Excerpt from Perky's Chapter Three

April 9 Through the End of the Month

 

Jack returned later that afternoon.

“I’m sorry, but this is the busiest time of the day, and I’ve got to re-supply the café with three day’s worth of shipment.” I pushed the cart into the café.

“That’s alright, Ms. Madison. I’ve finished my interrogations,” he stopped. “I’ve finished my interviews. I thought I’d just sit here and observe for a while.”

I shook his hand and began unloading the cart.

“That’ll be nineteen dollars and sixty-nine cents.” Henry, manning the café in Mrs. Abercrombie’s place, smiled at the middle-aged man who had just purchased an inspirational book from the Christian Living section and a mug of coffee. Henry’s face was devoid of make-up. Her chestnut hair was straight and held behind her in a ponytail. She wore no jewelry and the only adornment on her apron was the nametag identifying her as “Henry, Paperback Specialist.” Despite her outward plainness, Henry had a haunting beauty that caused women to look twice at her in admiration and men to look twice at her in longing.

“I hope you don’t mind breaking this bill.” The man smiled apologetically at Henry and handed her a one-hundred-dollar bill.

She sighed, took the bill, and began gathering change.

“I tell you what, I hate to take all of your change.” He pulled a wad of ones out of his wallet. “Why don’t I pay for my purchase with these twenty ones?”

He spread out the twenty ones on the counter and pulled the hundred dollar bill back from Henry’s hand.

“Oh, I forgot! I’ll need a five dollar bill. I always put a five dollar bill in the offering at Sunday School.” He pulled a five dollar bill from the change in Henry’s hand and pushed five ones from the pile of twenty ones on the counter toward her.

She cocked her head, a slight smile on her face.

Jack White was sitting at the café. He bit the inside of his bottom lip and watched the hustle.

“Well, if you need fives, why don’t I give you change for that twenty I saw in your wallet.” Henry smiled sweetly.

The man hesitated.

“That would be a month of Sundays for you!”

“Well, OK.”

The man pulled the twenty out and handed it to her. Henry pointed at the five in his hand. “Five.” She pulled a five out of her hand and waved it, “Ten.” She slapped it on the counter, “Fifteen.” She pulled another five from her hand but hesitated, “Twenty.” She waved the five between them. “But if I give you these four fives, I won’t have enough for closing. If you give me that five back, I’ll give you ones for it.”

The man blinked helplessly. Henry took the single five out of his hand and scooped up the remaining fives and ones on the counter. “Oh no! I can’t open the cash drawer unless you buy something. How about a pack of mints?”

“Uh, I just have a hundred dollar bill left.”

“That’ll work. I’ll give you change.”

He handed her the bill with a puzzled look on his face. She began counting his change into his hand. “Three ninety-nine and a penny makes four, five, and five is ten. And ten more.”

“Uh, and if I could get change for this ten?” The man floundered.

“Why certainly.” She took back the ten and spread the rest of his change on the counter. “Five and five more is ten.” She pressed the two bills into his hand and pocketed the rest. “Sugar and milk are on that table over there.” Henry pointed across the café.

As he walked past, Jack winked at him. “A word to the wise, Mister.”

“What is it?” The man stared helplessly into his empty wallet.

“Don’t teach your grandmother to suck eggs.”

The man looked shocked and then embarrassed. He set his coffee on the table and left Perky’s Books & Gifts.

White peered at Henry over the top of his notebook. Henry came around the counter and stood in front of White’s table.

“Are you still running that youth center, Jack?” Henry glared at him. He nodded. She plopped the one-hundred-fifty dollars she’d scammed from the would-be conman on the table in front of Jack and turned away.

“Elizabeth.”

“What?” She turned to face him, fists on hips, ready for a fight.

“I’m glad you’re out.”

“I’ve been out almost a year now.”

“I know. Mom told me.”

“She wrote to me every week.”

“I know.” Jack patted the bills on the table top. “She read me your letters, too.”

Henry drew a breath and looked away from him. “You never wrote.”

“Didn’t think you’d appreciate it. I’m the reason you went to jail.”

“No you’re not, Jack. I’m the reason I went to jail. I was guilty. You had to do your job.”

“So, you forgive me?”

Henry scoffed and turned away.

“Bethy,” Jack picked up the wad of bills.

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Thanks.”

