Accidental Tourist by Marcia Gaines
Chapter Eleven, Truths
(South Dakota, 2012)
"Hello, Pete." Helena greeted him as he walked into the common area at Leena's. Claudia looked up from the set of diagrams she had spread across the floor where Helena, now seated on the sofa, and she had been looking at schematics. Claudia was hoping to learn enough about the device to see if there was a way she could integrate it with any of Farnsworth's technology.
"Hey Pete," Claudia gave him a smile. "Wanna help?" She pointed to the diagrams and grinned. She knew better than to think he would join her, but it was still fun to ask.
"Nah," he said to her without acknowledging Helena's salutation. "I just wanted to see if you knew where Myka keeps her ferret's food. Leena's been feeding him, but I noticed his bowl is empty."
"Oh, no dude, I have no idea," Claudia scrunched her face. "I try to have as little do with that smelly little rodent as possible."
"Oh, they're not rodents, darling." Helena corrected her. "They belong to an entirely different order."
Pete rolled his eyes at her and addressed Claudia again. "Well if you see Leena can you let her know he needs to be fed?" He turned around brusquely and left.
Claudia gave Helena a sympathizing look. "Okay, seriously, what is going on between you two? Ever since he got back he's been behaving like that whenever you're around." She turned defensive as she thought about it. "It's crap!"
"It's a long st–" Helena started to reply.
"Don't even think about finishing that sentence." Claudia held up her hand and gestured for her to stop. "When is anything not a long story around here? So, come on, out with it."
Helena took a heaving sigh and looked at the young agent. She was so full of spirit, of life, and innocence. It was hard sometimes to remember she had once been the same. "I've done a lot of things in my life. I'm not proud of all of them." She licked her lips thoughtfully before continuing. "But, the thing is..." she paused and considered her words. "The truth is I don't regret any of my choices."
Claudia sat back and studied her as she spoke. "But, you…" Her voice trailed off and the two women fell into an awkward silence. Helena was the one to break it.
"I know." She sat forward leaning her elbows on her knees. "I've done terrible things. I've hurt people – and if there is anything for which I am sorry, it is that. But," she clasped her hands together resting her weight on her elbows. "Truth presents itself through experience – I could choose to judge those experiences in hindsight, but to what end? Self-flagellation? No. I made my choices, right or wrong, because I thought they were the right ones at the time. That the consequences ended up as good or bad is not an appropriate determination of whether any of us should regret our choices." Helena took in another deep breath. "Employing that line of thinking is intellectual cowardice. The end simply does not justify the means." She ran her fingers through her hair and finished her thought. "So, no Claudia, I don't believe in living with regret for my choices. I simply take the truth revealed by those consequences, and let it become part of what guides me as I move forward."
"So you're saying what, that you did something in 1898 that Pete can't accept and you're okay with that?" Claudia could not quite wrap her head around that part of the puzzle.
"Essentially," Helena answered. "Yes. I would dearly love to talk with him about it, but he has barely spoken to me since he returned. And, yes, I know why he is upset. But I cannot do anything about his perception. All I can do is tell him why I made the choices I made, and what I learned from the consequences. What he chooses to think of me is something over which I have no control." The admission seemed to hurt her and she furrowed her brow as she sat back into the sofa and closed her eyes.
Claudia sat looking at her, wondering at the many-faceted woman before her. Every time she thought she understood Helena, she would turn a corner only to find there was some entirely new dimension to her that threw off everything she previously understood. She had no idea what happened in 1898, and though she had a natural curiosity, for the most part she did not really care. She liked Helena. She always found her approach to any given puzzle to be admirably objective, and she noted that kind of thorough and level-headed focus had saved her, and the others, more than once. Claudia could never be grateful enough for that byproduct of Helena's personality. She gave Helena one last look and smiled to herself. Whoever she had been and whatever she had done, who she was today was someone she hoped would always be around. Claudia sincerely felt the Warehouse, and its employees, were better off because of it. She turned back to her schematics and said, "Okay, Farnsworth, let's see whatcha got."
(Chicago, 06 May 1893)
Myka checked the newspaper clipping Helena brought with her and sneezed. When it fell to the ground Helena picked it up and handed it back. "Bless you," she said evaluating her in the process. She noticed the slightly pink nose and tired eyes. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Thanks," Myka responded with a sniff. She had awakened feeling a little stuffy, but was well-enough to handle the day's outing. "I think I might be catching a cold."
