Well, maybe not this time, Rowan. Maybe this time being emotional can help, because Rose and I talk for hours, and I relish our conversations, certain I can use them as an opportunity to learn everything about Linden and earn his favor.
But as the days turn to weeks, I sense a genuine friendship blossoming between us, which should be the last thing I want from someone who is dying. Still, I enjoy her company. She tells me about her mother and father, who were first generations that died in some sort of accident when she was young; they were close friends of Lindens father, which is how she came to live in this mansion and become his bride.
She tells me that Lindens motherHousemaster Vaughns younger, second wifedied in childbirth with Linden. And Vaughn was so immersed in his research, so obsessed with saving his sons life from the start, that he never bothered to take on another wife. He might have been ridiculed for it, Rose says, if he werent such a capable doctor and so in love with his work. He owns a thriving hospital in the city and is one of the areas leading genetic researchers. She tells me that the Housemasters first son lived a full twenty-five years and was gone and cremated by the time Linden came along.
This, I suppose, is something I have in common with my new husband. Before my brother and I were born, my parents had two children, another set of twins, who were born blind and unable to speak. Their limbs were malformed and they didnt live past five years. Genetic abnormalities like this are rare, given the perfection of the first generations, but they do happen. Theyre called malformed. It seems my parents were incapable of making children without genetic oddities, though now I have cause to be grateful for my heterochromia. It may have spared me a gunshot to the brain in the back of that van.
Rose and I talk about happier things too, like cherry blossom trees. I even come to trust her enough to tell her about my fathers atlas and my disappointment at having missed the world in its prime. As she braids my hair, she tells me that if she could have lived anywhere in the world, she would have chosen India. She would have worn saris and positively covered herself in henna, and maybe she would have paraded in the streets on an elephant shrouded in jewels.
I paint her nails pink, and she arranges novelty jewels on my forehead from a sticker sheet.
Then one afternoon, as were lying beside each other on the bed, stuffing ourselves with colorful candies, I blurt out, How can you stand it, Rose?
She turns her head on the pillow to face me. Her tongue is deep purple. What?
Doesnt it bother you that he has remarried, while youre still alive?
She smiles, looks at the ceiling, and fiddles with a wrapper. I asked him to. I convinced him it will be easier, with new wives already in the house. She closes her eyes and yawns. Besides, he was starting to get teased in the social circles. Most House Governors have at least three wives, sometimes sevenone for every day of the week. Its absurd enough that she laughs a little, suppresses a cough. But not Linden. Housemaster Vaughn has been trying to talk him into it for years, and he has always refused. Finally he agreed to it, as long as he had a choice in the selection. He didnt even have a choice with me.
Her voice is cool, and she is so bizarrely serene. It worries me that Ive become her favorite new bride simply for my blond hair, my vague resemblance to her. She is such a brilliant, well-read girl, and I wonder if she has figured out that Ill never love Linden, especially not in the way she does, and that hell never love anyone the way he loves her. I wonder if she realizes, despite all her efforts to train me, that I can never take her place.
Jenna doesnt look up from her novel. Shes strewn languidly on the couch, with her legs dangling over the armrest. No shortage of those.
I dont mean the keyboard or virtual skiing, Cecily insists. I mean a game game. She looks to me for help, but the only game I know is the one where my brother and I set noise traps in the kitchen and try to survive the night intact. And when I was taken by Gatherers, I sort of lost.
Im curled up on the window ledge in the sitting rooma room that is filled with virtual sports games and a keyboard meant to imitate a symphony orchestraand I have been staring at the orange tree blossoms that flutter like thousands of tiny white-winged descending birds. Rowan wouldnt even believe them, the life they imply, the health and beauty. Manhattan is full of gasping, shriveled weeds that grow from the asphalt. Refrigerator-smelling carnations for sale that are more science than flower.
Dont you know any games? Cecily is asking me directly now. I feel her brown eyes staring at me.
Well. There was one game, with paper cups and string, and the little girl who lived across the alleyway. I open my mouth, prepared to explain it, but change my mind. I dont want to whisper my secrets into a paper cup to share with my sister wives. Really I only have one secret thats worth anything, and thats my plan to escape.
