VOYAGERS

by K. L. Nappier

  His fingers resting at the mattress curled tensely, bunching the bedclothes in their grip. Greta moved closer, thinking he might strike her father, but the only action was in Marshall's face as he struggled with something within. He was too much like a wounded child, like someone for whom she could feel compassion. She did not want to see him this way; she did not.

  And now he was saying, in a teary voice, "It never had to happen this way. You could have stopped it. You could have stopped this whole affair. I'd almost forgiven you. Nobody knew Father better than me. I understood how he could cow you like he did. But he was dead when I came to you. And you have me to thank for that, Papa. Me. Never mind. Never mind. You had no way of knowing, any more than I was to know you weren't the kind of man I'd hoped. Father never uttered a true word in his life except about how spineless you were. No. I'm sorry I said that, but all you had to do was claim me, just that little gesture of acceptance, and I would have found another way to scrape up some money. Somehow. Oh, but you had a real family already, didn't you? No room for the embarrassment called Marshall." Marshall jabbed at the mattress as if it were a point in Time. "All that we've come to, it all started right there when you threw away your chance. See how things spiraled away? It's not like Dubenshire needed Greta particularly, any half-decent harlot would've been fine. But do you see now? In the end, look what's come of your pig-headedness." He stood, trembling, pacing the cell for a few minutes. When he stopped, he had control of himself. He turned a stony expression toward Greta's father. "So you see, ultimately all this is your fault. I'm sorry, but it's true. What happens, happens. Why should I try to help people who don't love me?"

  Marshall strode to the door and pushed it open; Greta followed, dazed. The attendant, waiting several yards away, rose from his little stool to meet him at the cell. Marshall began to walk away without a word, then stopped and turned back to the attendant.

  "After two years of my support, are these accommodations the best the asylum can do?" he asked testily.

  The attendant locked the door, and shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, sir, I don't know. There's the new wing going up..."

  "Tell Dr. Stratford to contact me on Friday."

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Fielding."

  By the time Greta and Marshall returned to the house it was almost noon. Word was waiting that Tess was already in the custody of the police, who were ready to press her into the arms of her fretting 'Cousin Marshall'.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Void

  "Aridite? Aridite."

  "It's all right, Aaron, I'm here."

  "Where am I? I can't see."

  "You've slipped into the void."

  "Dear God."

  "Easy now. You've lost focus, that's all. Reach out. Can you feel my hand?"

  "Yes, thank you. Does this happen often?"

  "It happens occasionally. You tried to look around too many places too quickly. It's not something you're quite able to do yet. Not many voyagers can."

  "I couldn't find Greta. Where is she? Is she safe?"

  "Yes, of course. She's back at Marshall's."

  "And Tess?"

  "She's been bolted into her room to wait until tonight. Greta is with her."

  "There were so many options, so many places to be, things happening at once, I didn't know where I could be most useful. Greta should know, I've got to tell her about Tess...and about my father. I hate this blackness, I hate it."

  "I understand. Work through it. Until you do, you won't be able to focus again."

  "How long?"

  "You've got a bit of agitation and confusion built up, it may be a while. But you'll make it through. I won't leave until you do."

  "But she might need you..."

  "I'll be with her, too, if she does."

  "I don't understand."

  "Soon you will."

  Chapter Twenty

  Cowardice And Courage

  Far from the feeble glow of Tess' hurricane lamp Greta could make out the shape of a dress hanging on the closet door. Suspended so in the dark it loomed like the Angel of Death awaiting her moment. Tess sat on the bed as if on a precipice, Marshall next to her clutching her hands as though she might jump. The lamplight struggled against the shadows on their faces. Marshall spoke to Tess carefully. His manner was smooth and competent; it was as if the morning's asylum visit never took place.

  "Listen to me," he said. "I know you blame Greta's death on me. But I swear to you, it wasn't my fault." He hesitated. "I loved her. I love you, too."

  "If you love us so much, then why did you do this to us? Why don't you just let me go?"

  Marshall stiffened. "Things will be different now. You and I, we're the only family we have left."

