Chapter 8
**
The washer buzzes, and I look up from my book. Time to fold, I think, and amble lazily over to the laundry room. I remember, as I take the clothes out, how Mamaw taught me how to fold things. I never had to, at home. Erika, the German housekeeper Mom and Dad kept as another "trophy" of their financial success, folded everything. She was a tall, forbidding woman who kept a permanent frown pasted on her face. Brrr… she was scary. I lived for the times I spent with my grandparents, here in the mountains of Tennessee.
Place the shirt against you, like you’re hugging it; smooth it down, then fold the right sleeve over, then the arm creases down; next, the left sleeve. Tug the shirt up under your chin, folding from the bottom, once, twice, and then pop it on the stack by the machine. Next one. I think of Mamaw; her hands would get so red and raw looking from doing the laundry by hand, those first years I spent with them up here. The lye soap was so caustic. Smelly, too. But then she’d hang everything up in the cool mountain breeze, and when you went to bed at night, the sheets smelled so wonderful, so fresh. I remember her hands, and how I worried.
I’m lost in my head for a moment, seeing her face, her smile. Hearing her voice, inhaling her delicate flowery perfume again, the one she made herself from flowers up on the hillsides. I miss that so much, I think. I miss that, and Papaw’s puffing old pipe.
"Almost done, my ‘laundry petty officer’?" Gwen sticks her head into the laundry room, smiling.
"Gah!" I jump a little, and the pile of neatly folded clothes tumps over, into the floor. Muhmis chuckles, and then surprises me by kneeling down next to me and picking up an armful of clothes. She places them on the dryer, straightening them. "Thanks, Muhmis… didn’t mean to be such a startled bunny, there…"
"I should have made more noise coming in. I forget you don’t hear as well as I do. Mmmh, these smell good. But I still don’t know why we couldn’t have brought nothing but memory-molecule clothes up here. You wouldn’t have to do this, that’s for sure."
"I don’t mind," I smile. I place the last of the migrating clothes on the top of the stack, and pat them down. "It brings back good memories."
"Want to share them?" She leans against the door frame, her long, lithe legs out in front of her.
"Sure…" I tell her of Mamaw and Papaw, and the lye soap, and how one summer Papaw and I hunted and dug ginseng, enough to buy Mamaw a washer from Sears. How she cried with joy the day the big ole truck managed to groan its way up the dirt road, with its cargo. They had electricity well before any of the far-scattered neighbors did, and Papaw even put in a gas-powered generator, too. No television, though; just a radio, and their ancient record player. But that never bothered me; it was such a relief to be away from my abusive parents, they could have lived in a tent in the desert and I would have thought it a castle fit for a queen.
"Yeah, we couldn’t afford a dryer, too, that year. But she sure did love that washer. We got these newer ones about four years before they both passed on." I look down at the white enamel, and brush some lint off them. "They were good folks."
"Yes, it sounds like they were. I would have liked to meet them, Erin. I see they’ve left a lot of themselves in you, though," Gwen says softly. She reaches out and brushes a strand of hair back from my face.
"Hell, as long as my parents didn’t leave much of themselves in me, you know?" I smile, but there’s an edge to it. "I swore, when I left, that I’d never, ever be like them. Not that I really thought at the time that I’d have kids. But once Peter and I talked about it, and his parents were so cool. Like my friend Luann’s. I realized that maybe I could be a good parent, if I was careful."
"You are an excellent parent, my sweet. Despite all the adolescent grumbles and whines assaulting your ears at home right now," Muhmis grins.
"Thanks… I try, really hard. So does Alice. I have to watch it, though, ‘cause sometimes I ride herd a little hard. They call me Chief Warden, sometimes. I overheard Ariadne telling Alexandra something about that a few weeks ago…" I grin back. "But then again, I’m the one they come to with their little stories, too… hoping to get me to intervene, with someone else…" I prod Gwen with a finger.