Henry nodded and went back behind the counter.

 

 

April 20

 

I put on my apron and walked with a till to the front counter. I could feel—more than hear—a disgruntlement among our morning patrons. No one was ready to buy a book, so I closed the cash drawer and walked toward the café.

“I just think it’s in poor taste,” a woman in an embroidered denim jumper and tennis shoes shook her head. “It’s only been two weeks.”

Henry patted her arm. “I know, Ruth. I’m sure Jack hasn’t given up. Maybe this is just a police tactic. Jack will solve this. He doesn’t give up on anything.”

“Or anyone,” Ruth squeezed Henry’s hand and walked away, revealing an eleven by fourteen inch poster glued to the counter. I could read the title: Cold Case, and saw a picture of Mrs. Abercrombie with a few details about her life and unsolved (or as Henry’s faith in Jack White’s detective skills asserted—yet-to-be solved) murder.

Excerpt from

Perky’s Books and Gifts

© Evelyn Rainey 2013

Bedlam Press

ISBN 9781939065377

APPLE-ONION CASSEROLE

3 to 6 large apples, peeled and sliced

2 Tbsp sugar

2 or 3 large onions, peeled and sliced

½ tsp salt

¼ tsp white pepper

2 Tbap butter/margarine

1 to 2 Tbsp water

Place layer of apples in casserole; sprinkle with part of sugar. Top with layer of onions; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Repeat layers until all is used, ending with apples. Dot with butter, add water. Bake at 325 for 1 hour. Yield: 4 – 12 servings.

(Dorothy Peter   Petersen, Lynchburg, VA © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from The Island Remains Chapter Two

March 1944

 

            Stabsrichter Luther Sizemore kept an eye on the dining hall door.  When the new commandant entered, Luther stood to attention and made note of his staff who were slow to do so.  He had read Von Kruppstieg’s dossier.  He was old school, trained and molded between the wars.

            “At ease,” the Oberst allowed.

Luther was at his side immediately; deferential without being subservient.  Karl had met with him earlier and liked the young man.  Karl wasn’t in the habit of liking men under his command.

            Together, they walked toward the group of civilians.

            “Herr Oberst, this is Headmaster Thomas Appleton.”

            Of the four men in front of him, Karl was surprised to discover this man of at least sixty years was married to Brucke’s much younger friend. He was twice her age.  He bore intelligent features, bushy eyebrows, an aquiline nose, and fleshy lips – not unkind, but somehow unwholesome.  Appleton was tall and broad shouldered, but soft in an academic’s fashion.  The sweater vest over his shirt was frayed at the buttons, but the professorial cloak was shiny clean.

            The headmaster did not offer his hand, nor did the oberst.  Karl felt an immediate dislike for Thomas, much the same way two dogs in a dockyard raise their hackles on sight.

            Thomas introduced him to the three other islanders in quick and efficient, if bloodless, fashion.  “Beckert – professor of Math and Science.  Stuart – history and geography. Lanz – languages.”

            Rather than allow Thomas his coup, Karl smiled charmingly at Lanz, “Which ones?”

The young man paled, looked desperately at Appleton for guidance, and then answered, “German, English, French, Latin.  The students speak the various Norman dialects, so I have learned those as well – Auregniais, Dgernesiais, Jerriais, and Sercquiais.  And of course, the children from Heleirhou speak Heliersiais. It depends on which island the students were born, don’t you see.  Auregniais is almost – well – it is almost lost.  They have all abandoned that island since this occupation – only six people are left on Auberney. Six islanders, that is.  There’s no one to speak it.”  His voice fell to a whisper, “Don’t you see.”

Lanz was younger than the other professors, about the same age as Luther.  But where Luther was tall and handsome with an easy smile and healthy teeth, Lanz was stoop-shouldered on his left side and had the clammy grey skin of an addict.  It was easy to understand why he was left behind when his peers went off to war.

            “You have no female professors?”

            The math professor scoffed.  “They eat in the kitchen.  Well, the servants’ hall.  Same thing.”

The history professor peered out of thick glasses, “Better for the men, so they may relax without the attention to decorum required when there are ladies present.”

Appleton smirked, “Better for your officers.”

            Karl stared without comment at the patch of oily skin between Appleton’s eyebrows, ignoring the implied insult.

