12)

Breakfast around the Dumes family table was a bit awkward for an outsider like Ro. Being farmers, the family awoke early, even Julie and Jas, who had to help with chores around the house and in the barns. But Ro made sure she got to the table, having dragged herself from the couch in the study toward the smell of food. She was pulling on Zeta's coat as she stepped in, yawning. There were plenty of good-mornings said to her, by Julie, Jas, Tess, though Zeta was not around and neither was Warren.
"Coffee, Ro?" Tess asked, "or tea?"
"Coffee, please, Tess. Where's Zee?"
Jas answered, buttering wheat toast. "Outside, looking around. You can call him in. Dad, too. The food's almost ready."
Food? Ro thought. What was already on the table? There were scrambled eggs in a covered dish, fried bacon, toast, jelly, butter, coffee, orange juice, sliced cantaloupe, tea--and the faint scent of pancakes, which must've been the main course, though it wasn't yet presented. Tess swept by with a coffee mug for Ro, and set her hand on the girl's shoulder.
"You rest, Ro, drink your coffee. I'll go get Zee and Warren."
Ro didn't protest. The softness of a night's sleep was still encompassing her, keeping her from experiencing the fine morning. The storm front had moved far beyond the Dumes farm, and in its stead were bright blue skies, a glorious golden sun and a fresh, clean odor in the warm air. It came through the open windows of the house, through the screen door in the laundry room. Ro leaned back in her chair, with a piece of toast dangling from her mouth. She wondered if this was what it was like for normal families, farm families, families across the world. A mouth-watering breakfast, a nice big house, loving parents, great siblings--it was all there should be in life. Then Ro sat forward, her elbows on the table, and a scowl touched her. She failed to see why she couldn't let it go. The image and the voice of her father came to her with the words he'd used last night. "You live in a dream world, mo stoir." Well, was that so bad?
Through breakfast, Julie would let out a random giggle. Then her brother would be caught smiling, and in a few moments he was laughing. Warren clanked down his eating utensils to ask what the problem was. Julie made no excuses, and said it was "Nothing, Dad." Warren didn't press the issue. Julie gave Ro a secretive look. Ro knew they were giggling because of the secret, of knowing what Zeta was. If it was so unbelievable to them then, Ro thought, imagine how unbelievable it would be to them in a week or a month! Ro was glad, since it meant her presence and Zeta's might someday be forgotten by the Dumes'. Ro fancied she was not a very memorable sort of person.
Zeta was absent from the table, but did pop in during the end of the meal. He asked that, when she was through, if Ro would please join him outside for a "private word," as he termed. Ro furrowed her brow and glanced away as Zee returned outside. She wondered what he would possibly have to talk about--and to make such a big deal about privacy. It seemed like they were almost always alone. After she'd eaten two pancakes--one blueberry and one chocolate chip--had cantaloupe, two cups of coffee and one piece of toast, she declared she was positively stuffed. Ro tried to help clear the table, or at least her plate, but Warren shooed her out of the task, and urged her to go talk to her friend instead.
It took her a moment to find Zeta, but, as she'd often thought, he never blended in well. She could always find him in a crowd, despite his different use of holograms, so it was easy enough to spot him on an empty farm. He was in the barn, lingering over the horse stalls, and petting the nose of one tame brown mare when she entered.
"What's up, Zee? You made a dramatic entrance this morning." She took off his blue-violet jacket and handed it back to him. "Take this, and stop giving it to me. I know it takes a lot of energy to keep a hologram away from you for so long. Julie's given me a coat, and I'll wear it from now on."
Zeta accepted the jacket gladly, and he tugged it on with human adroitness. Ro stroked the white star muzzle of the contented, pleased horse when Zeta dropped his attention. The horse did not react to Zeta the way the dog Boom-Boom did. In fact, the horse even seemed to like Zeta. It was no wonder to Ro, then, that she'd discovered the synthoid in the barn.