"That you do, you scamp. More than you should. They’re getting spoiled, a bit. ‘Chief Warden’ indeed," she replies, catching my finger in a lightning-fast movement. She urges me to her side, and I ove in against her, snuggling.
"I love them, Gwen."
"I know. That’s obvious, sometimes, the way you look at them when you think no one can see."
"It’s getting dark outside already?" I look over her shoulder, standing up on my tip-toes.
"Storm’s coming. Been building for a few hours, while I was out hunting. I caught some nice plump quail, and they’re all ready for cooking. In the sink. And I’m hungry…" Gwen nuzzles against me, purring deeply.
"Is that a request for Madame La Chef Supreme to go to work?"
She laughs, deeply. "Either that, or for my pretty pony to give her Muhmis a nice ride before dinner…" Her hands cup my ass, lifting me off the floor.
"Hey! Hey! Oh…" Our mouths meet, and I’m at a loss for words. Finally, we break, and I giggle softly as she moves me against her. "I think you made the decision, Muhmis… take me to bed, or lose me forever, you big ole woman, you…"
"Never… I’ll never lose you, my precious. Let me show you what a ‘big ole woman’ I am, though…" Gwen carries me into the bedroom, and tosses me on the bed. She strips her tshirt and jeans off, then drops her panties on the pile of discarded clothes. I start to undress myself, hands shaking, eyes on her. Muhmis climbs on top of me, purr rumbling even deeper. Her eyes hold mine, and she efficiently strips me naked. My gift from her, the necklace, gleams golden against my skin, and she traces it with her fingers, slowly, so slowly… Then her hands, her mouth… her body sends me into orbit, faster than I’ve ever been before.
"Ah, god, ah… oh, mmmhhh… Gwendolyn!"
**
The quail are merrily (for us, anyway) broiling away in the big stove Mamaw spent so much time in front of. They smell wonderful. I open the door and baste them one more time, with a big wooden spoon. "Gwen?"
"Yes, sweet?" She walks into the kitchen, tying her hair back. Her body is still glistening with water from our shower. I grin at her, looking her up and down slowly. "You wanted something?" Muhmis’ hands begin to stroke me again, and I gasp.
"Uh…oh… mmhh…Um, yes, actually... Would you be so kind as to mash these potatoes for me?" I nod toward the earthenware bowl, piled high with a small mountain of spuds, peeled and waiting in water. Gwen laughs, kisses me, and then picks up the bowl in one hand. The masher in the other moves in a blur, and within seconds we have fluffy mashed potatoes.
"The birdies are about… oh, you’re done, already? Here, put some butter on them, and a tad of salt. Yeah, it’s over on the table, by the windows." Gwen bobs her head, jokingly, and garnishes the taters. I turn down the heat on the green beans, and take the glass lid off their pot. "Mmmhh--good. Fresh green beans. Yum."
"Let me get the quail for you, darlin’…" Gwen mits a hand and reaches into the oven, pulling out the broiler pan with the four birds on it. "Ah, you did these just right, Erin. They look lovely…" She plants a kiss on the top of my head, and I blush with pride, and pleasure, at making her happy. Moments later, we dig into the meal, salad, home-made bread, wine, the quail, the green beans, and Gwen’s Instant Draka Mashed Potatoes.
"I’ll have to tell Mavis to employ you gainfully in the kitchen, Muhmis… you’re a whiz at mashing things," I joke, sipping my sweet wine.
"I’ll have you in there scrubbing pots and pans on your knees, my wench, if you mention anything like that to anyone…" Gwen growls, mock ferociously. Her hand reaches for mine, and we sit there, at the table, hand in hand. The rain patters down on the porch roof, obscuring the forest and mountains beyond. A roll of thunder greets us, and then another, as lightning flickers. The lights go dim, then bright; finally they go out altogether. I squeak, a little, in the darkness. I hear Gwen’s answering chuckle, and then her chair scrapes back on the wooden floor. A moment later, a match rasps into life, and candles glow.
