The hills of the area were green and lush with grasses, the tall buffalo grass of the plains. This was not yet the Great American Desert, which began just to the west some said, others said it lay across the Rocky Mountains. But compared to the fields, forests and orchards of Ohio, it was a place Elisa had only dreamt of being again. For Erich, the open prairies that never ended, be they rolling or true plains that had so little elevation change to defy the mind's construct of the world, were a nightmare. He needed things around him, objects on the horizon that stood tall, or at least broke the horizon's great circle. Elisa had loved it, to know there was no landmarks and no limit to the view save the curling of the earth's surface excited her.
But at the moment, by the light of a full moon and the lamps she had crafted with focusing metal mirrors behind the oil wicks, she and Ivan proceeded at a steady pace west by northwest to the areas thought to be a great trove of the fossils she sought. And to put the temptation of return to Decatur to redeem her mother's necklace from her uncle's ability to act upon. He had been quite upset at the price she had paid, still fuming in the control chair as he steered them to the ridges and ravines north of the Elkhorn River.
Elisa let Ivan sulk, instead trying to concentrate on the old maps she had broken out from when her mother had prospected these hills. Fading ink and the jostling from the uneven terrain made that difficult by day, at night it was an exercise in self torture. They needed to get out there, though, as all her best craftings until now had been sold to fund this trip west. If Elisa could not soon make a few automata to sell or use herself, the trip might falter before reaching her goal. Her revenge smelled good in her plans, but until she could taste it, Elisa would never know if it was proper.
Each mile traveled was something of a miracle in these days. Few dared the western flat-lands without a second wagon to carry coal, wood or some other fuel. Elisa's secret was the knowledge of the west, that the very bison could give her fuel, and the location of a few of the strange black oil seeps staining the sea of grass they traveled.
But those were not all she had. Somewhere west of here, in what until the war's end when the treaty was confirmed by the Senate, lay a place were the yellow metal that was warm could be mined. In ore, low grade, but still it was there, and she had maps that showed the way, as well as some fossils and the more important lead to protect from the dangers of the metal she sought. With that metal, she planned a new type of boiler. One to revolutionize the world, or at least make her some steady income from the patent licenses.
It was only two days back to town, a distance his horse could make faster than the heavy wagon. And her uncle's refusal to leave the gelding behind had shocked her. For any in the necromancer's trade to choose a living being over a reanimated one or machine was rare. Part of the mystique one built around the craft and one's skill came from using the tools they made. The only thing she ever got from him was the horse had saved his life, but he would not say how or when. Or had not reached that point in the talks over meals of their lives since they last had met.
"Should be another tributary valley soon, that one is not marked as taken by the notes I made in Decatur, so we should be able to at least camp and scout about it for a day or so." Her words had to be shouted over the hissing and rumbles of the steam engines. She wanted desperately to remove her goggles and let her eyes get some fresh air, but soon she would have to stoke the coal fire once more. Constant removal and replacing of the goggles was bad for the protective wear, and the face and fingers. Her left cheek and right index fingers bore the bruises to testify to that. And out here, there would be days between folks who could make a new set of those, if the glass fell and broke. One skill Elisa did not have deftness in was glass cutting or making.
Ivan merely grunted his reply, something she knew more by his body motions than sound. Unlike her, he wore the shaped leather and wax plugs many had adopted of late to save their ears. Elisa had several sets, buried in some drawer in the wagon's living area. She dared not stop to search for them until enough distance lay between them and Decatur. Again, she feared tempting her uncle with heading back for revenge, after finding that servant was just another word for slave there.
Under the rotating stars, they pressed on to that place, camping around midnight. Following no trail had let the rubber tyres show their use. The ride seemed smoother, however that could just be the skill of Ivan in operating the wagon. the rumbles were steady from the boiler under his touch, and he never needed to make the sudden swerves and cuts forced upon Elisa. Miles fell by easily, distance that had taken her days now took hours. Only the crossing of rivers and streams slowed them to her former pace, which gave the young woman some measure of relief over mastering that part of the journey to come's needs.
Making camp was simple in its steps, but still took a while to perform. They banked the coals, adding just enough lumps around the edges of the boiler fire to give slow and steady heat through the coming chilly night. Pulling out the sleeping rack from the wagon side took a short spell, leveling it over its braces required a touch she had only begun to brush the edges of. Under Ivan's hands, she learned those gentle touches, ones that separated a student and journeyman from a master and artisan. Despite his handicaps, the long-lost uncle demonstrated such a softness in his use of both real and artificial hands to amaze her. No task, save those of sheer brute force, was done without care and planning. The way her mother and father had plied their crafts. Awakened feelings of loss danced inside her heart, moving in the slow waltz of regret. Coming here and reuniting with family, even if it was only Uncle Ivan, left her soul aching for her lost family.
As they settled in, her in the bed on the pullout, Ivan sleeping on a blanket on the work floor, words came slowly, seeking the slow return of hearing from the long buffeting under the noise of the running boiler.
"Uncle..."
He cut her off fast. "Unless you are sure we are alone, never admit we are related, even speaking with me. Tonight, only tonight, you may still call me that, bur from here on, keep it inside, call me by name or rank. Those who killed our family are still out here, and the wagon is known. I was being watched in town as well."
The strike of a match showed he had filled his pipe with tobacco. As he puffed it up, the flaring flames made the insides of the wagon pulse close to her heartbeat in light. Revealing he had been watched was something she had not known.
"Listen well, debeitsa, you are grown, and changed, but the tale of that day still is told. It is known I and my niece escaped, and two others. But if the ones who did that day's evil think you live, they will kill us both." The aroma of burley tobacco touched with a hint of cherries filled the wagon, even with the skylight open a touch. The powerful aroma made her feel both at home and lost, for Ivan and her father had both favored that blend.
"I see. But tonight we are safe?" The question was soft in the air, as Elisa took to heart the statements.
"Yes, until that horse of mine stirs, we are safe, debeitsa. But if he stirs tonight, or any other night, heed his motions. Better than the dog, he is, for he does not like to be approached after dark, even by me." His scarred face was lit by the burning tobacco, faint in the darkness, but still more than one cared to see of such damages on a person. "Now, speak soft, and ask what you wish to know, Elisa. And I will answer as I can."
Silence lay in the wagon for quite a few long draws and releases of Ivan's pipe. Strangely, Elisa found that to be her metronome in this moment of revealing knowledge, replacing her heartbeat. At last she would get answers about that day, or so she prayed.
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