The Line (15 page)

“Rachel!” Ms. Moore put her hand on Rachel’s arm. “You will
not
speak that way to your mother.”

“It’s all right.” Vivian gestured to the empty chair next to her. “Rachel honey, have a seat. You can’t really blame her,” Vivian said to Ms. Moore. “I haven’t been exactly forthcoming with her.”

Rachel sat down. She was still buzzing a bit from having actually
yelled
at her mom, but she was also wondering what was going on. Forthcoming? About what? What else could there be besides
your dad and I were collaborators
?

“Rachel, we
are
going to help. Or at least try.” Vivian covered Rachel’s hand with her own. “And you’re right, your dad would have never hesitated. But listen, I’m going to try harder to be brave. Like you.” She smiled at Rachel.

“Mom.” Rachel felt instantly horrible.

“It’s okay, Rachel.”

The three of them sat there for a minute, each thinking their own thoughts.

“Ms. Moore, I thought you said you didn’t have the key anymore?” Rachel didn’t give her time to answer. “What
is
the key, anyway? How does one work? Can we make a new one? Would it work to—”

“Slow down, child.” Ms. Moore waved her hand in front of her face as though she were wafting away smoke. “Don’t overheat. A key is just what it sounds like. A way to unlock the Line, disable it, at least for a short time. Although it’s really a key
card
—like the one your mother uses for the utility vehicle. And mine is still . . . lost.”

“Where did you get it? Can we go there and get another one?” Rachel tried to speak calmly, but she found it difficult. Pathik was waiting.

“Indigo gave it to me. I was . . . I was going to Cross with him, as soon as I could. We planned to Cross together, but my parents both got ill. I had to care for them. Once Malgam was born, I was afraid for his safety. I told Indigo to Cross without me, take the baby. I told him I would join him when I could. But then . . . my key was lost.”

Rachel was astounded. Ms. Moore had been planning to Cross? That was crazy. It wasn’t something she could even imagine. She was trying hard to do just that when she realized what Ms. Moore had just said.

“How did Indigo Cross?”

“What do you mean, Rachel?” Ms. Moore looked puzzled.

“You said Indigo Crossed with the baby. But you still had the key.”

“Oh. He had more than one. The group he Crossed with had several, in case something went wrong. Each key only works one time. When Indigo gave me mine, before he Crossed with Malgam, he told me to be very careful with it for just that reason.” Ms. Moore bowed her head. “I thought I
was
careful.”

“So we have no key, and there’s no other way to disable the Line and get the medicine to Pathik.” Rachel sighed.

“There may be another key.” Vivian squeezed Rachel’s hand. “Your father and I knew a man, a long time ago. Peter Hill. He was a collaborator. He mentioned a key one night, when we were having dinner with him and his wife. It’s not something he would have said lightly.”

“Do you know where he is? Can we contact him?” Rachel felt her heart speed up.

“I think Peter may still be living in Bensen. That’s where he lived when I knew him. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always warned you to stay near me when we go there.” Vivian’s voice broke. “I’ve just wanted to keep you safe, Rachel. I hope you can understand.”

Rachel squeezed her mom’s hand back. “I do, Mom. I do understand.”

Vivian nodded and swallowed hard. When she continued, her voice was clear. “I’m going to check tomorrow in the streamer’s general directory listings. I’ve never checked before because I’ve always been afraid of traces, but this is worth the risk. If Peter is still in Bensen, I’ll go there tomorrow. I’ll ask for his help. He was a good man when your father and I knew him. I think he would help us if he could, even though . . .”

Rachel waited. Her mom didn’t say anything more.

“Even though what?” Rachel was almost afraid to ask the question.

“Rachel.” Vivian hesitated. “In Bensen . . . the woman and the little girl who were Identified.” She grimaced, as if uttering her next words was going to physically hurt. “That woman’s name was Jolie. She’s Peter’s wife. I think the little girl was their daughter.” She finished in a rush. “I’m not going to tell Peter we saw Jolie. I need to find out what happened, how much trouble they’re in. We have to be careful, as careful as we can be. There was nothing we could have done that day anyway.”

