Unwritten Books 3 - The Young City (11 page)

“You’re right,” said Peter. “We should just concentrate.” He stopped, then cleared his throat. “Concentrate on getting back home and not think of how much that’ll leave Faith and Edmund in the lurch.”

Rosemary grimaced. “I know. I wish there was some way we could repay them.” She stretched up an arm and lathered under it. She ran her fingers through her hair and bent down to rinse. “I will miss this place,” she said, sitting up. “It’s like our first apartment. It’ll be hard going back and being a two-hour drive apart.”

“Yeah.” Peter cleared his throat again. “I know what you mean.”

“You okay?”

He coughed. “Just a frog in my throat.”

“Don’t get a cold on me. I’m not trusting the medicines of 1884.”

She rinsed off the soap and scooped the warm water over herself. Satisfied, she stood up, stretched, and looked for a towel.

There was a thump beside the bed.

She frowned. “Peter?”

“Dropped my book.”

She huffed. “Peter, I forgot to bring the towel. Bring it over?”

Peering over the change screen, she saw Peter surface, towel outstretched, his eyes averted and his cheeks reddened. She smirked. He slipped the towel over the change screen and darted back to bed.

“It won’t be so bad,” she said as she dried herself off. “Two hours isn’t too far. We’ll be able to see each other on weekends and there’s always the telephone and the Internet.” She rubbed the towel over her hair.

“Yeah,” said Peter. “But it’s not the ...,” he stopped short, then continued huskily, “the same.”

“We need to be sensible. We’ve had fun playing house —”

Peter drew in his breath. “We’re not just playing house.”

“I know.” She stepped out of the tub and dried her ankles. “But that doesn’t mean we’re ready to live together permanently.”

Peter stayed silent.

She listened to the silence. “Peter?”

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah, you’re right.”

She tossed the towel away and pulled on her nightdress. Emerging from behind the screen, she grabbed a comb and started working it through her wet hair. “You going to have a bath?”

“No.” Peter kept his nose in his book. “I sponged myself down by the washstand.”

“Shame to waste the water.”

“Too tired. Just want to go to sleep.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She turned from the mirror and froze, her comb caught halfway through her hair.

The change screen blocked the tub and the window from sight. The moon shining through the window, however, set the canvas screen aglow. Against this the tub — and anything in it — stood as a clear silhouette.

She looked at Peter.

He rolled onto his side and pretended to be asleep.

She finished combing her hair and slipped into bed beside him. Silence stretched. Then, without warning, she slugged him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” said Peter. “Sorry.”

Despite herself, Rosemary chuckled.

The next day, walking along College Street, Rosemary blinked to see Faith sitting on a patch of grass, finishing the last of her lunch. Faith got up, brushed the crumbs from her skirts, and turned toward a stone building with tall, Gothic windows.

Suddenly she stopped, brought up short by a young man in her path. Faith made to step around, but the man blocked her. Rosemary ran toward them.

As she closed in, she heard the man sneer. “A woman has no place in medical school. She has no place as a doctor!”

“Let me pass.” Faith’s voice was curt, tight. She tried to sidestep him again.

“A woman’s place is in the home, cooking and cleaning for —”

His voice cut off with a cry as Rosemary sailed into him, knocking him into the muddy street.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” said Rosemary. “It’s the glasses! I’m so nearsighted and just a foolish little woman! Here, let me help you up!” She offered her hand, and stepped on his chest.

“Rosemary!” gasped Faith.

“Oh! Did I do that?” Rosemary exclaimed. “Let me help you up again.”

The man crabbed away in a spray of mud. “Get away from me, you vixen!”

There was an authoritative clearing of the throat. They looked up to see a constable sauntering toward
them. “What seems to be the problem here? Is this man bothering you?”

Faith and Rosemary glanced at each other. In unison, they shook their heads.

The constable blinked. “Are you bothering this man?”

Faith flushed. Rosemary scuffed a pebble with the toe of her shoe.

The constable began to chuckle. He turned to the sodden man. “Be off with you, lest these ladies teach you a lesson you’ll not soon forget!” His chuckle exploded into laughter.

The man scrambled up, red-faced, and walked away as quickly as dignity would allow.

The constable tipped his hat to Faith and Rosemary. “Ladies.” He strolled away.

“Well, that’s one advantage to being a defenceless female.” Rosemary rolled her eyes. “They don’t arrest you when you defend yourself. Are you all right, Faith?”

“Rosemary, how could you?” Faith looked at her in shock.

Rosemary stared back. “Faith, he was harassing you!”

“And you responded with simple violence!”

“I wasn’t violent! Much. What, you were just going to let him badger you?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t need you to fight my battles.” Her expression softened. “Thank you. It was ... trying, facing that man.”

Rosemary clasped Faith’s hand. “You’re welcome. So, how are classes?”

