Real Girls Don't Rust

by Jennifer Carson

  Aarushi buried her face against Roshan’s chest. He turned the elephanton away from the fiery wreck and headed back toward the house.

  Aarushi’s father, followed by Nadir and the plantation staff, hurried to meet them.

  “The two deckhands fled into the woods.” Roshan pointed to the west.

  “Don Antonio?” her father asked.

  Roshan shook his head.

  Aarushi’s father took charge, shouting orders. Men were dispatched to fetch water, put out the fires, and pursue the fugitives.

  High atop the elephanton, Roshan and Aarushi rode above the chaotic activity surrounding them. Roshan cupped Aarushi’s chin and tilted her head up to look at him. Gently, he kissed the tears from her cheeks. Her lips sought his and kissed him back. Surprised at first, he returned her passion, pulling her closer.

  Reluctantly he climbed off the elephanton and lifted Aarushi down. She clung to him, his protective arm around her. Aarushi’s father was watching them. Roshan stepped forward and faced him squarely.

  “Sahib Sengupta, I should have spoken with you months ago. I love Aarushi and wish to marry her. Will you give us your blessing?”

  The old man embraced him. “Roshan, I have been an old fool blinded by ambition. You have saved both my life and my daughter’s. A father could not wish for a better man to be his son-in-law.”

  Roshan turned to Aarushi and took her hand. “Aarushi, first ray of the sun, will you give me your dangerous heart to cherish and protect for all of my days?”

  Aarushi whispered. “Roshan, it has always been yours.”

  Author Acknowledgement

  I’d like to thank the Cliff House Writers Retreat where this story was born; Angie and Laura for late night brainstorming; and Gail for opening her home to us every year, keeping me on task, and being the best friend a writer could have. I’d also like to thank David for the time to write and a shoulder to lean on through all the ups and downs. Finally, I’d like to thank my editor Jennifer for her support and for never giving up on this project.

  Seeing Red

  Rachel Schieffelbein

  She hands me the basket, filled with cookies, fruit, and freshly baked bread. They smell wonderful. She has been baking all morning, filling our little house with warm kitchen smells like cinnamon, chocolate, and baked apples.

  “Be careful, sweetheart. Stay on the trail,” she warns me again.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, and I see her eyebrows knit together. “Mother,” I quickly correct myself and she smiles. She pats my cheek, but says nothing. I’ve been with Rebecca for two years now, but the change is still a struggle. I was programmed to call her “ma’am;” she understands that switching to “Mother” is difficult for me and never chastises me when I forget. But I know it hurts her, and I don’t want to hurt her.

  “Grandmother will be so happy to see you. I wish I could come, too, but I have so much work to do here.” She frowns as she looks back over her shoulder.

  There is always so much work to do here; chores keep us busy from sun up to sun down. It is the reason her husband, Matthew, bought me for her in the first place. They had not been able to have children, so he thought she would appreciate the extra help around the house and small farm. I still do not understand how he scraped up the money to do it.

  Of course, Matthew had not expected Rebecca to fall in love with me, to think of me as a daughter instead of a mechanical maid.

  He left six months ago.

  We manage to run things, just the two of us, but I know it is exhausting for her. When the day ends she collapses into her bed. There are so many more grey hairs on her head, and lines on her face, than there were two years ago. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks she made the wrong choice.

  Sometimes I think she made the wrong choice.

  We walk together out of the house. A dark cloud slides in front of the sun and she squints up at it.

  “It might rain,” she says. “I’m going to get your cloak. Wait here.” She looks at me and strokes my hair, a beautiful wig made from real human hair. Even I enjoy the soft, dark brown curls. The same chestnut shade as hers. She likes that. It was one of the first things she said when Matthew presented me to her. “Look at her dark hair. She looks like she really could be my daughter.”

  Rebecca disappears into the house for a moment and comes back with my cloak hung over her arm.

  “Here you go, dear,” she says as she ties the red satin cloak around my shoulders. I look at her tired grey eyes and the small wrinkles that form around them when she smiles. “I love you,” she says softly.

