Her next task was mending the pockets of Louisa’s dresses. Elswyth didn’t quite trust her sister’s ability with needles.
When she turned out the first pocket, a letter fell out. Elswyth picked it up. It was addressed to her, and in Mr. Thomas’s hand. It was torn in the middle as though someone had run it through with a dagger. She hardly had time to register her surprise before she opened it and unfolded the single page. It had broken sentences at the top and bottom, so most of the letter was clearly missing. The only thing left in the envelope was a sonnet.
The stars that light the desert blank burn bright,
Yet the seer’s globe is a darkened moonlight,
Casting not the hour down should here alight,
Or if I will again know song of loon;
The lost heavens in-exhausted and cursed,
Weary the soul and drain its well of strength,
I cannot draw from it to sate this thirst,
For my fear knows not its own journey’s length.
So bright beacon of hope’s face remembered,
At once lift dark dust and lighten my stride.
Above, thine visage fine stars have rendered,
Thy horizon’s arms enfold me inside.
Thus an empty land now begets home,
With a turn toward thee, a far star alone.
It was insipid, almost unreadable drivel. Yet it moved her. It was the only thing she had seen in Mr. Thomas’s hand since he went away. How ever did Louisa come to have it? She read the sonnet over a few times, considering its sentiment.
She couldn’t write anymore, her head filled with thoughts of Mr. Thomas. It was her father’s fault for sending him away. As she walked down the hall past his room, she resolved to remain upset. She needed to ask Louisa about the letter’s provenance.
She was surprised to find her sister, usually quite sprightly in the morning, still tucked tight in her small bed. ‘Louisa, you ought to be up. You know Aunt Anne despises late breakfasting.’ Her small body remained motionless. ‘Have you been stealing my post? I’ve just found my letter in your pocket, half destroyed.’
‘It was by the fencing cabinet, speared on a sabre.’ Louisa’s voice sounded weak and far away. Elswyth came and laid a hand upon her forehead. It was warm. The health and freshness that characterized her sister’s looks were alarmingly absent.
‘Are you ill? Does your stomach pain you?’
Louisa nodded cautiously.
‘You lie there. I’ll fetch a remedy.’ Shortly Elswyth returned with a cold compress. She pulled back the covers and brushed the hair from Louisa’s forehead to apply it. ‘This is the blood that I said would visit you each new moon. But you must simply bear it. And my post is to be given directly to me. I’m expecting it.’
Louisa was as a shadow. ‘Tell me a story from Mother’s book.’
‘I don’t know any by heart, kid-doe.’ She arranged the pillows to sit herself up next to Louisa. ‘When I was a little girl, Mother would simply speak to me of the future.’
‘The future?’
‘Yes, my future. It was only when I was ill enough that I had to be bled, but she would tell me all the wonderful things that my future held in store for me: society tea, many handsome suitors. I had an entire library of dresses that I could choose from for any occasion. The closet was a great hall, with row upon row of beautiful gowns and dainties and fine things rare. I was the keeper and could comb through them to see what I might wear. In the future, there are enough material goods for all, and an abundance of food and drink unknown to us now. Chemical lights, and skies full of bats. All rain will cease to fall and…’
Louisa vomited all over the front of her nightgown. Elswyth jumped up, startled. Louisa began to cry.
‘Oh dear, you really are ill, aren’t you?’ Elswyth unfastened her own skirt, to keep it from the mess, and helped Louisa clean up. She pulled the nightgown over her sister’s head gingerly, turning her nose away. She collected the dress and the bedclothes in a basket meant for flowers. They would require thorough washing.
‘Do you need some new undergarments as well?’ Louisa nodded, shivering in her white knickers. Elswyth caught sight of a dried spot of crimson on the nape of her sister’s neck. A rather nasty scratch. ‘Tell me you haven’t been riding the hounds again? You know very well how they bite.’
‘I want Mother.’
‘Shh.’ Elswyth fetched an old star-patterned quilt from a trunk and spread it out on the bed.
‘Elsie, I didn’t…I’m not bleeding.’ Louisa’s voice was small.
