by Hannah Ross
"I can't say I'm very surprised, dear. Are you interested in having more children?"
Stephanie stared at her mother with a look of horror. "Who, me? Not unless it happens by accident. Two are quite enough."
"Well, dear, if you, who have a full-time au pair, and enough money to bring up a dozen children in a good society and give them an excellent education, can't be bothered to have more, what can be said about people who struggle to make ends meet? I'm sure that if I lived in one of those dreadful cramped cubicles in the Urban Islands, I would think twice before having children at all."
"Some people will have unplanned pregnancies, though. Ned is thinking of changing the abortion policy so that more of these children are kept. He reckons they can be given Class B citizenships, and—"
Stephanie was interrupted by the nurse, who ran into the dining room, panting. "Mrs. Dahl! Mrs. Dahl! Come quick, please! It's your husband."
Eleanor got up from her chair, deathly pale. "Is it time?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Dahl. He's awake now, and wishes to see you. But I think I better call Dr. Kramer."
When Eleanor and Stephanie ran back upstairs, they found Alexander Dahl lying back on his cushions. His breath escaped his lungs in a horrible struggling gurgle. He was a skeleton with living, bloodshot eyes that, as the door opened, he fixed on his wife.
"Ellie," he croaked. "You're here. That's good."
Eleanor rushed to his side and pressed his bony hand. "How do you feel, Alexander?"
A bitter shadow of a smile twisted his lips. "Like I'm holding on by a thin thread. It's about to break. Has been for a while. And I feel... I feel I've been robbed of so many years. So many, Ellie. It isn't fair. Ours is the superior race. We should have possessed the secret of immortality. Maybe someone will uncover it once... But it's too late for me."
A grimace contorted Eleanor's face. "Alexander, please. Not again. Don't think about it now."
"Yes. You're right. What's the use? The game is over for me. But Ned. He's a promising one. He will do what must be done to keep up the proper order, will he not? Is Ned here?"
"No, Daddy, Ned isn't here yet," Stephanie said, stepping to her father's side. "I had someone call him, though, and he's on his way."
Dahl nodded, closing his eyes. "Good. That's... that's good." He sounded a little dazed. Then his eyes snapped open. "Priscilla. Is she here?"
"Not yet, Alexander," Eleanor said in a choked voice.
"I hope she comes. She's a good girl, after all. I've enjoyed playing tennis with her. I'll miss our games when she goes to college."
Eleanor and Stephanie exchanged alarmed looks.
"Daddy. Prissy has finished college a while ago."
Dahl didn't hear her. He appeared to be lost in a world of his own, in better times, in sweeter days as he mumbled, "Maybe we'll have a few good games next time she comes for a visit."
Dr. Kramer, a fat man with neatly parted dark hair, knocked and was admitted by the nurse.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, doctor," Eleanor said.
Dr. Kramer nodded. "I was just turning into your driveway when the nurse called." He approached his patient, performing a few basic examinations. He glanced at the monitors and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Dahl. There's little I can do. Any other man would have given up a long time ago. It's a miracle he held on this long."
Eleanor nodded, kneeling by her husband's side and taking his hand in both of hers. Despite the bitterness and frustration that was present in so much of her life with Alexander, he was her husband of thirty years. This house saw them in all the stages of their evolution – as newlyweds and a young couple with children and as sleek and ambitious royalty of the new world.
Nobody knew the sacrifices hidden behind Eleanor Dahl's impeccable facade. And yet the loss still hurt, for to lose Alexander also meant losing a part of herself. They would all lose a part of themselves. Stephanie, standing at a window, was shaking with silent tears.
Alexander gripped his wife's hand with uncharacteristic strength for such an invalid, but this last spark of energy sputtered out and died quickly. His fingers slackened, his breath grew more and more shallow. He did not appear to be in pain thanks to the painkillers in his IV drip, which were raised to a merciful dose that allowed him comfort. He drew one last struggling breath, jerked, and was no more.
