Ephemeral: Chapter 14

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Mother Alden waved her straw hat in greeting as Clara slowly lowered her ancient hovercraft down next to the garden gate. She insisted that since she'd neglected Clara the day before, she'd give her a personal tour of the town. That's good, Clara thought behind her smile. I don't think I'd like to visit the Rutgers anytime soon.

“You're going to love it!” Mother Alden beamed. “We've got lots of specialty shops, an open-air market, the town square, Eldership Hall ... and I've even planned a visit with someone special.”

Clara tensed. “Who might that be?” she asked, hoping Mother Alden was not trying to set her up on a blind date with Aaric. The idea was not wholly unpleasant, but their last interactions had been somewhat strained, and she had a master's degree to finish. Plus, with the infrequency of interstellar wormholes, a long-distance relationship would be totally out of the quest-

WHUMP!

Clara gasped as the slowly-descending hovercraft suddenly fell to the ground with a bone-jarring jolt. Clara frowned. “I forgot it did that.”

Mother Alden watched in amusement as Clara switched off the hovercraft, unfolded the charging panels (careful to avoid banging her shins this time), and stepped onto the thick green grass.

“We're going to see Mother Grace – the oldest Almitian in the tribe!” Mother Alden announced.

“Really?” Clara's stomach sank. “H-how old is she?”

Mother Alden noticed Clara's apprehension and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Aaric told me you had a difficult time at the Rutgers' place. I'm sure that was a lot to take in.”

“To put it mildly,” Clara agreed. “This is only my third day in Almitas, and I already have enough field notes to write a novel.” Magic rings, plants jumping from the ground, spy drones, and people living twice the age of Passing?! My professors will think I'm making it all up!

“I understand,” Mother Alden said. “I wish you could have seen Granna Kate when she was younger. She was always the life of the party. Her decline is heartbreaking to watch. But not all our elderly succumb to such a fate. That's why I want you to meet Mother Grace. Even at a hundred and twelve, she's sharp as whip.”

“One hundred and twelve?!” Clara put her hand to her forehead. “And she still participates in society?”

Mother Alden laughed out loud. “I'd say she runs it. For several revolutions, she was the most active member of the Eldership. Now she lives with her youngest daughter – youngest of eight, I might add – and her son-in-law. But I don't believe her social duties have decreased much. She's still head of half a dozen committees, volunteers at both church and school, hosts benefit teas, visits with friends, gardens, and still manages to connect with her younger relations – all of whom make up a good ten percent of the Almitas population.”

Clara bit her lower lip. Interacting with the aged made her feel uncomfortable, but she'd be a fool not to make the most of this sociological opportunity. Oh, the things I do for academics … “Thank you, Mother Alden,” she said aloud. “It was kind of you to schedule such a meeting for me. Mother Grace may very well be the oldest living human. My professors will have a conniption … if they believe me at all. By the way,” Clara said as she grabbed her recording device, “is Aaric here?”

“Not now,” Mother Alden shook her head.

“Oh.” Clara wondered at her simultaneous relief and disappointment.

“Were you hoping to see him?” Mother Alden asked.

“Not necessarily. My visit yesterday concluded on a sour note, and I wanted to apologize.”

Mother Alden waved aside Clara's concern. “Don't worry about Aaric. He's not the resentful sort. Otherwise, he'd be a horrible horse-breaker. But you'll see him later. He and his family are joining us for midday meal, remember?”

Clara brightened. “Is that what I smell?” The savory fragrance of something roasting wafted through the open windows.

“Boeuf bourguignon with aged Almitian wine,” Mother Grace said proudly. “I put it in the slow-cooker a degree or two ago. It should be fall-apart tender by the time we get back. But I need to pick up a few extra ingredients. We can visit Mother Grace on the way to the market.”

“Will she mind a stranger dropping in on her?”

Mother Alden grinned broadly. “I don't think Mother Grace has ever met a stranger in her life. She loves people – and she understands them better than most. Come on, let's go.”

Clara looked to the right and to the left for their four-footed transports. “No horses?”

“It's only a short walk into town. It will be good to stretch our legs.”

Clara recalled her saddle soreness from the day before. Miraculously, she'd managed to sleep well even without pain medication. And aside from the rude awakening that morning, she'd had a restful night. Those Sapphire Hotel mattresses must have curative powers.

Mother Alden led Clara down the dirt path past several fields toward the distant group of houses which formed the outskirts of town. Here, two-story wood and stone structures with climbing vines and tidy gardens stood closer together than the homesteads, but always with spacious yards bordered by flower beds.

