Chapter Twenty-Two
**
The shower stings as I slowly turn under the hot spray. It feels wonderful, though, after my workout. I’ve become quite a fitness fanatic, but only out of a sense of self-preservation; it’s the only way I can keep up with Gwen and the rest of my world without collapsing out of exhaustion. The workouts have been personally designed for me by the resident Gym Master Gwen hired on; the man’s got no sense of humor, that’s for damn sure, I think as I massage my upper arms. None at all.
It’s a group, open-style shower here in the gym; Draka sort of laughed at human ideas about nudity in general, but they actually allowed two separate shower sections in their plans. One for men and one for women; the outcry and the lowered usage (probably more than anything) decided that for them, I think. They’d rather have extra room, anyway, and they certainly don’t like smelly humans. Or humans who are smellier than they need to be, I chuckle. A few rather enthusiastic scrubbings, and everyone here at the Household got the idea, and the folks in the village certainly did, too. Personal hygiene isn’t a "maybe" thing here; it’s a "have to". Not that I mind, of course.
A group of chattering, laughing young women come in as the aerobics class ends; shirts, shorts and shoes fly everywhere as they race each other under the faucets. I busy myself shampooing my hair, and smile at the couple that end up next to me. They look started for a moment, and then I notice that they move to the other end of the room, where most of the group has congregated. Hmm, that’s odd, I wonder. I’m almost done, and I never make passes at people in showers, not unless it’s Alice, Jennifer or Gwen. What’s going on? I scrub the last of the herbal-scented shampoo out of my hair and rinse once again for fun, meanwhile eyeing the group surrepticiously.
The chattering has died down to a murmur, but that could just be respect for my position, not a sign of… nervousness? Fear? A definite sense of uneasiness has come over the room, and my arms get goosebumps as I notice how the women are looking at me. Sideways glances, eyes wide, mouths closed. A glance or two, and then a whispered comment to their neighbors. This is really weirding me out, folks, I think, and the smile goes away from my face. I wring my hair to get some of the excess water out of it, and step from the showering room to the locker area.
The scent of cedar wood is strong here; the floors and benches scattered around the room are made of the aromatic wood; the lockers are brightly-painted, with floral designs running around their softened edges. Skylights, the glass somewhat etched to preserve our privacy (a laughable thing for the Draka architect, but I still talked him into it, over a lunch and some moonshine Bret had cooked up), let the light flow in from outside, warming the room in a gentle yellow glow. I feel anything but warm, though; as I walk into the room, a group of older women from the swimming pools gather up their things and leave. What the hell? I look down, trying to see if I have a sign on, you know, one that says, "If you see this woman, leave immediately!" Nope, nothing there.
I dry myself off briskly and jump into some jeans and a sweater; whisking my hair into some semblance of a "do", I finish as quickly as I can, and leave the public area. I walk down the tree-shaded path, the leaves still clinging to the trees as if they’re rejecting the whole idea of Midwinter in general. It’s cool, but not cold; no snow or ice, yet. The chips of pine along the path fill the air with their antiseptic, crisp smell, and I scuff my boots through a pile of them. A squirrel chirrs at me from a safe perch in one of the trees, its tail bottled and its mouth full of nuts, apparently. You, too? I ask mentally, and make a chirp or two back at it; it scampers further up the tree, and gives me down the road about fussing at it. How dare I? I grin, and keep on walking, my spirits temporarily lifted.
The Midwinter celebration’s scheduled for tonight; the last-minute preparations are taking place all around me. Tents, able to withstand subzero temperatures, are being set up for late-arriving guests and their retinues; most of the Draka and their servants have already arrived, and have rooms either in the Great House or in the adjoining cottages, guesthouses, really. Aircars have just about filled up the parking areas by the landing site, I notice, and make a mental note to tell Alice. She’ll want to make sure the handlers have the aircars where they can be retrieved quickly, for guests who want to do some shopping in Lexington. Glowlamps have been set up all along this pathway and all around the Great House. They look like floating versions of gas lamps from the nineteen-hundreds, I think, and watch as one bobs by me, casting its warm orange-yellow light in a nimbus.
I head toward the barns; I have a feeling Bret will know what to think about the strange behavior in the shower rooms more than anyone else will. He’s a fount of knowledge in many ways; he knows all there is to know about horses; at times, even Muhmis defers to his opinion on certain horsey things. I don’t know much about them, except what I’ve managed to learn. I don’t fall off them so quickly anymore, I muse, and grin, remembering my first few riding lessons. Man, was I sore afterwards, and not just from being in the saddle. I don’t think I spent enough time in the saddle the first few weeks to get saddle-sore. I was more sore from falling off, actually. Once I got my sea legs, or horse legs, things went better. But Gwen sure had fun laughing at me for awhile, and so did Bret.
"Hey, girl," Bret murmurs, as he looks up from his desk. It’s cluttered with bits of leather and harness, and unidentifiable pieces of metal that probably have something to do with a horse’s getup; stray pieces of straw and hay, and the occasional oat or bran cake piece, compete for room with paperwork and his pipe and ashtray. A lamp hangs over the desk, a hurricane lantern like Mamaw and Papaw had in their barn, and it swings softly in the evening breeze. "What brings you down here? Just slummin’?"