            “Here is Reverend Somersby,” Appleton sounded relieved as a man in black trousers, white shirt and cleric’s collar strode directly to Karl and stuck out a hand.  “Colonel, welcome to Helierhou.”

“It’s,” Lanz interrupted nervously.  “It’s Oberst.  Not Colonel.”

            “Yes, thank you, Geoffrey.”  Without taking a breath, Somersby continued.  “Sorry I’m late. Young Pettigrew needed a thrashing – insolent pup.  Well, shall we pray?”

The officers and academics bowed their heads as the Reverend’s voice boomed, “Grant us Thy bounty.  Forgive us our sins.  Create in us clean hearts and strong hands.  Let us never forget thy loving kindness and mercy in the face of eternal damnation.  Amen.”

Soldiers from the culinary corps served a buffet line loaded with fish, potatoes, green vegetables and Kaiser rolls.  The men waited.  Karl walked to the buffet and found Appleton at his side.  The Reverend was next, followed by Luther.  The remaining faculty and staff officers fell in line according to rank.

Appleton and his faculty sat at the far end of the table in an isolated clump.  Luther waited for Karl and then sat beside him. 

“I would like to tour the island tomorrow, but I have discovered my chauffer has only just arrived himself.”

            Luther offered, “Mrs. Appleton knows the island better than anyone born here.  After dinner, we can stop by the kitchens and ask her.”

            “Who else has to eat in the kitchen?”

            “Most of the students go home at the end of classes, but nine children live here – some are orphans, others are boarded here and didn’t get sent off the island to England before we arrived.  The headmaster’s maiden sister teaches the younger children basic reading and writing.  Matron Wellington – she’s the nurse – teaches recreation and health.  There are two cooks, Mr. and Mrs. Leloir.  She’s a good cook unless she’s angry.  He doesn’t say much, but he takes good care of the children.  The four of them sleep in two suites next to the children’s dorm.  Mr. Leloir’s brother was the gardener, but he died at Michaelmas.”

“You’re Catholic?”

“Not practicing.  I’m German.  It takes all my faith to remain so.”

            Karl played with his food but eventually surrendered his knife and fork.

            “Are you well?”

Karl grimaced and looked away.  “A long journey.  A slight headache.”  He sipped from his water goblet.  “And the rest of the villagers and farmers – how do they fare after almost four years under our wings?”

            “Better than the other islands.  Much better.  The Old Man billeted soldiers – three to a farm – and they work the land and keep the livestock. Other soldiers go out in fishing boats, so we are good with fish and vegetables with an occasional pig or sheep.”

            “The Old Man?” he put a slightly cold twinge to the words as a warning.
            “Generlmajor Brucke.  No offense, sir.”

            Karl nodded.  “He sounds like a wise squire.”

            “Eventually,” Luther sounded hesitant.

            Karl waited, expecting an explanation.

            “It took some convincing, but Mrs. Appleton finally got the Old – Herr Generalmajor to see the benefit in keeping soldiers busy and the island well-kept and productive.”

“The headmaster’s wife?”

Excerpt from

The Island Remains

© Evelyn Rainey

Whiskey Creek Publishing

ISBN tba June 2014

GYPSY CAVIAR

2 Tbsp olive oil

1 medium onion, diced

1 medium green pepper, diced

1 large carrot, pared and coarsely grated

1 unpeeled eggplant, but into 1 inch cubes

½ tsp oregano

½ tsp sweet basil

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 9-ounce can tomato sauce

Salt & pepper to taste

Heat olive oil in large skillet; add onion. Sauté until wilted and golden. Add green pepper, carrot and eggplant; cover and continue cooking over low heat, stirring occasionally for 20 minutes or until eggplant is cooked thoroughly. Add oregano, basil, garlic, tomato sauce, salt and pepper. Cook uncovered, until thick. Serve hot or cold as a spread with crackers. Store in refrigerator.

(H. Boyer, Dublin, Miss. © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Exceprt from Bedina's War - As Needed Chapter Two

The Slave’s Smile

Acacia put down the marble mortar and pestle as the door opened.

The First-Defender walked in and was quickly followed by four other

soldiers. Without a word from the First, the soldiers began opening

and shutting drawers, lifting lids, drawing back cabinet curtains.