Gwen comes to stand behind me. "Let’s leave the dishes for a moment, my younglin’, and go sit by the fireplace."
"Okay," I say, stroking the hand that lies on my right shoulder. "Can we talk for a while?"
"Yes, actually. That’s what I was thinking about… among other things," Gwen’s face is underlit by the candle she’s holding in her left hand, and my heart thuds, my breath catches, at her incredible beauty. Beautiful and dangerous; dominant and vulnerable. Her green eyes shine slightly in the lowered light, and she smiles softly at me. Taking my hand, she leads me to the large fireplace, where we’ve spread sheepskins and blankets, well out of range of the fire, but close enough for comfort. I sit down next to her, and lean against her warmth while the storm begins to roar outside.
"This feels good, Gwen… really good."
"Yes, it does." She hugs me close, and we sit for a few moments that way, merely enjoying the presence of each other. Her body heat warms me and I relax against her strength, her solidity. Her purr, more muted now than it was earlier, thrums softly in my ear as my head rests against her chest.
**
"I never told you what I was going to do if the conference went against me," I say at last.
"Nope, you didn’t, muhmis," Erin replies, cuddled against my chest.
The storm’s growing louder outside, and the temperature has fallen several degrees. Thunder makes the windowpanes rattle against their fittings. For a few moments there’s an intense earthy smell of wet dust, and then the faint freshness of vegetation washed by the thunderstorm, tanged with ozone.
"I was considering cutting Earth/2 off."
"Cutting it off?"
"Cutting it off from the Prime Line. Blowing the wormhole. I’ve looked into it, and not only could the end here be decoupled, with a little effort – the physics are pretty esoteric – we could ‘blur’ the event-wave signature of this time-line so that it would be… not impossible, but vanishingly unlikely, that they could link through again. Sort of analagous to jamming radar. Actually, it was one of your human scientists who did the research for me. Came up with some really ingenious methods, too. It’s burn-before-reading-and-committ-suicide-if-you-think-of-it secret, of course."
Erin looks up at me, wide-eyed; I can feel her pulse speed up. "Why… why would you do that? Muhmis?"
I grin, looking up into the night. "Why, to get my own way, of course!" I chuckle, and my hands move over her. I go on:
"I’m good at that… seriously, that’s about it. I’ve become attached to this world – it’s home to me, now; I don’t want it messed with by people with no real grasp of the situation here. And it wouldn’t harm the Race to lose contact with the Prime Line. It might drive Alexis wild with frustration, but that’s not the same thing. We’re well-established here, there are nearly a hundred thousand of us on Earth/2 now, more than ample for a breeding population, and we’re firmly in control. Rule by the Race doesn’t necessarily mean answering to Archona on administrative matters. Back on the Prime Line they could go right on conquering new worlds in space, and paratemporally. And I could do the same right here. It might get a little sticky politically here, but my support among the Draka here is quite firm. Most of them are juniors, and they’ve gotten a big status-jump by moving here; I doubt they’d grudge me one too."
"Oh," Erin says, thoughtful. She feels light and fragile in my arms, so vulnerable in a universe so blindly dangerous. "That’s… astounding."
"I’ll tell you what’s astounding; it’s astounding that a human could assimilate 400 years of a different scientific tradition and come up with something that potentially useful in only fifteen years," I say.
**
"Who was the scientist?" I ask Gwen, nestling against her in the candle- and firelit room. Flickers of lightning occasionally wash through the windows, followed by rattling booms of thunder. The storm’s at a peak, I think, of fury, but we’re safe here inside. I’m safe, here with Muhmis…
"A British man, name of Hawkins. Stephen. We gave him top-of-the-line medical care, to reverse some odd human disease he was dying of… while recuperating, he came up with the theory, and then the actual process by which we can ‘blow’ the mole hole, and then distort the para-temporal event waves. Fascinating, really."
