Ephemeral: Chapter 8
The shabby chic interior of Mother Alden's home was a lesson in contrasts when compared to the polished stone motif of Agilis. Sprays of violet and canary yellow flowers and fragrant herbs hung drying from overhead wooden rafters. Someone had painted the plaster walls a delicate honey hue which reflected off the gleaming hardwood floors. White-laced curtains fluttered in the floral breeze of a dozen open windows, welcoming both Elpis light and birdsong into the house.
Against the back wall hung numerous white cabinets over a marbled white counter leading to a double sink, dishwasher, refrigerator, and stove. Given the establishment's antique charm, these last three items surprised Clara; she'd expected to find more rudimentary appliances like a camp stove or an archaic hand pump.
An island with the same marbled white counter top stood in the kitchen's center surrounded by four tall stools. Over the island hung a curious glass light fixture which reminded Clara of an encapsulated star. The glass tubes gently curved in all different directions and lengths from the center, starting out goldenrod, then darkening to peach, and ending in crimson at their tips. It's like they made a model of Elpis and hung it to light the room.
A large gray stone fireplace featured on the far right wall in the open-concept living area. Before this lay a sage green rug supporting two ivory-colored camel-back couches with numerous decorative throw pillows and a white coffee table with a pitcher of violet, pink, and yellow flowers in its center. Atop the fireplace mantel stood several family photos and a framed mirror adding the illusion of even more space to the airy room. The city with all its cold hard stone, stoic guards, and blue-pulsing staffs seemed a world away.
“What a lovely home you have,” Clara remarked with sincere admiration.
“Thank you, dear,” her hostess said as she walked to the stove and grabbed the tea kettle. “God has been gracious to me. I live better than kings of old.” She smiled as she placed the tea kettle underneath the spigot and turned on the cold water.
In spite of her wrinkles and the way her hands shook a little as she held the slowly-filling kettle, the older woman's contentment intrigued Clara. She had read in her Pre-V.C. history class that the elderly typically groaned about chronic aches and pains – a habit which only increased the discomfort of everyone else. Thus, the Passing ceremony had always seemed a welcome escape from such inevitabilities. Surely it was impossible – nay, unreasonable – for one to deteriorate with joy, wasn't it? Yet Clara had not heard one complaint from her hostess, old as she obviously was. “You are very fortunate to be so well situated, Ms. Alden,” Clara said.
The older woman looked up from the sink. “Please, call me Mother Alden. Everyone else does.”
There was an unexpected catch in Clara's throat as it had been nearly two years since she'd called anyone 'mother.' But she braved past it and replied, “Very well, Mother Alden. Thank you again for allowing me to impose upon your schedule. I know your time is valuable.”
“All time is valuable if it's appreciated,” Mother Alden said. “By the way, how much time are you spending on this internship?”
“Only forty days.”
Mother Alden cocked her head. “Come again?”
“Oh, I beg your pardon.” Clara recalled the earlier time-unit conversation with Commander Ballitor. “You would probably say it was forty Elpis rising-to-settings.”
“Forty?!” Mother Alden turned off the water and looked at Clara with wide eyes. “So long?”
Clara flushed at the sudden seriousness of the woman's demeanor. “I'm … I'm sorry. We can't leave any sooner as the next wormhole to Earth isn't due to appear before then. But if it will make things easier, I could try to limit my visits and keep them as short as possible.”
Mother Alden shook her head. “No, no. You're not an imposition. I'm just ...” she furrowed her brow in search of the right sentiment, “... surprised that an internship would require so much of your time.”
“Oh!” Clara said with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. “It's not that much time, really. Most of the summer, but far less than a semester. If I can complete my research in one season, I'll save loads of time overall. But I've had so many surprises already, I doubt I'll get everything documented before I return home.”
Mother Alden gazed at her guest with a curious expression. She opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and turned back to the sink. “What sort of surprises have you had so far?” she asked as she turned the cold water back on.
Clara almost laughed. Besides the fact I'm talking with a woman who'd be the oldest human alive if she were on my planet? Clara deliberated before deciding to share a few less-shocking discoveries. “For starters, Elpis 7 seems so much more established than we'd expected. My team thought the colony would be little more than a base camp, really. But this ...” Clara gestured toward the kitchen, “this is incredible! You already have everything! A city, agriculture, and three distinct tribes with all the modern conveniences. How is such development possible in only nine months? And where did all the other people come from? We thought our ship was the first mission to Elpis 7 since the original forty colonists arrived. Are you one of the forty?”
