Spring Fever

I chose "Spring Fever" for my Encore short because it represents what the romance genre means to me - support and encouragement from fellow authors. It is also the last Encored short story in our three year run. Please check out the posts that have appeared each Friday since January 2nd. Enjoy!!!

Spring Fever

By Judith Ashley and Helen Little with contributions from Sarah Raplee

April 10, 2014
Mineral Springs, OR

Alfred Porterhouse relished the wind blowing through his hair as he drove his red Mazda convertible at the legal thirty-five mile an hour speed limit. Well, not mine exactly. Jared’s the best friend ever because he let me borrow it so I can make a good impression on Allie.

The leafy canopy over the tree-lined road dappled the pavement with spots of sun. “Bfftt!” Frantically Alfred waved the little white puffs swirling about him away from his face and plucked out the offending piece of fluff stuck in his mouth. “Bfftt!” What is that? He slowed down noticing the spots on the road were not just from the sun. Breathing through slitted lips, Alfred glanced around the borrowed car. The stuff was everywhere. Got to be careful. Don’t want to choke to death on one of those cottony snow things. I have important things to do today.

At his destination, he parked at the curb in front of Allie’s house. Taking Jared’s advice to heart, he checked his appearance in the rear-view mirror and quickly finger-combed his hair into some semblance of order. Remembering his co-worker’s admonishment to make sure his eyebrows were straight—a quick finger lick and swipe and he was done. Another moment to savor Jared’s, “You look great in the driver’s seat,” and he was ready. Chest puffed out with pride, he grabbed the bouquet of wildflowers off the passenger seat and headed towards the front door.

Who knew I could land a date with someone as cool as Allie Borders? Without Jared’s help—he paused at the bottom step before jogging up. The list “Tips for a Successful Date” popped into his mind, circling through it line-by-line.

Bring her flowers – he took a sniff at the bouquet in his hands and sneezed.

Open the door and help her into the car – like a gentleman does for a lady.

Compliment her appearance – geez. He blanked out on the rest of the list before he reached the porch. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he chanted under his breath. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

On the porch, a frisson of panic stopped him in his tracks. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and trickled in rivulets down his face. Gotta keep breathing, A-Freddie. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he blotted his face and dried his hands again before stuffing the damp crumbled cloth back in its place. Taking the last few steps, he knocked—tap, tap—tap. He shifted from foot to foot, the anxiety building as he waited.

Side-stepping to the window, he peered in and squinted through the glass. What’s keeping her? Where is she? A strange figure glided into the room and headed toward the front door. Startled, he jerked back like he’d been shot! Who’s that?

***

Allie Borders adjusted her protective mask as she crossed the room to the door. A serious flare of allergies this morning had almost caused her to call and cancel. Her gaze took in her mustard colored sweater and brown tote on the chair by the front door. Mentally she checked the contents: packets of tissue, rescue inhaler, back-up masks. Why didn’t I cancel if I need all this stuff to go out for coffee? Because I’m going out with Alfred! And we’re just going for coffee and that cute bistro down the street is just the place. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.

A smile on her face, she opened the door. “Hi, Alfred,” she said. “Let me grab my things.” He looks weird with his black eyebrows scrunched into a straight line. I wonder if something’s bothering him. Allie stepped away from the door and picked up her sweater and tote. I’m not going to ask because I’ve wanted him to notice me forever. He’s a bit quirky and really shy. It could scare him off. Turning back from locking up, she saw the red convertible with the top down at the curb.

Allie’s lungs seized, her hand flew to her chest, “Is this your car?”

“Sure is! Well, not really. Jared let me borrow it. The feel of the wind in your hair is great,” he rattled on. “I like your hair.”

Panic tightened her chest, her breathing labored. I can do this. “Thank.” I can do this.” You.” I can do this.

***

Alfred opened the passenger door. Anxiety bounced through him and he rocked on his feet. Should I ask her why she’s wearing a mask? Will she be insulted? Geez, Jared didn’t say anything about this? He stood to the side and Allie slid into the seat. What now? “Let me help you with your seat belt,” he said already matching actions with words. The buckle secured with a click. What else? Jared’s list was nowhere in his memory banks so he quickly rounded the car and got in. The mask barely moved - in and out, in and out, in and out. Was she talking?

“Ready?” he asked pulling away from the curb. I’ll just take her for a little drive, take advantage of this great car. It’s a beauty!

Two blocks away, Alfred stopped at a red light. Allie’s hand clutched his arm. His eyes widened. The mask bellowed in and out and her eyes gleamed with an eerie light. “What?” The street noise drowned out anything Allie might have said. She gestured behind her and he saw the coffee shop over her shoulder.

“That coffee shop?” Did she nod? The light changed and he drove off. “Not just yet. I’m taking you for a drive so you can enjoy this cool car.” Where? The park! That’ll do it.

Blinker on, Alfred turned left into the city park. Of all the things Mineral Springs was famous for, the city park was in the top ten attractions. It boasted the largest flower garden in the state and this time of year it was ablaze with blooms. The white floaty stuff he’d noticed in the air earlier was thicker here. The roadway was carpeted with it and a fine yellow dust. A glance in his rearview mirror showed a swirl of yellow and white lifting into the air as he drove. He slowed to a crawl so she could take in the full beauty of the apple blossoms, the lilacs, the—he didn’t know what everything was called but they were beautiful. He took a deep breath of the many flavored scents. “Aacchhooo!”