“Ah! Here we are!” Mother Alden said as they rounded a bend and came to a Victorian-inspired house painted a cheerful sky blue with white trim. Pink roses tumbled over the white picket fence, scenting the breeze with their sweet perfume. “We are not Mother Grace's first guests, I see,” Mother Alden said with a smile.

“You do?” Clara peered at the windows, but the white-laced curtains shielded the inner rooms from prying eyes. She saw no vehicles – horses or otherwise – parked along the road. “How do you know she's entertaining visitors?”

“The gate's open.” Mother Alden pointed to the swinging fixture. “If she were unavailable, it would be closed. And do you hear that?”

Clara stood still to listen; sure enough, she could hear a happy tittering coming from the house. “What is it?”

“Laughter. Mother Grace is famous for it.” Mother Alden led the way through the gate past two large bushes of black and yellow daisy-like flowers. “She's probably with her old posse of girlfriends again. They're a hoot!”

Clara followed timidly. Having to engage with one old woman was already an alarming prospect; she wasn't certain how she'd handle a crowd.

“Don't worry, Clara,” Mother Alden beckoned. “It will give the old girls a thrill to meet someone from Earth.”

A polite smile flickered onto Clara's face, then disappeared as soon as Mother Alden turned toward the front door. Are thrills even healthy at one hundred? Clara wondered. She followed Mother Alden up the steps to a huge veranda bedecked with white wicker furniture with yellow cushions. Mother Alden lifted the brass lion's head door knocker and waited. A pleasantly-plump, middle-aged woman dressed in a navy blue business suit with a red chiffon scarf answered the door. Loud laughter, warm light, and the smell of cinnamon emanated from the room behind.

“Mother Alden! My goodness, you're looking well! How are you?” She leaned forward and kissed Mother Alden on the cheek.

“Very well, Sylvia. And you and yours?”

“Busy as ever. Michael's been working in the bakery with our son since before Elpis rising, Jane's off gallivanting with her three little ones on the old family farm, and I'm about to go to a school board meeting. You caught me not a moment too soon. And who is this lovely young lady? Aaric's ...”

Mother Alden interjected, “Sylvia Green, this is Clara Milton, daughter of Benjamin and Elizabeth Ann Milton. She came with a graduate team from Earth to research our colony.”

“You're from Earth?!” The other woman's blue eyes tripled in size as she put a hand to her ample chest. “Well, bless you! We don't have many folk from Earth around here, but you look as human as the rest of us. Did you have a nice trip? How long did it take you to get here? And how long are you staying?”

“Uh ...” Clara grinned as she tried to decide which question to answer first, “I am studying colonial social structures, the trip was not too long thanks to the wormhole, and I'm staying until our ship picks us up – about forty Elpis-risings-to-settings from now.”

“Forty?!” Sylvia's jaw dropped. She glanced at Mother Alden. “That long?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Clara shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Why does that question always elicit such surprise? “Sorry, but what did you mean by saying you don't have many folk from Earth around here? Didn't you all emigrate from Earth to form this colony?”

“Well …” Sylvia gave Mother Alden a significant look.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

A small timer went off. Sylvia tapped at a button on her hand-held screen. “I'm sorry, ladies. That's my two-minute warning. If I don't leave soon, I'll be late.”

“Best get going,” Mother Alden said, “or the school board might give you a tardy slip.”

“Or worse – homework.” Sylvia smirked. “Though I suppose with my position, it's inevitable. But I'll introduce you to Mother Grace before I go. She's got the usual gaggle of friends about her. Tea time, you know. Heaven knows what they find so amusing. Perhaps they're laughing at us all.”

“Laughter is good medicine,” Mother Alden said.

“It is that,” Sylvia nodded. “It's been doing her good for many revolutions. Come in.”

She ushered Clara and Mother Alden down the hall to an elegant, rounded rose-colored parlor room with ceilings twelve feet high, white crown molding, numerous tall windows, and a crackling wood fire in a massive stone fireplace. Curvy wooden chairs with yellow cushions sat about the room nearest to the windows. Framed samples of intricate needlework hung on the walls with proverbs like, “There's no place like home,” and “What happens at Granna's, stays at Granna's.” A lace-covered table stood ornately in the corner hosting a splendid blue and white china tea service and a platter of vanilla-iced cinnamon buns.

“Mother Grace!” Sylvia raised her voice only slightly. “May I present Mother Alden and her young guest, Clara Milton – daughter of Benjamin and Elizabeth Ann Milton. From Earth!”

