Steampunk Heart

1

Zula checked the air intake on the firebox and slammed down the bonnet with a satisfied grunt. There! She peeled off her greasy gloves and then took off her long lab coat, careful not to get any dirt on her wool skirt. She loved to tinker with her father’s inventions, but was careful not to soil her clothes in the process.

Zula had always taken great pride in her appearance and worked hard to look like a lady at all times. When her mother was alive, she had marveled at how Zula was able to do what Eleanor referred to as men’s work and yet manage to stay pristine.

Try now, Papa. I adjusted the outlet valve to slow the flow of steam.

Nathan released the handbrake and the carriage jumped forward, then slowed to a smooth pace down the dirt lane. Puffs of white smoke chugged from the rear and were whisked away by the crisp spring breeze. Nathan backed and turned and returned to Zula with a wide smile on his face.

You’ve done it, Zula! Aren’t you the clever one? It moves much faster than Randolph’s stodgy two-mile-an-hour carriage. I look forward to trying her on the open road and seeing just how fast she can go.

Zula looked at her father with affection. He had an endearing habit of referring to all mechanical creatures as she, one of the many traits that made her father so lovable.

I’ll take her into town later to give her a thorough test. I want to show it to Squire Briggs—he expressed an interest in financing a manufacturing company if I came up with a suitable prototype.

Nathan set the handbrake and jumped down from the driver’s seat. Zula caught his wince before he turned his head. She knew that his knees bothered him, knew that his white hair indicated his advancing years, but she refused to allow herself to think about what that meant.

They both missed Mother Ellie. Nathan tried to hide his heartache from Zula, but she knew he had a hollow place inside since his wife’s passing last winter. She knew because she had one too. She knew Papa loved her, but sometimes Zula got the feeling that he didn’t know quite what to do with this too tall, too statuesque creature that was his daughter.

If she possessed the dainty frame of Mother Ellie she wouldn’t feel so much like a changeling, taken from the bosom of some far-off giantess and dropped into the lap of the beautiful and elegant Eleanor Smith.

This was the only explanation she could come up with to explain having no memories before her thirteenth year: someone had put a spell on her and then switched her out with Eleanor’s true child.

Zula pushed the familiar daydream from her mind. It was time for her to stretch her horizons. She was determined to see the world beyond the Smith farm.

In an effort to protect her from a rapidly changing world, Papa and Mother Ellie had kept her on the farm. They had home-schooled her and taught her to work the land. She had assisted Papa in his workshop—something she loved—but now she needed more.

Take me with you, Papa. Please, Zula begged. She shut off the motor car’s engine. You’ve never taken me into La Crosse. I want to see the river up close, and the stores, and the boats, and the people. I want to see if the women are wearing the latest fashions. I won’t interfere with your business, I promise. I get lonely here when you’re away, especially now that Mother Ellie’s gone.

She watched her father’s face closely. Resignation came into his eyes and she knew that, finally, he had decided to take her into town. She threw her arms around him and gave him a resounding kiss on the cheek. Thank you, Papa. I’ll clean up and get ready. Won’t this be fun!

Her father shook his head but the corners of his mouth twitched up in a smile.

An hour later Zula’s father pulled the carriage to the side of the main road into La Crosse and set the handbrake. They were just outside the city proper, where the small, single-story wood homes began to give way to two-story brick or limestone dwellings with fenced-in yards and wooden sidewalks. The soft blur of emerging leaves gave the yards a greenish glow.

Why are we stopping here? Is this where Squire Briggs lives?

Nathan turned to his daughter, face serious. Before we get into La Crosse I should warn you that there are people who will dislike you simply because of the color of your skin. Most will be kind and accept you for the beautiful and intelligent young lady that you are, but there are some who still suffer from the war and choose to blame the dark-skinned races. Promise me you will ignore them, and not let them hurt you with their words or snubs.

Zula wrinkled her brow. She didn’t know what a snub was, and she had no experience with hurtful words, but she felt sure she could handle either situation. She knew her father only wanted to protect her and she loved him dearly for it, but up until today his way of keeping her safe amounted to imprisonment on their farm. It was time for him to realize that she was an adult now and could take care of herself.