"I found something, Ro. I thought it would matter to you."
She was giving little kisses to the horse when she suddenly stared up at Zee. "Oh?"
From his pants pocket, he presented a thin waxy paper printed by an electric phone book listing. "I found this last night, while you were asleep. I knew what you were up to in the café, so I thought I would look while we were here. Take it."
She did and examined it in nothing but caution. It stated the name, local address and phone number to a Mrs. Gwennie Rowen, of Glenview. "Zeta!" Ro reprimanded, ashamed of herself for allowing him to do something for her, and so surreptitiously! "You could've at least told me, so I'd be prepared. Do you know who she is?"
"No."
"Well, at least you haven't talked to her yet, without me."
"Do you want to see her?"
"Yes," she answered in promptness, handing the paper back to Zeta. "Right now, if we can." And, aside, to herself, she said, "I knew there was a reason we were meant to be here."
Zeta tapped at her arm as she began to reverse, to return to the house. "Why, Ro? Why's it important that you speak with her?"
Ro scrutinized him carefully, a vague feeling of frustration creeping in her system. She couldn't understand why Zeta, a perfectly intelligent robot, hadn't figured it out. "I just want to know someone who knew them, my parents. That's important to me. I'll never be able to bring them back, but someone else might help me find out what they were like."
Zee said he understood, but he wasn't entirely sure he did.
"You don't know what it's like, really," Ro murmured. She tipped her forehead into his arm, her long fingers gripped to his elbow. "You don't know what a weird feeling it is to be losing your mind."
"No, I don't," he responded, using the answer she already knew. "And it isn't something that I can pretend, either. I am sorry about this, Ro. You will do what you need to do to feel better, and I will help in the ways that I can." He patted her on the head and kissed the top of it, in that supportive almost fatherly way.
They returned to the house, where Tess was still cleaning up the breakfast mess. Jas and Julie were no where in sight. Tess explained the absence of the children. "I made them go upstairs and prepare their things for school. They start soon. Is there something you wanted to see them about?"
Ro explained. "I've been looking for a distant relative of mine, and there's someone in Glenview who might know where I can find him. Do you know Mrs. Gwennie Rowen?"
Tess's expression lightened, and a dimple deepened in her right cheek. "Old Gwennie, huh? Sure, I know her. Sweet old lady, but very batty. That's sort of her nickname among the locals: Batty Gwennie."
"I'd like to go see her."
"Of course. I'll give you directions. She has a great big old house not far from downtown. She still uses gas heating. Well, all the old houses in that area do. I'm sure she'll see you. I think she appreciates company, and we've been to see her a few times. She's an eccentric one, though."
Ro wasn't surprised at Mrs. Rowen's renowned eccentricity. She figured anyone who might be slightly related to her wouldn't be anything but eccentric and batty. In fact, she was rather proud. Given her own present askew mind, Ro felt nearly related to the woman without even meeting her. "Could we maybe borrow a vehicle?"
Tess gave a smile, something mysterious glinting in her hazel eyes. "I've got a better idea. Tippen and Howie need some exercise. Can you ride at all?"
Ro and Zeta just stared at her in horror. Horses? Was the woman actually suggested they ride horses? Ro swallowed. "A little," she managed to say.
Jas was fetched to help dress the horses for a ride into town, and he decided he would accompany them on his own little mustang named Presto. Ro was introduced formally to Tippen, who'd been the affectionate mare whose nose she'd petted earlier. When Tess had gone back to the house, and it was just her and Jas and Zeta, Ro spat out to her friend.
"Zee, you can't ride!"
Zeta was holding to the reins of the horse Howie, just under the bit. Whatever magical touch Zeta lacked with other animals, he certainly possessed it with his equine friends. Jas was next to him, about to help him into the saddle. "I'll learn," he said to Ro, and was on the horse faster than a regular cowboy. "See if you can keep up." He clicked his tongue like a master horseman, and Howie was out of the barn in no time.