Clara followed Mother Alden's lead and bowed from her waist toward a seated semicircle of five elderly women. Back-lit against the bright lacy windows, Clara could hardly tell them apart. Their faces crinkled with deep-set laugh lines as they observed the newcomers. Most wore thick glasses and knee-length dresses of various colorful prints. But each woman wore her white hair in a unique fashion: as a side braid, a low bun, close-cropped, curly, and long and lustrous.

“Did you say 'from mirth'?” the long haired one in the center asked as she grinned mischievously.

The other ladies giggled.

Sylvia put a hand on her hip. “You know perfectly well I didn't, Mother Grace – despite your selective hearing. Now you ladies behave yourselves. Miss Clara is new to our planet and might include you in her research if you're not careful! So be nice and don't make a misleading impression.”

“I don't mislead!” Mother Grace protested in mock effrontery. “I merely meander.”

“Over the river and through the woods ...” The braided one on the left sung quietly as she drew her tea conspiratorially to her lips.

There must be a story behind that remark, Clara thought.

“Now Sylvia darling, didn't you have a meeting this morning?” Mother Grace asked.

Sylvia's eyes widened. “I'm late! Mother Alden, Miss Clara,” she nodded to the two visitors, “Good luck!” Sylvia whisked out of the room and shut the door behind her.

Mother Alden seemed perfectly at home as she strode across the pink, sage, and gold plush rug to plant a kiss on Mother Grace's cheek. “You look well, Mother Grace.”

“I am, thank you. Do I also look good?”

“Not in the slightest,” Mother Alden said with a smile.

Clara froze. Did she just insult Mother Grace?!

But the old woman took no offense; she grinned and tapped Mother Alden under the chin. “Clever clogs.”

The other ladies chuckled.

Mother Grace saw Clara's worried look and clucked, “Oh, dear. It seems we've upset your young friend already. Why don't you explain and give the poor thing something warm to drink?”

“Tea covers a multitude of snafus,” the braided one said. Her companions murmured in agreement.

“Thank you.” Mother Alden turned and walked Clara toward the tea table.

Clara leaned close to Mother Alden, “I think I missed the joke,” she whispered.

Mother Alden smiled as she placed a warm, oozy cinnamon bun on a small plate. “It's an old proverb around here: that to look good and to be good are two very different things. So if you must choose between them, always choose substance over style.”

“That's wise advice,” Clara said, impressed.

“Behind us sit some of the wisest women on the planet.”

“And yet they laugh so?” Clara glanced at them over her shoulder. “I would have expected centenarians to be more sober with all they've seen. More health-conscientious, too,” Clara said as Mother Alden passed her the cinnamon-and-sugar-laden confection.

“At this point, most of them have outlived their physicians and feel they're entitled to eat what they like.” Mother Alden smiled. “And they laugh because they are thankful for their pasts and confident of their futures. People who don't appreciate life rarely live to be a hundred. Every Elpis-rising, Mother Grace opens her home to her community so that any in need of a listening ear or a good laugh may be instructed and encouraged. Many in the town have sought her counsel and company over generations.”

“Are they the gate-keepers to the upper social circles in Almitian society?”

Mother Alden poured their tea and set the pot back under its cozy. “More like the gate-openers.”

Once Clara and Mother Alden had taken their seats, Mother Grace tapped the arm of her chair with her gnarled hand. “Now, Miss Clara Milton. After you've sipped your tea, I'd like you to tell us all about yourself.”

Clara's tea cup clattered in her saucer. She steadied it. “All about myself, Ma'am?”

“Of course not!” said the curly-headed lady to Mother Grace's right. “Just the part of yourself you know.”

“And aren't mortified by,” added the close-cropped one.

“Sherry!” hissed the one with the bun. “You shouldn't tease. Especially a newcomer! She'll think you're rude.”

“I wasn't teasing.” Sherry sat more straightly and stirred her tea with a small silver spoon. “Many mistake honesty for rudeness.”

“But maybe she's the quiet sort!” Bun head persisted. “You'll frighten her off if you're too nosy!”

“Those who stink not need not fear noses,” Sherry pronounced, holding her teaspoon upright like a miniature scepter.

“Let him who stinks not, pass the cologne!” declared the curly-headed woman with a self-satisfied air.

“Forgive us, I think I started in precisely the wrong manner,” Mother Grace said with a corrective glance at her friends. “If we do not ask direct questions, we cannot expect direct answers.”

“True, true,” the others concurred in chorus.

“So to simplify things, each of you may pose one question which Miss Clara Milton may choose to answer or not. Is that agreeable, dear?” Mother Grace asked Clara.