Don’t worry, Papa. I’m nineteen now, you know. I’ll be fine. Zula hugged him and smiled.

Her father’s eyes were still worried but he smiled back and patted her arm. He waited for a dray loaded with limestone blocks to go by, then released the handbrake and steered the carriage back onto the road.

They joined the constant stream of westward-bound wagons. Filled with Easterners and immigrants looking to put down roots in the wide-open country beyond the Mississippi River, they flowed into La Crosse, Wisconsin in a never-ending stream.

The city had grown into a bustling port, a place where travelers could buy supplies and pay for passage across the wide river that marked the boundary between the civilized East and the wild West.

Zula waved gaily at some children in a nearby wagon, then turned her attention back to the sights. She marveled at the huge stone mansions on Cass Street. They towered three- and four-stories tall with wide arched doorways, round corner turrets topped with copper domes, and impeccable grounds.

The closer they drew to the river, the more crowded the road became with pedestrians and horse-drawn carriages. A few people waved and greeted her father by name and a group of young boys chased their steam-powered carriage, shouting and laughing as it belched puffs of smoke into their faces.

A huge silver-gray airship with three horizontal propellers sat tethered to a dozen stakes on a flat next to the river, its cargo doors open. A small train of wagons and livestock fed into the airship’s cargo bay. These were the lucky travelers, the ones with enough money to book the airship to carry them across the wide stretch of intertwining rivers and lakes and set them down well inside the state of Minnesota.

Zula swiveled her head left and right as fast as she could, trying to take it all in. Two loud, low whistles pierced the air and her father explained that it was a steamboat announcing its departure.

Can we go see it, Papa? Please? Do we have time before your meeting? Zula fairly quivered with excitement. To think she had been missing all this!

Her father turned the carriage right onto Seventh Street, drove north for two blocks and then turned left onto Main Street.

Zula gasped in wonder. Both sides of the street were lined with tall, multistory brick buildings. A massive boot hung in front of a shoemaker’s shop, a coonskin cap in front of a hat store.

Down the next block she saw a large chair hung off the front of the furniture store and a golden broad axe marking the hardware store. They drove by a barber shop set next to a tobacco shop, where a wooden monkey dressed in a bright red vest with blue trousers held a brass Turkish pipe in the front window.

Main Street itself consisted of mud and holes and piles of bricks and sand. A flock of chickens squawked and flew to the side of the road as the carriage rattled up behind them. A litter of piglets followed a pungent old sow at a more leisurely pace, eliciting an oath from her father as he swung around them and hit a hole in the road.

The carriage bounced and righted and almost struck a dog who yelped and skitted out of the way. Zula laughed aloud.

They came to a right angle jog where Main Street dropped down to the Mississippi River. The river flashed and winked at Zula, its surface covered with innumerable reflections of fractured sunlight.

Pelicans skimmed along the surface before folding their wings and splashing onto the river. Gulls wheeled and called overhead. Wooded islands dotted the river and tall bluffs lined the far shore marking the state of Minnesota.

Her father pulled to the side of the busy road and parked the carriage halfway down the hill to let Zula sit and watch the activity.

At the base of Main Street two steamships with rear paddle wheels were docked bow to stern along the riverbank. Men and boys streamed into the ship’s holds empty-handed, while another line of men emerged onto a gangplank, their shoulders loaded down with boxes and bundles of goods. They reminded Zula of ants scurrying in and out of an ant hill.

Other men stood near the shore end of the gangplanks and checked off lists as the goods were removed from the ships, then directed their bearers to waiting buggies. The bustle and noise fascinated Zula.

She watched a group of her father’s special-built automatons roll large casks down a second gangplank, pleased to see that their oversized arms easily guided the heavy objects. She had helped her father design and build the robotic men in his workshop. This was the first time she had been able to see them perform their specialized task.

The automatons looked eerily human despite their small, waspish waists and extra-wide chests. She filled with pleasure at the way their strong legs flexed and moved at the hip, ankle, knee. The new joint design that she had convinced her father to try worked beautifully.