* * *
Eleanor and Stephanie sat on couches in the drawing room, opposite each other, silent and numb, each of them enveloped in her own memories and grief. A bustle at the door startled them out of their torpor, and Ned came in, flushed and out of breath.
"I came as soon as I could. Is he… Is it…"
Stephanie gave him a look. "It's all over, Ned," she said, closing her eyes.
"I'm going to let the family know," Eleanor said with incredible composure. Rising and smoothing her skirt, she walked out of the room.
Ned sat down next to his wife and put an arm around her shoulders. "How are you feeling, Steph?"
Stephanie opened her eyes and looked at him. "I'm glad it's over. He suffered so dreadfully in the past few weeks."
Ned nodded. "You need to rest, sweetheart. Let me take you home."
Stephanie didn't appear to listen, however. "Did you know he asked about Prissy? He thought she was about to come anytime. I'm glad he never realized she wasn't going to. It would have been heartbreaking."
"She could have come if she chose to."
"Prissy said she doesn't want any of this family's little games anymore," Stephanie said with an increasing edge to her voice. "No cars with drivers especially assigned to fetch her. And actually, I can understand her."
"Well, the new regulations clearly state that out-of-Boundary residents will be allowed to pass the crossing points, and–"
Stephanie straightened up. Her eyes, though puffy with crying, were focused and alert. "I want my sister to come to the funeral. I want her to be able to do this with dignity and convenience. And you are going to make this happen, Ned."
"But honey, be reasonable. Your sister made some very unfortunate choices, and you know that it isn't within my power to make her—"
"I don't care about any of that," she said, jumping up and throwing Ned's arm off her shoulder. "You can always find a way if you want to. And you will do it, Ned. Or you might as well not bother coming home."
He assumed an understanding expression. "Steph, you are exhausted and shaken. You aren't yourself. You don't know what you are saying."
Her eyes flashed with anger. "I don't often make requests of you, Ned. I put up with a lot. I rarely complain. But this time it's different. You are going to make sure my sister is here for the funeral, or you'll be sorry for it."
"Alright, alright. I'll do my best. We'll make the necessary arrangements."
"No. You will call yourself. And I don't care if the lines are patchy. You will get through to Resurrection Town, or you will drive over there and ask Prissy to come. No more using other people as your messengers, not for this. This is a family matter."
Ned let out a long sigh. "Alright, Steph, I'll handle it myself. I'll talk to Priscilla and explain that—"
"And Ben as well."
"Ben? Oh, God, Stephy. Don't make life too difficult for me. Why do you want that wildling at your father's funeral?"
"I don't care if he comes or not. But Priscilla has to know that her whole family is welcome. Because that is what Ben is now, Ned. That man is family, whether we like it or not."
* * *
Two ears were pressed close to the receiver, listening to Ned all but plead with them to attend the funeral for Stephanie's and her mother's sake. An observer would have been hard pressed to decide who looked more incredulous.
"This is so unlike Ned," Priscilla said after disconnecting. "He's always made it clear he's ready to wipe his feet on us."
"This is your sister's doing," Ben said. "This special arrangement was made for you, Prissy."
"They'r
e going to send three cars. Three cars with three huge tanks full of fuel. Probably extra canisters of fuel, too, while we have to use horses and wagons."
"Be that as it may, this enables you to go to your father's funeral, Pris. Are you going to go?"
She met his eye. "Will you come with me?"
"Me?"
"Yes. Ned did say 'you and your whole family', you know. That means you, sweetheart. And Ian."
"I know, Pris, but is that wise? Placing me among the Dahls and Van Wullens won't make for a pleasant family party, I'm afraid."
Priscilla took hold of his hand. "You are my husband. I'm going with you, or not at all. I want them to realize that. Do you think you can get some time off from the Council, Ben?"
"It will be tough, but I think so. I'll ask Mac if he can cover for me."
29
________________________________
It felt odd to slip into the back seat of one of the shiny cars. Ben heaved their bags into the trunk, and Priscilla got Ian snugly settled in her lap. The little boy saw nothing strange about the situation, and just kept looking around, excited and babbling. "Car!" he said, bouncing on his mother's knee. "Go car!"