“As per Civil Law number 5792.4 clause Beta Zed, every shop and

business is to avail itself to regular searches.” The Defender spoke to the

old man snoozing by the fireplace. The slave moved silently between

the Defender and the old man and sat on the floor beside her master.

The soldiers weren’t thorough, but there was no contraband to find,

and with the Defender in attendance, nothing could be stolen. Casually,

as if to pass the time, Hamm asked, “What kind of shop is this?”

Acacia stood, her back to her master, facing the man who had

saved her life less than a week ago. “An apothecary shop.”

He looked puzzled.

“I don’t know how to say it in Alliang. A shop of healing herbs and

elixirs.”

“Medical?” he snarled.

“No.” She bowed her head and wiggled her toes. Silver rings

encircled three toes on each foot. An anklet sparkled and drew his gaze

higher, to the embroidered hem of her robe. “My master is a Wisdom.

He studies the art of healing. It has nothing to do with Medical

Harvesters.”

“Hmm.” He wished she would look at him.

“Naught.” A grizzled soldier beat her chest with her right fist while

addressing her First.

“Go ni’shop. I b’soon.” He kept his eyes on the slave and demanded,

“Translate.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Go on to the next shop. I’ll be there shortly.” She stopped wiggling

her toes and began fluttering her fingers at her side.

“Where were you born, Slave?”

She softened her voice in response to his harshness. “On the table.”

“Table? What planet is Table?”

“The table was on my home world.”

“I don’t like repeating questions.”

She was staring at his boots as she lifted first one heel of her bare

feet and then the other.

“I was born on a table between my mother’s legs.” She glanced at

him and smiled.

He repaid her smile with a snarl. She dropped her eyes to the floor

again.

“I can find out where you are from. There are records of everyone

and everything that come into this region.”

She shrugged slightly as if in agreement.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“We are individuals, each one. Alone in the universe, but one with

the Song.”

The Defender stepped back as if the scripture she quoted had

physically slapped him.

“How long have your teeth hurt?” She tilted her head.

“My teeth?” He ground them.

“Yes, First-Defender. Your teeth. They hurt. I can see it in your face

and in the way you square your shoulders.”

His nostrils flared and his cheeks turned red. “A slave who practices

medicine.”

“Slavery is a state of being, not a limitation of the mind.”

“You certainly know your scriptures, Slave.”

“So that honor may be served, my name is not Slave. It is Acacia.”

“Honor is given, received, and returned. My name is Hamm.” He

inclined his head as she bowed.

The old man snorted in his sleep.

“Three weeks.” Hamm turned to leave. “My teeth have ached for

three weeks.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

With Hamm nearing the door, Acacia left her master’s side and

crossed to a cabinet filled with bottles. “Mix one part of this liquid with

two parts of water. Gargle with it two times a day.” She poured brown

liquid from a jug into a glass bottle and corked it.

Hamm hesitated, and then took the bottle from her. “How much?”

“One part to two parts water.”

“No.” Hamm shook his head and took out a payment chip.

“Your presence prevented the usual amount of loss from your

soldiers. A fair trade.”

The Defender ground his teeth again, but put away his credit

chip. “A safe journey, First-Defender Hamm.” She bowed as he left.

ttttt

Hamm peeled off his goggles and beat the fine dust from his cloak

as he stepped onto the apothecary’s porch. He made the mistake of

licking his lips, and the grit from this morning’s windstorm set his

teeth on edge. The door slid open at his touch and he eagerly breathed

in the shops’ aroma. His nostrils were assaulted by garlic and pepper,

and enthralled by vanilla and green tea. Scents swirled around him and

he wished he knew the names of each one.

Several customers chatted amicably while waiting. The old man

glanced at Hamm, but continued pouring water into a small simmering

cauldron. Hamm nodded at the old man and purposefully began

examining the eaves of the store. Vines, leaves, roots, twigs, strange

fruit hung in bundles from each support beam. He couldn’t begin to

put a name on any of them.

“Dom-che. Quay niniy.”

“Ty.” Acacia entered from the shop’s rear in response to the old

man’s words.

“The first ingredient I will need is Serenoa repens, Acacia.”

“Yes, Wisdom.” Acacia reached into a cabinet and drew out a

basket. She took out several small reddish-brown wrinkled seeds, each

one half the size of her thumb.