‘You’re not?’ Elswyth didn’t believe her. ‘Well you certainly seem to be cramping, and your little stomach is quite swollen.’ She pulled a clean nightgown over Louisa’s head. When her head emerged the sisters’ eyes met and at once Elswyth knew.
‘You’re with child!’
Louisa crawled back in bed and pulled the covers up over her head. Elswyth pulled them down. ‘Is it true?’ Louisa looked sullen. ‘You haven’t even debuted! The gala…Did someone hurt you?’
‘No one. Zed Blackfoot.’
‘You mean Mr. Buell.’ Elswyth reared up and a fierce light came into her eyes. She opened the sash and pulled up the window despite the dark sky outside. Panicked birds traced escape routes through the humid air. The clouds flashed, telegraphing a storm. Her eyes searched the grounds.
‘Father will be furious…’ She couldn’t turn to look at her sister. She felt as though she might cry herself.
‘You mustn’t tell,’ Louisa pleaded.
‘Furious at him…’ Elswyth sat on the bed and began to smooth Louisa’s hair. Her sister trembled in her lap. ‘Like I am. Like you…’
‘I have to find Grapes.’
‘You stay right here in bed,’ she said, trying to make her voice sound grown-up. The way it quavered revealed to them both how very scared Elswyth was.
ELSWYTH DELIVERS UNWELCOME NEWS TO HER FATHER. SHE SUGGESTS A DESPERATE PLAN. MR. GRAY RELUCTANTLY AGREES.
lswyth found her father in his office, sitting behind his great ’desk stacked high with an enormous pile of bills, ledgers, files, and documents.
‘Come in, my dove. I would that you were an accountant, but a daughter will do.’
His affectionate teasing stopped the words on her lips. How could she put such an awful thing into the air?
‘Mr. Buell has yet to go to the post today. How it all piles up. The building of an institution is no easy task. Between a display case for that stupendously worthless buffalo and the scheduling of carpenters to work on the additional rooms, I’m not sure we’ll ever know what it means to have finished something. And I won’t have anything done in substandard fashion. I’ve always held that if you are to embark on some endeavor, everything must be done in the most carefully considered way.’
Elswyth sat down across from the stacks of paper. ‘That is because you love it, Father. You love the museum above all else.’
Mr. Gray frowned. ‘I suppose you’re old enough now to know. Things are a bit more dire than I have let on. I fear this year’s gala could be the last, and before the museum has truly had a chance to get off the ground. The banks hurt us all a great deal. Unless we find a patron willing to give some nest egg to see our efforts sustained, I shall have to declare bankruptcy. But I would sell all this before leaving my daughters wanting. You’ll both require a dowry. And you are what I love above all else.’
‘Father, there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘With the crash, everyone was broke because of land, and I sold my interest in powder, you see. My land holdings are not insubstantial, but I wasn’t diversified. This is why you need to marry someone with a head for business. Even after the crash, the canal needed powder, so we would have been provided for…’
‘Louisa is pregnant.’ At this her father stopped and stared at her, his head arrested at a strange angle.
‘That can’t be.’
‘I’ve just seen, and she is. She knows it to
o.’
‘Impossible. She’s not even been introduced yet. She’s meant to debut at the gala. She doesn’t have any suitors…’
‘She has had Mr. Buell.’ Elswyth braced herself, thinking that if anything could break her father’s spirit, this news would be the instrument. He did not easily lose his composure. A much more frightening thing happened to his face now. Rather than go red, it turned a pale white, and he slumped back in his chair as though he had been struck a great blow. Elswyth remained still.
‘I’ll run him through,’ her father said. His tone was entirely unnerving. ‘He will not father my kin. I’ll have him flogged in the public square, I’ll amass a mob to cast stones at him.’ Mr. Gray had become very businesslike.
‘And what will that mob think of Louisa afterward? They will know who has sired her child.’
Her father softened and was quiet. ‘Your aunt foresaw this.’
‘It wasn’t hard to see, if you observe anything about that man.’
‘My kid-doe. Child out of wedlock.’ Her father’s complexion was still ghostly. He sat, and folded his hands in his lap. ‘Aunt Anne will not forgive us this. Buell is a monster to hurt her.’
‘He has taken advantage. Of us all. But you can’t kill him. Louisa does not understand. She cares for him.’