"Yes, honey," Priscilla whispered, smoothing his hair. "We're going in the car."
Ben settled down next to her looking concerned. "Are you OK?"
She nodded. "I'm fine. It's just that... Last time I visited Silver Oaks, I thought I'd never go back again. It's hard to believe we're actually going there together. And it's hard to believe he's really gone," she added in a barely audible voice. "But I'm not going to cry about him."
Ben's fingers twined around hers as the car kicked into motion. "You're allowed to, Pris. He was your father."
"He was a monster who ruined the lives of countless people. He had ordered babies to be murdered, innocent children to be slung out beyond the Boundary. He was the reason you grew up without your family, Ben."
She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes as his soft, gentle voice said, "But he's gone. He's gone and we're still here. Isn't that the most important thing?"
"Bastards like my brother-in-law and uncle are trying to keep my father's vision going. A pyramid, Ben. That's how they envision society. A pyramid with themselves at the top, and most others at the bottom. And if the bottom layer tries to spoil the proper order by climbing up, they get punished. That's why I'm crying, Ben." She dried her eyes with a tissue. "Not because my father is dead. But because he was my father in the first place."
* * *
As the cars approached the crossing point, Ben could not tear his eyes away from the window. He hadn't seen the Boundary since before he and Priscilla were married. The passage regulations were more complicated then, but still he was able to accompany his parents to the Urban Islands, where he and Priscilla would snatch sweet short hours together. The more he thought about it, the more miraculous it seemed that the two of them ended up married. Time, social status, and circumstances were all against them.
Ben's wonder grew as they entered the private Island belonging to The Silver Oaks estate. They drove up an avenue lined with oak trees, through the large park with its velvety green lawns and vast pond surrounded by lovingly trimmed plants. The place abounded in silvery fountains and flowerbeds that were like outbursts of color on an artist's palette. Though Ben couldn't see them, he knew the kitchen gardens, tennis court, swimming pool, and stables were somewhere around.
When they approached the stately manor house, its marble front steps flanked by dark cypress trees, a slightly awestruck Ben said, "So this is where you grew up. Wow!"
"Home sweet home," Priscilla said with a twinge of irony.
"I guess it's lucky I had no idea. I would never have dared to approach you."
Priscilla rolled her eyes. "You can see why I ran away from the place, can't you?"
The front door opened, and a slim, elegant-looking woman dressed all in black met them as they alighted from the car.
"Mom," whispered Priscilla, as the woman rushed forward and took her in her arms, kissing her and Ian.
"Prissy, dear, you came."
"We came." She pulled her husband forward. "This is Ben."
Eleanor Dahl regarded him stiffly, finally proffering a little hand in a black glove. "Welcome to Silver Oaks. Alas, the circumstances… We are holding the funeral today, Prissy. We better find you something proper to wear."
Ben knew how Priscilla felt about wearing mourning clothes and coming to stand by her father's grave together with the rest of the Dahl-Van Wullen clan, but she refrained from objecting. "Where is it going to be, Mom?"
"We are going to bury him right here, in the little copse behind the pond. People will start arriving soon."
"Not too many people, I hope?"
"No, dear. I wouldn't be able to stand it. Just family, and no reporters. It will be a quiet affair, just as Alexander would have wanted."
'Just family', of course, was a loose term when it included the Thorntons. Several prominent White Tower figures were present as well. All were dressed in somber attire, though only Eleanor and Stephanie wore actual mourning – knee-length black dresses, wide-brimmed black hats and thick black veils.
Priscilla debated with herself on what to wear. She couldn't bring herself to dress all in black, so eventually she rummaged in her bag and settled on black slacks and a dark blue high-collared shirt. She went down to the burial site, together with Ben and Ian, who was carried in his father's arms. A trail of whispers followed her as she moved up front to stand next to her mother and sister.