Mother Alden stood very still and stared out the kitchen window toward the distant mountains. Then the cold water started overflowing her kettle. “Silly me!” She turned off the tap, set the kettle on the stove, and said, “Why don't you take a seat at the island? It'll be a few minutes before the tea's ready.”
Slightly disappointed, Clara climbed onto one of the stools and placed her black binder on the marbled counter top as the old woman busied herself about the kitchen. Why can't I get straight answers when I ask about the colonists? Clara wondered. She decided to begin again with more general inquiries as she needed background information for her thesis anyway. “Mother Alden, what do you grow on your farm?” Clara asked as she opened her binder and took out her digital tablet to take notes.
Mother Alden paused as she took some milk from the fridge. The tension melted from her forehead at this welcome change in topic. “We do a five-crop rotation to help keep the soil healthy and have automated most of the tilling, planting, weeding, and harvesting at this point. Perhaps you saw the electric agribots as you flew into Almitas?”
“Were those the truck-sized things working in the fields?” Clara asked.
Mother Alden nodded. “While certainly not fool-proof, we've found that the traditional Earth crops have fewer indigenous pest problems. So in one field, I plant peas or beans, in another broccoli and kale, then there's one for tomatoes, one for squash, and finally one with a cover crop – usually a mix of clover and alfalfa hay – which I use to supplement my livestock's feed. Next season, I just rotate the fields. I even rotate my cattle and horses onto new pastures regularly, then send in the chickens and ducks after them. The larger livestock fertilize the soil, the birds eat the bugs in their feces, and the cycle continues in a symbiotic dance.”
“I saw a horse on my way here,” Clara said as she curled an unruly brown tendril behind her ear. “But if you don't mind my asking, why raise horses at all when you obviously have the technology for both fieldwork and travel?”
Mother Alden grinned as she poured the milk into a dainty ceramic creamer. “Because we have an abundance of grass and a shortage of fuel. Though we get most of our electricity from the hydroelectric dam and wind turbines.”
“I thought the hovercraft ran on Elpis-rays,” Clara said.
“In the city they can because they glide along magnetic roads. But all-terrain hovercraft – like the one you rode – need lots of power to hover without magnetic support and therefore require supplementary fuel in addition to the UVA recharging panels. Unlike Earth, Elpis 7 doesn't have many coal or oil reserves. There's a couple mines in the mountains, but fuel is more expensive. Even with fuel, it still takes forever to charge the darn things. So ultimately, it's more efficient to use horses. More economic, too, as we frequently trade them with the Silva tribe for lumber.”
“The Silva people don't use hovercraft?”
Another smile crinkled the corner of Mother Alden's mouth. “Hovercraft don't work well in the forest. Too many trees.”
“Ah.” Clara considered asking about the historic rift between the tribes, but opted for what she hoped would be a safer topic. “Mother Alden, what is your role in the Almitas tribe? Beyond farming, I mean.”
“My role?” Mother Alden reached up and adjusted the brim of her straw hat. “Well … in addition to being the mother of Thomas Alden, mother in-law to Teresa Alden, and grandmother to Alisa, Aaric, and Margaret, I am a member of our community Eldership – that's our governing body – and keeper of our Almitas clan heirloom.”
“Heirloom?” Clara asked, cocking her head slightly.
Mother Alden fingered a lovely silver and emerald ring which she wore on her right hand's middle finger. It wasn't a particularly large stone, but its multi-faceted surface sparkled green against the plaster wall when caught in an Elpis beam. Mother Alden held out her hand for Clara's inspection. “This is the Auxano stone, discovered by the first expedition to Elpis 7. It has the ability to ...”
TWEEEEEEEEET! The kettle whistled loudly.
“Hold on a degree.” Mother Alden stepped toward the oven, removed the kettle from the stove, and swirled some of its boiling water inside a blue and white teapot. “I prefer my tea piping,” she explained. “A warmed pot holds the heat longer.”
Clara smiled. She'd practiced this exercise countless times and enjoyed seeing the same ritual observed so far from home. Home … A wave of yearning washed over the interstellar traveler. I wonder how Dad and Sydney are doing …
Mother Alden emptied the teapot, tossed in three sachets of dried leaf, poured in the rest of the boiling water, and covered the vessel with a blue polka-dotted tea cozy to insulate against any possibility of a lukewarm brew.
“I've always loved tea,” Mother Alden said. “It forces you to slow down and enjoy the present.”
“I started drinking back in college.” Clara said. Then clarified, “Drinking tea, that is. It helped me stay awake in class.”
“And what exactly are you studying for this internship of yours?”