He father closed his eyes. He seemed very far away.
‘I have a plan,’ Elswyth said. She sat up straight. ‘We should first consider Louisa’s health and happiness. She can’t debut at the gala. We must keep her inside until the child is born. Aunt Anne will be the midwife. We can claim Louisa is sickly, which should be passable given my long history of ill health.’
‘And when the child is born?’
Elswyth smoothed her skirts. ‘I shall also remain indoors. When the child is born, it will be mine. If anyone is to bear a child out of wedlock, it should be me. I am older, and have no suitor.’
‘Elswyth.’ Her father sighed. ‘No. This will ruin you socially. If I cannot stand for one of my daughters to fall from respectable society, why should the other be any better?’
‘Louisa would have a chance at marriage yet.’
This gave her father pause. ‘There is still the trouble of a dowry.’ He began to arrange the things on his desk, straightening the papers into neat rows with great care. ‘The money is gone, my dear. Do you know what that means for us? We have no name. You’ll have no chance at happiness. Unless you marry.’
‘Then I must be married to the father of my new child.’ Elswyth’s voice took on a rapid, desperate cadence, her chin at a cavalier angle. ‘I will take Mr. Buell, and no one will be the wiser.’ Her father turned a shade whiter. She looked down, her stomach churning with hatred and disgust. ‘I can see no other way.’
He closed his desk drawer slowly, and it emitted a lonesome creak. ‘You haven’t even allowed him to court you for ages.’
‘This shall be a short engagement then.’
‘But think how long the marriage. I should send you both to your aunt’s Auspicium instead. I should have done it long ago.’ ‘You know babies are not allowed there. And I do not care to abandon the world entirely. I’ve had enough of being alone. My last suitor is lost to the wilderness. Sent away by you. This is the only way to undo the family’s shame.’
Her father just shook his head in disbelief or disagreement, it was impossible to tell. ‘Father…’ Elswyth’s voice was heavy with sentiment. She could see he was overcome. ‘You can do one thing for me now. Mr. Buell must propose to me. I don’t know how to make him do this. I spurned his advances for so long.’
‘I know you have offered this out of love for your sister. I doubt it will satisfy your aunt’s wishes for you, but if this is how you would have things…’ He stood from his desk, and Elswyth knew the conversation had reached its end. ‘I’ll speak to Mr. Buell myself, and he will agree.’
Elswyth kissed her father on the cheek and left the room hurriedly, her jaw set. Could it be that this is what would come of her life? She knew of no other way to help her sister.
She went outside, to the laundry. Louisa’s bedclothes had been soaking in a ten-gallon tub of rainwater since that morning. She violently shaved a pound of soap into the tub, the curls dissolving off the end of her knife. She picked up the stirring stick, but then, thinking better of it, ran back to her room.
She fetched her barely begun manuscript of manners. Tumbling back outside, she flung it into the tub, splashing water everywhere. She then set to stirring vigorously. The dark tendrils of ink snaked out and stained the white bedclothes, thereby ruining both.
Leeya,
I am so totally frustrated—and terrified. Things are not going as planned. My heart is racing. I wish I could pick up the phonotube but given everything that is happening that would be foolish. Besides, it is so late now.
I returned home from work at the usual time but found our unit empty. Zeke has been so antisocial since returning from Chicago-Land that I was surprised to find him gone. I was a little on edge, so I decided to draw while I waited. It is two in the morning and Zeke has yet to return home. I am sick with anxiety.
I would not be so worried if things were not so strange lately. Zeke received a cryptic note in the phonotube—with a file number. It was suspicious and I asked Zeke what was going on. He explained that he has an old letter from his grandfather that has not been carbon’d. I insisted as strongly as possible that he has to deal w/ this immediately. In typical fashion, he squirmed around this. He wants to keep the letter. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just accept the Senate seat. What will happen to us if he doesn’t?
I looked up the number that was on the note—an old file assigned to someone named Bartle. His rank is Corrector, but I couldn’t find anything else on him. Correctors tend to erase themselves out of the records, though. Someone in the Vault is clearly trying to mess with my head. All of this makes Zeke’s absence tonight feel more frightening.
