large enough that we might never have to see one another, and when we reached True North, she would be far too busy with her climate research to trouble me.
I planned to avoid her.
Those plans failed.
I never liked the idea of doctors and did my best to steer clear of them unless I was too ill to do otherwise. To my great irritation, visiting the medical personnel was required aboard the Fancy. When Lightbridge informed me that, as per my contract, I would be required not only to allow Geraldine to examine me once per week, but also to allow her to take a needle to my precious skin every day, I balked. But he would not be moved.
He informed me that everyone aboard was required to partake of what he called the Regimen: a rigorous exercise program, a painfully healthy diet, abstinence from alcoholic beverages and a daily vitamin injection, all designed to keep his crew in top physical performance. His reasoning, while irritating, was most sound. He surmised that past journeys to the north failed not because of the biting cold or poor navigation, but because of lack of proper nutrition and other demons of ill health. I reminded him that I was a far cry from ‘top’ in my physique, at which he assured me that Geraldine’s syringe of vitamins and herbal extracts, along with a healthy dose of exercise, would set me straight. As a compromise, Lightbridge suggested that one of Geraldine’s medical students could tend to my weekly physicals, to which she agreed with some degree of displeasure.
The Regimen aside, I was considered an honored passenger, with few duties aside from maintaining my own quarters. I wasn’t required to help with the finishing of the ship or loading of cargo, and I didn’t offer. Neither was I called upon to assist with the setup of the ship’s fantastic airbag, which was just as well. Manual labor never suited me, so I tended to evade it on the whole. As a result, I spent the days watching and brooding, convinced Geraldine had darker plans for dragging me along than she was willing to admit. As the days unfolded, I also grew worried that Lightbridge was a man operating well beyond his mental means.
I’m not proud to say I was correct on both accounts.
Lightbridge was a creature of much affection. He shared tales of his life and his military career with a warm and friendly smile. When it came to his own hired help, he was gentle and fair-minded. He treated each member of the Fancy with the utmost respect and charm. He gave Geraldine the occasional admiring glance, though who could blame him for that? But, above all else, he treasured his beloved wife. His Bessy, as he called her, was the center of his world. He spoke of her with a twinkle in his eyes that reflected the soul of what I always imagined to be true love.
It is only fitting that he is with her now, after so many suffering years apart.
I first realized the truth about Lightbridge’s wife the night before liftoff.
The four of us—Geraldine, Albert, Lightbridge and myself—were seated around the dining table in the main house, sharing stories about our lives as new companions are wont to do. Lightbridge had just told us another wonderful anecdote about his wife, something involving linen hanging on the line and his incessant need to know if it was truly clean, when it dawned on me that I had yet to meet the woman in person.
Thinking myself sociable, I asked, “When shall I have the privilege of meeting your wonderful wife? After hearing so much about her, I can hardly wait to see her in person.”
A quick look of hesitance passed between Albert and Geraldine, but Lightbridge laughed in his usual way.
“Soon,” he assured me. “Soon enough. I’m afraid she is still at her sister’s.”
This very claim had been his story since I arrived at the estate. His wife was at her sister’s home, visiting relatives instead of remaining home to deal with the noisy construction. “She won’t be traveling with us, then?”
“Not as
I planned to avoid her.
Those plans failed.
I never liked the idea of doctors and did my best to steer clear of them unless I was too ill to do otherwise. To my great irritation, visiting the medical personnel was required aboard the Fancy. When Lightbridge informed me that, as per my contract, I would be required not only to allow Geraldine to examine me once per week, but also to allow her to take a needle to my precious skin every day, I balked. But he would not be moved.
He informed me that everyone aboard was required to partake of what he called the Regimen: a rigorous exercise program, a painfully healthy diet, abstinence from alcoholic beverages and a daily vitamin injection, all designed to keep his crew in top physical performance. His reasoning, while irritating, was most sound. He surmised that past journeys to the north failed not because of the biting cold or poor navigation, but because of lack of proper nutrition and other demons of ill health. I reminded him that I was a far cry from ‘top’ in my physique, at which he assured me that Geraldine’s syringe of vitamins and herbal extracts, along with a healthy dose of exercise, would set me straight. As a compromise, Lightbridge suggested that one of Geraldine’s medical students could tend to my weekly physicals, to which she agreed with some degree of displeasure.
The Regimen aside, I was considered an honored passenger, with few duties aside from maintaining my own quarters. I wasn’t required to help with the finishing of the ship or loading of cargo, and I didn’t offer. Neither was I called upon to assist with the setup of the ship’s fantastic airbag, which was just as well. Manual labor never suited me, so I tended to evade it on the whole. As a result, I spent the days watching and brooding, convinced Geraldine had darker plans for dragging me along than she was willing to admit. As the days unfolded, I also grew worried that Lightbridge was a man operating well beyond his mental means.
I’m not proud to say I was correct on both accounts.
Lightbridge was a creature of much affection. He shared tales of his life and his military career with a warm and friendly smile. When it came to his own hired help, he was gentle and fair-minded. He treated each member of the Fancy with the utmost respect and charm. He gave Geraldine the occasional admiring glance, though who could blame him for that? But, above all else, he treasured his beloved wife. His Bessy, as he called her, was the center of his world. He spoke of her with a twinkle in his eyes that reflected the soul of what I always imagined to be true love.
It is only fitting that he is with her now, after so many suffering years apart.
I first realized the truth about Lightbridge’s wife the night before liftoff.
The four of us—Geraldine, Albert, Lightbridge and myself—were seated around the dining table in the main house, sharing stories about our lives as new companions are wont to do. Lightbridge had just told us another wonderful anecdote about his wife, something involving linen hanging on the line and his incessant need to know if it was truly clean, when it dawned on me that I had yet to meet the woman in person.
Thinking myself sociable, I asked, “When shall I have the privilege of meeting your wonderful wife? After hearing so much about her, I can hardly wait to see her in person.”
A quick look of hesitance passed between Albert and Geraldine, but Lightbridge laughed in his usual way.
“Soon,” he assured me. “Soon enough. I’m afraid she is still at her sister’s.”
This very claim had been his story since I arrived at the estate. His wife was at her sister’s home, visiting relatives instead of remaining home to deal with the noisy construction. “She won’t be traveling with us, then?”
“Not as
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