Clara brightened. “Sociology.” Finally! A subject she could discuss with some measure of proficiency. “I want to see how social roles get established within a new colony. That's the broad topic of my master's thesis.”
“Sounds interesting.” Mother Alden twisted a tea spoon between her fingers. “I'm sure you'll find ample subjects for your paper. But may I ask you something personal?”
“Not at all,” Clara said.
Mother Alden leaned a little closer to Clara. “Tell me something. What do you think of the Rite of Passing? I assume since you're unfamiliar with grandparents, Earth still observes it.”
Clara raised an eyebrow. Why ask me that? It was like asking what she thought of the position of the stars. “Of course we observe the Rite of Passing,” she said. “It's saved people so much suffering – not to mention healthcare costs and the global economy.”
“I see.” Mother Alden avoided Clara's gaze as she removed the tea bags from the pot, poured out two cupfuls, and replaced the cozy. Then she looked Clara in the eye. “So with all the money you've saved on healthcare, does no one on Earth suffer anymore?”
Clara was unprepared for that question. The memory of her late mother made it impossible to lie. She ran a hand through her brown tresses as she considered how to answer. “I … I suppose no one can entirely escape suffering,” she conceded as she reached for the creamer.
“That's true no matter what planet you're on.” Mother Alden wrapped her fingers around her teacup as ribbons of steam curled upward from the fragrant brew. She sighed. “It's been about five revolutions since I buried my dear Jim. Best man in the world, he was.” She nodded to an 8” x 10” framed photograph hanging on the wall. In it, a young man in black swimming trunks flexed his muscles for the camera while a pretty brunette in a purple bathing suit sat nearby, laughing. “That was taken on our honeymoon,” Mother Alden said. “Sometimes, I so long to embrace him, my arms physically ache.”
It was fascinating to think that the pretty young woman in the photo was the same person now sitting across from Clara. Mother Alden had more wrinkles now, but the smile was still the same. “You both look so happy,” Clara observed from the picture. “What happened, if I may ask?” She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes in pleasure as the robust brew warmed her inside and out.
Mother Alden set her china cup on its saucer with a clink. “He grew senile earlier than most.”
“Senile?” Clara lifted her brows and sipped again.
“Lost most of his memory and strength.”
Clara sputtered and coughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “Really?!”
Mother Alden continued, “He didn't even know who I was near the end, and I barely recognized him at that point. He'd faded so much from man I'd married, and his decline greatly tested me.”
Clara stared at her hostess, dumbfounded. She had absolutely no idea what to say. Mother Alden's experience defied all Earthly social conventions. Clara took another sip of tea, but now barely tasted it. She found the idea of slaving for an ungrateful person as they slowly lost their faculties both personally repugnant and universally unfair. But this is not my culture, she reminded herself as she endeavored to remain sociologically objective. I need to try to understand even if I don't agree; that's what Professor Rosaria always says. Otherwise, I'll never be able to write my thesis. Clara shifted in her seat and forced herself to ask for details. “How did your husband's decline test you?”
Mother Alden shrugged. “He'd pitch fits or say mean things that didn't make sense – though I'd never known a cross word from him before. I knew it was only the disease talking, but it still stung. And on more than one occasion I confess, I asked the good Lord to stop mucking about and take Jim home already.”
Clara smiled faintly at the religious euphemism for death. She'd studied ancient belief systems in her spiritual anthropology course. “Did the good Lord ever answer back?” she asked in mild jest.
“Yes, He did.” Mother Alden said as she brought her tea to her lips.
She'd said it so matter-of-factually, Clara's smile disappeared. Mother Alden wasn't joking. “Oh? What did he say?”
The older woman set her cup back on its saucer. “Plenty. First, He reminded me of times when I had tested His patience and He'd forgiven me. Then He said if I couldn't love Jim for Jim's sake, perhaps I could love Jim for His.” Mother Alden took another sip. “Whether Jim remembered me or not, he still mattered to me more than to anyone else. Forgetfulness does not excuse unfaithfulness.”
“So, how did you cope?” Clara's throat tightened as she remembered her father's descent into depression after her mother's death.
“I played a little game,” Mother Alden said. “I pretended it was God – not Jim – who'd spilled my flower vase, broken my favorite tea cup, and soiled the sheets after Elpis setting. Would I want to scream at God? No. That little game taught me to be gracious. I also learned how to ask for help. I would not have lasted one degree without my care team.”
“Care team?” Clara had never heard such a phrase since most people on Earth rarely needed care.
“Caring for an adult is too big a task to fall on one person's shoulders,” Mother Alden explained. “I had an army of assistants to help with Jim's needs. And my family and friends stepped up and helped me with my own struggles: my anger, my grief, and even my chores. I could not have done it alone. The irony is, I miss Jim more the longer he's gone.”