“Yes, Ma'am … er, Mother Grace.” Clara sipped her tea but did not taste it.

“Very well, then. Mavis, you've only told four jokes this morning, so you get to go first.”

Mavis – the one with curly hair – beamed. “Alrighty, then.” She put her teacup into its saucer and looked Clara straight in the eye. “Miss Clara, what is your life's purpose?”

Clara nearly choked on her cinnamon bun. She coughed into her shoulder. “M-my life's purpose?”

“Yes,” Mavis said. “Why do you exist? What's the point of your being here?”

Clara felt instantly stupid. Here she was – a straight A graduate student of the Vitae Conglomerate University, winner of the prestigious interstellar academic internship – and she'd been struck dumb by a tiny, wrinkled woman four times her age. She couldn't even come up with a good lie.

Mother Alden leaned toward Clara. “We have another proverb in Almitas: the truth is always most expedient.”

Clara took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “To be honest, Ma'am, I can't say I know for sure,” she answered the old woman. “But my purpose in visiting this planet is to study a different culture in order to gain an advanced degree.”

“To what end?” Sherry asked, holding up her thin, wrinkled hand to ward off protest. “That's merely a clarification of Mavis' question; it does not count as mine.”

Mother Grace allowed it with a slight nod.

Clara shifted on her yellow cushion. “So I can ultimately make more money and care for my family better.”

“Does more money equal more care for your family?” Sherry asked. “Merely another clarification – this time, of Miss Milton's answer.”

“Don't push the envelope, Sherry,” Mother Grace said.

“I have another clarification, too! And since this was my question, I will ask it,” Mavis said, with a slight crinkle at the corner of her mouth. “When your family no longer needs you, then what will your purpose be?”

“I …” Clara had no idea what would pass for a half-intelligent answer. She licked her lips. “I haven't quite gotten that far ...” She sipped her tea; it was too bold for her liking.

“You may get that far sooner than you think,” Mavis said, knowingly. “But at least you do not pretend to know what you don't. That's an honest start.”

“Next question,” Mother Grace said.

“Oh! Do let me go!” the one with the braid spoke up, raising her hand as if in elementary school. “I haven't had this much fun since last Elpis-rising!”

“Very well, Winifred. Go on.”

“Don't fret yourself, Miss Clara. My question is much easier than Mavis's. What – pray – is your greatest joy?”

“My greatest joy?!” Clara considered. No one had ever asked her to quantify her pleasures. “Let's see. I enjoy many things. I like school. I like reading and writing, and reading what I write … I like eating out with friends and watching films ...”

“No, my dear,” Winifred interrupted. “You misunderstand. Those are hobbies. They hint at the real thing, but what makes your heart truly sing?”

“Sing?” Clara wasn't sure her heart had ever done that. Once again, she felt stumped. These questions were infinitely more difficult than anything she'd ever seen on an exam. Then a memory flashed through her mind. “I don't know if this is the answer you're looking for, but coming home for the holidays after finals and just being with my family … everything was always so restful. I think that's when I've felt the most joy.”

“I think you're on the right track, Miss Clara.” Winifred winked.

Clara felt relieved she didn't entirely sound like a simpleton.

“My turn!” Sherry announced with a flick of her close-cropped head. “What I want to know is, what is your deepest love? Or your deepest fear – tell me one, and I'll know the other.”

Oh, great … Clara sipped the strong tea to buy herself time. “I suppose I fear what everyone fears.”

“Which would be ..?”

“Pain and death.”

“Not everyone fears that,” Sherry said as she tapped her tea spoon against the edge of her cup and put it on her saucer.

Clara's curiosity got the better of her. “What do they fear, then?”

“Loneliness,” Winifred spoke softly.

“Insignificance,” Mavis averted her eyes.

“Rejection,” murmured the one with the bun.

“Failure.” Sherry sipped her tea.

The flames in the fireplace burned lower, as if muted by the topic of conversation. Indeed, the room seemed colder in the ensuing silence. Clara's gaze fell onto the half-empty tea cup on her lap. She wished the tea was sweeter. She wished she sounded more intelligent. And she wished the visit would end soon.

“Come now, ladies!” Mother Grace rapped on her arm rest. “This will not do! I dislike dwelling on darkness – particularly in my own parlor.”

The fire roared to life again and the momentary cloud lifted.

“That's alright, Mother Grace,” Sherry held up a hand in surrender. “I know what she loves. My curiosity is satisfied.”

Clara gazed at her with question marks in her eyes.