Almost as one, the automatons stopped moving and looked toward the carriage. Their black eyes glowed red when they spotted Nathan.

Zula grabbed at her father’s arm. Papa, they know you’re here.

Nathan half-smiled and raised his hand in acknowledgement. The automatons gave a slight nod and went on with their task.

Hmmm. It would seem that in giving them enough intelligence to understand and carry out specialized tasks, I also gave them the means to recognize me as their creator.

I think it’s wonderful that they know you Papa. It’s as if they are your children, too.

Nathan pulled his pocket watch and checked the time. I want to catch Briggs before he leaves his office for lunch. I’ll leave you back in the center of town so you can do a little shopping. Give me an hour and then meet me on the corner of Seventh and State. Do you have your watch?

Zula ran her long, delicate fingers over the handcrafted chatelaine that her father had given her the previous Christmas. Made of linked gold chains and attached to her belt with a jeweled clasp fashioned in the shape of a hummingbird, it held several useful items. A buttonhook, miniature binoculars that popped open, a pair of scissors, a pocketknife, and a recent addition, Mother Ellie’s favorite blue French enamel watch, hung from its delicate chains.

She checked that the watch was wound and set. Her father handed her a three dollar gold piece and dropped her off near the dry goods store.

Zula rubbed her finger over the ridged edge of the small coin and tucked it into the small beaded bag that hung from her belt, picked up her skirts and hurried onto the wooden sidewalk where she found an empty bench and sat.

She could barely contain her excitement. At last, she was seeing the world, experiencing life beyond the boundaries of her father’s farm. Her regal head swiveled back and forth on her long, elegant neck as she tried to take in everything at once.

She marveled at the number of people who walked both sides of the street. Unlike her father, who wore clean and practical rough-spun work clothes, many of the men she watched were attired in long dark, frock coats with cravats tied in a simple bow at the neck, tall stovepipe hats, and leather boots. She thought they looked quite dashing.

The women were dressed much more plainly in long-sleeved, high-necked dresses with wide, full skirts. They peered at Zula from under the brims of their bonnets as they passed her, but no one stopped to speak with her.

Their curious stares did not bother Zula. She had dressed carefully and was confident that she looked as fine as any of the women she saw.

Her snug-fitting navy wool jacket matched her skirt and set off her white blouse with its lace jabot. She had polished her black, patent leather boots until she could see her reflection in their toes. Her hair was captured in a smooth knot at the nape of her neck.

She could have stepped off the pages of her favorite Godey’s Ladies Magazine, and in fact had used that fine rag as her inspiration for today’s ensemble.

A young, pale-faced girl caught her eye. The girl stood, nose pressed to a bakery window, not twelve feet from Zula. Her filthy dress hung from her slim frame in tattered strips, her feet bare.

Why doesn’t that little girl’s mother take better care of her? Zula wondered.

The bakery door opened and the girl jumped away from the window.

Be off, you filthy beggar! I’ve warned you about smudgin’ my clean window! The obese shopkeeper stood in the bakery doorway and shook his fist at the girl. She stuck her tongue out at him and ran around the corner.

Zula turned her attention to the display in the dry goods window across the street from her bench. She waited for several buggies and a light, two-wheeled curricle to pass, then picked her way across for a closer look at the display.

An assortment of gloves and fans were laid out around several pairs of high top leather boots. In the very center of the display sat a pair of navy blue leather boots with a dozen white pearl buttons running up the outsides.

Zula sighed with longing. She had a weakness for nice clothing and the boots were the perfect shade of blue to go with her favorite wool skirt. She checked the price tag. They were marked three dollars, the value of the coin in her purse.

She turned and walked to the door, stepping aside as two women came out loaded down with packages. Good morning, ladies, she said, and held the door wide for them. The women smiled and thanked her and walked off, chattering excitedly with each other.

Zula watched them walk off together. A familiar yearning tore through her. She had no close friends. She had no friends at all—only Papa, and though she knew he loved her dearly, she couldn’t talk with him about everything she held in her head and heart.