Clara could at least relate to that. She'd thought about her mother so much more since her passing than she ever had before it. She cleared her throat. “Loss is always difficult, especially when it happens unexpectedly. That's one nice thing about the Rite of Passing; it's supposed to take the guesswork out of … you know. But it's not a perfect system. I lost someone who passed before her time ...” Her throat tightened. She stared down at her empty blue and white teacup.
Mother Alden refilled it. “Who did you lose, if I may ask?”
Clara willed herself not to get emotional. “My mother.”
“You lost your mother?!” The older woman reached across the island and gave Clara's hand a brief squeeze. “My dear, I'm so sorry.”
The tender gesture surprised Clara, as did the hand's firm grip. Clara's swallowed hard. Her eyes misted briefly, but she still acknowledged a “Thank you.”
“Did she fall ill?” Mother Alden asked.
“No, there was a vehicular accident. She passed three years ahead of schedule and was only forty-five.”
“So young ...” Mother Alden swirled the tea in her tea cup.
Clara took a deep breath. “My father and sister took it pretty hard. And I did, too, at first. But time goes on, and I've had work and grad school to distract me. And this internship is like a welcome vacation. I'm fine now.”
Mother Alden pursed her lips. “My mother passed when I was fifty-six, and I still miss her.”
“Fifty-six?!” For the second time this conversation, Clara nearly upset her tea.
“Yes. Ages ago, now. Though I suppose you've never known anyone over forty-eight, have you?”
Clara shook her head. “I've never even met someone with white hair before ...” She looked down at her tea and crossed her ankles under her stool. “If … if it wouldn't be too rude to ask, how old are you?”
“Does it matter?” Mother Alden asked. “A soul's a soul, no matter how old. Am I not still myself regardless of my age?”
“It matters for my thesis,” Clara said. “To be honest, I had no idea there were colonies which did not observe the Rite of Passing.”
Mother Alden sipped her tea. “The Almitas clan has no such rite. Nor do the others, as far as I know. And in answer to your question, I am not eight and sixty.”
“You're sixty-seven?!”
“In the flesh.” Mother Alden upended her tea cup.
“And how …” Clara cleared her throat, “does it feel to be … um ...”
“Old?” Mother Alden looked amused. “In some ways, being old is not that different from being young – though I wouldn't mind trading these used joints for new ones.”
Clara knit her brows together. “How can you compare old age to childhood – besides when you're talking about senility?”
“Not everyone loses their memory with age.” Mother Alden grinned. “In fact, I knew a few ladies who are sharp as a whip even in their early hundreds.”
Clara stared, slack-jawed. “Hundreds?!”
“I believe Mother Grace is a hundred and ten soon. She's probably the oldest person living in Almitas. I'll introduce you to her and her posse later. You'll love them. But as to how children compare to the elderly,” she continued, “both have physical limitations. A child may want to keep pace with everyone else, stay up at all hours, and eat anything she likes. But she needs rest and outside help – even if she doesn't admit it.” Here, she smiled slightly. “Similarly, my body can't always accommodate my will as easily as it used to. But I have the memory of being capable while a child has no such experience. Bottom line – everyone has needs. We just happen to recognize this fact most at life's bookends.” Mother Alden lifted the cozy from the pot and poured more tea into Clara's cup.
Ding! Ding! Ding! A circular device hanging on the wall above the honeymoon photograph chimed. It looked like a larger version of Eden's protractor-like time telling device.
Mother Alden turned toward it. “Goodness me! I nearly forgot what degree it was. I'm supposed to take the heirloom ring and some of my sleep-enhancing tea to the Rutgers. They called earlier asking for some. You see, their eldest relative – Granna Kate – is unwell and often wakes in the middle of the night. This can make her rather cantankerous and ...”
Before Mother Alden could complete her explanation, another device rang loudly – this time from the living room.
“Hold on a degree,” Mother Alden said. She stood with a faint grunt and made her way into the living room to the fireplace. “This is Mother Alden,” she said to the gilded mirror hanging over the mantle piece.
The mirror's surface suddenly flashed to life, revealing the face of a portly gentleman with silvered hair and a worried expression. “Mother Alden! Am I glad to see you!”
“What's the matter, Tom?”
“It's Old Roan – my prized mare! She's gone into labor, but she's having an awful time. Been hard at it for over six degrees. I gave the other vets a call, but they were both detained. I could use your experience ...”
“I'm on my way, Tom! I'll be there in less than two degrees.”
