= Eudora's Craving
  by Marcia Kiser

"I can't go through with this," Eudora Brown said to her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror. She stared at the reflected room behind her. Satins and silks, softness and comfort, and most of all, warmth.

She looked herself in the eye. "Eudora Brown, you get ahold of yourself. After everything you've done to get here -- a whole year or more of plotting and planning. You've never been squeamish before. You are not gonna blow it now."

Eudora stared at herself, still not comfortable with the new "her." She touched her elegant gray-blonde hair, so recently cut and washed and highlighted and styled and permed at one of the city's styling schools. She touched her delicately colored pink lips. "That hair is eighteen months of selling aluminum cans and anything else you could get your hands on. And the makeup. Don't you remember how long it took you to snitch all that stuff you've got in that little satin bag over there? Do you? Do you remember?"

Eudora nodded at herself. Almost a year to get the makeup because she wouldn't steal from any stores in her neighborhood, so she'd had to find new stores and learn them. She'd found the evening bag in one of her trash cans. Some poor lady had been mugged, and the mugger had dumped it on her turf.

"And look at that dress you got on. Go on -- look at it. And you think about those clothes you've got in that suitcase." 

Eudora nodded again. She had taken outfits from dry cleaners on her way back from her makeup runs. She never went to the same place twice, and she'd only taken seven outfits -- one for each day of the week. Finding the right size and the right colors had been a nightmare. Eudora shook her head, remembering how terrified she'd been that she'd get caught.

"Don't you remember what a good sign you thought it was when someone put that perfectly good Louis Vuitton suitcase in one of your dumpsters, just when you came up with this crazy idea? That first day when you snitched the very dress you're wearing now?"

Eudora saw her mirror hand creep up to finger the neck of the blue-gray wool dress. It was a perfect fit and so warm. Finding that suitcase had been a god-send and had given her the courage to go on. For fifty cents, she'd been able to lock the suitcase containing her treasures in a bus station locker.

"Don't forget all that time at the library -- researching. Finding out about all the stuff you've missed out on, and then finding out about how people trace their families. That was a stroke of pure genius -- looking for an orphaned young woman with roots in Europe. Do you remember how many hours you spent on that?"

Eudora faced her image squarely. "That was fun. Besides, it was warm in the library."

Eudora heard her alter ego laugh. "Yeah, it was warm and fun until those cranky librarians threw your scrawny homeless butt out of there."

"I know, I know. I was the library bag lady," Eudora sighed, then brightened. "That one lady was nice. Remember? She brought that shopping bag full of shoes."

"That were totally impractical for a bag lady."

"But perfect for here," Eudora said as she admired the gray pumps.

"And your hands? Remember all your worry about your hands?"

"Of course, I do. I was there," she snapped at her reflection. "I don't need you to tell me what I went through." She turned to face the gracious bedroom.

She twisted her gnarled, red, but soft, hands. The room looked like something out of a designer's magazine. A huge queen-size bed covered with a silk apricot comforter stood against the wall, bracketed by antique nightstands. A chaise lounge covered in a nubby, linen-like fabric was in the corner with a table and brass floor lamp next to it. The walls were pale peach with white wainscoting. And the carpet was so soft and deep that Eudora felt like she was sinking with each step.

Her suitcase lay on a stand, unopened. It looked scruffy, but not out of place. She longed to take a bath in the luxurious tub in the private bath, next to the huge closet. The tub was bigger than the cardboard box she'd called home for two years.

"Okay," she said out loud. "I can do this. I won't take any gifts or any money from them.

"It's not like I'm stealing anything. They'd have the heat turned on whether I was here or not. I won't use much water. Well, not much after one good, long, hot soak. And, Lord knows, I won't cost them anything in food. After all the crap I've eaten out of garbage cans, I don't have much appetite.

"And I'll offer to help. I'm sure there are little things I can do that will pay for my being here -- at least in my mind."

She looked at her reflection and smiled. "I knew the day I got the underwear I could do this." She squared her shoulders and marched to the door. She whispered, "Please, let me stay warm this winter." She put her hand on the knob and pulled the door open. "Show time," she said under her breath, and stepped into the hall.

She paused outside the open door to the study. Stephanie must have gotten home. She could hear them talking. It wouldn't hurt to know what they were saying. Blake had been kind, but she hadn't met Stephanie yet, and Stephanie was the one she must convince.