  Greta hovered like a mother bird powerless against the cat. Yet even in her helplessness she marveled that every lie Marshall was telling held in it something he could cling to as truth, something he could pretend really existed. He was as intent on deceiving himself as he was on fooling others.

  Damn it all. Why couldn't Greta have seen this in him before? Was it his sleep she should have entered, his dreams she might have turned to save Tess? She looked at her sister and knew Tess didn't see as deeply into their brother as she. The girl's eyes flashed the same disgust and hostility Greta's once did. Greta knelt beside Marshall, placing her hands on his arm gently so as not to slide away.

  "There must be a way to get through to you. Don't you see what you're doing? Lord, I was as blind in my way as you are in yours. But you're the living one. You can do something to stop all this. You have the power to change. Marshall!"

  She had begun to shout and she knew its futility, how pointless it was to become warped by the uncontrollable. Better to prepare as best she could if Tess, indeed, died tonight. And to stay alert to anything at all that might prove her sister's salvation.

  Marshall carefully released Tess' hands foiled in his attempts to reassure her. He went to the evening gown that he had brought with him. He stroked the rich, burgundy velvet, a beautiful dress, much too mature for a 14-year-old girl.

  "Tonight you'll dine with me. And you'll move into Greta's suite."

  "I won't let you touch me."

  His back was to her, but he visibly tensed, the fingers that had caressed the dress curled into a fist. Somehow he managed to relax before turning to her, though his voice had a lingering edge.

  "That's in the past, a momentary weakness that will never happen again. Just let me make the loss of Greta up to you, give you what was once hers."

  "You've sure changed since the funeral."

  Marshall took a step toward her, his veneer of calm on the edge of erosion. "Tess, my dear. Let me clearly present the options at hand. You can eat in a comfortable dining room like a human being, you can dress as elegantly as Greta did, and have her rooms to boot. Or you can stay in here rotting until I decide what I want to do with you. I'm trying to be as nice as I can. I don't want to be harsh." There was a long pause. "Thirty minutes is long enough to freshen up, isn't it?"

  Greta turned to Tess as soon as Marshall was through the door, throwing its new steel bolts. "Thirty minutes, darling. That's more than enough time to break the window, tie some sheets, and get out of here."

  But Tess left the bed to gaze at her reflection. She touched her cheek gently, as if wondering at how dreadfully pale she was, then leaned against the dresser and wept; not the angry violent tears of defiance, but the soft, dismal sob of fear and despair.

  "Darling, please. You mustn't give up."

  Tess sighed, and walked over to the beautiful burgundy gown. She had confounded Greta since the girl had been turned over to Marshall that afternoon. Why hadn't Tess told Marshall that she knew what he was doing? When she had been thrust into her room equipped with those bolts, she didn't even test the strength of her prison. All Tess had done was take one nap after another. And each time Greta attempted to dream wend; to understand her sister's despair, perhaps persuade her to keep trying. But Tess had onl
y dozed, her sleep too light and fretful to allow deep dreaming. Greta was nearly ready to give up. Tonight, Tess' suicide would be authentic.

  Greta cried out, "Aridite!" But there was no reply. There had been no reply from him all day. Then she called the name she had wanted to call, the name that had stayed locked within her since morning. "Aaron!"

  Still, there was no reply.

  ***

  "Did you enjoy your meal?"

  Marshall walked Tess up the stairs his hand firmly holding hers to his arm. But he apparently sensed that they were being watched and stopped. Only then did Greta notice the butler, but she gave him brief regard. Her attention was mainly for her sister. Marshall turned to look at Andrew, who had followed them out of the dining room and was watching them ascend.

  "You have a question?" Marshall asked with some irritation.

  "Only... should I bring you cordials, sir?"

  "No. Just finish up, then you and the rest are relieved for the evening." Andrew looked toward the kitchen hallway, then back at his employer, as if uncertain of the order. "What is it?" Marshall snapped.

  "Nothing, sorry, sir. G'night, sir." Andrew hurried into the hallway, his shoulders hunched.

