Ephemeral: Chapter 11
The Rutgers' gray house proved to be more colorful upon closer inspection. Its wide wooden front porch, mustard-yellow door, teal-colored shutters, and flower-laden window boxes bid a bright and cheery welcome to the two visitors approaching on horseback.
Aaric dismounted and walked toward the white picket fence adorned with pink and yellow roses. Clara was about to follow suit when the front door opened and a child with blond pig tails and stained blue jeans torn at the knees flew down the steps. “Mr. Aaric!” she cried in delight.
Clara's heart nearly stopped when the girl – only about six or seven years old – leaped up into Aaric's arms without warning. He laughed, spun her around, and set her bare toes down onto the grass again. Clara exhaled; children had always made her nervous.
“What have you been up to, Sarah?” Aaric asked. “Nothing too naughty, I hope.”
“Well … not too naughty,” the girl admitted. Her unrepentant grin was missing two front teeth. “I put a pollyfrog in Mary's glass earlier.”
“Why did you do that?” Aaric crossed his arms.
“Because she forgot how neat they are! I wanted her to see one up close.”
“You wanted to hear her scream, didn't you?” Aaric said with a mischievous glint in his own eye.
“Maybe just a little.” The girl's smile widened.
“Have you been helping Granna Kate?” Aaric asked.
“Of course! We made flower chains, and I put one on her head and made believe we were sister queens. She's of course the older sister. But she doesn't tell me what to do all the time like Mary does.”
“Where is Mary?” Aaric asked as he looked past her toward the front door.
The child rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Working. And shopping. And when she gets back, she spends most of her time staring at the mirror making faces.”
“Faces?”
“You know – painting her eyes and lips when she could be playing outside. I don't want to stare at myself all the time. Boy, is she going to be mad she missed you!”
Aaric smiled. “Sarah, I want you to meet someone new. Sarah Rutger, this is Clara Milton, daughter of Benjamin and Elizabeth Ann Milton.”
Clara held up her hand in an awkward wave, hoping her perch on Nelly's back would keep the child from jumping at her.
Sarah looked up at Clara in surprise as if noticing her for the first time. Then she cocked her head and asked, “Are you Mr. Aaric's girlfriend?”
Clara's eyes widened. That was not a question she'd expected. Not that she didn't find the rugged Almitian intriguing, but she hadn't traveled across the galaxy to have a summer fling. At the same time, she didn't want to insult Aaric by saying no too quickly. “I … he ...” Clara faltered and hoped she wasn't blushing. “We're just friends. Mr. Alden is helping me write my master's thesis.” Even as she spoke the words, she realized her explanation would do little to either inform or convince the skeptical child.
Sarah turned toward Aaric. “What?”
“Miss Milton is here to study our people,” Aaric explained.
Sarah snorted. “Study people? That's silly! Why study people when she already is one?”
“Not all people live the same way,” Aaric said. “She's not from this planet. She's a student from Earth.”
“Student?!” Sarah looked horrified. “Do all people on Earth go to school when they're that old?”
Clara pursed her lips at the child's impertinence.
“If that's the way it is, I don't ever wanna go to Earth,” Sarah declared. “And before I forget, my dad said to come around back when you got here. He and Granna Kate are out by the picnic table.” She turned, pigtails flouncing and started skipping away without saying goodbye.
“Thanks, Sarah!” Aaric called. “Don't have too much fun!”
“They won't let me!” she yelled over her shoulder and disappeared down the dirt lane.
Clara slid off of Nelly's back onto the grass with a dull thud. Her legs still smarted, but she didn't feel quite as desperate for medical intervention now. “Interesting girl,” she said as she rubbed her hamstrings.
“She's a spunky one,” Aaric agreed. “Do you like children?”
As a species? Clara's stomach tensed at the very question. But she diluted her true feelings with diplomacy. “I like the idea of children. Society couldn't go on without them.” She reached into her saddlebag for her recording device.
“Oh.” Aaric dropped his eyes to the grass and turned from her. “The picnic table's this way.”
Clara followed Aaric's side-to-side gait as he rounded the corner of the house to the back yard. She felt vaguely uneasy – like she'd disappointed her host in some way. But what was most disconcerting was that this bothered her a little. Now seemed like a good time to change the subject. Clara cleared her throat. “By the way, who's Mary?”