"Oh, yeah, he’s famous for some of his earlier work. He had Lou Gehrig’s disease, didn’t he?" I cock my head to one side, trying to remember.
"Um… the human doctors called it ALS, some type of nerve degeneration. He’s fine, now. Plays a good game of tennis, for a human." She grins at me. "And it was lovely, actually, to be able to reverse such a disease. I did enjoy being able to authorize that experiment."
"Experiment?"
Gwen looks into the fire, and it’s reflected back in her beautiful, widely-spaced, leaf-green eyes. "Well, yes. It was experimental at the time, just after the Arrival. He volunteered after we approached him, knowing that there were… risks… involved. Modifying Draka molecular level medical care to human standards can be tricky at times. But it worked well."
My hands trace hers, small on large. "That’s good. I sure bet he was relieved!"
"Oho, yes. All the doctors were, I think. Now it’s ‘no big deal’ as you Yanks say, but back then, fifteen years ago, it was." She rests her head on mine, being careful, I can tell, not to bear down too hard. "I enjoyed being able to erase those burn scars, Erin, even though they were tiny, and that bloody great scar down your back."
"Mmh, yeah. It itched like the devil for a few days, but then it was, like, gone. Poof! I keep catching myself looking for it. I guess I just got used to what Peter called my ‘zipper’, Gwen. I didn’t mind getting rid of the scars, though."
"Some won’t ever go away, will they?" She gazes down into my eyes, green into hazel, her voice soft. I shake my head no, and sigh, closing my eyes. Memories…
"Hey," I say, my eyes popping open. "We forgot dessert—hang on a second, let me go get it!" I grin up at her, and she smiles back, releasing me from her lap. I get up and walk into the kitchen, humming.
While I’'m in there, I reach up to a top cabinet, and take down a small, cloth-wrapped packet. It’s light in my hand, but its meaning is heavy in my heart. Should I? I mean, I like her… I guess I love her… but she’s a Draka, she’s my owner… I keep humming a Martina McBride song to cover, and put the package down on the hardwood counter. I pop open the freezer, and take out the key lime pie I had made from scratch earlier in the day, while Gwen was hunting.
I stand for a frozen moment, looking at the small packet, the pie cold in my hands. A lot hinges on this, I think, a hell of a lot, to both of us. What should I do? It could change everything, or nothing…
"Need some help in there? I'm hungry…" calls Gwen, and I jump a little.
"Nope, nope…just getting it out of the freezer, and the plates and stuff. I’ll be right there, Muhmis, just hold your horses…" I sing back, shifting from foot to foot.
Balancing the two plates, forks, a knife, and the pie in one hand, I stuff the packet into my jeans, and then take the dessert into the living room with a smile on my face.
**
The sweet aroma of the pie precedes me, and Gwen’s already sitting on the couch, smiling in anticipation. I know this is one of her favorite desserts; one of the reasons I made it. It was fun to make, too, remembering old times. Having some quiet time to myself in the kitchen was an added bonus, I think, and then the time alone in the house, while she was out.
"Ah, how nice… made from scratch, yet…" Gwen's hands take the pie, and the plates, and I watch her cut us pieces. Mine's a normal-sized one; hers is gargantuan. I’m glad I made a large pie. Her Draka metabolism is so much faster than a human’s; she eats at least six or seven thousand calories a day to keep her engine stoked. I grin at her, waiting for her to try the pie.
An expression of sublime joy spreads across her face as she tastes it. A moment’s silence, and then she leans over and kisses me, expertly balancing her plate. She tastes of key limes, a little bit of wine, and the tang of herself, Gwen. I'm used to that by now; I return the kiss with interest. We laugh, softly, brushing graham cracker crust crumbs from our chins. "This is quite excellent, my darlin’… better than Mavis’, but don’t you dare tell her so…"
"Aha! Another thing to hold over your…" I look into her eyes, and note the tiny, fractional narrowing. "Well, maybe not. I guess I won’t blackmail you with your devious kitchen secrets, the potato mashing and your thoughts on pie." I nudge her knee with mine, and her grin brightens. I have to remember how sensitive she is, any Draka is, to a threat, even in a joke, I muse silently to myself. Have to keep that in mind, always.