We could play virtual fishing, I say. I can feel Cecilys indignation without even looking at her.
There has to be something real we could do, she says. There has to be. She paces out of the room, and I hear her shuffling around down the hall.
Poor kid, Jenna says, and rolls her eyes toward me for a moment. Then she returns to her book. She doesnt even understand what kind of place this is.
It happens at noon. Gabriel brings my lunch to me in the librarywhich has become my new favorite placeand stops to look over my shoulder when he sees the sketch of a boat on the page.
What are you reading? he asks.
A history book, I say. This one explorer proved the world was round by assembling a team and sailing all the way around it on three boats.
The Niña, Pinta, and Santa María, he says.
You know about world history? I ask.
I know about boats, he says, and sits behind me on the arm of the overstuffed chair and points to the image. This one here is a caravel. He begins describing its structure to methe trio of masts, the lateen rigging. All I truly understand from this is that the style was Spanish. But I dont interrupt him. I can see the intensity in his blue eyes, that hes taken a brief respite from the sullen work of cooking for and catering to Lindens brides, that he has a passion for something.
Sitting in his shadow in the overstuffed chair, I actually feel a smile coming on.
Thats when Cecilys domestic, Elle, comes bursting into the room. There you are, she cries at Gabriel. You need to hurry to the kitchen and bring Lady Rose something for her cough.
I can hear her coughing now, at the end of the long hallway. Its become such a fixture in this place that I dont always notice it. Gabriel hurries to his feet, and I close the book, make a motion to follow him out. Dont, he says, stopping me at the doorway. Its better if you stay in here until this passes.
But past his shoulder I can see an unusual chaos. Domestics are scrambling past one another. First generation attendants are coming out of the elevator carrying all sorts of bottles, and a machine that resembles the humidifier my parents put in my bedroom the winter I caught pneumonia. Theres an air of futility about it all, and Gabriel senses it too. I can tell by the look in his eyes.
Stay here, he says. Of course I follow him into the hallway. And its so frightening out here that I want to follow him into the elevator, which probably isnt allowed, but Im beyond caring about that. Gabriel swipes his key card, and the doors to the elevator are just opening when it all stops. Simply stops. The domestics freeze in place; the attendants are left holding blankets and pills and breathing machines. Linden is kneeling by Roses bed with his face buried in the mattress. Hes holding the long white stem of her arm, and I follow it up to her body, which doesnt move and doesnt breathe. Her gown, her face, is splattered with blood she must have been coughing up as she made those horrible sounds. But now an eerie silence fills the floor. Its the silence I imagine in the rest of the world, the silence of an endless ocean and uninhabitable islands, a silence that can be seen from space.
Cecily and Jenna come out of their bedrooms, and its so quiet that we hear the strangled noise in Lindens throat. Go away, he murmurs. Then louder, Go away! Its not until he smashes a vase against the wall that we all scatter. I end up on the elevator with Gabriel, and when the doors close behind us, Im grateful.
Theres nothing for me to do but follow Gabriel to the kitchen; Id get lost going anywhere else. I sit on a counter, nibbling on grapes while the cooks and the attendants talk as they go about their work. Gabriel leans against the counter beside me, polishing silverware. I know you were fond of Rose, he whispers to me, but you wont find much love for her down here. She gave the staff a hard time.
As if in affirmation, the head cook shrieks, My soup isnt hot enough! Oh, now its too hot! and makes dramatic spitting noises as a few others burst into a riot of laughter.
I wont deny that this is painful to hear. I have witnessed Roses wrath on the help, but she never once raised her voice to me. Here in this place of syringes, sullen Governors, and looming Housemasters, she has been my only friend.
I say nothing, though. Our bond was a private thing, and none of these people, laughing at her expense, would understand anyway. I begin to pick grapes from the vine and turn them in my fingers one at a time before setting them back into the bowl. Gabriel steals glances at me as he works, and for a while its like that, with the rest of the kitchen chattering loudly, a million miles away. And upstairs, Rose is dead.
She always had those candies, I say wistfully. They make your tongue change colors.
Theyre called June Beans, Gabriel says.