"With as much time as we've spent out in the elements it's no wonder." Helena said reprovingly. "Well, then, let us try to make this as quick an outing as we can, shall we?" She did not like the idea of them spending too much time out in the weather. Although it had recently stopped raining, she did not trust the reprieve to be anything other than temporary. Myka nodded her head and looked at the newspaper clipping and then to the numbering on the outside of the brownstone in front of them. The addresses did not match.
"Looks like we just need to go one more over," she announced. Helena looked to the next building and began walking. The home of the young girl, Amelia Vole, was a modest one-and-a-half story house directly across from a large park on the southern edge of the city's business district. It had an average sized yard and a black iron gate outlined its border with the sidewalk. Forgotten toys littered the grassy area serving as lonely reminders of their missing caretaker. Myka could not help feeling a chill as she considered the stark contrast they provided against the backdrop of vibrant colors from the surrounding flower garden.
Helena placed a hand on her ailing companion's arm halting their forward momentum. "Emma, what do you plan on saying to them?" She threw a worried look toward the house.
"I'll tell them we're investigating their daughter's disappearance," she said and took a step forward. "Why?"
Helena placed her hand on Myka's arm again. "I talked to James early this morning – you remember James? You met the other night at the Exposition – tall, arrogant, thinks he's infallible?" Myka nodded. She remembered the hour-long tirade she received on the man after their last night at the Fair. From what she gleaned the two brilliant minds kept a respectful working relationship, but there was clearly no love lost between them. "Yes, well he tells me there have been numerous reports of missing people and the number seems to be climbing. Right now it looks like a handful of women in addition to the two children have gone missing in the last month. So, while we might be investigating this little girl's disappearance, we would do well to remember we're not actually the authorities."
"I know that." She gave Helena a reproachful look. Damn it, I hadn't thought about that, she said to herself. She was so used to being able to step into any situation as Myka Bering, Secret Service Agent, that not being able to do so never crossed her mind. "I don't know," she said. "I'll think of something." When Helena gave her a doubtful look she said, "Trust me, I know what I'm doing." They entered through the gate and quietly walked the path toward the house. Myka's eyes rested briefly on a small red bicycle leaning against the front steps. It was yet another reminder of the missing child. If she had any chance of trying to help this family, she needed to be at the top of her game. Myka raised her hand to the door, exchanged glances with Helena, and knocked four times. A young woman answered. She had blonde hair pulled back tightly from her face, and the worry evident in her eyes reminded Myka to be gentle with her questions. "Hello, Mrs. Vole?"
"That's right," the woman answered looking at both of the strangers at her door.
"Yes, hi, my name is My – " she caught herself quickly, "My name is Emmeline. Emmeline Cigrand, and this is Helena Wells." She nodded toward Helena before continuing. "We're here about the recent events concerning your daughter."
"Oh, are you with the ladies from the Church?" The woman gave them both a slight smile and craned her neck to look behind them. "I think you're the first to arrive. I wasn't expecting anyone for another half an hour. Please come in." She stepped back allowing the gap in the door to widen. Helena and Myka furtively exchanged glances before stepping through.
They followed her through the pleasantly decorated home. The wide hallway was lined with various photographs. An opened roll-top desk sat off to the right at the end. As they passed it, the woman stopped to close the lid. "Sorry," she said. "I was just writing a letter to my sister in New York." Myka inhaled deeply taking in the smell of freshly baked cookies. She saw why as they entered the large open space to the left of the hallway entrance. Mrs. Vole walked toward a table and held her hand toward it. "Please help yourself. There are a good variety of desserts," she said pointing to the spread. "We have cherry pie, pound cake, brownies, two different kinds of cheesecake, and this one is apple strudel. Oh, and over here on this table," she said pointing to a seating area, "are some cookies I just set out. They might still be a little warm, though, so be careful."
Myka eyed the table but spoke apprehensively, "Thank you, no, I don't really eat sugar." She did not trust herself enough to make a plate. Helena raised an eyebrow at her statement but said nothing; she could not tell if the comment was meant to be taken seriously.
"Well, if you change your mind," Mrs. Vole said and motioned for them to sit. She had set a long table near the back of the room and moved to sit on one of the two benches. Myka and Helena took the one on the opposite side.