Allie’s fingers dug into his arm and she jerked. “What’s going on?” he yelled. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. He looked over at his passenger. Yellow dust crusted her mask, a wild look flashed in her eyes, rapid sucking motion moved her mask and her free hand flapped around, waving in all directions. He pulled to the side of the road and stopped.

“What?” he asked, one brow arched in question, giving her his full attention. “Is something wrong?”

***

Allie’s lungs labored with the effort to breathe. With the traffic noise, she hadn’t been able to make Alfred understand she needed to be inside, somewhere the air was filtered. Here in the park, her personal hell, all she could manage was waving her hands around. How to make him understand?

She grabbed his hand and wrote H O M E on his palm. He shook his head, a confused look on his face. She tried again, marking his palm more slowly. No progress. Desperate for some way to communicate with him without taking off her mask, she slumped back against the seat, eyes closed.

“What’s wrong?”

She heard the worry in his voice. If she removed the mask so she could answer him, she’d have to use her rescue inhaler. Is there another way to tell him what I need? Opening her eyes she looked at his face etched with concern.

The dashboard!

H O M E – the white letters showed up plainly in contrast to the pollen coating the surface like golden snow.

“You want me to take you home now?” Alfred asked, obviously perplexed.

She nodded vigorously.

“But we were going for coffee,” he said, a bit of a whine in his voice.

H O M E she underlined the word.

His shoulders slumped but he started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

He escorted her to the door and she invited him in. Once inside, she removed her mask. “Aaaccchooo!”

Alfred pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket and shoved it into her hand.

“Aaaccchooo! Aaaccchooo!” Allie held the damp piece of cloth to her face. Taking a deep breath between one sneeze and the next, Allie realized her mistake as her lungs seized. She shoved the hankie at Alfred, waved him toward the couch, dumped her tote on the table and grabbed her inhaler.

Allie expelled all the air from her lungs, fit the mouthpiece between her lips, pushed the lever and slowly breathed in, filling her lungs with the steroids. The tightness in her chest eased, her body sighed. Her breathing returned to some semblance of normal. What a comedy of errors. Crossing the room the few steps to the couch, she sat next to Alfred.

          “I’m so sorry to have spoiled our coffee date,” she started.

          “What happened?” Alfred blurted out. “I thought you’d like the car. Jared said everyone likes it.”

          “It wasn’t the car,” Allie said. “I’ve a bad case of allergies so being outside when the pollen count is so high is bad for me.”

“You mean that white stuff and yellow dust make you like this?” He cocked his head to the side, his gaze considering as if he were examining the results of a laboratory experiment.

“Yes.” Allie’s eyes watered, her nose ran. She stuffed tissue up her nose to stem the flow. “I need to shower and change. You know, wash the pollen off me so I’ll get better.” Alfred looked so earnest so concerned for her. He didn’t do anything on purpose. He just didn’t know.

“I’d better go,” he said.

“I hate to have you go but I’m not fun now and I know I shouldn’t go out again.”

“Ever?”

She smiled at the panicked look on his face. “No, silly. I have to be very careful outside until the pollen count is down.”

“Hey, I have an idea. I think I can fix this,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement.

“How?”

“Promise me you’ll go out with me next weekend and you’ll see.”

He was still Alfred, that quirky guy who pricked her interest. “I’ll be ready,” she said, a lightness or maybe lightheadedness overcoming her.

***

Saturday Alfred Porterhouse pulled his red Mazda convertible to the curb in front of Allie’s house. Well, not mine exactly. Jared let me borrow it again so I can make a good impression on Allie. The top was up and the inside gleamed. Before getting out of the car, he checked the rear-view mirror. He grabbed the box of candy he’d brought her and another package off the passenger seat. Allie Borders is going out with me. He exited the car and took the steps two-at-a-time. She’s something else. Way cool.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped a moment and went through his list.

1. Something to give her – check

2. Something to surprise her – check

3. Make sure she agrees to what we are going to do on our date – I will do that.

He knocked on the door and rang the bell for good measure. This time he didn’t look in the window because he knew she was coming.

The door opened and there she was–Allie Borders looking like a princess in a long flowing midnight blue dress, her soft auburn hair piled in a riot of curls on her head, her green eyes peering at him over her mask.

She stepped aside and he walked in. The door shut behind him as he turned and thrust his packages towards her.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking both objects. She unhooked one side of her mask letting it hang down.

“Open them.”

They sat, knees together on the couch. Her warmth filtered through his slacks and his cheeks pinked.

The opalescent green polish on her finger nails flashed as her fingers grappled with the ribbon tied securely around the first box.

“Oohh, I love chocolate covered macadamia nuts!” She popped a treat in her mouth. Her eyes closed in ecstasy and she chewed slowly. “Want one?” she asked, licking her lips and grabbing a second candy. With her free hand, she held the box out to him.

Alfred took the offered candy and put the box on the couch between them.

“And this?” she asked holding up the mystery package. Her eyes sparkled, her rosy lips turned up in a smile of anticipation.

Alfred stood and paced a few steps away before turning back to face her. “Open it and see.” He clasped his hands behind him and rocked back and forth on his feet.