  Marshall turned his attention again to Tess. "See how you've put poor Andrew on edge? Everyone was very worried about you. Did you say how you enjoyed your meal?"

  "It was fine," Tess replied.

  Her voice was only slightly louder than a whisper, and her face was paler than it had been an hour ago. Her young bosom was white against the burgundy velvet. Greta was as full of panic as Tess was resignation. She thought she might go mad before the first gruesome shot would ever be fired. But I mustn't. I have to be here for her if she dies.

  "But, darling, you don't have to die, you won't lose dignity by fighting tooth and nail. Break free. What's to lose? Break free and run." She kept talking to them, mortals so utterly deaf to her pleas. But talking helped her hold her fragile sanity. Maybe somewhere in her own voice she might find the focus to break through to them, make Marshall or Tess hear her. "Marshall, for the love of God, don't take her to this like some perverted priest with his sacrifice. Have the courage to change this. You have the power to stop it right now."

  They came to the upper hall and Greta faltered leaning against the wall, too faint to keep up with them. And then she screamed in her agony, wretched to be so helpless and alone. She screamed again and, this time, a voice answered.

  "Greta, it's all right, Greta, I'm here."

  She was sobbing openly, and she let soothing arms enfold her as though she needed help to stand. She turned her face up to her comforter. It was Aaron. She clutched at him desperately, pressing her face to his shoulder.

  "Oh, God, oh, thank God. Where have you been? It's too late for her."

  Aaron framed her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers, almost too roughly. He began to say something, but Greta's thoughts were on Tess. She clung to his arm and hurried after Tess and Marshall.

  "There's no time left, Aaron, there's nothing left at all."

  Marshall was pushing open the door to Greta's old rooms, his hand wet and trembling against the wood. Tess froze at the doorway, shaking her head.

  "No. I can't."

  Marshall hesitated with her, looking at her for a fleeting second as though he might let her go. But a voice called, with chilling impatience from within the suite, "Bring her in. We can't afford more delays."

  Greta and Aaron rushed through the door as Marshall pulled Tess in and closed it behind her. Carroll Enderly stood in the middle of the bedroom. Dixie was at the armoire setting a few masculine toiletries on the top shelf. Odell was busy hanging several trousers and coats in the closet. Disheveled and unconscious, Mayor Walbridge was sagging in an easy chair near the bed.

  Marshall, his grip tight on Tess' arm, said disdainfully, "You can smell the ether all the way over here."

  "That won't be a problem for long. One of the boys will sprinkle them with cologne, and the window will be opened a bit." Enderly turned his icy gaze on Tess, swaying in a near faint. "She looks perfect. We'll take her from here, you need to get going."

  Tess stiffened. "No, wait."

  She pulled backward, but Marshall yanked her closer and stared angrily at his superior. "Good God, Carroll, you could have given me a moment to explain things to her."

  Enderly replied, incredulously, "Explain things?"

  "No, I meant...a good-bye, Carroll, give us that." Tess was struggling frantically, but Marshall pulled her against him, locking both her arms in his grasp.

  Greta screamed, "Let her go, goddamn you, Marshall."

  "Don't, Greta," Aaron said, holding her close. "Don't do this to yourself. Listen to me…"

  "Shut up, Aaron, just shut up!"

  Aaron glanced over his shoulder nervously, as if he was thinking of pulling her out of the room. Greta steeled herself, ready to resist if he should try. Marshall gripped Tess' face with one hand, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were teary. Tess was trying to kick, but clutched so tightly against him she could get no force behind her thrusts.

  "Stop it, stop it," Marshall snapped, and Tess faltered, her stare riveted to his. "Tess. None of this has been my choice. But I'm bound to him, do you understand? He's been my patron since Father's death. And he knows how I did it; he can prove it." He seemed to realize he was hurting Tess, and slackened his grip. "You and Greta. I never wanted you harmed. I swear, I didn't know any of this was in the making until a few months ago. I took you in on good faith, my arrangement with Greta was honest. We could have had a very good life together, the three of us, a very good life."

  Enderly's thugs drew near, and their boss warned, "You're wasting time, Fielding."