  “Thank you,” I say, wanting to say “I love you, too.” But I cannot. I know love is not something I am supposed to feel, and I cannot force the words out. I wish I could. I know I feel something for this woman who calls me her daughter, but to call it love seems presumptuous of me. I cannot really understand human emotions and I do not think I should pretend that I do.

  I would do almost anything to please Rebecca, but I’m not capable of loving her.

  Without a word, she pulls the cloak, which she made from an old dress, over an exposed joint in my elbow. But I know what she’s thinking. She worries about it rusting. She has been saving up what she can so we can get it repaired, but we know it will take a while. I do not mind.

  She kisses my cheek and I turn and walk into the woods.

  After a while, the cloud moves on and the sun shines back down through the trees. Little pink, yellow, and purple flowers line the trail. Their light scent makes the woods smell sweeter than usual. I am almost tempted to pick some for her. I can imagine her face lighting up when she sees them. But I obey her rule. Stay on the trail.

  I see a large, dark shape move to my left. I turn quickly, but whatever it was is quicker than me. I peer between the trees, but see nothing more. I keep walking toward Grandmother’s house.

  Grandmother is a kind old woman who welcomed me as her daughter’s daughter without question. She is the one who named me Rose, because I was as pretty as one. Or so she said.

  It seemed strange to compare a metal girl, hard and cold, to a rose, soft and sweet. But they smiled and were quite pleased with their choice of name, and it certainly made no difference to me.

  Lately Grandmother has not been feeling well, which is why Rebecca has sent me to bring her this basket of food. She did not want Grandmother to worry about cooking her own supper. Plus, she believed my company would “do her some good.” I am not sure how my presence could possibly make her feel better, but I am happy to bring her the meal.

  I am lost in my thoughts, hoping that Grandmother is not too sick, when the path turns around a large oak tree and I gasp. Sitting in the middle of the path is a huge, grey-brown wolf. His tongue is hanging out of his mouth, making him look like he’s laughing at me. The rancid smell of his breath, combined with the musky scent of his fur, is almost enough to make me turn away.

  Many people believe I have no sense of smell or taste. And while this may be true of some of my kind, I am very well made. My senses are actually much keener than the average human’s. More often than not, it is a huge inconvenience.

  I have never encountered a wolf before, although Rebecca has read me tales of wolves and pigs, and little boys who call for help when it is not needed. I have heard that there are wolves in this wood, but this is the first one I have encountered. I do not know what to do, so I stand there, frozen, wishing someone could give me some instruction.

  “What is a pretty young girl like you doing in the woods, all alone?” it asks me in a low voice.

  “I am taking a basket of food to my grandmother,” I answer without thinking, as I am programmed to do. As soon as the words are out of my mouth I question the wisdom of telling him anything.

  “How sweet,” he says with a sneer. “And where does your grandmother live?”

  This time I pause, squeezing my hands into fists then relaxing them again. I have learned to override my programming, and usually do so with ease, but
he has startled me. “She lives down the west path, near the river,” I lie.

  “Well, darling, enjoy your visit,” he says and licks his muzzle, his almostred tongue wetting the fur around his mouth. He does not move. The path is narrow here, with dark trees growing up on either side. There is little room to pass him. He is challenging me.

  After a moment I stride past, my arm brushing his coarse fur. I do not need to fear him. He could not really hurt me.

  When Matthew cut open my elbow, slicing through my protective skin, it did not hurt. His hunting knife was nowhere near strong enough to slice through the metal below. It was the words he said to Rebecca that did the real damage that day.

  They had been fighting again. About me. He had grown to hate the way she treated me, like I was human. Pretending I was her daughter. Expecting him to pretend I was his daughter too.

  “She is nothing more than a machine…a tool,” he’d screamed. He was fed up. “Jealous” was the word she used. I was there to work, he ranted, not to be babied.