Aaric spoke over his shoulder. “Sarah's older sister. We went to school together.”
“Oh?” Clara said with an insinuating tone. “So you two are just friends, then?”
Aaric's steps slowed. “Yes … for my part. Come on.”
The Rutgers' back yard stretched out for an acre before disappearing over the hill's edge. From her elevated vantage point, Clara could see several farms, fields, and a distant town. To the far north, she could barely make out Agilis' black columns in the distance and wondered what her teammates were doing. She hoped they were having a less-disorienting time than she.
An ancient tree with a trunk at least fifteen feet in diameter and thick boughs which could have stood upright as trees themselves shaded a corner of the yard. A simple rope swing dangled from one of its lower branches near a long picnic table hosting a white cloth and a blue vase of multi-colored flowers. Mr. Rutger sat at one end of the table close to a wheeled chair, reading a book aloud to its occupant.
Aaric strode in his see-sawing fashion across the grass, then turned to face Clara. “Um, just to prepare you, Granna Kate lives more in the past than in the present.”
Clara looked at Aaric quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, she remembers the past well, but the present poorly.”
“Okay ...” Clara nodded slowly, though she had no idea what to do with this information.
Aaric continued, “I wanted you to know beforehand because she often gets confused and repeats herself. Don't worry about it. It's only the natural progression of her decline.”
Clara's gait slowed as she recalled Mr. Rutger's earlier conversation and the mention of flying forks. “Is she … safe?”
“Oh, yes,” Aaric nodded. “Her family and friends care for her well. And her chair helps to prevent falls.”
“That's not quite what I meant ...” Clara mumbled.
Mr. Rutger looked up from his book and waved to them. “Hey there! Everything better in the field?”
“Yes, sir,” Aaric called.
“Good! Then I'll nip inside to get Mother Alden's remuneration.” He stood from the picnic table and set his book next to the blue pitcher of flowers. “You can visit with Granna Kate until I get back?” It was a request.
“No problem,” Aaric said.
Mr. Rutger addressed the person in the wheeled chair. “Granna Kate, I have to get something, but Aaric Alden is going to sit with you.”
The occupant grunted in acknowledgment.
As Mr. Rutger lumbered away toward the house, Aaric circumvented the picnic table to approach Granna Kate head on. When he was about ten feet away, he slowed and waved. “Hello, Granna Kate! It's Aaric Alden, son of Thomas and Theresa Alden.”
Clara also rounded the picnic table to face the the woman then stood, petrified. Her jaw dropped. Her stomach seized. She nearly dropped her tablet. Clara paled as if she saw a ghost; to her mind, this was not far from the truth. Never had she ever seen anything so disturbing as the wrinkled creature now hunching over a pile of knitting. The woman – if still a woman it was – looked like the human equivalent of a crumpled paper bag. Her skin sagged. Her frame sagged. Her clothes sagged. Clara could see her collar bone jutting from beneath her spectacles hanging on a beaded necklace. Impossibly thin legs all spider-webbed with purple and blue veins stuck out from white Capri pants. The only signs of vitality were the fresh flower chain crowning her snow-white hair, and her clicking knitting needles.
Clara sat down at the far end of the picnic table to keep her knees from buckling.
Granna Kate slowly lifted her faded blue eyes from her knitting project and squinted. She raised her gnarled fingers (which pointed any direction but straight) to her face near her crow's feet. “Where … where are they?” she asked as she patted her head, found the daisy chain, and discarded it. She furrowed her brow.
“Where are what?” Aaric asked.
“They!” Granna Kate demanded.
“Do they help you see?” he offered.
“Yes!” she brightened.
Aaric pointed to the maroon-rimmed spectacles hanging from the blue and yellow beaded necklace. “There they are.”
The old woman looked down at her chest. “Oh!” She lifted the glasses to her nose, saw Aaric through the thick lenses, and smiled. Her yellowed teeth made Clara cringe. “Hello, Thomas! My, you've grown up!”
“Thank you,” Aaric said, not seeming to mind that she'd gotten his name wrong. He walked toward the old woman, then knelt by her chair and held his hand out, palm upward.
