LETTERS FROM CLAUDIA COTTONEYE
Dear Sedna and Verity,
You've probably been reading all the
letters that our parents and grandparents exchanged. If you did, then you know that I'm your distant cousin Claudia, the fourth in a line of would-be immortals.
Except that I'm not going to become an immortal.
What happened was this: one evening I was experimenting with a peppermint seed, when Granny Mercy called me away from my analyzer.
"You have a decision to make," she said.
I could tell from her flat tone of voice that this was going to be a serious discussion, and when I saw the rest of my family sitting at the dining room table, my prediction was confirmed.
"Sit down," she said.
My knees suddenly felt weak, so it was easy to obey.
"Basil tried going to University again," Dad told me.
"Yeah," I said. "I said good-bye to him when he left."
"He didn't make it," said Dad. "And he wasn't able to come back here either. He's gone, sweetie. We're never going to see him again."
I turned and buried my face in Mom's hug. They gave me a few minutes, and then Granny Mercy spoke.
"You can cry more later, child," she said softly, "but right now, you have some choices to make. Aurelia had a dream about you last night."
Granny Aurelia cleared her throat. She's the scientist in the family, and the last person you'd expect to have "dreams."
"I saw you healing people in the middle of a world filled with disasters, a future of pollution and pestilence. And then the scene changed like a kaleidoscope shifting, and you were in a field of enormous flowers. I knew without being told that a new utopia had risen from that world of suffering, and that your efforts had made it happen."
"We're not going to be able to travel to the future," said Granny Mercy, "but that's something you can do if you leave us and strike out on your own."
"Besides," said Mom, "we really want you to go to college, but we don't want you to disappear. If you leave and start your own story, we'll know you're all right."
I looked around the room. The only person who hadn't spoken was Janet, Basil's mother.
"Janet?" I said shakily. "You loved him, too. What do you think Basil would have wanted me to do?"
She started crying then, and I went over to hug her, and I started crying again, too. It took her a few minutes to regain her voice. "Basil would have wanted you to be happy," she started. Her voice broke, and we cried some more.
"He'd have wanted you to go to college and learn as much as you could about medicine," she said. "And he'd have wanted you to help those poor sick people of the future, and to make your grandmother's dream come true."
I nodded slowly.
Janet gripped my arm. "And he would have wanted you to fall in love, and marry, and have children," she said. "I know he would."
So the next morning I got up early and had my birthday without much fanfare. Then I kissed everyone good-bye and took the train to Sunset Valley.