  “She doesn’t love you back, you know,” he said, sneering at her. “And she never will.” He grabbed my wrist and pulled me up from where I sat, looking down and trying to be inconspicuous. “She doesn’t feel anything!” A point he illustrated by slicing into my skin, cutting down to the silver joint of my elbow.

  She threw a pan at his head.

  He walked out, slamming the door so hard it broke. We have not seen him since. And we have never spoken of what happened that day.

  If this wolf were to bite into me, I might have another spot where I have to worry about rust, but he would have a few broken teeth. I would keep working, despite the rust. But a wolf without teeth is as useless as an ax with no edge.

  I do not look back, but I can tell the wolf’s golden eyes are watching me. I turn down the west path. After a second I hear a twig snap and leaves rustling behind me. I turn around, to make sure he is gone, and then I veer off the path and into the woods. I need to cut back to the east path to get to Grandmother’s house.

  It is warm now, with the sun overhead, but I hold my cloak tight against me. I do not want to risk it getting caught on a branch and tearing. Rebecca made it for me the night her husband left.

  She had felt so bad about the cut on my arm she had cried and held me to her. I did my best to assure her that it did not cause me any pain. She had touched the exposed elbow joint and whispered the word “rust.” Then she had gone into a frenzy, saying she needed to make something to protect me from any more harm.

  She had pulled the red dress out of a trunk I had never even seen before. I remember the way she stroked the fabric. I did not ask her when she had worn the gown, but I could tell it was special. She held it to her cheek for a second, closing her eyes. I tried to picture what she was seeing. Perhaps a dance, filled with people telling her how lovely she was. I wondered if she had worn it when she met the man who had just walked out.

  She opened her eyes, grabbed the shears, and cut into the dress to make my cloak. She sewed while I repaired the door.

  She smiled, though her eyes were wet, when she gave it to me, tying it over my shoulders. She said that red suited me, that I really looked like a rose now.

  I know it must have meant a lot to her as a dress, but she seemed happy to see me in it as a cloak. It didn’t make sense, but when she gave it to me I felt…warm, deep inside. If only for a second. The cloak is my most prized possession, because she made it just for me.

  I walk carefully through the woods. I am near the east path when I see Jack. I slip behind a tree, hoping he has not seen me. I peer around the trunk and watch him work.

  Jack, the woodcutter’s son, is cutting up a fallen log. His forehead gleams with sweat as his muscled arms swing an ax into the air and then deep into the log. His shirt is stretched across his broad shoulders, and I can see every muscle in his back moving and working.

  Again, I find myself feeling things I am not programmed to feel. My legs seem to weaken and it’s as if tiny bubbles are bursting inside of me.

  I remember the first day I met him. I had only arrived at my new owners’ home the day before. We were walking home from Grandmother’s house. Rebecca had been thrilled to introduce me to her. Matthew had laughed at her good-naturedly but stayed home to muck out the stalls. He had thought she simply wanted to show off her new toy.

  It was the day Rebecca and Grandmother named me.

  We ran into Jack and his father on our way back. They exchanged pleasantries, and then Rebecca introduced me to them.

  “This is Rose,” she said, with a bright smile on her face. “Isn’t she lovely?”

  Jack had stared at me with wide eyes.

  “Oh yes, Matthew told me he was going to buy you one of those things,” Jack’s father said, looking me up and down. “You’ll have to tell me how it works out.” He reached out and poked my upper arm, clearly unsure of what to make of me. Rebecca’s face had gone red and her mouth made a firm line.

  “I’m sure she’ll work out just fine. Let’s go, Rose,” she said, her face tense and her back straight. She walked off and I started to follow her. Then I heard Jack’s voice behind me.

  “It was nice meeting you, Rose.” I glanced over my shoulder and he smiled at me with perfectly white teeth and full pink lips. His eyes sparkled like the sun dancing on the dew. I smiled back.

  “Come on, Rose,” Rebecca said, and I hurried after her. I smiled the whole way home. Ever since then, I have always been happy to run into Jack. It is only recently that I have become anxious around him.

  I swallow hard and step out from behind the tree. I should not be apprehensive to say hello to him, and I am determined to pretend that I am not.