She accepted his hand and smiled.
“What are you making, Granna Kate?” Aaric pointed to a small pile of four-inch interwoven disks resting atop the white table cloth.
Granna Kate grabbed a disk and held up her work proudly. “These are scrubbies for dish-washing. They're really good at getting tough bits out of pots. My grandmother taught me how to make them.”
“They look very nice,” Aaric said.
“I know.” Again, the proud smile. “Are you married, Thomas?”
“Yes,” Aaric said.
Clara blinked. What?!
“You know, I was thinking how you so loved teaching all those years. I fell in love with Teresa who sat across from me in your fifth grade class.”
Clara looked from Aaric to Granna Kate and back again. Is he pretending to be his father?
Granna Kate smiled. “I love to see kids love learning. That's the sign of a quality education – when they still want to learn things even after school.”
“You are very wise, Granna Kate.”
“Not always ...” The old woman's brow furrowed and her eyes clouded.
“You are loved,” Aaric said quietly, squeezing her hand.
Granna Kate reached out a warped forefinger and stroked Aaric's bristly cheek. “My, Thomas! You need to shave. No woman will kiss you if you're prickly as a pike!”
Aaric grinned. “Perhaps not.”
“Are you married, Thomas?”
Clara let out an impatient huff. How can anyone talk rationally to someone who speaks in circles?
Granna Kate heard the small noise and noticed Clara for the first time. “Are you Thomas' wife?”
Clara looked at Aaric with furrowed brow as if to say, “How am I supposed to answer that?!”
Aaric turned to the old woman and stroked her hand. “She is a friend, Granna Kate.”
“Who is?”
“My friend, over there.”
Granna Kate looked at Clara – again as if for the first time. “Are you Thomas' wife?” she repeated.
“No, ma'am,” Clara said resolutely. Aaric might pretend to be someone he wasn't. But Clara was here to research, not to play games. “I'm here to … complete my homework.”
“Homework?” Granna Kate knit her eyebrows in confusion. “But I finished all my homework! Why can't I go, Papa?” She looked off in the distance, seeing through an invisible veil. “I did the work! I should get to go to the dance!” She pounded her gnarled hand on her armrest for emphasis.
“What dance?” Aaric asked.
“At school. Papa doesn't want me to go because he doesn't like that boy.”
“What boy?”
“The one I married.” Granna Kate burst out laughing. Then, as if a shadow passed over her, her merriment turned to sadness. Her face scrunched up and her eyes grew glassy. “We haven't danced in so, so long. He isn't here anymore.”
Aaric handed Granna Kate a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. “He loved you. And you loved him,” he said quietly.
Granna Kate nodded, sniffed, and removed her fogging glasses. “You are a good boy, Thomas.” She patted Aaric's hand, then took the handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I will see him soon, though. He's more alive than I am.”
“I know.”
Clara looked longingly back toward the gray house. She could not imagine what was taking Mr. Rutger so long to return. Then it struck her that this was a prime sociological opportunity! She grabbed her tablet and gestured to Aaric. “Would it be okay if I filmed her for my study?” she asked.
Aaric frowned. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”
Granna Kate turned her head in Clara's direction and squinted. “Who's there?”
Clara rose cautiously from her seat and placed her hand on her chest. “My name is Clara Milton ...”
“Wait!” The old woman put her hands on her face. “Where … where are they?” she asked.
“Your glasses are hanging around your neck,” Aaric said quietly.
“Oh!” Granna Kate put on her glasses and started as she saw Clara and Aaric as if for the first time. “Thomas! My, you've grown up! Is this your wife?”
Clara felt her patience wearing thin. “No, I am a researcher from Earth. I was wondering if I could record you for my ...”
“Earth! I know Earth!” Granna Kate clapped her hands. “It's the third planet in the solar system about 93 million miles from its star in the Milky Way Galaxy. It has seven large land masses called continents and five salt water oceans: the Atlantic, Pacific, Indian, Southern, and Arctic.”
Clara gazed at the old woman in disbelief, then met eyes with Aaric. “How did she do that?!”
Aaric turned back to Granna Kate. “You loved teaching history and geography, didn't you?”
