by Rose Lerner
She let her head hang again.
The crowd, smaller now but still glad of a show after the revival, made sympathetic noises. People spoke in low tones, disapproval blended in various proportions with indulgence. She should have gotten the room first and left the money at the hotel. She shouldn’t have been traveling alone in the first place. What do you expect from a young girl? This crowd wasn’t too ready to credit women with sense in general, let alone young ones.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sam watched the reverend.
Third street : one card down, one card up, one card coming.
“Well then, I’ll tell you,” Richards said. He put his hand on her shoulder again, just enough to be avuncular without edging toward lecherous, plenty visible to any reporters in the crowd. “You’ll come along and stay with us.”
“I—no, I couldn’t put you out.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” said Mrs. Richards, after a look at her husband.
“I don’t approve of young women staying in hotels, in any case,” said the reverend. “I’m sure your father would be much easier in mind to know you were in the care of respectable people.”
Sam sniffled. “Well. Yes, he would. But—”
“Now, I won’t hear of any more objections,” said Richards. “You’ll be our guest for the week. It’s no more than my duty. Besides, this way you can tell me more about your father. We can pray together for him.”
“Oh, he’ll be glad to hear that,” Sam said, as sincere as she could sound.
At least her relief was genuine.
* * *
An oak tree by the church, shorter and more sprawling than those Talathan remembered from his last visits, provided a good spot for him to hide in bird form. There he watched as Sam followed the minister and his wife out of the tent and into a long, low, silver automobile. When they pulled away, he took to the air and followed, minding little if those below him marked the oddness of an owl in daytime.
His vision in the sunlight wasn’t what he could have wished, but it sufficed. The automobile never left his sight; he kept up easily as it wound along the road from the church and up into the hills, then parked in front of a large white clay house with red tiles on the roof. There were plenty of trees in the gardens, and plenty of windows near them.
Talathan looked for the kitchen. Sam was with the Richardses, and Talathan didn’t doubt that she’d manage them smoothly. He would watch the servants.
There were surprisingly few. His obligations—and amusements—had brought him into contact with a good number of wealthy men over the years, and the ranks of those who served them had inevitably been vast. Richards’s automobile was sleek and new, nothing like the rusty vehicles Talathan had seen on the streets; his house was large, high-ceilinged, full of silver, shining wood, and thick carpets. Yet to serve him and his household he had only an older woman to cook and two younger maids.
Mechanisms did a great deal. In his absence, the world of men had learned a new form of magic, more practical than any they’d been able to master before. Talathan watched and marveled, even as he marked how the women spoke and what they did.
On the surface, all three were well-kept enough. They were fastidiously clean, their hair pulled back until not a strand escaped, their plain gowns in good repair and stiffly pressed. None showed any marks of ill treatment. All three looked weary to their very bones.
When the Richardses entered with Sam, the dark-haired girl who answered the door acquired a stiffness to her jaw, and a rigidity of her shoulders. The cause Talathan heard later, listening through the open kitchen window.
“No chance of that evening off now, I’m guessing,” she said to the cook. “Not like there ever was much.”
“Tell her your mother’s sick,” said the cook. “If she thinks you’ve got a real respectable reason, she might let you off.”
“With the princess up there to look after? Are you crazy?” The girl shook her head and scowled. “First that fellow from the county and now this. I’m gonna be stuck here until the end of the world. Even if that’s a lot later than he says it is.”
She indicated he with a chin-jerk toward the main house.
“Fellow from the county’s probably coming back, too. I know what I cook when the reverend thinks a guest needs buttering up, and that outdid every dinner I’ve made here. The missus outdid herself for fussing over it, too. So if you don’t want to stand up to him now, you’re not likely to get the chance too soon.”
“It’s all right for you. They won’t find another cook. Every time I miss a spot on the dishes, she tells me there’s a line of Okie girls around two blocks looking for work, and they all come cheaper than me. And she’s right.”
The sharp ring of a bell interrupted them then, and the girl went upstairs with a final roll of her eyes, setting her shoulders and schooling her face to blankness as she went. Talathan moved onward as well, learning the structure of the house: two floors in a square surrounding an open courtyard, where olive trees grew by a small pool. On the second floor he found a study, the window sadly closed, as well as the bedrooms. Richards and his wife each had one; two others were closed and unlit, fabric draping the furniture; and they’d placed Sam in the last, a small room with considerable white drapery and frills.
He didn’t bother lingering there, only noted the location, then went back at night, when the lamp cast squares of light onto the ground outside. It wasn’t long after that Sam, her clothing now as white and ornamented as the room around her, shut the door and opened the window.
“C’mon in,” she whispered, “but we’d better be quiet. I think they’re asleep, but if they think I’ve got a man in here, the whole game’s blown.”
Talathan landed on the bed and let the spell go, sighing in relief as his body assumed its proper form once again.
“Long afternoon, huh?” Her hair, in a short braid tied with a blue ribbon, swung to the side as she bent and dug through her suitcase, coming up with a large orange and a slice of bread wrapped in a paper napkin. “Sorry there isn’t more. I had a job pocketing this without anyone noticing. Tomorrow I’ll give you some cash so you can grab your own rations—just keep the hat on when you go out, all right?”