Allie tore open the wrapping and found a plain brown cardboard box. “Alfred?”

He smiled at the confused questioning look on her face but kept his hands clasped. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out and helping her. She’s never had anything like this before.

“Too much tape, I have to get a knife to open it,” she said and headed for the kitchen.

He followed, waiting in the doorway while she plucked a knife from the rack and slit through the tape.

“Oh my,” Allie said delight and surprise in her voice. “I’ve never—”

“Words fail you?” he asked, bouncing on his toes.

She nodded and grinned. “I’m confused, there are two.”

“One for you and one for me. Want to try them out?”

“I do,” Allie said handing one to him. She grabbed her tote along the way. “Are we going for a drive?”

“We are but today the top is up.” Alfred helped her adjust the straps just right before putting his own on.

“Why don’t we put it down,” she said, her voice now having a mechanical edge to it.

“Really? Are you sure?”

She nodded and headed toward the door.

His hand on her elbow, Alfred escorted Allie to the car and helped her in. Top down, he drove off. The strange looks from people as they drove by meant nothing. She’s a little odd but I like her.

***

Allie Borders relaxed against the while leather seats of the red Mazda convertible. White fluffy stuff and golden pollen swirled in the air and made mini-dirt-devils as they drove through the Arboretum. The crisscross of straps kept her hair somewhat contained. She glanced over at Alfred’s profile and chuckled. The Darth Vader-like-shape protruding from his face was the image of the perfect man for her. It can’t get more perfect than this.

Copyright © 2014 Judith Ashley and Helen Little

Thanks to my writing friends, Helen Little and Sarah Raplee, for brainstorming the core elements of this story, adding content and editing. This story is so much better because of your involvement.

Learn more about Judith, Sarah and Helen at 

www.judithashleyromance.com

www.sarahraplee.com

www.laurabrittshoes.com

Judith's blog: www.judithashley.blogspot.com features a new post most Mondays
Judith also posts the first Friday of each month at www.Romancingthegenre.blogspot.com

An Ill-Advised Experiment by Sarah Raplee

Dr. Franklin Stein peered over the rim of his spectacles and squinted at the display on his latest invention, a Physio-Energetic Transposer, or PET, device. The numbers and needles on the dial were a blur, as if they were swimming in lard. Frustration expanded his chest as though it were a balloon on the brink of bursting. He slammed a fist on the laboratory bench and let loose a string of expletives not meant for delicate ears.

He could not work, and it was his own bloody fault! How could he have neglected to order new spectacles? How could he tell President Grant about the delay?

The President would not be pleased with the man his Cabinet members had nicknamed Pet Scientist in Chief. Franklin hated to disappoint the one man who had staunchly supported his wide-ranging research efforts over the past five years.

A soft rap on the door made his stomach clench. He’d believed his new bride, Prudence, to be outside in the garden when he had given into his frustration. Had his coarse language offended her? If only his unique intelligence allowed him to navigate the intricacies of human society with a modicum of grace. But he was the metaphorical bull in the China shop of Society.

Heaving a sigh, he crossed the laboratory in two long strides and flung open the door. The sight of Prue’s beatific smile eased the tension in his shoulders. She seemed unaware of his recent fit of temper. She wrapped her arms around his neck, rose onto her tiptoes and then kissed him with lips as soft as butterfly wings.

As always, she took his breath away.

When she pulled back and gazed up at him through her lashes, laughter danced in her lovely violet eyes. “May I be of help, husband?”

She pressed her lips together instead of smiling, which confused him. Sometimes he felt completely at a loss with her, as if they spoke different non-verbal languages.

Several tendrils of chestnut hair had escaped her chignon to curl alongside the white column of her neck. Franklin found himself imagining what it would feel like to lift them away and kiss her where they had caressed her soft skin. Then he would sweep her off her feet and carry her into the library—

Prue tipped up her chin and raised her brows. “What in the world are you thinking, sir?”

He grinned. “Scandalous thoughts, m’dear, scandalous thoughts.”

Color rose in her cheeks. She folded her arms across her breasts and gazed at him askance. “I only wanted to help, not to distract you.”

He pulled her close, inhaling the calming scent of her flowery perfume. Lord, what did I do to deserve such a woman? She was not a typical female, frail of sensibilities and faint of heart. She helped him when his faults were a hindrance. Otherwise, she overlooked them. No longer a girl like the silly chits who’d hoped to wed him, she had come to his bed with an eagerness and generosity that had astounded him. One taste of her and he was lost forever.

“Well?” Prue said.

Franklin sighed. “I cannot read the transposer dial. I should have ordered new spectacles before the wedding.”

She smiled. “Then I can be of help. I’ll read the instruments for you so your work will not be affected. You can order the spectacles this afternoon.”

He opened his mouth to protest the need to run the errand today, but Prue’s smile melted his thoughts the way sunlight melts butter. Besides, his bride was not afraid to reveal her iron backbone when his well-being was at stake. There was no point in arguing about the spectacles.

She looped her arm through his and they walked toward the PET. Prue stopped unexpectedly and cast a puzzled glance up at him. “What happened to your seawater desalinization project? President Grant expects the results in three days.”

Franklin smiled. He enjoyed having someone intelligent with whom to discuss his work. “Not to worry. I perfected the process two days ago. The President already has my report.”