“Oh yes! Love history,” Granna Kate said.
History? Clara suddenly got an idea. “I am interested in history, too! Granna Kate, could you tell me how Elpis 7 grew to have so many people?”
Granna Kate grinned. “Same way Earth did, I expect.”
Aaric coughed to disguise a laugh.
Clara changed tactics. “If you love history, then you know why the Silva and Silex tribes don't get along, right?”
Granna Kate's smile vanished. She looked at her aged hands and said nothing. “They don't like us to talk about it,” she said quietly.
Clara's heart quickened. “Why not?”
“It's not a nice story ...”
“What's not a nice story?”
Granna Kate looked at Clara and opened her mouth to speak when Aaric interrupted. “Granna Kate, could my friend take your picture?”
Clara glanced at Aaric, incredulous. Why did he do that?
Granna Kate brightened. “My picture?”
“Yes,” Aaric said. “You could be famous.”
“I already am!” Again, she bared her yellowed teeth.
It made Clara shudder.
“Clara … your device?”
“Oh, yes.” Clara fumbled with the screen, but managed to hit the record button and get some footage of Granna Kate striking a pose.
Just then, Clara heard a faint buzzing sound behind her. Granna Kate's faded eyes widened with fright. “Oh no! Look! Look!” She pointed above Clara's head.
“Get down!” Aaric said.
Clara dropped to the grass, turned to look over her shoulder, and saw a black machine hovering about thirty yards away. The whirring intruder looked less than two feet across. She was amazed the old woman had noticed it from such a distance.
Aaric reached down and grabbed a stone. He wound up like a baseball player of old, took aim, and let the rock fly.
To Clara's utter amazement, the man hit the drone square on! It burst into a puff of sparks, then fell to the ground with hardly a thud.
Clara stared at Aaric in wonder; she'd never dreamed that a limping man could be so powerfully precise.
Aaric turned back to Granna Kate. “It's gone now, Granna. You don't have to worry about it spying anymore.”
Granna Kate looked at the vacant sky, then back at Aaric. “Thomas! My, you've grown up!” She brought her hand up to her mouth to cover a yawn. All this excitement was taking its toll.
Clara rose shakily to her feet. “What was that? A drone, you said?”
“From Agilis.” Aaric frowned. “They've been crossing into our airspace more frequently of late – despite protests from our Eldership.”
“Why?”
Aaric shook his head. “We don't know ...”
Granna Kate snored, her head tilted to one side of the chair.
Aaric smiled at her. “Poor thing. I think we've exhausted her.”
“Should we go back to the horses?”
Aaric checked his arm band. “We should go soon, but Mr. Rutger is still getting Mother Alden's payment. I don't want to leave Granna Kate by herself.”
As if on cue, the back door to the house opened. But instead of the portly Mr. Rutger, a shapely young woman wearing a form-fitting pink top and skin-tight black pants emerged from the back door. Her abundant brown hair had been twirled into a loose bun, and her gold necklace and bracelet set the outfit off perfectly. “Aaric Alden! I just got home! What on Elpis are you doing here?” she smiled as she sauntered toward the picnic table.
Aaric slowly backed in front of Clara. “Hello, Mary. How are you?”
“Perfectly well, as you can see,” she smirked. “Sarah told me you'd come. But surely you didn't ride thirty-two furlongs just to visit Granna Kate, did you?”
Granna Kate snored again as Aaric stepped aside to introduce Clara. “Mary Rutger, this is Clara Milton, daughter of Benjamin and Elizabeth Ann Milton. Clara, this is Mary.”
Clara bowed her head slightly toward the young woman whose figure, frame, and face made Clara feel about as elegant as a hobbit. “Hello, Ms. Rutger.”
Mary's eyes flew from Clara to Aaric and back again, then narrowed. “Hi,” she said flatly.
It only took that one syllable for Clara to know Mary did not like her. But before there could be any further interchange, Mr. Rutger also emerged from the back door carrying a tray with tall, icy drinks.
“Clara is visiting from Earth for an interstellar internship,” Aaric explained.
“Oh!” Mary said, her tone clearly betraying her happiness at such news. “And how long will you be on Elpis 7?” she asked Clara through the thin veneer of polite interest.