The Wisdom examined each one individually, and then began to

juggle them. Acacia drew a short knife from her sleeves. As he juggled

the seeds, she snatched one back and sliced it down the middle and

plopped the halves into the cauldron. They continued until there were

no seeds left.

The customers murmured appreciatively.

“Next, I will need Echinacea.”

Acacia looked up into the rafters of the shop. She wove her way

through the customers and pointed, beaming proudly, at a something

dangling above their heads. From the ground to almost three meters

above her, she leapt and unhooked a floret and gracefully returned

to the floor with only a slight bend at her knees. The floret had deep

purple flowers surrounding a cone. She danced her way back behind

the counter, waving the aromatic dried herb as she moved. She handed

it to the Wisdom with a bow. He tsked and yanked the flowers and cone

away from the rhizome. The purple flowers cascaded around them as

the Wisdom quickly hammered the root into a pulp. Majestically, he

scooped the mash off the counter and tossed it into the cauldron.

“Assistant, we will need Urtica dioica.”

“Oh Wisdom, must I? I still have an itch, and the blisters!”

He picked up a wooden spoon and frowned at her.

She shrieked and ran toward the window. She plucked one hairy

leaf from a plant growing there. “Ow!”

“More than that, Assistant.”

“Oh, Wisdom,” she pouted beautifully. “Ow!” She plucked another

and turned to look imploringly at him.

He shook his head. “More.”

Acacia howled dramatically with each of the six leaves she picked

from the bush.

“Enough.” He watched as she dropped them into the cauldron. She

showed him her blistered fingers, imploringly. He tsked. “If you will

pluck them from the top of the stem, the nettles will not sting you.

Foolish child.” His hands reached beneath his counter and pulled out

a jar of light green salve. She grinned in relief as he rubbed her fingers

with the ointment. “Better?”

“Oh, yes, Wisdom! Your fern salve works to cure any blister, bruise,

or cut.”

The customers murmured speculatively now.

 

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

DRIED CORN

(Now, this was interesting. I’m not sure why the cook went to the trouble of this, when I just assumed corn became dried once it was popped off the cob and kept until needed. But it’s interesting, should the need ever arise – here’s how!)

Fresh corn

Butter/margarine

Salt and sugar to taste

Boil corn on the cob until milk will not run when kernel is broken. Drain and cool. Cut grains off cob; spread on cloth and dry in sun for one day. Store in cloth bags until needed. Soak 1 pint dried corn in 1 quart water overnight. Simmer in same water for 2 hours, adding more boiling water if needed. Add butter, salt and sugar to taste before serving.

(Mrs. John Bauer, Interlachen, FL © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Lazy Eight Ladies Chapter Two

A Wedding Ring

Orchidea City was buried beneath the forest floor. Great gaping

holes peered between gigantic roots. The doorways led to taverns,

inns, businesses, and private homes. A few bungalows were visible

beyond the city’s center. Further away, tree houses filled the branches

of sycamores and banyans. Sally thought it was strange to see such

dissimilar trees sharing the same ecosystem. It was even stranger

to realize that most of the dwellings were uninhabited. The site of

abandoned tree houses saddened her. As a Spa’Lab child, tree houses

were the most enchanting concept she could imagine. The difference

between sleeping in a hammock attached to metal walls and sleeping in

a hammock tied to living, breathing, growing trees was the difference

between mundane and magic. Of course, the probable reason why

there were so many abandoned houses was part of the reason she had

come to Orchidea, and that thought saddened her further.

Adelaide stopped in the middle of these underground dwellings

and sank to her belly as the women crawled off.

“Thank you, Geoffrey. How much do I owe you?” Sally reached

into her pack.

“I’d be a gentleman if I told you Mr. Haskell’s done paid it in full,

but the scoundrel in me wants to charge you a kiss.” He grinned. “One

from each of you.”

“Seems to me Adelaide did all the work. She’s the one should get

the kiss.” Sally grinned back and slapped his palm. “Thank you.”

“Inn’s through that hole. See you around, if you change your mind.”

He touched Gaia’s cheek, then jumped back onto his croc and rode away.

“Sally,” Livia touched her arm. “I don’t have any money. Sejanus

was supposed to meet me here. What should I do?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Let’s go to the inn and get cleaned up. You don’t want Sejanus to

see you like this.” Sally pulled her arm through hers. “My treat.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take charity. I’ll work it off …”

“The Field of Honor has no room for charity given or received. That’s

an old NewPhee scripture.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It means I’m not offering you charity.”

