Lady Rebecca Pennington --$20
England, 1863
She had scored the first point of the evening, but William was trying his hardest to leave her far behind and struggling to keep up. She suspected it was nerves. She observed him carefully from her spot near the fire as she half-listened to the chatter of the party around her, making sure to keep her smile firmly affixed and nod at the appropriate moments.
William caught her gaze and grinned. Another point in his favor, then, and she was sorely behind at her own game. She turned her attention to the woman on her left. Lady Ellington was a prude, a gossip, and a terrible bore, but then that was the point.
"...I simply cannot imagine it. Going off to America for the better part of a year, where there's not much worth anything and certainly nothing for polite society. Don't you think so, my dear?" She said to Rebecca, now that she had her full attention. For the moment, Rebecca let the grating "my dear" slide. Lady Ellington thought she was everyone's doting aunt.
"We would certainly be lost without you here, " Rebecca finally said, adding, "it would be so hard to keep track of everyone's affairs without someone of your keen knowledge and... experience." She caught one of the other women stifling a smile and worried for a moment that she'd overstepped the delicate boundary of the game. But Lady Ellington just tittered, foolish and flattered. Point for me, Rebecca thought, but took no joy in it. Excusing herself she made her way across the room to her husband.
He was deep in conversation with one of his many uncles, Uncle Edgar, and the talk is Airships, once again.
"It's not a sound venture," Uncle Edgar noted firmly. "Too much risk."
"It really isn't," William's protest has an edge of hysteria to it; the sound of a man trying to explain economics to a child. Or possibly a small dog. "It's just that the failures are so widely reported. There is a fleet of over fifty airships ready to go on the continent right now, but because of two crashes, everything has fallen apart. They just need the funding."
"Oh, tell me you aren't considering it, William. Surely even you are not that foolhardy." Uncle Edgar smiled and Rebecca moved up to stand by her husband's side.
"No, not considering it," William responded tightly. And it was true. The consideration was past and the better part of their fortune was being sent to fund the commercial Airships as the party carried on.
Uncle Edgar seemed content with William's answer and was shortly distracted someone proffering his favorite cigars. William let out a heavy sigh. She could kiss him, she really could.
"Let's go tonight," she said instead.
"What?" His voice was a little too loud for the room, and he repeated himself more softly. "What do you mean?"
"I can't, anymore, William. They're all so..." she trailed off, but he knew exactly what she meant. Their freedom was so close she could feel the tremors of it rolling through her body. Pack what they need, board a ship, and then onto one of their Airships for a new adventure.
William could tell what she was thinking. He's always been good at that. He breathed in again, once, deeply. "All right. Let's go."
Irene Allred -- $20
Western Colorado, 1902
The chair on the front porch is old, handmade, and representative of everything else in the little cabin. Irene sits, each day of the all-too-short summer, and lets the sun warm her aching ankles and knees. Sometimes her granddaughter comes to visit. Sometimes she does not.
When she does come, traipsing through the woods and up the hills like a girl in a fairy tale, Irene raises whichever arm aches the least in greeting. Young Katie will stoop to kiss her, admonishing her for still staying out this deep in the woods when there was a perfectly serviceable town not two miles away.
She nods, she hums in agreement, but she'll never go.
"But, Grandma, why?" Katie, sitting at her feet, asks for the fourth or fifth time that day. "We could find a nice place for you!"
Irene looks at the young woman's face and aches again, for all the things Katie will never know (will never have to know).
The ache reaches her brain. She speaks without thinking. "Because I am not your grandmother."
She might well have slapped Katie. Irene regrets her words even before she sees the look on Katie's face. She reaches out and puts a hand on Katie's fine, light hair and sighed.
"You know what I meant. I love you and your family, Katie. But blood is so much deeper than love."
"Grandma, all that was ages ago. Everyone's moved on. It's so foolish for you to be out here when you could have everything you want with us. You don't even have a steam generator, for heaven's sake. You could be warm all winter long with half the wood of your fireplace. You wouldn't have to work so hard."
Irene nods. "I could. But the man in town who fixes them? He lost his grandfather to this war, over mining and god knows what else. What do I do when the machine brakes down, eh? He looks at me and sees the hard man his father became before the town was anything at all. He will not fix it for me. And suppose I move into the town. What about your father's business? There are still many people who would shun him because my people fought back when their people came to take our land. And for what? Gold? It's all gone in a generation and in the meantime the land is stripped and we are all given names that are not ours."
Katie is staring. Irene breathes heavily, unsure of what to do now that she has opened the deep door within her that had been locked for so long. Katie sighs again and leans against her after a long moment.
"I suppose," she says. "But I still wish you'd come with me. I miss you when I'm there."
Irene lets her heartbeat settle, resting her hand on Katie's head, and doesn't say anything at all.
Sonja-- $20
Just off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada, 1899
The waves crashed, over and over again on the shore, merciless and wild. Sonja stares into the black of it, eyes tracing each wave as it peaks and falls against the rocks on the beach. It is cold; May is only just beginning. But still she stands at the door to her home, seeing nothing but the sea.
"Mama?" Jon's little voice only just breaks through the sound and pull of the waves. Sonja does not look down at her son even when he comes to stand beside her. Out of the corner of her eye she can see the mess of dark hair crowing his head, so exactly like her own. He puts his hand in hers and follows her line of sight to the sea.
Sliding her fingers between his smaller ones, Sonja brushes up against the webbing between them-- high up on his little digits, almost to the knuckle. Jon is not like the other children, the half-grown ones from her husband's first marriage. Absently, she rubs the webbing and thinks I wish I could take you home.
*
Later that day, the first airship of spring arrives to drop off supplies and pick up the winter works for trading. Fresh vegetables and bright cloth are switched out for pickled fish and the hand carved stools, knitted sweaters, and other projects that eased the winter's passing on the little island.
The captain smiles at her, they always do, like they know who she is and where she belongs. Probably he does-- if nothing else he's heard the stories. She smiles politely, and when the captain offers to take their little family up for a ride, she agrees.
The ship moves smoothly through the air above the island. Jon runs this way and that, questioning all the crew and observing everything below with shrieks of delight. Sonja does not shrug away when her husband puts a warm hand on her shoulder. She loves him. She loves Jon. It's enough.
The ship picks up speed and the wind whips through her hair, tugging at her shawl and dress. She raises her arms to it, closes her eyes, and if she thinks hard enough-- if she wants hard enough, it's almost the sea.
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