"Mrs. Vole," Myka began. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for what you're going through right now." The woman looked at her with a sad smile.
"Thank you," she said meekly. "It's been very hard. It seems like years even though it's only been a few days. And when I think I might never see her again, I just… I feel like giving up on everything." Her last words were spoken so quietly Myka had to strain to hear them.
"I can imagine," Helena sympathized. "I have a daughter, too. The idea of losing her, well, quite honestly I cannot imagine a more terrible thought." She leaned forward as she spoke. "But, darling, you mustn't lose hope. Not ever. Not for any reason." Myka did her best not to react. As the two women bonded she contemplated Helena's words. She was instantly reminded of the completely opposite sentiment she knew the woman of her day once held. As she listened to the two women speak she wondered for the first time whether Artie's warning was more important than the attempt to try to tap into the faith Helena naturally seemed to have in the world. She picked up a cookie without thinking and started chewing it. When the conversation shifted to Amelia, Myka let her ruminations fall to the wayside. She had more crucial matters to which she needed to attend.
"Yes, that's right, we made our way over to the Exposition in the early afternoon, but we didn't go in until much later." Mrs. Vole nodded and looked quizzically between them. "I'm sorry; who did you say you were again? You're from the Church – the Ladies Prayer Vigil?" The number of questions Helena had asked appeared to have finally roused her suspicions.
"Actually, Mrs. Vole" Myka said glancing at Helena for assistance. "We're not with the Church."
"That's right," Helena jumped into the conversation before the woman could respond. "We're here at the behest of a colleague – he works with an Inspector Detective at Scotland Yard. He knew I was here in town and asked if I'd come by." It was the perfect cover. Myka hid her smile.
"Scotland Yard? Oh!" The woman grew interested and serious. "Does he work with Sherlock Holmes? He's the best detective in the world!"
Myka noticed Helena's strained smile and quickly stepped in before the stalled expression gave way to a cacophony of indelicate epithets. "In a manner of speaking," she quickly offered. "He wanted us to see if we could learn any more details." She gave Helena a nervous look. "You know, to see if he could offer any help in the investigation." She pretended not to notice the strangled noise Helena made. Rather than call attention to it, she folded her hands in her lap and focused her attention on the woman while giving her the most convincing smile she could muster.
"Oh my," Mrs. Vole responded, "I had no idea we would have the assistance of such a famed detective."
"Neither did he, I'm sure." Helena retorted before Myka could prevent it. Instead she reached over and touched Helena's leg hoping to quiet any further outbursts that might ruin their cover. She saw Helena turn out of the corner of her eye but kept her attention fixed on the conversation.
"What she means is, we're all more than happy to help. If there's any detail you can think of, anything that you might not have already told the police, it would be very important for us to know." Helena shifted uncomfortably as Myka spoke. Despite the serious conversation the hand on her leg was exceedingly disruptive; she was having difficulty concentrating. She felt a gentle squeeze as she squirmed; the fidgeting immediately stopped and the hand relaxed. Helena got the message. The situation amused Myka enough for a sly grin to bravely attempt an appearance. In the end it lost to the impeccable defenses of her self-control.
"I don't know," said Mrs. Vole. "I'm pretty sure I've told the police everything I know, already."
Myka removed her hand from Helena's leg and pulled the newspaper clipping from her pocket. Helena relaxed. "The newspaper said Amelia went missing around five o'clock in the afternoon," Myka suggested. The woman nodded.
"Yes. It was right around then. We had just entered the grounds to the Colombian Exposition; she wanted to ride on Mr. Ferris' wheel." She looked at Helena. "We'd visited the nearby candy store, made a small purchase, and then I went to buy tickets for the ride. She was right next to me! I only had my eyes off of her for a few minutes." The words spilled out like a confession, and Helena reached across the table to pat her hand.
"It's not your fault," she said. "You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes things happen, unfortunate things, and there's nobody to blame." Myka would have given anything for a tape recording of Helena's words.
"I wish you could say that to Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler," she said and took her hand back with a sigh.
"The Wheelers," Helena recalled the name. "Those are the parents of the boy who went missing the day after Amelia?"
Mrs. Vole nodded. "Yes, Christopher was beside himself when he heard Amelia was missing. He went looking for her and…" She faltered.
