“The sky’s blue,” she said, gloomily. The skies over Earth were no longer that color, not since the Debasement. “And it smells foul.”
“You get used to it.” He put a breakfast tray down on a side table. “Come eat.”
She wasn’t very hungry, but Junior needed fuel to grow. Some warm porridge tasted better than she thought it would, and there was toast with jam on it, and some kind of protein strip.
“Bacon,” he said.
Jodenny paused. “Pig bacon?”
He nodded.
She put it aside. The tea was lukewarm, which was a blessing. She didn’t need hot liquids. Outside, the sound of hoofs clip-clopped on stone and a man shouted out something in a language she didn’t understand.
“Australia,” she said.
He nodded again. “About seventy years since the first convicts were transported here from England. About fifteen years since they stopped sending them to Sydney. Five years since they struck gold in the mountains. It’s the frontier, Jodenny. Edge of a whole nation beginning to rise up.”
She thought he was being very careful with her, as if she would fall to pieces with one inopportune word. It annoyed her to be treated like spun glass. But she wasn’t so annoyed that she was going to call him on it. It was too much of a relief to hear him talking, and she was still trying to ignore the very real possibility that Myell was dead.
“Homer said he could only appear to his direct ancestors,” she said. “But you talked to him? You saw him?”
“Yes. Doesn’t mean he’s honest or reliable. Do you want to come downstairs? See what it’s like here in 1855?”
“No.”
He looked surprised. “Why not?”
Jodenny cupped her belly. “Cholera. Tuberculosis. Lockjaw. God knows what else is out there. Doesn’t smell like they’ve got much for sewers and I bet the medical care is just as shitty, pun intended. You think I’m going out there with junior? I’m staying right here.”
Osherman blinked. “Your immunizations are all up to date. We’ve got each other, and we’ve each had medical training.”
“Do you have any penicillin on you? Any antibiotics? A bone-knitter, any kind of scanner whatsoever? Pregnant women can get eclampsia, Sam. My blood pressure could soar through the roof and I could have a stroke. I could get gestational diabetes. Or a fistula. Do you know what a fistula is? When a woman is in labor too long, her bladder—”
He held up a hand to forestall her. “You can’t stay in this house forever, Jodenny. The world is dangerous but it’s our world now.”
“It’s not mine.” She cupped junior. “Terry’s alive somewhere. If Homer saved us, he could have saved him. Or maybe the blue ouroboros did—it was on the Confident, and she was hit first. It could have broken free. But no matter where he is, what he’s doing, he’s not going to leave me here. He’ll find both of us, rescue us.”
Osherman stroked his mustache. “You really think so?”
“Yes. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next month, maybe a year from now, but he’ll come. You know he will.”
He said nothing.
She lifted the hem of her nightshift. “But in the meantime, you could at least find me something better to wear.”
After all, nineteenth-century recluse or not, she wasn’t going to spend every day waiting for Myell in her underwear.
The dress was a catastrophe of lace and silk, with narrow sleeves and a tight-fitting bodice that wasn’t going to fit around Jodenny’s pregnancy-enhanced breasts. She wasn’t even going to address the corset and petticoats under the full skirt.
“Maybe you should talk to the girls,” Osherman said, fleeing her dismay.
The “girls” were the two housekeepers of the residence. They were both tall and skinny, with dark hair, missing teeth, and freckled faces worn down from hard work. Lilly was the older sister, perhaps Jodenny’s own age or so. Sarah, whose nose had been broken sometime in the past and was now unfortunately crooked, was barely out of her teens. Both had thick accents that Jodenny found hard to understand—old English, maybe, or whatever passed for the local dialect in a city jammed full of immigrants from across the world who’d come in search of mountain gold.
She supposed she was in turn hard for them to understand, but she was very clear about the dress.
“What do pregnant women wear around here?” she demanded. “Surely not corsets and hoops!”
Lilly gave her a curious look. “What’s do they wear back where you come from, ma’am?”