Someday she hoped to have a friend to confide in, a friend to share adventures and shopping with. She shook off the yearning and entered the store. Nothing was going to spoil this adventure.

Once inside, Zula looked about with delight. Two young women shopped and an older female clerk stood behind a long wooden display case. The case held a mishmash of items: pearl-handled buttonhooks, silver-backed hand mirrors, porcelain tea sets, abalone hair combs, braided hair bracelets and necklaces, silk handkerchiefs.

The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling with shelves stuffed with goods of all kinds. Large wooden barrels placed in the middle of the floor held salt, sugar, flour, and bolts of cloth. The store smelled of a heady mix of wool and leather, spice and dust.

Zula walked up to the display case and smiled at the clerk, a plain-faced woman with mouse-brown hair shot through with gray. She inwardly grimaced at the clerk’s unfortunate dress, an ill-fitting muslin in an unbecoming shade of yellow-green.

Good morning. I wonder if you can help me. I’m interested in the navy leather boots in the front window.

The clerk narrowed her eyes at Zula and walked to the opposite end of the counter where she spoke to a young woman trying on hats.

Zula felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Had she unwittingly committed a shopping faux-pas?

She turned to watch the young woman at the end of the counter try on a smart green hat trimmed with white silk flowers. The young woman was dressed in a very fine blue and white striped cotton frock with short white gloves and patent leather boots. Her milky skin, bright blue eyes, and waist-length blonde hair reminded Zula of a picture she had once seen of a porcelain doll.

Small-boned and delicate, the woman was her opposite in every way. A deep sense of inadequacy washed over Zula. Her clothing and hair, which only minutes ago had given her confidence, now felt out of place. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to leave the store.

She probably has three more at home just like it.

Zula whirled around at the scathing voice in her ear.

The second young customer stood at her side. Unlike the delicate blonde, this one possessed the sturdy build of a peasant. She was dressed in a brown homespun cotton dress covered with a stained apron and no gloves or hat. Her sensible shoes were well scuffed.

Zula’s eyes were drawn to the woman’s hair, a thick mass of coppery curls tied into a careless knot at the nape of her neck. Escaped strands of hair were carelessly tucked behind both ears. The woman held a packet of white cotton towels in her hand and an angry expression snapped in her moss-green eyes.

It was rude of Mrs. Reagan to snub you like that. Negroes have as much right to shop here as the Theodora’s of the world.

She had been snubbed! Understanding, followed by more embarrassment, and then anger, flooded through Zula. The clerk’s rudeness was not due to some improper behavior on Zula’s part as she had thought, but was due to the color of her skin. How unfair!

The copper-haired woman set her towels on the counter and extended her hand to Zula. I’m Tennessee MacBride, but most people just call me Tennie. I haven’t seen you around town before. Are you traveling west?

Zula gently took the offered hand. She grimaced at Tennie’s masculine handshake and pulled her hand free. I’m Zula Smith. I live with my father on our farm just east of La Crosse. This is my first trip into town.

I’m sorry you were subjected to such rudeness on your very first trip to La Crosse, Tennie said, her voice purposely loud enough to be heard by the other two occupants of the store.

Zula flushed and bit her lip. She wished Tennie would speak more softly. A lady did not raise her voice except in an emergency. A snub, unpleasant as it was, did not constitute an emergency.

Fortunately most people in La Crosse aren’t as narrow-minded as Mrs. Reagan, Tennie added, not bothering to lower her voice. She rapped on the wooden counter. Mrs. Reagan, I’d like to pay for these towels, please.

Mrs. Reagan glared at Tennie and then excused herself from the blonde and walked slowly toward the cash register.

The blonde swept up a hat from the pile in front of her and rushed down the length of the counter. She pushed aside Tennie’s towels, set the hat on the counter, and planted herself in front of the register.

Zula winced when she saw that the top of the blonde’s head barely reached her own shoulder. Next to the exquisite Theodora, Zula felt like an awkward giant. She even stood a good five inches taller than Tennie. Why did she have to be so freakishly tall?