"Slumming? No way. This is like home, or the closest thing I’ve got to it around here. I like hanging out with y’all, Bret." I sit on the rickety chair next to his desk, making sure the left front leg is securely in its socket. The chair has an alarming, and for the observers, amusing, tendency to fall apart. Getting the leg secure is the key, I’ve found. I settle back against the chair, looking around inside the big barn. It’s clean, but messy. Worked in, not a showroom, I realize, as I watch three young men hoisting hay bales up to a man and a woman, who stack them neatly in the loft.
"Well, we like it when you come down here, anyway. Had dinner yet?" Bret packs his pipe, a battered old one, with some sort of fragrant tobacco, and commences trying to light it. I’ve noticed he spends more time messing with the dang thing than he does smoking it; maybe that’s the point of having a pipe.
"No, just finished my workout," I begin.
Bret laughs. "You come on down here, missy, and we’ll make sure you get a real work out, right, folks?" The hay-stacking group laughs at his joke, and a brief, but warm, smile crosses his seamed, ebony dark face. His eyes, black and usually unreadable, are warm as they look me over. I grin and blush a little.
"I know. I know. I used to do work like this, and now all I do is push electrons or paper around. Then I have to jump up and down, wave my arms around, all that jazz, just to stay in shape. I really should come down here to work out; I’d probably get a better one. It’d be more fun, anyway."
"Something bothering you, honey?" Bret says, sitting on the side of his desk, puffing contentedly on his pipe. I inhale the wonderful scent of the tobacco, and try to relax.
"Yeah, a little. But then again, you’re pretty damn good at reading me, aren’t you now?"
A puff or two. "Yeah, gotten pretty good at that over the last few years."
"Okay. Here it is. How come people are acting weird around me all of a sudden?"
"Weird? How?"
I sigh. "Well, like eyeing me and whispering, and leaving the room when I come in. Stuff like that. I noticed it today, but maybe it’s been going on for a longer time, I don’t know. All I know is that it weirded me out today in the gym showers. It’s never been like that before, and I figured if something was up, you’d know about it. So what’s up?"
Bret puffs for a long moment, eyeing me. Then he fiddles with the pipe for some time. I know not to bug him; he’ll tell me when he’s ready. Finally, after looking off toward the far end of the barn, where a young woman, an apprentice farrier, is learning how to shoe a horse, rather painfully, I notice, Bret clears his throat. That’s a sure sign he has something to say that he’s not very comfortable with, I know, and inwardly I wince.
"Well, honey, it’s…" A long pause. "It’s kinda dumb. Stupid, actually. What it is--they’re reacting to you all shy and like that because of your rejuvination thing. People’ve been talking."
"Talking? About that? Why?"
"Talking about how it’s not natural; or that you really died and the person sittin’ across from me ain’t human anymore. Something the Draka made to look like you. Or that you have some of their powers now, and people have to be careful around you. You know, like what they think or say. Almost like you’ve become a junior Draka, I guess. It’s dumb, but ignorant people can think of some dumb things."
"But… I haven’t been acting any differently to anyone. I mean, I work out more, and sleep less, and I guess I eat more, but that’s it… I mean, I don’t have drakensis abilities or anything. I’m still me, I just don’t age anymore."
"I know that, and my folks know that, but a lot of the people in the village and some of the ones in the Great House don’t know that. And word gets around, and little things become big things. Like how you don’t ever sleep anymore, so you must be an android or something. Hell, I know it sounds stupid, but it’s what people’re saying."
"I had no idea."
"Yeah, I know. You’ve been damn busy, from what I’ve seen and heard, doing all that preparation work for the big negotiations and stuff coming up. Plus all the fixin’s for the Midwinter thing. It starts tonight, doesn’t it?"
"Yeah."
Bret reaches over and in a very rare gesture, squeezes my shoulder. "You’ll be okay. The clouds’ll blow over. Don’t let ignorant people worry you. I’ve talked with some folks, the ministers and all, and they’ll be spreading the word. You’re still one of us, no matter whether you ain’t getting’ any older or not. You’re still Erin Kane, and you’re still human. No matter what those silly wenches were whispering about. All right? Don’t let it bother you."
I reach up and hold his weathered, callused hand in both of mine. I wait for a moment, gathering my voice back, and finally get out, "Thanks…"
"Hell, don’t worry about it. Just glad to set you straight on some stuff. You knew who to come talk to, didn’t you?" He squeezes my hand once more and lets go, standing up and puffing energetically on his pipe. "Want to come over to the worker’s cafeteria for dinner? My old lady’s at church tonight, so I’m sort of on my own. Hear tell they’re having some good steak tonight…"
"Hmm… that sounds great. But won’t it be, well, embarassing for you to sit with--be seen with-- Mutant Woman?" I grin up at him.
"Mutant Woman… great balls of fire, woman, the things you think of. Naw, I’m not ashamed to sit with you or be seen with you. Come on, get off your old duff, and come eat dinner with me. I’ve got to go eat now, so I can get back here and supervise the rest of the hay storage and what-not. Come on, girl!" He nods his head toward the front entrance of the barn, and I jump up from the chair.
"Okay, lead the way, old man!"
Bret laughs, a deep, throaty chuckle, and walks with me to the worker’s cafeteria, on the other side of the barn complex, where the aroma of steak and coffee greet us at the door. My stomach rumbles hungrily and Bret chuckles again, holding the door open for me to enter. Bright light washes out into the darkness, and people call greetings to us as we come inside. It feels like home.
**