Sarah added, “The Captain, he said you’d had a knock on the head and might be a bit confused.”
“The Captain?” Jodenny asked. “Who’s the Captain?”
Lilly looked aghast. “You poor thing!”
Sarah wiped her hand across her crooked nose. “You don’t remember your own husband! Here he’s been, sitting by your beside so worried and weeping.”
Jodenny gazed down at her wedding ring. Myell’s ring. “What’s he a captain of?”
“The army, of course,” Lilly said. “Retired early from service to the Queen. Very brave man, he is. Now in the trade business.”
Osherman had obviously been busy spinning tall tales. Jodenny was afraid to ask anything more. Let them believe he was a general, for all she cared.
“Let’s pretend I remember nothing about modern fashion,” she said, almost choking on the word modern. “If you were me, what would you be wearing?”
“If I were a fine lady,” Lilly mused, “I’d have some of that nice blue cotton from Mr. Johnson’s shop on George Street.”
“I’d have a new summer hat and some white gloves,” Sarah said wistfully.
“And shoes with pointy toes,” Lilly added.
Jodenny sighed. It was going to be a long century.
The two sisters went off to brainstorm alternative clothing arrangements and came back a half hour later with a voluminous blue dress with ample room in the bodice and more than enough room for Junior. They pinned alterations in place, took the dress away for some first aid with needle and thread, and returned an hour later for a second fitting.
“Much better,” Lilly said, as Jodenny considered herself in a hand mirror. A Team Space uniform it was not.
Sarah beamed. “And hardly at all out of date. I think Her Ladyship will be happy.”
“Is this one of her dresses?” Jodenny asked.
“Was,” Lilly said. “It was supposed to go to the charity for the old transport girls.”
“The what?”
“Oh, you really did get a conk on the head,” Sarah said.
Lilly said, as if talking to a child, “You know, transport. From England. The convicts. They used to send them by the shipload.”
Jodenny had been born and raised on Fortune. Australia’s history was a dim, distant chapter in a book she hadn’t opened in years. She knew that England had spent several decades shipping off its convicts and other unwanted denizens to Australia, but surely that was over by now?
“Are you convicts?” she asked.
“Of course not!” Lilly said.
“England doesn’t send them to New South Wales anymore,” Sarah said. “Just out West. Lilly and I and our eight sisters, we were all born here.”
Jodenny exclaimed, “Eight!”
Sarah added, “They didn’t all live. My dad, he was free first. He got mum at the Female Factory in Parramatta.”
Jodenny tried to convince herself that Sarah had not just used the words female and factory in the same sentence, but horror must have shown on her face.
“That’s enough,” Lilly said pointedly. She snatched up her sewing basket. “We’ve lunch to go make for Lady Scott, if that’s all you’ll be needing.”
Lilly swept off. Sarah curtsied and followed hastily. Jodenny wanted to call out an apology but the enormity of the situation—and the dress, which was heavier than expected—made her flop down in a side chair and cover her face with both hands.
She was a trained military officer—or had
been, once—but now she was something else entirely. A castaway, maybe. A prisoner. A pregnant woman whose real husband was missing and whose fake husband was, until recent memory, a psychologically unbalanced mute severely traumatized by his captivity with the Roon.
A knock on the door brought her around to face Osherman.
“Nice dress,” he said.
She snorted. “You want to wear it?”
“I’m satisfied with what I’ve got,” he said. “Come downstairs? I’ll show you the house.”
Jodenny hesitated.
“You won’t get leprosy going downstairs,” he promised.
Reluctantly she followed him. She was no expert on Victorian architecture but the house was nicely done, with three bedrooms for the residents and a tiny one for the housekeepers. Everything smelled like wax and wood smoke and perfume. The kitchen had an enormous hearth, and the table in the dining room was a carved slab of mahogany imported from England along with most of the other furnishings. The hardwood floors were spotlessly clean. All of the wood in the staircase, wainscoting, and doorways had been carved by hand.