Faith’s eyes went wide. “Oh my word! I’m late!” She ran for the front doors, pausing only to turn and wave before rushing inside.

Rosemary looked up at the building and sighed wistfully. Then she turned back toward College Street.

Later, walking with her basket laden with groceries and a coil of rope wrapped in paper, Rosemary blinked to see a well-dressed man emerge from Edmund’s shop, putting on a top hat. Edmund darted after him, protesting, but the other man stared coldly, shook off Edmund’s restraining hand, and strode away through the crowd.

Edmund’s shoulders slumped. Then he turned and almost walked into Aldous Birge. They stared at each other. Aldous extended his hand. Edmund sagged again, and clasped it. Aldous grinned, clapped Edmund on the shoulder, and followed him into the shop.

Rosemary stared. Then she walked past the shop, around the corner, and through the alley, entering the house by the back door. Setting her basket aside, she crept into the hallway and strained her ears, but Aldous was already gone.

Rosemary dropped the receipts on Edmund’s desk. “Not bad. Five sales. The most we’ve had all week.”

Edmund said nothing. He slumped over his desk.

Rosemary frowned. “Edmund?”

He looked up. “Thank you, Rosemary.” He stashed the receipts in a folder and turned away.

She touched his shoulder. He tensed, and she pulled her hand away. She took a deep breath. “Edmund ... how’s business?”

He looked away from her. “Business ... is fine.”

“Are you sure about that? I may not see the ledgers, but I can add in my head. Those five sales we had made for a good day. Can we last very long on the bad days we’ve had?”

Edmund sat silent. Rosemary decided she didn’t care how forward it was, and reached for him again. “Edmund —”

“Rosemary, leave me be!” He knocked his chair back. “Do not forget that you and Peter are guests under my roof! I’ll not have you prying into my personal affairs.”

She caught herself on a desk. She glared. “I know I’m a guest, Edmund, but after these past couple of weeks, I thought we were friends. Friends worry about each other, and I’m worried about you. Faith’s worried, too. If you don’t want our friendship ...”

Edmund stared at the floor. “Forgive me, Rosemary. I ... You are a good friend. I’m sorry I spoke so harshly.”

“I forgive you,” she said. “Now answer the question: Is business all right?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Rosemary, please —”

“If you don’t want me to worry, show me I don’t need to worry!”

He chuckled tersely. “So it’s proof you want. Well, here!” He pulled two documents from a drawer and thrust them at her. “Look!”

She peered at the type, the signatures, the stamped seal of the City of Toronto. “A business licence and tax receipt ...”

“Paid in full.” Edmund’s voice rose in triumph. “Could I have afforded that if I was destitute?”

She peered at him over the top of the documents. “No.”

“No.” He laughed again, sourly. “There is plenty of profit in the misery of others.”

She smiled tightly. “You don’t buy peoples’ wedding rings.”

“No, but there are plenty of things I do buy. Heir-looms, fine furniture, sentimental artifacts bought to keep the creditors at bay. ’Tis a thankless job. I’m a vulture.”

“Then why don’t you quit?”

“And do what?”

“Work on your inventions.” She nodded at the geared Morse reader behind him. The barbecue lighter was nowhere to be seen.

He sat down heavily. “You mock me, Rosemary.”

“No, I don’t.”

He snatched up a pile of papers lying by the machine. “To think I even wrote a patent application! I was a fool.
Faith can aspire to better herself, not me. She can be a brilliant doctor! I shall always be a lowly pawnshop owner.” He tossed the papers into the wastebasket.

He flinched at Rosemary’s look of horror. “I ... I’m sorry, Rosemary. I am tired, that is all.” He faced his desk. “I’ll deal with the ledgers tomorrow. Go to bed now, lass.”

The set of his shoulder told Rosemary to go. She walked to the door and stood there, looking back.

Then, in one quick movement, she knelt and snatched the patent papers from his wastebasket, slipping them under her arm.

“Good night, Edmund,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

Edmund did not reply.

A kiss woke Rosemary from watery dreams. Her eyes fluttered open. She saw Peter leaning over her, a sheepish shadow.

Her eyes narrowed. “Kissing me in my sleep now?”

“I had to wake you up,” he said. “It was the gentlest way I could think of.”

She kept her narrow-eyed stare on him.

He drew into himself. “And ... I couldn’t resist. Sorry. It’s midnight. The others are asleep. You ready to go?”

She leaned back with a sigh and studied the ceiling. She felt strangely sad. In two weeks, she’d made two good friends, and had shared a bed with Peter. Faith and Edmund would be long dead by the time they got back to the present. Then she and Peter would head off to different universities in different cities. She wouldn’t be able to sleep next to Peter unless they made special arrangements.

Then she thought of her friends and family. Hot running water. And she and Peter
could
make special arrangements ...

She sat up and swung out of bed. “I’m ready.”