Livia stopped and her face reddened. “I don’t understand.”

Sally stopped, too. “Livia, I trust that you will not slit my throat

during the night, or sell me to the nearest Harvester.”

“I couldn’t do that.” Livia scowled. “If I sold you to a Harvester,

you’d turn into a Walking Dead.”

Sally tilted her head, glaring at the Earther’s rudeness, and fingered

the cube-shaped sterling pendant hanging at her neck. The fact that

Spa’Labs had altered themselves so that they could not be harvested or

sold as slaves was not a topic discussed in polite society. The fact that

the Songbox, as the pendant was called, healed this alteration was a

sp’lab kept secret. It wasn’t discussed at all.

“Or so I’ve heard.” Livia blushed.

“Is that the only reason you wouldn’t do that?” She crossed her

arms.

“Of course not. I couldn’t.” She swallowed. “I wouldn’t sell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wouldn’t be right.” She bowed her head and whispered,

“You’ve been nice to me.”

“I’ve yelled at you and made you cry.”

Livia grinned. “My mother used to do the same things.”

Sally grinned too. “I’m lonely, Livia. I miss my family. I’m used to

being surrounded by my children and grandchildren and staff. I’m not

offering you charity. I’m offering you friendship. I would be honored

to be your friend.”

Livia beamed in surprise.

The door had to be pushed open manually. It led into a darkened

tunnel which declined steeply. Tiny track lighting ran at ankle-height

and above their heads. The tunnel smelled of moldy cabbage and

 

 

 

 

 

 

peppermint. Sally used her walking stick and Livia held her elbow with

cold fingers.

The dimness didn’t change, but the air freshened and the tunnel

leveled into a round room. A beautiful oval wooden table filled the

center of the room, and its highly polished surface reflected the ceiling

lights. The sound of a stringed instrument, played poorly, came from a

doorway to the women’s left.

“Hello?” Livia called.

The music hesitated and then began again.

“Hello!” she called louder. “We’ve come for a room.”

A frizzy-haired and bearded head stuck out of the opening.

Livia and Sally smiled.

The head disappeared. The women waited.

After a while, Sally opened her mouth to call out again when a

huge man waddled out of the opening. His hair had been slicked down

since she had first seen him, but hadn’t been combed in years. Sticks

and leaves stuck in his beard. The scent of cedar and sweat permeated

the air around him. He came closer, scowling fiercely.

“Geoffrey told us this was an inn.” Livia took a step backwards and

moved behind Sally.

The man squinted between them, silently appraising their

appearance. Sally stood still and stared patiently at his bare dirty feet.

The man took a deep breath. “Women.”

Sally looked up at him. “Yes, we’re women.”

“No.” He turned away. “No rooms. No rooms for women.”

“You would turn away a child?” She pulled Livia from her safe

place behind her. “Her name is Gaia.”

The innkeeper kept his face averted, but glanced at the baby.

“We’ve been on shuttles for months now. And we’re very tired. We

need a shelter for the child. Haskell sent Geoffrey and Adelaide to pick

us up at the port and Geoffrey said this was a safe place.”

The innkeeper’s eyes rolled and he breathed in gasps. “Mr. Haskell?”

“Yes. Haskell Benjamin,” Sally nodded.

“And Adelaide?” He turned toward the women, his eyes fastened

on Gaia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yes,” she confirmed.

He snorted and nodded fiercely. “Through there. Choose any room

you want.”

They turned to look at an opening to their right.

“Thank you,” Sally turned back, but he was gone.

Livia bathed Gaia first, then Livia bathed while Sally unpacked.

Then it was Sally’s turn. There are certain times in one’s life when

bathing becomes a spiritual experience. Sally remembered her first

bath ever. She was eight years old and had left OrionLab to visit some

friends on Talmedia III. Then there was the first time she and Jacob

bathed together. And now, the first bath on Orchidea. Each time, the

water felt thick — not hard, but thick — like oil. Soft, caressing. So

clean. These were the times Sally truly believed in silkies and halfwaited

to see herself turn into a seal and swim forever in this water.

They decided to save money and eat what they had, sleep the rest

of the day, and begin tomorrow fresh. Gaia woke them every now and

then, but she never cried.

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881