Steampunk!: An Anthology of Fantastically Rich and Strange Stories Read Free Page A

clothes. "Dear God," he says, "is someone being murdered in here?"
    "It's just Cordelia," says Rose, and turns to both the dolls, her face white with rage. "Stop it. Stop it."
    They are both silent, staring at Jonah. Rose is staring, too. She hadn't realized how tall he was until now. He is so handsome, even in her father's old clothes, that it hurts her eyes. "What are those things?" he demands, pointing at Cordelia and Ellen.
    "Nothing," she says hastily, standing up, thinking how childish he must think her, having tea with dolls. "Just toys my father made me."
    The look on his face does not change. "Will you come walk with me in the garden, Rose?" he asks. "I think I could do with some fresh air."
    She hurries to his side, not looking behind her to see if the dolls are watching.
    They walk among the carefully planted flower beds, and Rose tries to explain. "It isn't their fault—they tend to get upset over the littlest things," she says.
    "I've never seen anything like them," says Jonah, catching up a stone and skipping it across the surface of the pond. "Automatons with real reactions — real feelings."
    "They were prototypes," said Rose. "But my father thought giving them personalities was more trouble than it was worth, so he never sold the design."
    "Your father," says Jonah, shaking his head, "must have been some sort of genius, Rose. What else did he invent?"
    She tells him about the garden robot and the cook. He does say he had wondered why there never seemed to be anything to eat but soup. She considers telling him about the time device, but she cannot bear to tell the story of her rabbit. He would think her cruel. All the while that she talks, he nods his head, considering, amazed.
    "They won't be able to believe this in the Capital," he says, and her heart soars. She had been almost sure he was planning to take her back with him when he went—now she is completely.
    "And when do you think you'll be well enough to make the journey back?" she asks, eyes cast modestly to the ground.
    "Tomorrow," he says. A blue jay is calling from the treetops, and he raises his head to follow the noise.
    "Then I must prepare a special dinner tonight. To celebrate that you're well." She takes his hand, and he looks startled.
    "That sounds very pleasant, Rose," he says, and turns so that they are walking back toward the house again. His hand slides out of hers. It doesn't seem intentional, and Rose tells herself that it means nothing. They are going away together, tomorrow. That is what matters.
     
    When Rose returns from the walk, she finds Ellen in her room, sitting on her bed. Cordelia is on the windowsill, singing a tuneless little song. When Rose comes in, dragging an empty trunk from the attic, Ellen scrambles to sit on it, kicking her little heels against the sides. "You can't go away and leave us," she says as Rose determinedly pushes her aside and begins to pile in her clothes.
    "Yes, I can," says Rose.
    "No one will take care of us," says Cordelia desolately from the windowsill.
    "Father will come back and take care of you."
    "He isn't ever coming back," says Ellen. "He went away and died in the war, and now you're going away, too." She can't cry — she was never designed for it—but her voice sounds like weeping.
    Rose snaps the trunk shut with a final sound. "Leave me alone," she says, "or I'll turn you both off. Forever."
    They are silent after that.
     
    Rose dresses with care, in one of her mother's old gowns. Lace drips from the cuffs and the hem. She goes down into the cellar and finds the last of the preserved peaches and a single bottle of wine. There is dried meat as well, and some flour and old bread. There is no use in saving these things anymore, now that she is going, so she fries vegetables from the garden with the dried meat and puts them out on the table with the fine china, the wine, and the preserves.
    Jonah laughs when he comes downstairs and sees what she's done. "Well, you did the best you could,"