In the front parlor hung a large oil painting of Lord Scott, he of the stern countenance and steely eyes. His domain included an upright piano, Oriental rugs and small sofas, pastoral landscapes of the English countryside, and white curtains that billowed in the harbor breeze.
“Admiral Lord Scott,” Osherman said. “Dead twenty years ago in England. The week after the funeral, Lady Scott packed up her things and sailed here to start all over again. Left all her children and grandchildren behind, how’s that for unsentimental?”
Jodenny stared at the Admiral’s formidable nose and weathered face. He didn’t look friendly. Then again, approachability wasn’t a characteristic highly prized in British sea captains. She studied the lace curtains on the windows, the thin books of poetry on a side table, and the small clock ticking on the mantelpiece. The nineteenth century was quieter than a spaceship.
“She met me when I was at my worst, just after Homer left me here. Took me in,” Osherman said. “In addition to stray Team Space officers, she also takes in cats and dogs.”
Jodenny laughed at that, but only a little. Her heart was too full of other feelings to let amusement creep in. She sat down in a chair that afforded a view of the sunlit street.
“I can’t be trapped here,” she said. “I can’t, Sam. I can’t sit here without knowing what’s happened to him. He could be out there, hurt. Alone. Needing help.”
Osherman said, “Or he could be dead.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she said, and it was the first time she’d ever said anything like that to him.
He moved to her chair and crouched down. His hands grabbed her fists. “Listen to me. He could be dead, Jodenny. At Kultana. He could be trapped in the future. He could be stuck traveling in that ouroboros, never finding a home. You don’t know. I don’t know. We might never know.”
She bowed into herself, grief like a heavy anchor.
“But I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Let me help you.”
Jodenny didn’t answer—couldn’t answer, not with so many words locked up in her throat.
The front door opened with a jangle, and a brown-haired woman in finery and jewels bustled in with a tall Aboriginal servant in tow. “Well, now!” she called out. “I’m home! I’m home and I’ve brought wonderful things for all of us! Where is everyone?”
She stopped in the parlor doorway to gaze at them in frank surprise. “My dearest Mrs. Osherman, why are you weeping?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jodenny rose out of her chair and wiped at her face. She was absolutely not crying, no matter what anyone said.
“Lady Scott,” she said formally. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Lady Scott peered at her with watery blue eyes. Her face was deeply lined and her hair stark white. She was as tall as Jodenny, but much larger in the bosom. Her jaunty hat sported a peacock feather, her leather shoes had golden buckles on them, and there were enough frills and lace in her voluminous dress to make curtains for the entire house.
“My dearest Mrs. Osherman,” Lady Scott said. “You are welcome here in my home for as long as you’d like. The Captain told me how arduous the journey was for you, so heavy with child. It’s a miracle you arrived in Australia unscathed. I trust that Lilly and Sarah have been seeing to your needs? What a fine dress you have!”
Jodenny smoothed down a sleeve. “It was yours.”
Lady Scott beamed. “Excellent choice, then. You haven’t met Tulip. Tulip, this is Mrs. Osherman.”
The Aboriginal stepped forward. His clothes were common but sturdy, and he wore no shoes. He was forty years old, maybe, his hair gray at the edges. One eye was clear and focused but the other was damaged and milky. He had an armful of bags and packages that were no doubt the fruits of Lady Scott’s shopping.
“Missus,” he said, with a nod.
Jodenny replied, “Pleased to meet you.”
Lady Scott clapped her hands. “I’m famished, aren’t you? We must have dinner. And wine! We must have wine!”
She swept herself off with Tulip in tow and barked out orders for Lilly and Sarah. Within minutes Jodenny was sitting down beside Osherman at the dining room table, where a meal of cooked chicken had been set out along with cheese, potatoes, and fresh hot bread. There was wine and milk to drink, and Jodenny couldn’t decide which was worse for Junior—alcohol or god knew what bacteria in the milk.