Her expression cleared. “I must visit the laboratory more frequently. What is your latest project, then?” She bent down to peer at the dial and switches on the PET’s central unit. Bundles of insulated electrical cables protruded from either side of the box for more than a yard before ending in shiny silver helmets.

“I call my new invention a Physio-Energetic Transposer, or PET. The basic idea came to me while I studied at Yale, but my experiments failed repeatedly. I needed a chemical compound with the proper biological and energetic properties for test subject preparation in order to be successful. Unfortunately, I failed to find one at that time.”

“But you’ve discovered one?” Prue said, her eyes shining.

He nodded. “The recent measles outbreak in Baltimore induced me to investigate Native herbal remedies. While searching for a plant to strengthen a person’s resistance to illness, I stumbled onto an herb known as datura. Priests and priestesses of the Indian tribes who live at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers use datura to allow their spirits to roam free of their bodies. I believe datura weakens what I call the physio-energetic bond. This may be what I need to transpose minds.”

His excitement dimmed in the face of her shocked expression. He replayed their brief conversation in his head, but could recall nothing to explain her apparently negative reaction. His shoulders slumped. “What is it?”

Prue composed her features into a smile and laid her palms against his chest. Her warm brown eyes peered up into his. “I’m sorry; I thought you said you were going to transpose minds.” She laughed as if she had told a joke.

In response to Prue laying her hands on his chest, he slid his arms around her supple waist. This was a ritual they had developed to ease them through impending disagreements. The close physical contact helped him to remain calm when he felt confused.

In this case, her reaction to his invention was not at all what he had expected. What the devil did it mean? “That is exactly what I said. The president believes the ability to transpose minds between bodies may serve the country well. That is a direct quote.”

Prue blinked. She studied him for a moment and then shook her head. “Politicians are ambitious men, which sometimes makes them shortsighted.”

Franklin blinked. His fingers tightened on her waist. It had never occurred to him that the President of the United States of America might have faults like any other man. The implications were mind-boggling. His lungs compressed.

Prue cupped his jaw in her warm, soft hand. “Don’t look so horrified, Franklin. Only God is perfect.” She dropped her gaze to the rise and fall of his chest for a moment. “You must remain calm, my dear. Breathe slowly and deeply.”

He did as she instructed. His chest gradually opened up.

She grinned, and he knew she had thought of a way to help him understand her concerns about his project. He relaxed a little.

“Better?” she said, still smiling.

He hadn’t a clue as to what was coming next, but her smile was reassuring. He smiled back. “Much.”

“Help me to understand why you want to transpose minds, other than that the President is in favor of your research. What specific good do you foresee will come of it?”

Prue would wait patiently for his answer. She understood that these sorts of questions were difficult for him to answer. He thought back to the beginning of his quest, back to his time at Yale. He couldn’t remember ever giving the outcome of his work any thought. Why was that? “Predicting the effects of my work in society is impossible.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I disagree. You may find yourself ill-equipped to do so, but I believe I can safely predict little if any good will come of these experiments.”

Franklin didn’t know how to respond. He lifted his gaze to the blank wall and processed her words. Prue believed his work would cause only harm. It was logical to assume she wanted him to quit the PET experiments—forever. The thought alone made him break into a cold sweat. Once he began a project he was like a dog with a bone until he had his answers. He could not bring himself to give up the quest when he was so close to accomplishing his goals. Could he?

Franklin searched his wife’s loving eyes for an answer. Prue had never interfered in his work until today. Nor had she given him bad advice or claimed to have skills or knowledge she did not possess. She must feel strongly about this. She loved him, therefore she wanted what was best for him. “What do you suggest?”

“How far along are you in your research?” In a rare indication of nerves, she briefly worried her full lower lip.

He focused on her mouth while he considered her question. “I have determined the PET is safe to use on guinea pigs. They seem to suffer an hour of confusion before settling into their usual patterns of behavior. But that doesn’t prove their minds were actually transposed. Guinea pigs are very similar in their general behaviors.”

The pink tip of her tongue darted out to lick her lips. He lost his train of thought.

“I suggest we purchase two dogs of differing breeds with very distinct behaviors, one well-trained to follow commands and one totally undisciplined. After we take time to become familiar with the dogs, you may attempt to transpose their minds. If you are successful, their behaviors will offer proof of success. And I have no doubt you will find my negative prediction has been verified”.

He frowned. “But you don’t approve of the PET experiments.”

“I want you to trust my judgment in these matters without reservation. Only hard experience will enable you to accept my advice. Besides, once you’ve begun a project, I am convinced you will fall ill from curiosity if not allowed find the answers you seek.” With an affectionate smile, Prue brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “I have only one request, Franklin.”

“Of course.”

“When you realize the wisdom of my prediction, will you destroy the PET device along with your notes, and then report that the experiment was an utter failure?”

He drew his brows together. “You want me to lie to the President?”

She shook her head. “If transposing minds causes nothing but problems, then the experiment is a failure for all practical purposes, don’t you see? Just because mankind can do something doesn’t mean we should.”

Prue’s explanation left Franklin breathless, as though he were on the brink of an epiphany but couldn’t see the next step. He was certain of only one thing. He could not stand for her to be unhappy.