  Marshall ignored him and nodded toward the unconscious mayor. "If I'd known from the beginning, any half-decent street walker would've done. I swear to God..." A tear spilled from one eye. "Forgive me," he whispered, and kissed her.

  Tess' eyes were wide and frantic, her lips rigid against his, and she began struggling, a scream building that burst like a cannon ball. Marshall's face propelled from hers. Now she was flailing and kicking, fighting for her life, and shrieking.

  "Oh, God, help me. Now!"

  Enderly shouted over the din, "Will you get her over here?" He motioned impatiently at Odell as Dixie helped Marshall, mashing his hand over Tess' mouth and forcing her over to the bed. Odell strode to his boss and produced a cloth and a brown bottle, half-full of ether. "Get the gun ready," Enderly told him.

  Greta was pulling with all her might, frantic to be free of Aaron's grip, but he would not let go. He was looking behind his shoulder at the closed door, and shouting, "Where are you, in the name of God?" Tess was screaming behind Dixie's grip. Aaron suddenly released Greta and was running toward the door, shouting, "Now, damn it, now!"

  But Greta wasted no time wondering why. She rushed to her sister, falling across Tess' bosom as if to shield her heart. And Greta braced herself.

  "It'll be over soon," Marshall was telling Tess. Dixie had let go of her legs as Marshall sat atop her knees and forced her wrists against the mattress. "You'll be asleep, you won't feel a thing."

  "Marshall, Please, stop this!" Greta cried.

  Enderly walked over, his fingers upon the bottle's cork. Odell was beside him with a gun in his hand. There was a timeless moment as Tess lay silent and limp, exhausted by her own screams.

  "Fielding, get out of here," Enderly ordered. "You need to be well away when this happens. Do not come back, under any circumstances, before dawn." Enderly looked at his henchman. "Ready?" he asked, then turned to Marshall, who hadn't moved, and repeated with threat and precision, "Get out of here."

  Dixie shouldered Marshall out of position, taking his place. Marshall shuffled backward toward the door, but couldn't seem to tear his gaze from Tess. Greta looked into the eyes of her sister.

  "I'll be right here waiting," she whispered.

  There was a sudden ear
splitting crash. Greta was sure it came from the gun, but no, the room was filled with blue-clad men rushing inward. Dixie whirled, drawing a pistol, but he was engulfed by the mass. There was the sharp report of a gun, earsplitting against the walls, then again and once more. Amid the shouts, Greta was screaming her sister's name as a servant ran to Tess and pulled her off the bed. Then Greta realized someone else was calling to her sister as well. The voice came from behind her, and as she whirled to see who it was Walter Tandy was hurrying forward. He pushed a valley through the uniformed policemen, and Greta watched the servant that had grabbed Tess rush her toward the judge.

  "You're all right," Tandy said, even before he had her in his arms as if holding his own child. Safely there, Tess slumped against him. "I've never known a braver soul," the judge said to her. "Never in my life."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grace

  Aaron asked, "Are you all right?"

  Greta nodded. "Fine. Fine, but what is all this? And how in hell did you know it was going to happen?"

  Aaron was hoping she would ask. It was a great story. He took her hand. "How about joining me in a little past looking?" They were in Walter Tandy's bedroom. The window's light was turning from gray to pale blue and the judge, wet-haired and velvet-robed, emerged from the water closet. "This is when I began to despair again," Aaron said, as they watched Tandy's gentleman lay out the master's clothes. "After my failure at Father's I decided to attempt dream wending with Walter Tandy. Instead of entering his dreams, I found myself here. He was already awake. Uh, perhaps we should turn around."

  "Oh, of course," Greta replied, just as Tandy began to remove his robe. The judge was dressed, in the kitchen with Mrs. Tandy, and beginning his hot cakes before Greta asked impatiently, "Where is this going?"

  "Wait just a few more seconds."

  Mrs. Tandy lifted her eyes to her husband. It wasn't usual for the lanky judge to pick half-heartedly at his food. In a moment, he seemed to feel her gaze and lifted his own to her. Tandy shook his head.