Muhmis leans back against the quilt-covered couch, and devours her slice of pie in a few mouthfuls. She holds out her plate for more, and I serve it to her, chuckling. "Glad I made this pie a big one, or all I’d get is crumbs…"
"You could have made two…" she laughs, accepting the plate back and returning to the attack.
"But then you’d have just eaten both of them, and I’d still end up with crumbs!" I concentrate on my piece, finishing it with gusto, then laying the plate down on the coffee table. Gwen’s been nice enough to pull it back in front of the couch; we had moved it over to one side earlier,when we'd sat together by the fireplace. The pine table’s got some dings and dents in it, but it’s still pretty, I think. Papaw made it, back when he and Mamaw were first married…
That reminds me of the packet in my jeans. I turn slightly away, and tug it out. Gwen, watching me, raises one eyebrow coolly, the odd, closed-in curve of her smile lit by a flash of lightning outside. The firelight and the flickering candles bring out the softer side of her features, I think, as I hold the package behind my back; the lightning shows her as the huntress she is, all planes and angles. I’m glad the storm is slowly dying down.
"What’s that you have, my pretty-girl?"
I look over at her, and smile softly, still holding it behind my back.
My mind flashes back, in an instant, to the last talk Papaw and I had, the day I left for the Navy. He was sitting on the porch, in one of the hickory rockers, whittling. Wasn’t much of a talker, but what he said made damn good sense. Mamaw had been frettin’ some, about me going so far away, a girl alone in the big wide world, and he had just nodded, and carved some more. I finally sent Mamaw inside for a glass of water, and some tissues for her, and sat down on the railing across from my grandfather.
"Papaw, what do you think about all this?"
"Wayull…" the knife continued to flick along the block of wood smoothly, strongly, "I reckon you’ve already made your decision, when you signed up down there in the city…"
"Yeah, but what do you think?"
He smiled at me, the wrinkles creasing by his eyes and his mouth. Worn there by years of working in the sun, out in the fields, or building houses. Hazel eyes, like mine, peered through battered bifocals, and he stopped rocking. Papaw leaned forward, and so did I, expectant, listening.
"Now you see, my girl, some things there are that you cain’t jest say when they was decided; it’s kinda like they decide for themselves, and let you know sometime along the way. That’s the way it’s been with you, honey. You’re bound for somethin’ great; you'll do great things. Seen that, I have," he says, staring into my eyes.
"Huh?"
"I know you have them dreams, same as me. The missus told me." Papaw takes one of my hands in between his weathered paws, and squeezed. "You listen up, precious. This is a right big ole bunch a’talkin fer me, and I ain’t sayin’ it all agin! You’re bound for glory, and you’ll find it. You’ll find love and heartache, too. You’ll find yourself. But one day, you’ll find home again, back up here. There’ll always be a home fer you up in these here hills."
We hear Mamaw bustling around inside; she’s singing "Rock of Ages" in her reedy voice. Papaw speaks faster, more intensely. "Erin, honey, you’ve always been one to make the right decisions. This is one of them. And I’ve made a decision, too. Here," he says, handing me a tiny box. "I want you to carry this with you, and one day, wayull, give it to someone to show how much you care ’bout ’em. Hear, now, don’t go an’ lose the dang thing, though."
Mamaw comes out as I tuck the box, contents unknown, into my jacket pocket. The afternoon came and went, and I left them there on the porch, waving and calling goodbye, as I drove down to the town, and the bus station, and the Navy… and now I’m back, I think, I’m back here, Papaw, and I think the decision’s done made itself, like you said they do sometimes.
"Muhmis…"
"Yes, Erin?"