“Maybe just hot tea for you,” Osherman said.
Lady Scott was a chatterbox; she rambled on about the weather, the market, her visit with her banker, her visit with the doctor, and did she mention the gossip about the governor, and had she told them the charming story about the shoemaker’s son? Osherman indulged the old woman with conversation while Jodenny ate around the dead animal on her plate and swallowed all of her tea. She couldn’t believe this woman was her grandmother however many generations back; Homer had said it, but Homer couldn’t be trusted.
“Dear girl, don’t you like the chicken?” Lady Scott asked.
Jodenny squared her shoulders. “I’m a vegetarian, ma’am.”
“Vegetarian!” Lady Scott frowned. “I’ve heard of that. Strange beliefs about food and health, those vegetarians.”
“Actually, where I come from”—Jodenny started, and then felt the nudge of Osherman’s foot against her shin. She ended with—“people have all sorts of ideas about food.”
“You have the strangest accent,” Lady Scott mused. “The captain here says you’re from the American colonies. How is it, living in Boston?”
Jodenny was trying to think of a suitable response when Osherman said, “My wife’s parents took her all over the world, ma’am. She has an accent reflecting global travel.”
“Very global,” Jodenny agreed.
Lady Scott lifted her glass of wine. “To global travel! It broadens the mind and empties the purse. Though for some I suspect it empties the mind as well. When you see too many marvelous things you grow jaded and cynical, don’t you think?”
“Josephine is neither cynical nor jaded,” Osherman said, patting Jodenny’s hand.
She wasn’t sure exactly when she had become Josephine, but for appearance’s sake she squeezed his hand back. Hard. “My husband speaks too well of me. He has no idea how cynical my heart has grown.”
Lady Scott smiled at her. “Cynicism becomes you, child. I was afraid you were a mere wallflower. This city needs more female leadership. More feminine grit and backbone. You must come with us next week to the governor’s luncheon. He’s sailing back to England soon, and this is his big farewell. I shall introduce you to the finest of society.”
“I couldn’t,” Jodenny said immediately. She put one hand on junior’s bump. “My condition.”
“Don’t be silly,” Osherman said. “The fresh air and good company will do you good.”
Lady Scott said, “Exactly!”
“I do, too,” Lady Scott confided. “But the rooms at Government House are very large.”
Jodenny let the argument lapse. Surely, by next week, Myell would have already found some way to come for her, or Homer would have returned, or maybe she could just fake an illness. She could see that Osherman was going to be a significant problem. He was used to this place—perhaps he even liked it—but she had no intention of making this century her home.
Then again, she didn’t suppose Osherman had money to support them, and Jodenny certainly had no income. The prospect of losing Lady Scott’s hospitality wasn’t a pleasant one. Not without a credit chit to put them up in a hotel or some wild fortune to see them into their own house.
Not that she needed a house.
Myell would come for her.
Lady Scott wasn’t unpleasant company, but she talked so much and so eagerly that Jodenny wondered if she’d run off all her friends and neighbors with the chatter. Granted, Jodenny had sat through many interminable meetings and some truly awful wardroom dinners, but this time the food was an additional horror. Her ears ached and her stomach roiled at the sight of the chicken, and without any warning at all Osherman was saying, “I think perhaps some rest is in order. Josephine, you don’t look well.”
“I feel fine,” she protested, but that wasn’t true. She was dizzy on the stairs and it was a relief when he got her to her room and the bed.
She stared up at the slowly rotating ceiling and said, “What’s wrong with me?”
“That dress, the food, and traveling through centuries of time,” Osherman said. “I slept a lot my first few days here.”
Jodenny wanted to know more about that, but her eyelids closed on their own. She told her subconscious to conjure up Myell. Surely in dreams they could be connected. But her vision remained dark and dreamless, as if he’d never even existed.
The Stars Blue Yonder Page 19