Jas snickered at Zeta's derision. "He's getting his sense of humor from you, Ro. That's probably not a good thing."
Ro frowned and jumped into the saddle. "Where'd he learn to do that, anyway? Ride like that? It's so archaic, horseback riding."
"It's not the type of thing a synthoid would do," Jas said. He was beside her on his horse, and they went out of the barn together, into the sunshine.
"It's not the type of thing anyone born after twenty-twenty would do," Ro replied. Jas ignored her; he'd been born well after twenty-twenty and grew up with horses. He knew Ro would enjoy it despite any crude comment said in haste. Jas took the lead, his cute little gray mustang happy to be in the front, ahead of the elder horses. It was not far to town, and the day was so glorious that it was perfect for a ride. The dirt road brought them to the main street, where their journey in Glenview had started the day before. Then they traveled north for about a mile. A creek, risen high from the rain the night before, trickled and bubbled happily under a single-lane bridge. There was a scarce amount of trees, and the countryside surrounding them looked almost arid. Some cows had wandered into the street, through a break in a road-side fence, but the horses just wandered around them, and the cows went on chewing their cud, but were curious about the passers-by.
Ro observed Zeta, and he seemed more comfortable on the back of the creature than she did. "Why do you have to be so good at everything, Zee?" she asked.
"Do I look like this is easy? It should be. I'm not doing anything. Just sitting."
"Where did you learn how to ride, to control the animal?"
"Watching old western movies late at night in hotel rooms, Ro."
Jas laughed and Ro smiled and relinquished her one chance at arguing with him. Zeta enjoyed having their undivided attention, and quickly found a new hologram program. He transformed his outfit to something western, complete with hat and spurs.
"Zeta!" Ro said. She couldn't help but chuckle, for he looked so endearingly ridiculous.
"I'm having fun, Ro. Aren't you?"
"Of course, but--"
He ignored her, and kicked his spurs gently into the flank of the horse. "Yee-haw!" he shouted, as he galloped past them. It startled the other two horses so that they began to canter, and finally gallop. Ro was ill-prepared and nearly fell off. But she soon found a trick to guiding the animal, tugged at the reins, slowed Tippen down to a leisure canter, and was again riding without a racing heart. Zeta awaited ahead, with his--as Ro thought in her mind--"glistening steed" prancing in the dirt. Ro scowled at him to let him know of her disappointment. He did nothing but say one simple thing. "You do think we should laugh more."
"At least change that outfit," Ro insisted. She was blushing in her cheeks at the sincerity and truth of his comment.
"No," he defied. "I like it, and it amuses you. Why should I, when I like both it and amusing you?"
Ro looked at Jas, and Jas had nothing to say. He shrugged.
"This is how I am, Ro," Zeta said carefully, almost sullenly. "I'm always just playing a part--a role."
"That's not true, Zee. I'm sure of it." Ro knew what she was talking about, and was about to say, but for a distraction up ahead. The town was forming around them. They'd begun to pass a few homes, old places set back from the roadside, with overgrown lawns in need of watering, dilapidated wrap-around porches, dead trees with limbs hanging down, but still with an ancient grace of an age long ago. Ro forgot what she was going to say to Zeta, at least momentarily, until she remembered it later, and promised herself she would assert her opinion when the time was appropriate. She tried remembering the directions to Mrs. Rowen's house that Tess had provided. Ro was too lazy to reach in her pocket for the paper, on which were jotted north and south guidelines accompanied by street names. She did remember that the road where Mrs. Rowen lived was directly off Main Street, and the house was the best-looking and grandest in the neighborhood and therefore was difficult to miss.