“Only forty days.”
“Days?” Mary looked confused.
“She means Elpis risings-to-settings,” Aaric clarified.
The young woman's mouth twitched at a corner. “Oh.”
Mr. Rutger set his drinks tray on the picnic table. “I brought you Mother Alden's payment. It's in the envelope. But I thought you might like something cold to drink after such a busy rising.” He handed Aaric and Clara a glass, then put his hand on Granna Kate's shoulder. “Granna Kate, wake up!” Mr. Rutger said gently.
The old woman's eyes fluttered open with a start. She rubbed her eyes.
“Why don't you have something cold to drink, Granna?” he asked, holding out the glass. “Elpis is getting high, and it's warm out here.”
“No,” Granna said, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “Don't want to. Looks too cold!”
“But you haven't had anything to drink for several degrees, and Ruth will be here soon. And Farmer Stephen wants to take you out for a drive in his new wagon. To the school. You love the school! Please, just one sip.”
“Come on, Granna. Don't be difficult!” Mary said as she took the glass from Mr. Rutger's hand and thrust it under Granna Kate's nose. Granna swatted and knocked it from Mary's hand. It spilled all over Granna's white Capris. She howled!
Clara gasped. She took out her tablet and hit the recording button as the old woman started to yell, “I'm wet! I'm wet! Oh! I'm freezing! I hate it! I hate it!”
Mary huffed and looked at her father. “I'll get a towel,” she said with an air of resignation as she turned to go back to the house.
Clara soon felt she'd acquired enough research for one day and stopped her recording; she wanted to leave the awkward scene post haste. She pocketed her tablet and stared at the white tablecloth to avoid eye contact with either the old woman or the men trying to calm her. Tablecloth! Clara suddenly thought. I bet that one's almost as thick as a towel. “Could we use the tablecloth to dry her?” she yelled to be heard over Granna Kate's wails.
“If she'll let us,” Mr. Rutger nodded. He took up the tray and put it on the picnic table bench.
Clara grabbed the blue pitcher of flowers. Her nose wrinkled at a sudden reeking smell. She sniffed at the blooms, but they smelled sweet. Had she accidentally gotten cattle dung or dog poop on her when she'd hit the deck earlier? She glanced down at her black boots and cuffed-up blue jeans. Nothing. Then, sniffing like a hound, she searched out the offending party. Granna Kate grunted in her seat; her white Capris had turned brown between her legs.
This was too much – even for a sociologically-objective research intern! It's absolutely indecent! The humiliating thought of an adult not controlling her bowel movements so revolted Clara, she accidentally dropped the flower pitcher onto the ground. There was the sickening sound of splitting ceramic.
Momentarily stunned, Granna Kate stopped yelling as Mr. Rutger and Aaric spun in Clara's direction. The beautiful blue pitcher lay in large shards at her feet, along with wet, drooping flowers. Everyone froze.
“I'm … I'm so sorry!” Clara stammered. “Please! I can pay for it!” She unfastened her stone brooch from her black blouse and held it out to Mr. Rutger.
“It's alright,” Mr. Rutger said when he recovered. He waved the brooch aside. “The pitcher came free.”
But Granna Kate was livid. Her round, wrinkled face contorted into an expression of rage as she clenched her yellowed teeth, glared at Clara, and extended a claw-like finger. “You! You wicked thing! You broke my Mama's favorite pitcher! How could you be so careless?! I'll never find another like it!” Her eyes filled with angry tears. “You thoughtless, thoughtless girl!” Then she covered her face with her hands and cried as if lamenting a death.
The blood drained from Clara's face. Her eyes stung at the rebuke – particularly since the item in question had belonged to Granna Kate's mother. “I'm … I'm … so sorry,” she said again. She needed to get out of there. “I have to go,” she blurted as Mr. Rutger tried to say something reassuring to Granna Kate. Clara walked away swiftly before she could do any more damage.
“Clara, wait!” Aaric called after her.
“I can't!” she said, raising a protesting hand. Clara focused on the thick grass in front of her and walked straight past Mary coming out of the house with a yellow towel.