“I will do as you ask. You have my word.”

Her eyes shone. “You are the dearest, sweetest man God ever put on this earth.” She pulled his head down for a kiss that burned away all logical thought.

#

A month later, Franklin waited in the laboratory for Sparky and Bruno, the dogs he and Prue had purchased three weeks before, to awaken from anesthesia. Each dog slept on his own pillow on the laboratory floor. Each wore a collar and chain attached to a ring set in the stone wall. They would be able to see each other, but not reach each other.

After completing the transposition, he had removed the silver helmets and tried to make the dogs comfortable. His Physio-Electric Transponder readings had indicated the datura loosened the mind-body connection in both dogs enough for the transposition to be successful. Things seemed to have gone smoothly. Only time would tell.

A soft rap on the door announced Prue’s arrival. Franklin opened the door.

His lovely wife swept into the room bearing a silver tray holding two cups of fragrant tea and a small plate of cookies. She set the tray on a workbench and then handed him a steaming cup. ““I’m so excited I can hardly breathe. Perhaps the tea will calm my nerves.”

Prue chattered when she was nervous.She had told him so.

“What about you, Franklin?” she said, smiling at him over the rim of her teacup. “Are you excited to find out if the transposition worked?”

He considered the question. His stomach was queasy. His muscles felt wound up as tightly as clock springs. His gaze dropped to Sparky’s small, inert form. His heart skipped a beat. What would the incorrigible terrier be like when he awakened?

He had never before owned a dog. The animals' companionship had been enjoyable. He and Prue played fetch with them every morning after breakfast. Bruno was the calmer of the two, obedient and prone to napping. Franklin found stroking the mastiff’s smooth coat quite soothing. Sparky’s antics made him laugh, and the little rascal had turned out to be a champion ratter. Their groom was delighted to have the terrier visit the stables.

Soft fingers grazed his cheek. He started, then offered his wife a sheepish smile. He had become lost in thought and forgotten to answer her question. “I don’t think I’m excited. I feel—twisted up inside.”

Prue sighed. “You’re worried, Franklin,” she said. “You’ve grown attached to the dogs.”

Before he could formulate a response, Bruno’s paws began to twitch.

#

Twenty minutes later both dogs were awake and pulling at the ends of their chains. Bruno, no longer obedient, would not stop barking and jumping around. Franklin wished he had used a larger gauge chain to secure the big dog. This one might not hold much longer..

Little Sparky had staggered around for a few minutes, stopping periodically to blink at Franklin with what felt like reproach. Then he flopped on his side on his pillow and closed his eyes.

Prue laid a hand on Franklin’s arm. She had to shout to be heard over Bruno’s barking. “I believe we have enough behavioral evidence to prove the PET device worked. The noise in here is giving me a headache. Let’s go sit in the garden.”

Franklin let her lead him outside. They sat on a warm stone bench. The air was infused with the scent of roses. Bruno’s muffled barks were clearly audible, but at least he could think again. He removed his spectacles and scrubbed his face with one hand.

Prue’s prediction had been accurate. He would never again doubt her advice. Switching the dogs between bodies was possible, but inadvisable. Dog’s emotions were relatively straightforward and thus easy for him to read. The animals were obviously unhappy. Knowing that made his heart ache. They were also ill-suited for their new bodies. Sparky-the-terrier was an incorrigible mite, while Sparky-the-mastiff was a danger to himself and others. He shuddered to think what might happen if the mastiff got loose.

Transposing people was no doubt possible, but the end result would at best break their spirits. At worst it would drive them insane. He no longer felt driven to continue with these experiments. He did not want to hurt anyone.

He donned his spectacles and then turned to his wife. The love that shone in her eyes made him feel that everything would come out alright. “I would appreciate your assistance in choosing future projects,” he said gravely.

Prue grinned. She began to unpin her hair. To his surprise, he knew exactly what she was thinking. As her hair came down, his blood heated. When the last pin came out, she rose and offered him her hand. “Transposing Sparky and Bruno back into their own bodies can wait until tomorrow. I suspect they need some rest before undergoing a second procedure. Let’s have a lie-down before dinner.”

He kissed the back of her hand, pretending he had misunderstood her intent. “You never take naps.”

She arched her brows at him and slowly unbuttoned the high collar of her white blouse, then the next button, and the next. Franklin swallowed. He could see the shadow of her décolletage and hear his blood rush in his ears.

“I do not plan to sleep,” she said.

He surged to his feet. “Neither do I.”

With that, he swept her into his arms. Her smile swelled his heart to bursting with love. As he carried her to the French doors that led to the library, he kissed her nose, her eyelids, her chin. After opening the doors, he carried her inside and deposited her on the brocade-covered settee. The air was heavy with the odors of leather and old books. He closed the doors and the heavy drapes for privacy.

“Why Dr. Stein,” Prue said from the shadows. “I do believe you have compromised me.”

“Not yet,”he said, “but I am about to, Mrs. Stein.”

© 2013 Sarah Raplee All rights reserved

We will close Free Reads from the Genre-istas to story posts in February of 2015.

This free original short story blog has had a wonderful run. Thank you, Dear Readers, for reading our stories, and for any feedback you have given us. We hope you've enjoyed them. For many of us, posting a story here was our first opportunity to get our work in front of people not connected to us. Believe me, we were thrilled when you showed up!