Are there more of them?
Suretons, he says. Shed have me order them by the crate. Here He leads me to a pantry between the built-in refrigerator and the wall of stoves. Inside there are wooden crates overflowing with the shimmering wrappers in every color. I can smell their sugar, the artificial dyes. She ordered them, and here they wait to be poured into her crystal bowl and savored.
My longing must be all over my face, because Gabriel is putting some of them into a paper bag for me. Have all you want. Theyll only go to waste.
Thank you, I say.
Hey, you, blondie, the head cook calls to me. Shes a first generation with greasy hair tied into a graying bun. Shouldnt you get upstairs before your husband catches you down here?
No, I say. He wont know Im gone. He doesnt notice me.
He notices you, Gabriel says. I look at him, unbelieving, but he has turned his blue eyes away from me.
One of the cooks opens the door and tosses out a pot of water, because the sink is in use by the muttering head chef. A gust of cold air pushes the hair from my face. I see a flash of blue sky and green earth, then its gone. There are no key cards, no locks. So this is why the wives arent allowed to leave their floor; not every part of the mansion is meant to keep us trapped.
Do you get to go outside? I ask Gabriel in a low voice.
He gives me a rueful smile. Just to do yard work or take in deliveries. Nothing terribly exciting.
Whats out there?
Eternity, he says with a small laugh. Gardens. A golf course. Maybe a few other things. Ive never been in charge of the yard work, so I dont know. Ive never seen the end of it.
A whole world of trouble is whats out there for you, blondie, the head cook says. Your place is up on that frilly floor of yours, lounging in satin sheets and painting your toenails. Now go on, before you get us all in trouble.
Come on, Gabriel says. Ill take you back up.
Back on the wives floor, Roses door is shut, and all the attendants and domestics have gone. Cecily is sitting alone in the hallway, playing some sort of game with yarn entwined around her fingers. She was singing to herself, but when I step out of the elevator, she stops and watches me cross to my room.
What were you doing with that attendant? she asks, once Gabriel is gone.
She hasnt seen the paper bag of candies, and I tuck it into my nightstand along with my ivy leaf, which Ive pressed between the pages of a romance novel I took from the library. There are so many books that I dont think anyone will miss this one.
I turn just as Cecily appears in my doorway, waiting for an answer. Were sister wives now, and whatever that may mean in other mansions, I dont feel as though I can trust her. I also am not fond of her demanding tone, always impatient, always asking questions.
I wasnt doing anything with him, I say.
I sit on my bed, and she raises her eyebrows, perhaps waiting for me to ask her to join me. Sister wives cant enter one anothers bedrooms without permission. Its one of the few privacies I have, and I wont relinquish it.
Theres nothing to stop her from talking, though. Lady Rose is dead now, she says. Linden is free to visit us anytime.
Where is he? I cant help but ask.
Cecily examines the yarn entwined around her fingers, looking displeased with it or the situation. Oh, hes in her bedroom. He made everybody else leave. I knocked, but he wont come out.
I go to my dressing table and begin to brush my hair. Im trying to look busy so that I dont have to make conversation, and there isnt much else to do in this room but stare at the wall. Cecily lingers for a while in the doorway, idly twisting in ways that make her skirt ripple. I didnt tell our husband that you went off with that attendant, she says. I could have, but I didnt.
And then she skips away, a trail of bright red yarn following after her.
That night, Linden comes to my bedroom.
Rhine? he says softly, just a shadow in my doorway.
Its late, and I have been lying alone in the darkness for hours, steeling myself against what I knew from the start would be a long awful night. Though shes gone, I have been listening for the sound of Rose at the end of the hall, yelling at an attendant, calling for me to come brush her hair and talk to her about the world. The silence is maddening, and perhaps thats why, rather than feigning sleep or denying him, I open the sheets for Linden.
He closes the door and climbs into my bed. I feel his cool, slender fingers encase my cheeks as he settles beside me. He advances for what will be my first kiss, but his lips fail. He sobs, and I feel the heat of his skin and his breath. Rose, he says. It is a choked, frightened sound. He buries his face in my shoulder and loses himself in tears.