"Wait," Myka interjected. "Christopher and Amelia knew each other?" Helena and she exchanged looks. Besides the candy store, it was the first connection for the children they had found.
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Vole nodded her head vigorously. "They were the best of friends. They only live a few blocks down." She wrung her hands. "Do you think that's important – that they knew each other?"
"It could be," Myka said with a reassuring smile. "Every detail matters with these investigations. There's no telling what might help us as we continue to look for them. Is there anything else you can think of that might be important?"
The woman looked upward and to her left as she tried to recall some new detail. She shook her head after a few minutes of earnest concentration. "Honestly, I can't think of anything." Myka was going to ask for directions to the Wheeler's home, but the sound of a knock at the door let them know the Church group had arrived. Helena and she thanked Mrs. Vole for her time before they departed.
"So now what?" Helena followed Myka down the path, bypassing a steady stream of women coming from the Church across the street.
"Now? Now, I say we grab something to eat before heading to the Wheelers." Myka looked around trying to find a nearby restaurant. She had skipped breakfast and after the cookie her stomach was rumbling for something more substantial. Helena watched her as she looked up and down the street. Even in the muted light from the overcast skies she looked radiant.
Myka turned suddenly and flashed a brilliant smile. "I see an Italian restaurant! Come on, I'm starving! I can't wait to order a giant plate of carbonara!"
"Carbon what?" Helena said making a face.
"Carbonara," Myka corrected her. "It's a wonderful pasta dish with bacon, cheese, eggs, peas, carrots, and mushrooms. I just feel a sudden craving for it."
"What an odd combination of ingredients," Helena commented. "You say it's called carbonara? I've never heard of it before."
Myka realized her mistake immediately after Helena spoke. The dish, while a favorite from her own period, had not been invented yet in Helena's time. "Yes, but I don't expect it to be on the menu." She quickly covered her tracks. "It's an old family recipe. I can always settle for lasagna." Helena gave her a slight nod.
"Why not pancetta?" Helena asked. Her mind was stuck on the list of ingredients for the recipe.
Myka's mind was already on a nice plate of lasagna. She had no idea what Helena was talking about, and she was too hungry to care. "C'mon, let's go!" Myka feigned frustration before breaking into a grin. She grabbed Helena's hand and started walking – pulling the recalcitrant woman behind her. The action broke Helena from one contemplation, and threw her into another, as she mulled the feeling of their entwined hands. But she dutifully fell into step and Myka freed her from her grasp giving her a small nudge with her shoulder. The small affection brought a smile to both their faces.
Helena knew Emma meant her gestures as innocently as she had always meant them, but if she were truthful she would have to admit they no longer had a completely innocent effect. She was captivated by Emma, and more and more was growing to find herself completely entranced by the way she spoke and thought. She was entirely different from any other woman, any other person, she had ever met. She could not have asked for a more kindred spirit if she had tried, and it stirred something inside of her.
The sun finally broke through the clouds as they walked and they elected to take their meal at a table on the restaurant's outdoor patio. Helena did her best to stay focused in their conversation, but every time Emma smiled at her she would find her mind wandering within moments. It did not help matters when she looked up to see Emma rubbing at the back of her neck. Ever since Helena first noticed the habit, she would find her eyes drawn to the offending spot. She watched as Emma's hands moved rhythmically to relieve whatever tension she felt, and her eyes lingered on the soft bone structure of her jaw where it met with the contours of the gently sloping neck. From there Helena's eyes, as always, did not fail in allowing her to admire the natural elegance in all her features. One small gesticulation and within seconds Helena's mind was a million miles away.
She wondered what it might feel like to run her own hands over the flawless skin, and whether doing so might have any unintended effects on the other woman. She smiled at the thought. They would not be unintended effects. She knew that. But she still wondered what the effects might be. As imagined sounds and images floated through her senses she felt the beginnings of an arousal she never would have expected. It so startled her she snapped to attention with eyes as wide as saucers. She gave silent thanks when Emma failed to notice.
They spent the rest of the afternoon locating the Wheeler residence where they spoke with the missing boy's parents. They were unable to learn much of value, but they did find out the boy had sworn he had seen Amelia the very day he went missing. He had insisted to his parents that he saw the girl in the backyard of the house behind the candy store. Neither Myka nor Helena could remember seeing a house behind the building, but if he was right – and if that was where he went trying to find her, they needed to find the house. Sooner rather than later.