They were almost blown off the road several times as speeding hovercars zoomed by. Ro raised her fist in protest of blatant reckless driving, and all she got in return was a blast from the horn. Anyone who happened to be out in the town would stare at the odd trio, particularly cowboy-dressed Zeta. Jas found himself the source of entertainment to his townspeople, and was delighted. He relished in it. "Hello, Mr. Simpson!" Jas shouted and waved to a gray-haired man across the street. Mr. Simpson waved back with a verbal greeting, then keenly studied the other two riders. Several others stopped what they were doing to watch.
"Garsh," Ro said to Jas, in a fake country drawl, "haven't people in this here town seen a soul ride a horse before?"
"Oh," Jas began, "we Dumes' are known for riding our horses to town. And there's a few people who still do too. Come on, we'd better hurry up to Mrs. Gwennie's." He clicked his tongue, a command to his mustang Presto to speed up a little. Tippen and Howie followed, without their needing any such command. The horse in the front was guide enough for them. They climbed their way up the slope of a gradual hill, away from the sterile buildings of downtown Glenview, all ten blocks of it, and into the historic residential area. Finally Ro spotted a street name that was familiar.
"Jas, I think that's our turn."
"I think so, too." He kept the line in order, but turned to the right, crossed the main road, and onto the side street. The houses that lined it were fenced in iron and covered with ancient hedges or ivy, probably as old as the houses themselves, and everything smelled of remodeling tools, wood, and the sound of nail guns and power tools was common. The city was working hard to renovate its heritage.
"After the war," Jas said, as though picking up Ro and Zeta's thoughts, "Glenview decided it should do some work on its oldest homes. There was a big tax debate and everything about it. Lots of town meetings. My parents went to a few, because they have an old house, too. That was before I was born. They've been working on it since. Of course, the depression after the war hit everyone hard. The town stopped working for a while."
Ro did not like to think about "The Great War," as everyone of her generation and that above her called it. All she wanted to think about was reaching Mrs. Gwennie Rowen's house, and finding out if this eccentric woman was, perhaps, a distant--or close?--relative. Meandering on past a few more homes, some already renovated, some not, in the middle of the street they came upon the most enormous and stately mansion. A horseshoe drive wound in front of the house, into a columned portico, set in front of large wooden doors that were handsomely inlayed with stained glass. In the rounded portion of the drive was a lush grass bed, with a brick tiered fountain, and a plaster angel at the top, who poured from holy outstretched palms an endless stream of clear water into the plates below. The plates overflowed and cascaded to the pool, the lowest tier, creating the harmonic noise of a waterfall. Late-blooming flowers gave the house a splash of color here and there, like a smattered impressionistic painting.
"This has got to be it," Ro said aloud, and pulled at the reins to stop Tippen. She stared at the house, liking the way it looked from afar, but had little courage to actually ride to the door.
"It is," Jas said. He was fearless as he commanded Presto up the pebble drive, which was lined with a variety of plantain lilies; some purple flowers bloomed from the high sprigs and bees went in and out of the shapely petal bonnets, busy as if it was still spring. Jas dismounted in the shade of the portico, dripping with vine roses that were no longer in bloom. The dark foliage provided a touch of antiquity to a house that needed as little as it could get. Jas wrapped the leather straps to an original hitching post, in the shape of a horse's head. Zeta and Ro followed suit, and found a second hitching post which to tie their animals. Jas was about to reach for the doorbell, when the voice of Mrs. Gwennie came over the intercom, out of the circular speaker just to the side of the bell.
"Who's there?" commanded the old woman, definitely with some bite to her voice.
"It's Jas Dumes, Mrs. Gwennie."
"Oh, little Jasper, huh? And who's that with you?"
"A couple friends of mine that would like to speak with you."
"About what?"
Jas looked at Ro. She took a step to the intercom and boldly stated her reason for being there.
"Hi, Mrs. Gwennie Rowen? My name is Rosalie Rowen. I'd like to ask you about your husband's family."
