

  “It doesn’t matter that she’s smarter than me,” Henry said. “In fact, it would be embarrassing if people realized it.”

  “It’s not so bad,” Rose’s father said. “Mabel’s got a great head on her shoulders. She can balance a budget like no one else.”

  “But that’s a useful skill,” Henry said. “Not like paleontology.”

  Rose was mad as hornets. She envisioned the tongue-lashing she would give that liar at the first opportunity.

  “Hear, hear!” Rose’s father agreed. “What good does ancient history do anyone today, I ask you? Nothing!”

  “Especially given the cost of college,” Henry said. “It’s just not worth it without the guarantee of a well-paying job afterwards!”

  Ha! Rose thought, smirking. Hearing people say that was one of her father’s pet peeves. It was his greatest regret that he’d never gone to college, even though he made plenty of money.

  “Education does have value for its own sake,” Rose’s father said stiffly.

  “But only when it’s something useful,” Henry said. “Not when it’s something useless like geology or art history.”

  There was thunderous silence.

  Rose bit her knuckle to keep from laughing. Her father had dozens of art history books in his study. How had Henry missed those?