Rachel wasn’t sure what to say. Her mom had
known
that woman, had known her and
still
walked away when she was in trouble. Yet even though she thought walking away was wrong, Rachel knew the EOs would have just added them to the tally of Identifications that day if they’d tried to help. It would be impossible to make a difference in some jail.

“Mom,” she said.

“I know, Rachel.” Vivian bowed her head. “You think I’m a coward.”

“No, Mom. I was going to say . . . that must have been so hard for you. I’m so sorry that you had to make a decision like that.”

Vivian looked up, her eyes glittering.

“Well.” Ms. Moore stood up. “It’s very late. We need to get some sleep.” She stifled a yawn behind her hands. “Tomorrow I will send Jonathan on some sort of errand in the morning, to be certain that he won’t be in our way while we work on this. I have some items I’d like to send along with the medicine. I’ll need your help gathering them, Rachel, tomorrow, while your mom is in town. For now, let’s get some rest.”

 

 

AFTER THE QUILLENS left, Elizabeth went to the parlor and eased herself down onto the sofa. Her leg hurt. That little jaunt out to the Line had taken its toll. The whole night had taken its toll. She needed a few minutes before trying to climb the stairs to bed. She wondered if Vivian would be able to get a key. It didn’t sound likely. Who knew if the man Peter ever even possessed one? Who knew, if he had, whether he still did. Or whether he would be willing to give it to Vivian. Elizabeth wished her own key had never been lost.

Lost. More like
stolen
. Elizabeth still wondered who could have known about it. It could only have been one of the maids, and whoever it was must have taken the key without realizing its true value. They had probably thought it was a cred card—they looked quite similar.

She had put the key in her desk, the desk her father had presented to her on her eighteenth birthday. He had been so proud of being able to afford that desk, handmade by a craftsman in Ganivar. She was thrilled when she saw it, especially entranced by the secret compartment concealed beneath the middle drawer. By that time she had something to hide.

Later, during the months of her mother’s illness, and then her father’s—those long months when hopeless duty trapped her, kept her away from Indigo and their child—she would go to the desk sometimes when she knew she wasn’t being watched and work the series of secret latches that revealed the hiding place. She would take out the keycard to look at it. Just to reassure herself that it was still there, that she still had choices. That Indigo and she could be together someday. The day after her father died, Elizabeth went to the desk and found nothing. The compartment was empty.

She would never forget that moment. She remembered the dry, scratching sound her hands made scrabbling through the desk’s empty recesses, like a starving bird trapped in some barren attic. She didn’t recall how long she sat there in front of that desk. When she realized the key was gone—not fallen to the drawer below, not on the floor beneath—but truly gone, she began to cry.

Elizabeth didn’t want to remember any more about that day, or those tears. She had to be up early in the morning to catch Jonathan in time for him to make the Maglev connection in Bensen. She struggled to her feet, amazed at how much old bones could ache. Time to conquer the stairs.

J
ONATHAN WAS TINKERING with the misting timer when he heard Ms. Moore say his name. “Early even for you, isn’t it?” he said, though he wasn’t that surprised to see her. He’d expected something this morning; he just didn’t know what. The lights in the main house had been blazing far later last night than they did normally. He’d been keeping a closer eye on the place since the incident in town; making sure his evening walk took him past the house, dropping by to pick up something in the greenhouse after hours. Snooping, if he were to be honest.

He turned around to face her, a gnarled hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the rising sun coming in through the greenhouse door.

For a moment all he could see was her silhouette, her hair lit from behind so it glowed, wisps floating away from her head like they used to forty years before. He wondered fleetingly if her face would somehow look the way it looked so many years ago. Young and pretty. Happy. But when she came farther inside the greenhouse and the shadows revealed her features, they were the same as they had been for too long. Tight. Worried. Closed.

“Yes,” Ms. Moore answered. “I suppose I haven’t been here quite this early for a long time. I’ve become spoiled in my old age, too used to dawdling over my breakfast.”

“Old age? Well, if you’re old, then that makes me something I’d rather not think about. I guess we’re all starting to wear out some though.” Jonathan pointed to the pieces of a misting timer on the work table in front of him. “Don’t know if I can fix that this time. Bushings are gone, and they don’t stock them anymore, least not where I can find them in Bensen.”