“No, I cannot tell you,” Sherry said to Clara. “You must discover it on your own.”

“Gwen?” Mother Grace prompted. “Do you have a question for Miss Clara?”

The woman with the low bun nodded. “Though I hope she won't find it too impertinent.” She shot a disapproving glance toward Sherry who pretended not to see. “What is your dearest longing, Miss Clara?”

Finally, an easy one! “To get my Master's degree, of course!” Clara smiled.

The old ladies, however, did not. Each knit their silver brows together and looked underwhelmed.

“That's your DEAREST longing?!” Gwen asked. “I mean, if you were offered anything in the entire history or future of the universe with all its possibilities and grandeur, you would have no greater desire than to complete your education?”

“Now who's being impertinent?” Sherry mumbled behind her teacup.

“I heard that,” Gwen said flatly.

“Perhaps Miss Clara has never been offered the entire universe before,” Mother Grace said gently. “Is that not so?”

“No, never,” Clara chuckled nervously. “Although if I could have absolutely anything, I guess I would like to see my mother again. And to never be parted from those I love.”

“Now that's more like it,” Gwen nodded in assent. “See? She's not completely ignorant.”

“That will do,” Mother Grace said.

“And what about you?” Mother Alden asked the long-haired woman in the center of the circle. “Is there something you would like to ask Clara?”

Clara gulped, now expecting the most difficult question of all.

Mother Grace merely shook her head. “I think Miss Clara has had enough questions for now.”

Oh thank you! Clara exhaled, unaware she'd been holding her breath.

Mother Grace smiled. “My only request is that she consider these questions with all her heart, mind, and soul. How she answers them will determine her destiny.”

“True, true,” the chorus concurred.

A tall grandfather clock chimed in the corner, and a young man in a corduroy cap and overalls came through the parlor door. “Excuse me, Mother Grace. I've saddled Big Bruce for you if you care to go for your ride.”

Clara blinked in surprise. Is riding horses at her age safe?

“I would. Thank you, Pete.”

He nodded and left the room.

“And as to your question,” Mother Grace nodded to Clara, “It's probably not safe for me to ride at my age. But then, I prefer to live while I'm still alive. You think on that.”

Mother Alden stood. “Thank you for letting us visit. It's been a pleasure, as always.”

“You flatter me, Magdalena.” Mother Grace also stood. Her speed and steadiness astounded Clara – such a contrast to Granna Kate's frailty. She didn't even need a cane!

Mother Grace gazed down at Clara. “How long is your internship, dear?”

Clara put her teacup on the end table. “Just under forty Elpis risings-to-settings from now.”

Mother Grace stood still. “And … this does not trouble you?”

“It's going by rather quickly,” Clara said, rising to her feet. “I doubt I'll have enough time to study everything.”

“Enough time ...” Mother Grace mused. “Most feel they never have enough. But we're always given what we need to do what we're meant to do.” She looked significantly at Mother Alden. “I'm sure you two have things to discuss.”

“We're going to the market,” Clara said.

“May I bless you before you leave?” Mother Grace asked.

“Bless me?!” Clara curled a brown tendril behind her ear. She suddenly felt shy. “I've never been blessed by anyone before ...”

“Give me your hands.”

Clara obeyed and was struck by the difference between their fingers; Clara's were straight and lean while Mother Grace's were knobby and spotted with age. Yet the old woman's hands held surprising strength.

Mother Grace closed her eyes lined with deep crow's feet and said, “May you always ask and be answered, always knock and be greeted, always seek and discover. And may you grow in grace and wisdom.”

“Amen,” said the chorus.

Clara's throat tightened at the parting words. Despite their coming from a practical stranger, they felt deeply significant. “Thank you, Mother Grace.”

Mother Grace opened her pale blue eyes and smiled. “I am glad you came to see me, Clara Milton of Earth.” She embraced the surprised intern.

Clara could feel the old woman's shoulder blades through the back of her dress. But there was a solidity too for which she could not account. This old, wrinkled matron crowned with long white hair seemed more a queen than any diamond-studded royal she'd studied in her Pr–V. C. history classes.

Mother Grace released her young visitor.

“Thank you all for your generous time and hospitality!” Clara bowed to the women.

Mother Alden stepped forward and kissed Mother Grace on the cheek.

Clara turned away from the group, but paused with her hand on the doorknob when she heard Mother Grace say in a hushed tone, “You must tell her, Magdalena.”

Mother Alden sighed. “I will.”

“When?”

“I will,” Mother Alden repeated.

---

So what do you think?

Who have been your mentors in life? How have they most encouraged you?