  He stops to wipe his tan arm across his forehead and spots me. “Hello Rose! How are you this morning?” he calls to me, his perfect smile lighting up his face.

  “I’m well, Jack. How are you?” Something inside of me flutters.

  “I’m wonderful.”

  Yes you are. The thought jumps into my head unbidden and I am thankful I am not human, for surely I would be blushing.

  “Does your mother know you are out wandering in the woods?” He raises his eyebrows at me, but he is smiling, teasing me. He knows how protective Rebecca is.

  “She sent me to visit Grandmother. I had to veer off the trail,” I explain to him. “There was a wolf on the path.”

  His face darkens and he steps closer to me. I take a deep breath.

  “A wolf?” His lips curve downward and he reaches out and touches my arm. “Are you all right?” His hand is rough and he smells like pine needles and hard work.

  I wonder how I must feel to him. I know my protective skin is soft and smooth, but it is not warm. Not like a real girl’s.

  “I am fine,” I say, looking away from his blue eyes. “I told him I was going down the west path, and then I snuck back this way.”

  He laughs, a warm, booming sort of laugh. “How very clever. It was nice seeing you again, Rose. Enjoy your visit with your grandma.”

  I manage to match his gaze and squeeze out the words, “It was nice seeing you, too.” Then I leave him, hurrying to Grandmother’s cottage.

  I focus on the path ahead, trying to ignore all the things shifting and swirling inside of me. Then I spot her little white cottage with the pretty green ivy growing up the side. I can smell the roses from her garden and I smile, quickening my pace. I enjoy visiting Grandmother.

  I reach out to unlatch the gate, but realize it is already undone. I step onto the stone path leading up to her house and glance around her garden. Something is not quite right.

  As soon as I open the front door of her home, I know what it is. The musky smell of the wolf is like a slap in the face. I drop the basket and run to Grandmother’s bedroom. There is still the faint scent of her gardenia perfume.

  “Hello again, dearie,” the wolf says with a grin. He stands on all fours in the middle of her soft, woven rug. He looks huge in the small room.
The hair on his back is standing on end and his teeth are exposed in what looks like a smug grin.

  “What have you done with Grandmother?” I ask. The thought of her being torn apart and eaten by this beast is more than I can bear.

  “Don’t worry about her,” he says slowly. “Worry about you.” He stalks closer to me, his heavy paws padding across her polished wood floor. “I prefer my meat fresh and tender.”

  He leaps, and all I can think is that he thinks I’m human.

  I jump to the left and he crashes into the floor. I run out of the room. Grandmother must still be here somewhere. When he realizes he cannot eat me, he may decide to make a meal out of her after all. I need to do something. I just don’t know what.

  The wolf shakes himself off, dirty fur shedding and floating to the floor. His tongue rolls out of his mouth again and he laughs. “Go ahead and run, little girl. A good chase makes it that much more fun for me.”

  All I know for sure is that I need to get him out of here, so I run for the front door. I can hear him running behind me, his sharp claws making scraping sounds against the hardwood floor. I can smell his musky scent getting stronger. Then the footfalls stop. I feel a small gust of air on my back before he slams into me. A scream escapes my lips as I fall forward.

  My face hits the stepping stones as we plunge through the door. It is hard, and the stones are rough on my cheek. The wolf is heavy on my back, his claws pressing into me. Drool slimes the back of my neck.

  I feel his hot breath as he opens his mouth wider. I tense up, waiting for his teeth to hit metal.

  But instead of biting down, the wolf lets out a low howl. He slumps to the ground next to me. Blood spurts from his haunches. Before I can figure out what has happened, a hand grabs me and pulls me up.

  I stumble, and start to run with Jack. His hand is holding mine, pulling me into the woods. His other hand is holding his ax, bright red blood on its silver edge.

  “Jack!” I holler at him, confused. “What are you doing?” I look back over my shoulder and see the wolf is back on his feet, loping toward us. He is favoring his left hind leg, but it will not take him long to catch up with us.