“That is a problem.” Ms. Moore picked up the casing of the timer, tracing the empty interior with her finger. “We can’t very well manually control all the misting. There’s too much of it to be done, even with Rachel’s help.” She looked at Jonathan. “Do you think Tolliver’s might stock the bushings?”

“Tolliver’s would have them.” Jonathan tilted his hat back off his forehead. “That’s all the way to Ganivar though, and you know they won’t deliver something that small out here.”

Ms. Moore placed the timer casing back on the table. “I was thinking,” she said lightly, “perhaps you could drive into town, take the Maglev to Ganivar. You would have to stay over, catch the evening run tomorrow night back to Bensen. I know it’s a bit of a trip, but surely there are other items we need that would make it worth it. We could finally get some more hoses.” She wandered over to a tray of seedlings. “I wouldn’t want to lose Rachel’s new cross. They look quite promising, don’t you think?” She peered at the tiny green plants in the tray.

Jonathan adjusted his hat again, sliding it forward so his eyes were partially concealed. Then he leaned against the work table and crossed his arms. “You wanted that done today?” he asked, staring at his boots.

“I think today would be fine.” Ms. Moore carefully brushed some potting medium off a seedling’s tiny leaves. “Unless, of course, you have plans.”

Jonathan said nothing. He appeared to be fascinated by the dust coating the toes of his boots. Ms. Moore straightened a seedling in the tray, tamping the potting mix firmly around its delicate roots. “Well, I’d better get Ms. Quillen’s day lined out,” she said, turning to go.

“Ms. Moore.” Jonathan spoke quietly. “I don’t know that today would be the time to make such a trip.” He didn’t look up from his boots.

Ms. Moore turned. “Why not, Jonathan?” she asked, her pronunciation of each word precise. “Did you have some other plans?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Seems to me there has been a bit too much commotion around here lately.” He looked up at her. “I just think it might be better if I was nearby, in case we have any trouble.”

“What sort of commotion are you referring to, Jonathan?” Ms. Moore’s tone had turned from precise to icy. “What sort of trouble could we have . . .” She paused to ensure her next words were understood. “. . . that would concern
you
?”

Something flashed in Jonathan’s eyes, just for a moment. His jaw tensed. But when he spoke, it was in his normal, rather deferential manner. “I’ve noticed some unusual activity, Ms. Moore, around the place. After dark.”

Ms. Moore became very still. She stared at Jonathan for a long time, as though she were looking at a painting in some museum, wondering what the artist could have possibly meant. “Jonathan,” she finally said, “what were you doing here at night? Your
work
here is over long before nightfall.”

Jonathan nodded, as if a long-anticipated insult had finally been uttered. “I came back for the timer, to see if I had something at my place that might fit.” He looked away. “I didn’t expect to be interrupting anything.”

“I’m not certain to what you might be referring, Jonathan.” Ms. Moore took two steps toward him as she spoke—slow, deliberate steps. “However, I can assure you that whatever your concerns are, they are unfounded.” She tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to look at her again. She didn’t continue until she had his full attention. “Do you think, Jonathan, that we need to have a conversation? Is it necessary to revisit certain topics? Topics on which I
thought
we had reached an understanding?”

Jonathan narrowed his eyes but held her gaze. There was an undercurrent of defiance in his voice when he replied. “Understanding and agreement are not the same thing.”

“Good morning.” Rachel stood in the greenhouse doorway.

“Good morning, Rachel,” said Ms. Moore. “We can get started with repotting in a few minutes. I was just asking Jonathan to go pick up some things we’ve been needing.”

Rachel saw the misting timer in pieces on the work table. “Did it finally break for good, Jonathan?”

“It looks like it did.” Jonathan was still staring at Ms. Moore.

“Too bad. Misting is going to be a lot more work without it.”

“Ms. Moore is having me make a special trip to Ganivar to get parts, so it will soon be solved.” Jonathan picked up the bushings and slipped them into his pocket. “Anything besides these and the hoses?”