As a farewell we will do Encore Postings of a story each Friday beginning Jan. 9th and continue until we close. Thank you for your interest and support!

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Happy Reading!

Dr. Truth and the Logical Lady by Sarah Raplee

 Miss Henrietta Lafleur tipped her pink parasol back to peer up at the airship straining against its tethers under the hot May sun. Strong hemp ropes as big around as her wrist held the amazing flying ship captive to the St. Louis Air Dock. A light breeze ruffled the white lace bow at the front of Henri’s little straw hat. The ship’s lines creaked in protest.

Several people in line to board on the crowded wooden dock ducked and cried out when the huge shadow shifted a bit.

Henri shook her head in disgust. Anyone with half a brain could see that the tethers were more than adequate to control Eagle. The ship was only one hundred and fifty feet long. When railroad workers had announced their anticipated strike a month ago, a wealthy shipbuilder had been ready with plans to launch a fledgling regional air service. Relatively small airships like the Eagle would transport a dozen passengers as well as mail and small amounts of freight between cities in only hours—for an exorbitant fee, of course.

Her little dog wriggled in the heavy portmanteau she carried. Her stomach clenched.

“Scotty, quiet!” she said under her breath. She did not believe a small black dog, no matter how well-behaved, would be welcomed on board an airship.

The wriggling stopped.

A tall, gray-haired woman wearing an unfashionably-large hat peered down at her through a smudged pince-nez.

“Do you need to borrow a handkerchief to clean your lenses?” Henri asked without thinking. Gazing through smudged glass made her hair stand on end.

The woman had opened her mouth to speak, but she snapped her jaws shut with an audible click, stuck her big nose in the air and then turned her back on Henri. She is offended. Henri swallowed hard. She had meant the offer as a kindness. She feared she would never completely blend in, despite Miss Green’s best efforts to mold her into a lady.

Henri sighed. She would miss her kind governess. Leaving home was surprisingly heart-wrenching.

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The ship’s looming presence drew her gaze upward once more. The shear mechanical genius of the thing made her heart skip a beat. Her face felt strangely stretched. She must be grinning from ear to ear—something she hadn’t done since Father had surprised her with a telescope last Christmas.

She stiffened, remembering what had followed. The next day her parents had explained all the logical reasons why her fascination with science was all well and good as a pass-time, but she must give up her ambition to be recognized as a real scientist. Instead, Father and Mama would provide a governess to teach her the finer points of etiquette and how to run a household. She must apply herself to learning these skills like any proper lady from a good family—in preparation for a suitable marriage, of course.

In that moment she had decided to wrest control of her destiny from the hands of her hopelessly old-fashioned parents. Henri agreed one-hundred per cent with the Rationalist movement that asserted the restrictions Society placed on women in 1860 were not only illogical, they were harmful. All that potential talent going to waste! Women like Underground Railroad conductor Harriet Tubman and airship designer Marie Van Allen were making significant contributions to America and the rest of the world. Henri would do the same.

With her parents none the wiser, she had pretended meek submission to their plans for her. She’d studied the ways young ladies hid their true feelings behind masks of civility while manipulating others to get what they wanted. Using her newfound social skills to hide her plans, she’d managed to secure an in-person job interview at Chicago’s prestigious University of Science and Industry—which was what had brought her to the air dock today. She’d pawned her jewelry for funds to procure an airship ticket.

The conductor’s whistle blew from the top of the docking tower. “All aboard!”

Henri glanced up with a frown. She dreaded having to haul her heavy bag up the steps. A mustached man in a gray uniform frowned down at the elderly gentleman with a cane who was first in line. The poor man could only climb the thirty-foot stairway at a snail’s pace.

Relieved to have a moment’s rest, she set her bag down. Scotty should be all right until after their flight left. If only the day had not been unseasonably warm. As it was, she’d wet his fur to keep him cool. Even so, she feared he might grow ill from the heat in his stuffy bag. However she could not bear to leave Scotty behind. If she secured the position at the university she would not be returning home. Scotty must remain hidden until they were well underway.

Henri pulled her handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed at her sweaty face in what she hoped was a dainty fashion. Her cheeks burned with the heat and her throat was parched. The effort of carrying the heavy bag and the abominable parasol had made her bodice cling unbearably to her warm skin above the accursed corset Society required her to wear. The damp dress felt like some unnatural second skin. She shuddered and bit her lip to take her mind off the urge to strip off her clothing as she would have done in her room at home.

A giggle bubbled in the back of her throat, threatening to squeeze off what little breath the corset had not. Undressing in public would definitely draw attention to herself, something she could ill afford. Where in heaven’s name had she put her fan?

Bending over to unbutton the side pocket of her portmanteau, Henri nearly pitched forward onto her face as black spots appeared at the edges of her vision. A strong hand caught her elbow and easily righted her. She looked up into a smiling male face sporting a well-trimmed brown beard. Aunt Eliza’s voice echoed in Henri’s head. A fine physical specimen, that. Aunt Eliza had held great admiration for the male of the species. The proportions of this stranger’s features were certainly pleasing.

“Please forgive me, Miss,” the man said. “I fear the heat may have overcome you.”