Without another word, the door promptly opened, and there stood old Mrs. Gwennie. She shot black beady eyes at Ro, the blonde-haired girl she'd seen speak through the surveillance. "Rowen, you say? Come in, Miss Rosalie Rowen." She allowed Jasper and Ro in while she held the door open. But when Zeta tried to get near the threshold, Mrs. Gwennie let him see only the bottom of her hand. She wanted an explanation. "Who's this cowboy, Rosalie?"
Ro almost laughed, but she waved a hand dismissingly. "That's just Zee. Trust me, he's not as crazy as he looks."
"Oh," Mrs. Gwennie said, scanning Zee up and down, and he waited patiently for some synopsis of his character. "Well, that's a very elaborate costume you've got there, young man. You may as well come in, too."
As Mrs. Gwennie was escorting them through the high-ceiled foyer, Ro took Zeta roughly by the arm. "Really, Zeta! John Wayne just called and he wants his clothes back!"
Zeta frowned at her, but took her hand in his and followed Mrs. Gwennie, who hobbled along with good sinew for her age. To the far left of the wide foyer, she entered a drawing room and her company had no choice but to trail after her. Despite the age of the home, and even its antique design, the drawing room was decorated in the most modern, monochromatic style, with the latest in lighting and home entertainment technology. Mrs. Gwennie obviously spent many hours of the day trying to find a means to alleviate boredom and loneliness. The drawing room had a comfortable, lived-in feel, despite the modern bare décor. The old woman returned to her favorite pale blue pastel recliner and slithered into the seat. She gestured for her company to sit near her as they chose.
Before she got any further into the conversation, she compressed a button on a remote unit set at a side table. Suddenly, through the door of the room stepped in, on tip-toes, a dainty little servant, a girl who looked about twelve, but this was not supported by the logic of labor force laws. "Refreshments, please, and tea." The little maid curtsied and exited, making eye contact with no one in the room but Mrs. Gwennie.
Ro leaned into Zeta, her arm over his, her hand still in his. She felt very suddenly intimidated. Zeta squeezed her fingers in reassurance.
"So, Rosalie," Mrs. Gwennie said, "you're a Rowen, then?"
"Yes, ma'am," Ro replied. "Rowen with an 'e', like you."
Mrs. Gwennie's voice had playfulness under it, but the attempt to hide it came only to the very edge, to suggest she was very aware of everything she said, every oration. "Don't call me 'ma'am'! Just call me Gwennie. Everyone else does, among other things. And since you're a Rowen with an 'e' you certainly may."
Before Ro could give any gracious thanks, a cat wandered in and hopped to Gwennie's thin lap. A brown and gold domestic tiger, with round eyes, in a perfect shade of feline green that penetrated the realm for any obscurity. The sharp claws kneaded and sunk into Gwennie's old bony leg, but she did not seem to notice. She rubbed the cat's slightly tufted ears and he purred so loudly it echoed in the still room.
"Well, my husband left me years ago, Rosalie. He died quite suddenly back in twenty-twelve. But I was married to him for forty-six years, so I suspected I'm as close to a Rowen as one can get. To which Rowens might you belong, dear?" Gwennie glanced harmlessly at Zeta, as if to determine what his role was, aside from quiet and aloof cowboy. He was not a Rowen, she could tell as much by looking at him. He was too exotic, too dark, and Gwennie had only known but a few brunette Rowens. She glanced at him again, this time in study, but her look switched to Ro.
"I was abandoned when I was younger, and grew up in foster homes and orphanages. I was hoping you could help me."
Gwennie smacked her lips and then pushed them together. She had to think for a moment. "Well, your parents' names?"
"I think my father's name is Pierce Rowen, my mother Delores. Delores with an 'e' and not an 'o'. There's a chance she may have gone by Lola. And I have a brother."
"His name?"
"I don't know."
Gwennie examined Ro in almost a harsh way, as though she knew the girl was lying, but for some good reason. Orphans don't lie about their family unless they feel they have to, in order to protect them. Gwennie decided to play along to see where it went.