Stephanie turned to her and hugged her with a dry and breathless sob. "You came, Prissy. I wish you'd come sooner." She was standing next to her husband, who acknowledged Ben and Priscilla by no more than a quick, nervous jerk of the head.
Another large shiny car stopped at the driveway, and out of it stepped a fat old lady wearing an emerald green suit and a soft grey felt hat with a single drooping ostrich feather. She made her way straight to the Dahl women, throwing her fleshy arms first around Eleanor, then Stephanie and, finally, Priscilla.
"Aunt Daphne," Priscilla said a little breathlessly, breaking the suffocating embrace.
"There you are, Prissy. You've made it just in time. Not in mourning, I see, but then, it's nothing more than a convention. Your uncle told me that under no circumstances should I wear my green suit to the funeral, but as I get older and fatter, clothes that both fit me and please me are getting increasingly hard to find. So here I am, Eleanor, just the way I am, and you have no choice but to put up with me."
"Are Andrew and Glenda coming, Aunt Daphne?" Eleanor asked.
Daphne glanced at the gold watch adorning her fat wrist. "Should be here any moment now."
Moments later, they saw Andrew and his wife Glenda approaching, he in black from head to toe, and she wearing a somber dark grey dress.
"Sorry I'm late, Eleanor," he said. "I just put the finishing touches to my eulogy."
He acknowledged both his nieces with an identical cursory nod and smile, though he saw Stephanie fairly often and Priscilla almost never. Glenda moved forward as well, touching her cheek to Eleanor's and making the sound of a kiss.
Eleanor nodded, steeling herself. "We have nothing more to wait for."
Dahl had asked for no religious tinge during the funeral. Though the family had once, during his presidency, been perfunctory churchgoers, he and Eleanor left off such appearances when Dahl vacated his chair in the White Tower. Andrew led the funeral ceremony. He waited for the team of six men to lower the coffin into the grave, which was done with utmost solemnity and silence. Then he perched a pair of thick spectacles on the bridge of his nose, took out a sheaf of paper, cleared his throat and began:
"The death of my brother-in-law, Alexander Dahl, signifies the end of an era. His achievements, reforms, and policy have been long admired..."
Ben tapped his foot, a sound that was almost muted by the soft, perfectly trimmed grass. "I should have known
," Priscilla whispered, sounding disgusted.
"It's a funeral, Pris," Ben whispered back. "You can hardly expect him to bring up your father's shortcomings. And what does it matter what he says? Everyone knows the truth."
* * *
"I wish we could go home," Priscilla said after the eulogy as clods of earth began to fall down upon the coffin.
"I agree," said Ben. "As a matter of fact, I can't wait to get back to our real home. The garden must be overgrown by now, and my folks can't be expected to keep taking care of our stock forever."
Priscilla gave him a sharp look. "Are you talking about the cabin? But what about the Council?"
Ben shrugged. "I need a break. I really do. After Tom..." He shook his head. "I need to sort myself out, Pris. Just be in peace and quiet with you and Ian."
The toddler, hearing his name, pulled on his father's hair.
Priscilla looked stunned and excited at the same time. Then, recalling herself, she quickly adjusted her expression to one more suitable for a funeral. "We'll talk about this later, OK?"
Long minutes later, it was over. The crowd stood for a moment around the fresh grave with its loose earth, their heads bowed, and Ben recalled with a bitter twinge another funeral from many years ago, when they stood at Michael's final place of rest. There were no officials in suits and ties, no solemn speeches about achievements and legacy, but Ben suspected there were a lot more sincere tears.
Eleanor turned away from the grave, and everyone took it as a cue to disperse. "Let's all go in the house," she said. "Aunt Daphne says she could do with a hot drink. Are you going to stay with us for a while, Prissy... Ben?"
The couple exchanged a glance. "For a bit," Priscilla said. "Then we'll be going home."
"You have a home here, dear, you know that," Eleanor said, her voice gentle and sad.
"Not anymore, Mom. This hasn't been my home for many years now."
As they walked away, Ben asked, "Do you think you can get Ned and Andrew to talk to me for a minute?"