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TWENTY-SEVEN
After several hours of watching the slate Alethia called a television, she stretched and said, "Lunchtime, I think. Are you sure I can't get you anything?"
"No, but I should carry you to the kitchen." He knew what they'd watched wasn't real, but there was one part of it he'd wished was real, for he wouldn't feel so useless if it were. She'd probably think he was silly, having to ask for her help, but... "Would you show me how to use the things in your kitchen? If I only knew how your coffee machine worked, or perhaps even your stove, I might be able to do some of the work, to keep you off that ankle."
"You mean like if I stuck sticky notes to everything with instructions on how to use it? I was actually thinking about that when I saw it, only I'm not sure if my parents have any sticky notes in the house. Maybe in Dad's office..."
"I'll carry you there first." If she was willing, he'd do everything to make it easier for her. He needed to be the best protector possible, which meant adjusting to the numerous strange devices in this time.
In a room that was more of a library than an office, at least in Stan's opinion, Alethia found a small notepad that she declared was good enough, along with something she called a pen that didn't look like any writing implement Stan had ever seen before. Yet when he set her on one of the chairs at the dining table, she began writing with it immediately, with no inkwell in sight.
Yet another magical modern invention he had no hope of understanding.
Each time she tore off a page, she'd hand it to him to stick in its proper place. On the coffee maker. On the stove. On the fridge, whatever that was. The freezer. The tap for water. The kettle.
"I think the dishwasher might be a bit too complicated to explain on one sticky note. Maybe I'll just leave that until we fill it up or run out of plates and actually use it."
Stan could barely believe what he was hearing. "There is a device that washes dishes for you?"
"Yes, and one that washes clothes, too. Even one that dries them, which has been a godsend here, where there's no space on the balcony for a clothesline. Not like where I used to live, where you could turn the whole wraparound veranda into your washing line, rain, hail or shine."
"If only there was a device that could cook all your meals for you, too, then women would never have to do any work in the kitchen ever again!" Stan exclaimed.
Alethia looked uncomfortable. "Well, Mum has something like that. A something mix, I think it's called. It's supposed to prepare and cook and stir your food, if you just put the right ingredients in. That's when Mum uses it, anyway. I'm not much of a cook, and the one time I tried it, it just kept beeping at me and telling me I'd made an error. I finally decided my only mistake was in thinking I could cook with it in the first place, so I ordered pizza. Which is probably what I'll do tonight, too, unless you happen to have some amazing cooking skills you haven't yet told me about?" Now she looked hopeful.
He hated to disappoint her. "I can make fish stew in a pot over the fire, mostly without burning it. I can catch and gut the fish, too."
She laughed. "That officially makes you a better cook than me."
"You haven't tasted it." He couldn't remember the taste of it, either. He only knew that he'd choked it down because it was that or nothing, and he'd been so determined to live, to succeed, that he'd have done almost anything to ensure he did. And it still hadn't been enough. Carline had killed him, and married another man. What else could he have done that he hadn't already?
"What do you mean?" Alethia asked, wrinkling her nose in confusion.
Too late, Stan realised he'd spoken the words aloud. He opened his mouth to tell her it was nothing, and to forget what he'd said, but something told him Alethia's curiosity would not be so easily deflected.
Sure enough...
"You asked what else you could have done that you hadn't already. I can't answer you unless you tell me what you did, and why you did it. I still might not be any help, especially if it's to do with cooking, but at least I can try!" She folded her arms across her chest, her mulish expression telling him he would not be able to disobey this order. "Now, explain."
Stan swallowed. Though Alethia looked nothing like his mother, he was reminded of that time he'd torn his trousers when she could ill afford to replace them. Size and strength meant nothing when a woman could inspire terror just with the tone of her voice.
"I did everything I could to make myself a worthy husband for Carline, and it was not enough," he said quietly. "Even cook and eat that foul fish stew for months while we were camping in Clarence Town. There was nothing I would not do, and yet everything I did was not enough to save her being married off to someone else. I was wondering what else I could have done to make her my wife."
Alethia bit her lip and held out her hands to him. For a moment, he hesitated, before he took her small hands in his. Strong hands, for all their softness and diminutive size. Then she looked up at him and he was caught in her gaze, a moth to her inexplicable inner flame.
"I don't know why some relationships fail, while others last for life. Why one person thinks another is their soul mate, when the other person has no feelings for the first at all. I can't speak for Carline, because I never met her. But I do know that sometimes two people aren't destined to be together, no matter how much one of them wishes it to be so. The guy stalking me is convinced we're soul mates, and I know we're not. There's nothing he can do to convince me. Maybe it's the same with you and Carline. There was no spark..."
"But I never even got to find out! I never even got to speak to her!" Stan said. "If I'd even had a chance to woo her, for even a minute..."
"How could you possibly fall in love with someone you've never even spoken to?" Alethia asked.
"I just knew! From the moment I saw her..." Stan swallowed. That was why his heart leaped every time he looked at Alethia, because she looked so much like her. Even if she was...softer.
Alethia sighed. "Look, if this were a romance novel, I'd believe you, because love at first sight and instalove are definitely a thing in those, but...even if those do exist in real life, it kind of has to be a two-way thing for it to actually work. I'll tell you what. I'll take another look into some of my more obscure sources after lunch, and see if there's anything I missed. Well, aside from the obvious, of course."
Stan hadn't understood half of what she'd said. "What's obvious?" he asked.
"She married Sean Bell, and they built Bell Cottage, which was later replaced by Bell House. Your Carline and her husband were my many-times great-grandparents. It's probably why I remind you of her."
Stan reared back. Carline's granddaughter? That made Alethia some sort of cousin. More distant than Carline, but still...family. Of course he had to protect her.
"No matter what you find, I will protect you," he promised, knowing Carline would approve.