Ro was situated so she could look at Zeta, and she didn't even have to ask him what article of hers she wanted. He often kept important things for her, just for safe-keeping, and there only a few things worth keeping. She grabbed the photo of her brother and leaned over to hand it to Mrs. Gwennie.
"Handsome boy," she said.
"Yes, he is," Ro replied, dreamily.
"Red hair."
"Sandy, really. The picture is faded." Ro gulped and hoped she hadn't said too much.
Gwennie liked the guise of the boy, he looked smart and honorable, not one who would desert his sister or his family. "Who gave this to you, dear?"
"My last foster family, the Morgans of Maryland. Actually--" Ro hesitated, and took the picture back from Gwennie, "--my foster sister gave it to me."
"He isn't dead, though." She'd said it as a statement, not as a question. And Rosalie didn't attempt a contradiction. Lucid to Gwennie was the fact that Rosalie Rowen knew her brother, at least, but was still on the quest for a deeper understanding of family. The quest was often undertaken by anyone, and not just orphans.
Gwennie paused as the dainty maid brought in tea and cucumber sandwiches made from crustless sourdough bread. Once the ceramic tea set and platter was arranged in the middle of the coffee table, the maid curtsied again and departed stealthily, no one barely aware of her presence. Gwennie poured the hot tea, first for Jas, then Ro, but Zeta was not offered any. She explained in little detail. "You, sir," she said to Zeta, "I expect will not want tea?"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Rowen."
"I didn't think so." Gwennie elaborated no further, and returned her attention to the girl. "Now, Rosalie, where were we?"
Ro was about to remind her when Gwennie remembered.
"Well, it's good that you at least know your parents' names. But, unfortunately, I've never met a Pierce Rowen. It's a name I'd remember."
The news didn't surprise Ro, but it did manage to numb her for a sticky moment.
"Have you tried to find your adoption papers?"
"I couldn't get to them, and there may not even be any. I've seen my foster papers but they weren't any help. As part of the privacy laws passed some years before I was born, I'm not allowed to look at documents my parents may have had, especially when I don't have proof of who I am."
"Well," Gwennie's spunk would not be denied, "there's ways around that, my dear."
Jas snickered, and Ro briefly smiled. Mrs. Gwennie must've been ornery in her younger years.
"If you want to play against the government," Gwennie said, and peered at Zee out of the corner of her eye, "you have to be willing to play as dirty as they do. Forge a birth certificate, if you don't have yours, and get what you need from the Department of Adoption in Gotham. That would be the best way. Don't bother with Children's Services. They would just give you an endless runaround." She sipped her tea without a slurp, then set the cup and saucer upon the edge of the table. "Now, how about if I try to find another way to help? I'll just be a moment. Please, excuse me."
Gwennie rose from her chair, the cat hopped away. The tiger-striped tabby walked in Gwennie's path as they both disappeared through a pocket door across the room, that led into a fair and bright chamber.
"Zeta," Ro said to him, her head heavy on his shoulder, "I think I'm going to be sick."
"It's all right, Ro."
Jas tried an attempt to assure her. "She's the best woman in town, really, and she seems to like you."
Ro rubbed her forehead and her eyes on the corner of Zeta's coat, groaning. "I have butterflies in my stomach."
"Ro," Zeta began, and whispered very quietly into her ear, so that not even Jas, who sat across the low table from them, could hear, "I think she knows about me."
"That's impossible," Ro said, although she had had her suspicions as well. She'd seen the way Mrs. Gwennie had given Zee a few too many awkward leers. "Isn't it, Zee?" Suddenly, the butterflies in her stomach were roaring in a rapid, ceaseless batting of wings. She shifted her eyes hastily between Zeta's, desirous of some oath all her fears were unfounded. He provided her with nothing, except his cool hand over hers. The butterflies wouldn't stop.