I look over at her, leaning back against the couch, one long arm along the back, the muscles and tendons clearly defined in the warm light of the candles and the fire. She’s smiling at me, eyes wide, curious. Ah, Gwen, I think, if only… but no. You can’t be human any more than I can be Draka, but we can meet somehow. We have met, and joined our selves. It's time to be honest, even if it’s scarier than when I proposed to Alice.
"This is for you. I found it today, and I wanted… I want to give it to you," I stutter, bringing the little cloth-wrapped packet from behind my back and handing it to her.
Her hands, tanned and strong, close gently around it; they unwrap the cloth and hold up a small, hand-carved wooden case. She turns it over in the variating light, looking at it carefully. There’s a tiny latch on one side, and Gwen undoes it, gently. The lid hinges open, and… her mouth drops open slightly. "Erin…"
I turn my gaze from her face, feeling a blush rising and a knot forming in my throat. I watch the logs in the flagstone fireplace; the golden-orange flames wrap around them and caress them, as they consume the wood. The comforting scent of woodsmoke, hickory and cedar, rises from the hearth, and I feel my heart thud within my chest.
"Erin. My sweet," and Gwen’s hand turns my face back to her. "This is lovely, simply lovely… so simple, yet so beautiful…I’m honored, darlin’, truly honored."
On a golden chain, in her hand, dangles Papaw’s wedding band, and the smaller one of Mamaw’s. They’d given them to me, that day I left, somehow knowing that they wouldn’t see me again in this lifetime. I didn’t get back in time to say goodbye, I think, but maybe we never really have to… they’re still inside me; they helped me heal so much… grow so well.
"They were Papaw’s and Mamaw’s, Gwen. I wanted to keep them together, so I found the necklace today while you were out hunting quail." My eyes meet hers. "They gave them to me before I left for the Navy; it was the last time I saw them alive. Papaw said to give them to someone to show them how much I care."
"Oh, Erin…" Gwen’s eyes sparkle, and then to my surprise, tears trickle down her cheeks. The green in her eyes seems to darken, and she puts one hand over them. Her other hand, holding the necklace and the two worn wedding bands, closes around them, and there’s silence for a few moments. She’s still, more still than any human could possibly be, and tense.
The rain patters outside; thunder rumbles away down the valley. The trees are swishing and creaking together out in the darkness. The lights flicker on again, but I get up and turn them off. I like the candlelight better. I stand, looking out the picture window, into the night and the rain, waiting for Gwen to regain her composure.
Her hands on my shoulders startle me, but I control my slight jump, and lean back against her. Arms surround me, hugging tightly, and her head rests on my shoulder, lips pressed to my neck, my chin, my cheeks… I turn inside her arms, and link my arms around her neck, pulling her gently down to me. We kiss for a long, breathless moment, and then I pull back slightly.
"Gwen, I didn’t put a note in there. I guess I didn’t know what to say…"
"That’s all right, my beautiful little wench. That’s fine," Gwen murmurs, kissing me again.
"But Gwen… Muhmis… I know we talked about love, earlier. I want to tell you something. It’s taken awhile to think out, and I hope I can get this out right…" I duck my head, and then take a deep breath. "Gwendolyn, I’m yours. As much as I can give, it’s yours. There are places inside me you’ll never get to, and that’s something you’ll have to work on accepting, somehow. But as much as I can give, with an honest heart, I give to you. Completely."
She pulls me close, and as our lips meet, I breathe, ever so softly, knowing she can hear me perfectly with her Draka senses, "I love you, Gwen."
"I know," she whispers back. "I love you, too. Oh, my sweet, my pretty-girl, ma douce… thank you…" Our lips meet, and she cradles me in her arms. The trip to the bedroom doesn’t take long, nor does undressing… What follows after is more intense, more personal, than anything I’ve ever experienced with Gwendolyn, or any other lover, human or Draka or servus, for that matter…
**