“Oh, thank you Mother Alden! Bye!”
The screen darkened and became a mantle piece mirror once more. Clara watched as Mother Alden strode back into the kitchen and opened a cabinet in the far corner. She pulled out several syringes, a pair of long, green latex gloves, and a couple lengths of chain ending in small metal hooks shaped like clothes hangers.
Clara cringed. She felt woozy. She'd never had much tolerance for medical procedures of any kind and had a notorious aversion to the sight of blood. Even recalling a skinned knee or sliced finger was enough to make her want to lay down on the floor.
“I'm sorry to have to leave at a moment's notice,” Mother Alden said as she placed the items in a black medical bag, “but if I don't get to Tom's as soon as possible, he could lose his foal. Or his mare.” She headed for the back door.
“W-what would you like me to do?” Clara asked lamely, hoping against hope Mother Alden would not invite her to come along.
At that moment, the back door creaked open and Aaric limped in, his brown hair tousled in all directions and his face streaked with sweat and dirt. He took one look at Mother Alden's medical bag, then stepped aside and held the door open for her. “Can I help?”
“Actually, yes!” Mother Alden placed her bag on the floor, removed her ring, and tossed it to Aaric. “Take this to the Rutgers for me. They'll show you which field.”
Aaric caught the heirloom with both hands. “Samson is probably the fastest.”
“I'll go bareback!” Mother Alden was halfway to the barn before she spun around and added, “Don't forget the nighttime tonic for Granna Kate. And take Clara with you. I'm sure she'll find it educational.”
Aaric stood in the doorway and closed his calloused fingers around the ring. He glanced at Clara briefly, then sat on a bench near the back door to take off his dusty boots.
Moments later, Clara heard a cacophony of clucking and thundering hooves outside. She gazed out the window over the kitchen sink and caught sight of Mother Alden galloping away on a mammoth chestnut-colored stallion while the flustered black and white chickens scampered out of the way. Meanwhile, the ginger cat yawned and stretched before curling himself back into a ball atop the feed bin.
Clara smiled faintly. She'd always envied the unflappable nature of cats. “Does Mother Alden often help people with their livestock?” she asked.
Aaric wiped his boyish brown hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Mother Alden helps people with just about anything except machinery, carpentry, and plumbing. Those things, she happily delegates.” He stood to his socked feet – whether they were originally brown or just covered with dust, Clara could not tell. “I suppose we'll go to the Rutgers, then. But I don't think they'll begrudge me a couple degrees to freshen up. Can I get you anything first?” Aaric's sea-gray eyes met Clara's for a brief second before dropping toward the hardwood floor.
Clara took one look as his grubby hands and grimy shirt and shook her head. “No, thanks. I'm good. I need to start recording my notes, anyway.”
Aaric nodded, then headed down the hallway with his lop-sided step.
Once he shut a door behind him, Clara walked back to the island and withdrew the thin tablet from her binder, pressed a button, and made her first research recording: “Day one of official interstellar internship: hovercraft ride into Almitas rather dodgy with abrupt landing and incident with heavy UVA panels.” Clara stroked her bruised shin with her other foot before continuing. “People in Almitas use horses rather than hovercraft because the animals don't need expensive fuel. I've actually seen three such creatures today!
“My mentor is a sixty-seven year-old Almitian farmer, Eldership member, and heirloom keeper named Mother Alden. Talk about a novelty! White hair, wrinkled face, but surprisingly strong. Nice woman. Makes excellent tea. Seems religious, but otherwise quite cogent and committed to her community. She grew reticent when I asked about the original Elpis 7 colonists, yet spoke candidly about caring for her husband who passed away far beyond his time. Amazingly, the clans here do not observe the Rite of Passing. In Almitas, they have supportive social networks to help with aging clan members. That's something worth exploring. Possible thesis topic?
“Also met Mother Alden's grandson – that's the son of her son – Aaric Alden. Very polite, though a little stand-offish. Also has a limp because Almitas doesn't regulate birth condition. But somehow, he tames horses despite his physical challenges. Impressive, really. That's all for now.”
She stopped the recording and placed the tablet on the white marbled island counter top. Then remembered one last thing and started recording again. “Note to self,” she said. “Remember to record frequent video during internship. Because otherwise, no one will believe any of this back home.”
So what do you think?
What are some of the things you most appreciate(d) about your own grandparents? Also, out of curiosity, do you remember what you thought when you first saw a photo of your grandparent at a younger age (i.e. before he or she became a grandparent)? Share below.
I enjoyed the details of Mother Alden's home and chatting over tea. Very real!