He scooped up her bag with one long-fingered hand as if it were as light as a dandelion seed. In his other hand he carried a large traveling case that no doubt held his own belongings.

Eyes the color of aquamarines gazed into hers. “Are you feeling lightheaded, Miss?”

Henri shook her head in denial. The breeze had strengthened, cooling her cheeks.

His gaze raked her from top to toe and back in a perfunctory manner. “We Americans would do well to dress for the weather rather than for modesty. It is unfortunate that Society does not agree with me on this point.”

I agree with you, she thought, but she didn’t speak aloud. The less she conversed, the less chance she would say the wrong thing and draw more unwanted attention.

In her bag, Scotty growled a warning.

The man’s brows drew together above his blue-green eyes. He leaned in and whispered. “Do you realize there is an angry animal in your portmanteau?”

His warm, whisky-scented breath on her cheek made her shiver in spite of the heat.

How very strange.

As he straightened his eyes sparkled, however the corners of his mouth did not turn up. Was he alarmed? Angry? Joking?

Nonverbal communication was not her strong suit.

She decided the simple truth would have to suffice. “Scotty is my dog,” she whispered. What had Miss Green taught her to do to disarm a gentleman? She stepped closer to him and fluttered her lashes. “Please do not give us away. I can’t leave him behind.”

The man blinked. His eyes darkened. “I could never give you away,” he responded softly. “I’m not a fool. Besides, I’ve always fancied myself capable of smuggling. Now is my chance to test the idea in the company of a beautiful woman.”

Henri did not know what to say. Why would giving her away make him a fool? Why did he want to try a criminal activity with a beautiful woman? Why did his words make her feel hot and cold at the same time? She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, her mind uncharacteristically devoid of thought.

He indicated the base of the tower with his chin. “After you, Miss. The Eagle awaits.”

Scotty had settled into a resigned silence, apparently deciding the stranger was no threat. In her experience the dog was a good judge of character. A young woman in the company of a gentleman would not stand out among the passengers. She could turn the man’s attentions to her advantage. However, she must act the proper lady. It wouldn’t do to give him the wrong idea.

Henri inhaled deeply and lifted her chin. “We have not been properly introduced, Sir.”

The corners of his wide mouth turned up. “Under these unusual circumstances, I shall beg you to allow me to introduce myself. Dr. David Truth, at your service. I promise I won’t let the cat out of the bag.”

He waited patiently while she sorted out his meaning. He was joking, of course, because he had already promised not to let Scotty out of the bag. Henri considered pointing out that Scotty was not a cat She decided the species of her pet was irrelevant.

Miss Green had instructed her to express admiration when introduced to a gentleman. Truth was an unusual name. “Truth is a name to be proud of, for what is more desirable than Truth?”

His smile widened. “I like the way you think. But what of beauty? Kindness? Skill? Meaning?”

Henri tipped her head to the side, considering. “Are they not all a form of Truth?”

He nodded. “You are intelligent as well as beautiful, Miss—?” He paused and looked at Henri with expectation in his eyes.

“Lafleur,” she said, hoping she was not making a mistake. “Henriette Lafleur, of Lafayette, Louuisiana.” Would he expect more information?

“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” Dr. Truth said.

She dropped her gaze to the ticket in his pocket. Why did his statement make her cheeks burn and her breasts ache? Other men had said as much, but as soon as she had opened her mouth, they had come to realize she was ‘touched’ and the admiration had faded from their eyes. Yet she had spoken to this man for several moments and he continued to compliment her. She stole a glance at his face. His eyes shone with what she believed was intelligence and humor.

“Miss Lafleur, I assure you I am quite harmless,” he said. “I’m a physicist on my way to Chicago to interview for a position at the University of Science and Industry. You are quite safe in my company.”

Henri’s felt as if someone had just cinched her corset. This stranger must be the other applicant for the position with Dr. Krieger. They were on their way to apply for the same opening. He was her competition.

The conductor’s whistle shrilled three times in quick succession. Glancing around, she found the line had moved past them and up the tower to the boarding gangway without her noticing. Dr. Truth dropped his bag, grabbed his hat and waved it overhead. “Hold!”

The red-bearded conductor returned his wave. Dr. Truth retrieved his big travel case. “We must hurry. Miss Lafleur, or we will not make our flight.”

They hurried. Henri worked at digesting this new revelation. Having knowledge her competition didn’t might give her an edge. She must keep her true reason for traveling hidden.

Five minutes later a winded Dr. Truth stood beside her with his back to the Eagle’s railing. About half the passengers remained on deck to experience the airship’s launch, They had spread out to give one another privacy. The remainder preferred to sit inside the main cabin with a cool drink and watch through glass windows.

Henri’s portmanteau sat on the deck between her and Dr. Truth. She unfastened one end to let Scotty breathe some fresh air. His black button nose poked through the opening. Straightening, Henri leaned her arms on the chest-high railing and scanned the crowd behind the safety barriers for familiar faces. Many had come to the air dock to see a fabled airship. When a thin, well-dressed mulatto man appeared, Henri feared for a moment Uncle Claude had come to fetch her home. Then he lit up a pipe. She was mistaken. Smoke of any kind gave Uncle Claude coughing fits. Her knees sagged with relief.

A strong hand on her elbow should have steadied Henri Instead the doctor’s kind support further weakened her knees. Her hands tightened on the polished brass rail. What was the matter with her?