I hate to say it but this reminds me of when Raisin was really under the blanket of laudanum. I remember those nights when you would call crying and at loose ends. I know how hard that time was for you and I hope you remember that is the only reason I question your pairing. I know it is hard to figure out what to do. Just remember I am here for you.
I should stop writing. It’s not making me feel less nervous. There are more records of missing girls than murders. That the two files haven’t been compared speaks to the Major’s incompetence. He’s passed-out drunk on his desk half the time. I’ve made some progress on the thread, after pulling together the death records of all the girls. The early injuries were all inflicted w/knives: sharp and precise. It’s only later that they begin to show claw marks and bites. And those are inconsistent. They started at the same time as the ‘animal in the city-state’ rumor. And then people began to claim all the sightings and worry about dead zones. I think the murderer is trying to fan the flames of that panic. The only animal on the loose is a scapegoat.
Keep safe. Write your name in the dust under my work drawer, so I’ll know you saw this note.
I love you like a sister,
Eliza
∧∧ “I was up all night, worried sick. I got back from the washatorium and you were gone.” Eliza stood over Zeke. He was lying on the floor mat in the livingroom, wearing last night’s clothes. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke kept his eyes closed. He could feel grains of sand between his teeth. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The night before returned in flashes: the Major’s sweaty brow, the jail cell shunting down the street, the fellow Raisin argued with pressed against the glass, staring back at him. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Are you hungover?” Eliza asked. “If you go to the square alone folks will think you’re out courting.” She went into the waterroom, slamming the door. He could hear the pipes groan to life. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. A pair of pomegranates rested in a bowl on
the table. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza reemerged in her work uniform. Her damp hair was tightly braided. “What happened last night?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “I wanted another drink. I went to the square. I got drunk.” ∧∧ “And arrested?” The accusation came out in a funny voice. She must have called the Vault during the night. “I thought you were keeping a low profile. I know a girl who lost her suitor that way. They were right about to be transferred.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “They let me go. They just wanted me as a witness to someone else’s fight.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza pressed her lips together in a tight seam. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “The Major doesn’t like me is all.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza pulled mixes out of the cupboards and put them on the counter. ∧∧ ∧∧ He picked up one of the pomegranates. It was hard. He didn’t know how to properly open it. Its skin was the color of blood. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ They had bought the pair of pomegranates for dessert on their anniversary. They had purchased an elaborate fount-water tea service, natural foods, and wine. It was expensive, the pomegranates especially. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ The mood had been off that night. He had been sluggish. She’d made conversation, reminisced about the past year, held his hands. He hadn’t wanted to converse. The bottle of wine had been emptied. He’d been too tired to eat the pomegranates. They had been sitting in the bowl on the kitchen table for weeks. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “You’re not anonymous, Zeke. You’re about to be Khrysalis. You exist in the world,” Eliza said. ∧∧ And I exist, with the world, without care. ∧∧ Zeke thought to himself. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m a Gray girl, I don’t care about bloodlines. But if you don’t accept the seat, what will we do instead? The Senate is waiting.” Zeke was silent. He watched her fill two shallow porcelain bowls. ∧∧ “I don’t even know what you want anymore.” Eliza whisked fount-water in furious little movements. ∧∧ “How do you think we should open these pomegranates?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “How many days do I find you here, still in your nightclothes, with laudanum on your breath?” ∧∧ “I quit laudanum.” ∧∧ “It’s just another thing that puts us both at risk.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “They probably would have showed us how to crack them.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “You can’t wait anymore, Zeke. You have to act. They’re listening to you. They’ll find something. You’ll end up in jail, and I’ll end up alone.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke got up and went to the waterroom. He needed a moment alone. He stared at his face in the silver-backed glass. There were dark circles beneath his eyes. He took a few deep breaths. He opened and closed his mouth. It was strange to think that his ancestors had looked roughly like him, for tens of thousands of years. He wondered what their lives had been like. If their experiences had left some mark on his soul. He contorted his face, trying to look like a different person. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He went back into the kitchen. Eliza was staring into her bowl of fount-water, now emptied. She was blinking rapidly, which was what she always did right before she started to cry. She muttered, “I would go out to the square if you ever wanted to go out with me.” ∧∧ “You know I don’t really like it there.” ∧∧ “When was the last time we went out? To do anything at all?” The blinking held back her tears. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He dipped a finger in his bowl. “Your single friends don’t like me around. A pair is bad luck in a group of singles.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Then just the two of us,” Eliza said. ∧∧ ∧∧ “You never want to hang out with my friends either.” ∧∧ “You mean Raisin? He is not that easy to be around.” It seemed she didn’t know Raisin had been arrested last night as well. “You saw how he was with Leeya. He drove her half crazy with the Deserter talk, those rot conspiracies. He probably would have signed her up had it gone any further.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Leeya’s immature. She lives in a fantasy world.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “And Raisin doesn’t? He left her. Courted her forever and then insisted on some harebrained escape plan.” ∧∧ “It upsets him, you know. That you hang out with Leeya.” ∧∧ “We’re best friends. And she’s in bad shape. I’ve got to find her someone else. That’s why I go out. She can’t stay single. She has to be transferred too. Who will come with me to the nature replicas? Raisin is never going to make it to Twin-City.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Raisin is your friend too. You shouldn’t just assume where everyone will end up. That would hurt his feelings.” ∧∧ “I can’t imagine why. If he’s single, it’s his fault. He’ll end up in jail. Maybe you need some other friends.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “You’re supposed to be my friend.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m your pair. That’s different.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “I could use the help of a pair, too.” ∧∧ “Well, that’s difficult when everything is a secret and I need the Vault of bloody Records to tell me you’ve been arrested, you’re going crazy, trying to chop down watchposts with a sabre, drunk or on laudanum, or whichever it is today.” Eliza’s voice began to swell. Zeke stood still. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “My grandfather died.” ∧∧ “Yeah.” Eliza slammed her empty bowl down on the counter. “Everyone knows that, Zeke.” ∧∧ ∧∧ He picked the bowl back up and slammed it down harder in the sink. It cracked neatly into four pieces. They both stopped and stared at what Zeke had done. The identical quarters of the broken porcelain looked staged in the empty sink. The air hung motionless. Eliza began to cry. Zeke reached out for her hand and she pulled away. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Welcome to the lousy day you’ve created for yourself.” She teetered out of the room, heavy boots on a thin wood floor. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke heard the door slam. “Bye forever,” he whispered. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He lay down on the couch. If he didn’t move, maybe the ache would subside. He might regain sleep. He slid into a dream about his grandfather. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ In the dream, the Senator was holding court at the family breakfast table. He was carving up a snake that had been wound around a pig’s skull and cooked. Everyone at the table was writing down his words. Quill pens scribbled in furious unison. A door whistle interrupted his grandfather’s lecture. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke woke up. The door whistle sounded again. Eliza must have forgotten her satchel. He couldn’t bring himself to get up. The knob turned on its own and the door opened. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Zeke Thomas?” Another voice in the room. Zeke squinted. The brown blur of Eliza’s uniform was replaced by another. Zeke wanted to stand. His body was filled with sand, his muscles too heavy. ∧∧ “I’ve got a fortnight.” ∧∧ “Excuse me?” ∧∧ “I’ve got…eleven days. You can’t arrest me. I don’t have it.” Zeke imagined jumping up, running, getting tackled, trying to wrestle the man off. He lay still. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “I’m not here to…I’m not the Law.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke opened his eyes a little more. The man wore the uniform of a Vault worker. He was bearded and balding, too old for the city-state of Texas. His thick square glasses were the wrong shape for his face. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “You’re not the Law?” ∧∧ “Officially, I’m a Corrector. But I hope you’ll think of me more as a friend…of the family. My name is Henry Bartle.” This might all be recorded, a trap. ∧∧ “Hh. What do you want?” ∧∧ “I sent you a note, you never answered it. I was trying to reach out to you. There’s something urgent that I had hoped we could speak about. I’m worried about you and…your pair. This unit maybe isn’t the most suitable place for talking.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Bartle made a small hand signal and drew his thin lips into a smile. Wrinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes. He was nervous, twitchy. He was off. ∧∧ ∧∧
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