“I’ve gone for far longer on less, but I’ll gladly accept, if it’s no hardship for you.” Talathan removed the hat in question and stood up to place it on the bureau, another frilly edifice topped with a vast mirror. Catching sight of his appearance in it, he had to smile: he didn’t look entirely like the men he’d seen, but he wouldn’t have known himself.
“It’s like the movies. A couple meals just makes a drop in a real big bucket.” Sam sat down on the bed, leaned back against the small mountain of pillows, and stretched her legs. “Besides, you’re working for me. It’s never a hardship to treat you decently. Especially when I’m living it up here.”
“They are generous hosts enough, are they not?”
“I’d say they bet heavy when the pot’s big,” Sam replied, and then shrugged a shoulder. “But maybe I’m wrong. They do ask a lot of questions about my daddy and his finances, and they’re less subtle than they think, but maybe they’d have done the same even if they didn’t think I’d lay a couple golden eggs for them. Maybe.”
Remembering the conversation he’d overheard, Talathan couldn’t disagree. He seated himself on the lone chair, this one short and abjectly cushioned, and began peeling the orange.
“You think I should be having second thoughts?” Sam asked, slanting blue eyes sideways at him under dark lashes.
“It isn’t mine to say.”
“I asked.”
Talathan concentrated on the orange, letting his thoughts fall into place while the peel came away. Sam demanded no instant answer. She was watching him when he looked up, her hands picking idly at the lace on her nightgown. “The obligations of guest to host and host to guest are many and strong in my world. But if their hospitality comes only from greed, then”—he spread his hands, a section
of orange held in two fingers—“at worst you repay evil with evil.”
“If,” she said, and took a long breath. Even beneath the loose gown, her breasts rose in a way that stirred Talathan’s desire; mindful of the conversation, he forced his attention elsewhere. “And it’s not like they need the money. I do. Well, my folks do.”
“They couldn’t leave your land,” he said, not wanting to quite ask it as a question.
“They won’t. My parents won’t, and the kids are too young to go by themselves. And—” Sam’s lips tightened, and her hands went still. “And there’s nothing here for them anyhow. Just a bunch of people calling them names and maybe, if they’re lucky, giving them jobs nobody else wants. Dysentery in a labor camp ain’t a much better death than dust pneumonia, far as I can tell.”
Mindful still of possible listeners, she didn’t speak above a whisper, but the despair was clear enough when she was quiet. So too was the anger. He could think of no response; he’d known nothing akin to what she described, lives so marred for so much of the brief time they lasted.
As Talathan hesitated, Sam shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Guy’s a pious, hateful old fraud; maybe I’ll just consider it payback for everyone he fooled with those bogus cripples. But—if I could get him to buy in, I’d feel better about it. Not just stealing the silver and running away. I’d rather not do that anyhow, if I don’t have to. It’s bulky and easy to trace. We’ll call that Plan Z.”
“Will you have twenty-five more?” he asked, unable to resist the question partly because he anticipated the lightning-bolt grin he received as reward.
“I should be so lucky. Just one or two should do me fine. Once I know more about the place, I’m hoping for at least that many.”
“In that regard,” said Talathan, leaning forward on his chair, “I may be helpful.”
* * *
“The county,” Sam said, when she’d heard everything Talathan had to report. The way Richards and his wife treated their help went a good way toward easing any leftover guilt she had, and she felt sorry for the girls, but feelings didn’t pay any bills. She shuffled all that backwards: might be useful later, wasn’t the main chance right now. “That usually means land or taxes.”
Talathan ate his orange. He was polite enough to listen and not ask questions, even though Sam realized about half her references had to be going over his head. She kind of wanted to slow down and explain, to ask her own questions about where he was from and how he’d lived, to talk more like normal people. They’d done a little bit of that after the movies. She’d explained the newsreel as much as she could, told him what she’d remembered about Europe from civics class. It had been fun, in its way, like showing a guest around your place. Business came first, though.
Like running a projector in reverse, Sam cast her mind back over what she’d heard while the Richardses had driven her home and shown her their house.
“He mentioned that the church was too small. I’d said it was wonderful how many people had heard of him—my, grandma, what a big congregation you have,” she added with a laugh, though the joke was obviously lost on Talathan, “and he said they were outgrowing the church. That he had hopes of a place more fitting to the size of his flock and the glory of the Lord someday. I thought it was just a thing to say, but—you know, he’s already pretty comfortable here. What does a rich man do once he gets everything covered at home? A man with more money than sense, I mean?”
“If he lacks the wisdom to know when to stop,” Talathan said, slowly and softly, “oft he’ll turn from greed to pride.” In his face was the newsreel, the marching men in stark black-and-white, but more too.
He was too far away for Sam to reach out and touch, and standing up would have made it awkward. She settled for a sympathetic grimace. “Yeah,” she said. “Seems like those two blend together real well.”