“Perhaps we should sit down,” Dr. Truth said. His gentle touch guided her to a wooden bench attached to the outside of the ship’s main cabin. Strange new sensations coursed through her body like the effects of a spirituous drink.

She took her seat and opened her parasol. At least the ugly pink monstrosity blocked some of the heat of the sun. And the eject-able knife she’d built into the tip might come in handy if she encountered ruffians on her journey. She had only to press a small button in the handle and the knife would appear.

Dr. Truth stowed their bags under the bench and sat down.

She sighed. “If only it weren’t so pink.” Miss Green insisted men preferred a woman with a pale complexion. Henri’s skin darkened with the slightest kiss of the sun, so she must be extra careful to be consistent with the use of her parasol.

“What?” Dr. Truth said, fingering his aquiline nose. “Am I sunburned?”

She must cease talking to herself in front of others, as Miss Green had told her a thousand times. People became confused. “No. My parasol is so ugly. I hate the color pink.”

“I see,” he said, lips twitching below his thin moustache. “Does it help if I say that I am color blind? To me, your parasol appears the same color as a field of lush spring grass. I cannot tell the difference between reds and greens, other than the intensity of the shade.”

“I only wish it appeared that way to me.” Color blindness. She’d heard of the condition without giving any thought to what it would mean to someone afflicted.

A bell like a train bell rang at the bow of the airship. Dr. Truth started To Henri’s surprise he proceeded to reach underneath the bench and unbuckle his travel case.

“How very odd the world must seem to you now,” Henri said.

Peering between his legs, he lifted the lid of the case an inch as if verifying the contents, then shut his bag and sat up without fastening the locks. “I have never seen it any other way, so the world is as beautiful to me as to you.”

She tipped her head, considering. “Perhaps more so. Bright pink hurts my eyes. I cannot enjoy that color as others do.”

“Nor can I,” he pointed out.

“Is this a debate?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because each time I present a theory, you counter it. I point out our differences; you insist they are similarities.”

“We are flirting, Miss Lafleur. It is a common courtship ritual.”

She frowned. “Forgive me. I did not intend to flirt.”

“No forgiveness necessary—”

The deck lurched beneath them. All the color drained from his face. Henri braced her boots against the boards and grabbed a handle nailed into the wall beside the bench. She watched the doctor do the same while her stomach seemed to drop, then rise. The deck slanted upward toward the bow.

Scotty whimpered.

Henri had never felt so daring. The changing forces of lift and acceleration were the only thing keeping her from running to look over the side.

“We’ve taken off!” she said to Dr. Truth.

The man’s face seemed to be turning green. The expression on his face reminded her of Father when he’d had too many whiskies.

Then her dog made repeated hacking noises.

“Oh dear! I have heard of this, Dr. Truth. You and Scotty have the air sickness.”

Sweat shone on his skin as he shook his head in denial. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “The dog, yes. My problem is not the same.”

“Perhaps drinking and flying do not mix,” she ventured.

“I believed a few shots of whisky and a parachute would keep the terror at bay,” he ground out. “I have an illogical fear of flying. Of not flying, actually. Of c-crashing.”

The bench pressed against Henri’s bottom, the deck against the soles of her boots. The Boatswain’s Mate relayed orders to the crew and the crewmen called them back to him.Tthe great ship seemed to crest a wave and the pressure fell away until Henri thought she would float off the bench. The ship leveled and the world seemed to right itself.

Dr. Truth gasped air as though he’d been holding his breath through the maneuvers. “I apologize…for my cowardice.”

Henri’s father had a similar horror of birds. So odd that such an unreasonable fear could bring a strong man to his knees. Birds were mostly small and harmless creatures. Whereas on occasion, airships did crash. Not often, though.

“No apology necessary,” she said. The poor man was trapped in a nightmare.

Once, determined to overcome his fear, Father had bought Henri a pretty yellow canary in a gilt cage. At the tender age of five years she had been unable to understand his distress. She’d simply accepted that, no matter how hard he tried, he could not bear to be in the same room with the little creature that sang pretty songs. She’d accompanied her mother give away her pet as a gift to a distant cousin. Her father had been gone for a week after they’d returned home.

A small object impacted the hull with a solid thunk. Eyes closed, Dr. Truth flinched.

“Probably an unfortunate bird,” Henri said.

There was no response.

Unlike her father, the doctor could not escape the situation until this evening when they landed in Chicago. Perhaps she could distract him?

“The odds against the airship crashing are a hundred to one,” she said, smiling. She laid her hand on his rigid one that gripped the seat between them. “Personally, I am more concerned with a fire. The hydrogen gas that gives the ship lift is extremely flammable. That is why no firearms are allowed onboard.”

Dr. Truth’s gazed at Henri through slit lids. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“No. Do you? Feel better, I mean?”

He gave his head a little shake.

“I have lavender drops in my reticule. They calm me when my nerves act up. Would you like one?”

His gaze had fastened on her mouth as if it were a lifeline. His nod was nearly imperceptible. She located the small drawstring purse tied to her waist and removed a smaller bag of the medicinal sweets. When he merely stared, white-knuckled, at the drop she offered, she reached over and poked it between his lips with her index finger. The moist heat of his mouth penetrated her