#
When Clara reached the Rutgers' gray house, she put a hand on the cool siding and took a few deep breaths to steady her racing pulse. Everything she knew seemed to be contrary here on Elpis 7, and she needed something solid to lean on. A society which ignored the Rite of Passing? Plants that flew out of the ground? An ancient woman who flitted between the past and present? It was all madness. Madness! Clara started to fear for her own grasp on reality. I can't absorb everything this fast! She exhaled slowly. It's absolutely unreasonable!
After collecting herself somewhat, Clara rounded the corner of the house toward the grazing horses, intending to wait there for Aaric. But little Sarah Rutger opened the front gate and blocked her path of escape.
Sarah looked surprised to see Clara standing by herself. “Leaving already? Without Mr. Aaric?” She rubbed her nose.
Feeling cornered, Clara confessed, “He's helping with Granna Kate. I think I upset her.”
“That's no big deal!” Sarah shrugged. “Lots of stuff upsets her lately, but she won't hold it against you. In two degrees, she won't even remember. Mom says we need to give her grace.”
Clara suddenly squinted; the way Sarah grinned seemed off to her somehow. She studied the young girl. Same blond pigtails. Same grass-stained jeans with holes in the knees … but something was definitely different about her face, though Clara couldn't quite put her finger on it. Then it occurred to her that an Almitian child might be willing to talk more readily than the Almitian adults. Clara assumed a smile and sweetened her tone. “Sarah, can I ask you some questions about Elpis 7 for my research?”
The little girl's radiant face clouded. “I've already finished school this Elpis rising ...”
“Just a couple questions,” Clara said quickly. “You can be my teacher.”
“Okay ...” Sarah said.
“Why are there so many people here when only forty colonists settled the planet?”
Sarah frowned. “That's a silly thing to ask. We were born here, of course.”
Clara raised an eyebrow. “Thousands of people born in only nine months?”
“I don't know what 'months' means ...” Sarah's eyes followed a yellow four-winged insect that fluttered past her face and landed on a nearby rose.
Clara didn't want to lose her audience. “Do you know why the Silva people separated from the other two tribes?”
“Nope.” Sarah said as she slowly reached out a finger to coax the insect from its flower. “Don't learn that till next grade.”
Dang it! Clara frowned. This isn't going as well as I'd hoped. But then she thought of something Sarah might be able to answer. “One final question,” she said, casting a glance behind her shoulder. She could see Aaric, Mr. Rutger, and Mary standing around Granna Kate back in the yard. “Don't you think things would be easier for your family if Granna Kate could stop … um ... suffering?”
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked. “There's no cure for getting old.” She took the insect from the flower and placed it on her freckled nose.
Clara found the flapping bug on the girl's face positively distracting, but she tried to explain. “I mean if Granna Kate passed sooner than later, wouldn't that be better for everyone?”
“Passed?” Sarah's bright blue eyes doubled in size. “You mean like if she died?!” Startled by the girl's sudden movement, the insect flew away for a quieter perch.
Clara nodded. “If she can't be cured anyway, wouldn't that be more convenient?”
The wiry child crossed her arms over her chest. “Mom says I'm not always convenient, but she loves me anyway. And I still love Granna Kate. Besides,” Sarah continued, “if God chose Granna Kate's birth-date, shouldn't He choose her death-date, too?”
Clara had not anticipated such an argument from such a young child. She felt both impressed and flummoxed at once. Why do children always ask impossible questions?
When Clara didn't immediately respond, Sarah put her hands on her hips and asked, “People on Earth believe in God, don't they?”
Again, Clara felt an uptick in her blood pressure. This conversation was becoming almost as uncomfortable as her last one with Granna Kate. “Some may ...” she admitted, “but most prefer to stick with science. You know, things they can test and see.”
“Ha!” Sarah huffed. “Have they never seen the stars? Or a rainbow? Or a new baby?”
Clara didn't know what to say, so she dropped her eyes and studied her black boots.
“Huh,” Sarah remarked, shaking her head. “People on Earth must be so lonely ...”
So what do you think?
I know at least a couple of you have had experience caring for someone in the later stages of a debilitating disease. How did you connect meaningfully? How did you cope when things grew difficult? Any wisdom would be appreciated in the comments below.
More questions to think about!