Downstairs, the clock chimed ten in low bongs that echoed through the house. Mrs. Richards had made a point of showing the clock, among other things, to Sam: the case was real mahogany, the hands and the numbers gold-plated, and the chimes were modeled after Big Ben. She’d bought it a year ago.
It was beautiful. If Sam had been rich, and settled, she might have bought the like herself.
She thought of how much polishing it must take, and wondered how much the maids, the ones who could barely get a day off, got paid. The one who’d brought her nightgown and hairbrush had looked at Sam with flat eyes. She’d said the right words, without a hint of sarcasm. Maybe only a gambler could have read the resentment behind them.
Sam couldn’t blame her.
She cleared her throat. Talathan had never taken his eyes off her, but he shifted his focus back from whatever far-away thing had taken hold of his thoughts. “So. Pride. He wants people to know who he is, or what he thinks God wants, or both. He’s already got the radio spots. If he’s talking to the county, unless he’s in dutch with the tax man, that means land. Maybe politics, but I’d bet what he wants is a huge place like the one the Semple woman’s got down in Los Angeles. Big chunk of marble with his name carved right on it.”
“The way you describe it,” said Talathan with a dry smile, “it sounds very like a tomb.”
“I could make something of that, if I were a poet or a preacher.”
“Did you never think to be either?” He was still smiling, but it was teasing now, his eyebrows arched. As Sam watched, he licked the juice from the orange off each finger. If he meant it for seduction, he wasn’t being obvious: each motion, though graceful, was quick and efficient.
A distractingly pleasant shiver went through her, settling as warmth between her legs. Sam licked her own lips. “Sorry?”
“I could perhaps imagine you as a poet,” he said, returning his hand to his lap and giving her very thorough consideration, “though you’d fit poorly with what I’ve seen of religion in this time. Or of the times I’ve encountered before.”
“It’s not all bad,” she protested, remembering Sunday school picnics and comfort at funerals. “You just see the worst of people when you pal around with a girl like me. Mostly.” The memory of O’Brien prompted that. “But I wouldn’t have made a great nun, no.”
“No,” said Talathan, and the light in his eyes changed so that another thrill took hold of Sam. She was glad that the nightgown was loose, but now she felt the way the fabric brushed against her skin every time she shifted her weight.
She didn’t want to keep still, either.
What had the other option been? “Poetry’s—I was never big on language arts. I liked a few of the things we read in school, but I like mystery novels better. And I like music.”
“So I’d assumed.”
“You never know. My parents might have just forced me into lessons. They didn’t, but plenty do.” Thinking of her parents was a good cold shower. Just to be safe, Sam cleared her throat again. “I don’t know what the next step is. In case you were wondering. I think we’d better find out more. The stuff you got, those are good leads. Let’s follow them, see what happens.”
In three years of playing for cash, she’d never met anyone as hard to read as Talathan was, but Sam thought he looked disappointed for a second when she changed the subject. He covered it quickly, if he was, and nodded. “Overhearing the servants should be a simple task for me, so long as the weather doesn’t change.”
“It’s California. We’ve got at least three months.” Contrary to the stories back home, it wasn’t always sunny near Los Angeles, but the rain came steadily from January through April. The sudden shifts and afternoon thunderstorms of Kansas summers didn’t happen. “Meanwhile, I’ll try and draw out the preacher and his wife.”
“Take care not to convert in your turn,” Talathan said, laughing lightly. “I doubt the good reverend would approve of consorting with my kind.”
Sam shook her head. “I think I can hold out.”
Silence fell again. Talathan lounged in the chair with his legs folded. Even in the suit, he looked as
alien to the comfortable bedroom of the Richardses’ house as he had to Sam’s cheap hotel room. There, he’d been a diamond surrounded by dirt; here, he was whiskey in a glass of lemonade. Sam swung herself off the edge of the bed, stood, and spoke before she could lose her nerve. “You should stay again. Bed’s plenty large, and I think the maid will knock in the morning.”
“You’re generous, lady,” he said, and bowed from his chair.
“Yeah. No. Yeah, it’s not a big deal.” God dammit, she was blushing like a farm boy at a kootch show. Sam went to grab her purse, which meant she didn’t have to meet Talathan’s eyes. “We’re both grown, even if you do have a couple centuries on me, and there’s no point making you rough it just so I can put on the convent act. Wouldn’t look good on me anyhow, like you said. I treat people right, like I said, when I can.”
She stopped rambling to count sixty-two cents out of her loose change, leaving her with two nickels and a dime. “Speaking of which, this should see you through tomorrow if you can find a diner in town. I’ll see what I can do about getting more.”
As she put the change into Talathan’s outstretched hand, the brush of his palm against her fingers made her breath quicken. He was smiling again: interested, amused, or worst, kind? “Thank you.”
Sam wished she knew how to take the warmth in his voice.
She couldn’t raise on a single card showing. Not when he was her partner. Not when she didn’t even know how his people handled what her first landlady had called “funny business.” Human guys from the USA could be bad enough that way.
They had kind of a good thing going. Sam didn’t want to ruin it.