"Aunt Eudora?" Stephanie Bartholomew asked. "I don't have an Aunt Eudora." 

Eudora heard the surprise in Stephanie's voice.

"She's not an aunt-aunt, darling. She's a great-aunt, or great-great-something-or-other," Blake said.

"Blake, there's never been an Eudora in the family. We traced it back to Poland."

"Evidently your great-great-great-grandfather's brother who stayed behind had a family we didn't uncover. Eudora's the last of that bunch. She came to America to meet her relatives. Steph, she's sixty if she's a day -- Queen Elizabeth and Ethel Merman rolled into one."

"I don't know, Blake. It seems rather odd. A long-lost relative appearing like this. It's just that, well, maybe we should get her a hotel room, until we can have this verified."

"I don't think that's necessary, darling. She's perfectly harmless. Besides, how could anyone make up a story like this?"

"Well...." Eudora heard the hesitation in Stephanie's voice. "As long as you agree, one nod...."

"I know the drill, Steph. Besides, she knows your bloodline as well as you. She recited it for me -- by rote."

Eudora almost fainted with relief. "Although her accent makes it a little difficult to understand her," Blake said.

"Her accent? She speaks English, doesn't she?"

"Yes, darling, she speaks English, but it's not her first language. She sounds a bit like the Gabor sisters. You know, Zsa-Zsa, Eva, and what was the other one's name?"

"Whoze name?" Unable to eavesdrop any longer, Eudora stepped into the room and stared at the beautiful young woman who rose to greet her.

Blake stood. "Aunt Eudora, may I present--"

"Oh, my dear, you are Stephanie. You are ze image of my grandmother's great-aunt Sylvia. I would know you are family if you were homeless in the street." Eudora shuddered delicately. She pressed her faded pink cheek against Stephanie's. 

Stephanie took Eudora's gnarled, blue-veined hands in her own. "You look so familiar."

"But, of course, ze family resemblance. Oh, gently, my dear, gently. I have ze arthritis in ze hands," Eudora said as she pulled away.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think." Stephanie's cheeks reddened.

"Is no concern, my dear. It is one of the ze prices to be paid for living as long as I do." 

Blake escorted Eudora to a low, straight back chair where she settled a fluffy blue shawl around herself like a queen. "I try not to complain. It does no good, yes? But ze trip, ze cold. Ze cold is a very bad thing, no? It gets inside you and does not come out."

"You just look.... Where are my manners? Blake, why don't you fix Aunt Eudora a cup of tea? Or a glass of sherry, perhaps?" Stephanie said.

"Oh, my dears, sherry would be very nice," Eudora said. "It has been long since I had sherry. Things are not good in my homeland. Luxuries..." she shrugged "... are not to be found."

Stephanie nodded once at Blake, who raised an eyebrow, and left the room.

"This has certainly caught me by surprise, Aunt Eudora."

"I understand, my dear. A relative appearing out of ze blue air with no warning! And your parents. I was so sorry to learn of zer passing. I was so looking forward to visiting with zem." Eudora patted Stephanie's hand.

"It was tragic," Stephanie agreed, blinking back tears.

"But let us speak of other, happier things. Zis is a beautiful room. My father, he had a library, but nothing like zis. And your family things. So beautiful." Eudora waved a hand at the room. "Is zat ze Faberge egg your great-great-great-grandfather smuggled out of Poland? We assumed he sold it once he reached America." 

"Actually, he did. It was the only thing of value he had left when he and the rest of the family arrived." Stephanie leaned against the back of the couch. "Fortunately, my parents were able to recover the actual egg. We had detailed descriptions. And one of the daughters sketched a likeness of it in her...."

Eudora stifled a sigh of relief and let Stephanie's words wash over her. She had passed. 

Eudora decided to stay until spring. She held her gnarled hands out to the fire, hoping Stephanie would think their poor condition came from her arthritis. 

"Zat is good, Stephanie. It is good you know ze history of zese things. It is always good to know what is real and what is fake, yes?"

"Yes, it is," Stephanie said. "It's one of the things my father taught me -- how to identify a fake." Stephanie leaned back against the couch and stretched like a cat as Blake entered the room.

"All set, darling?" she asked.

"They'll be here in a minute," he said as he sat next to her. 

"Aunt Eudora and I were just speaking of fakes, weren't we?"

"Zees is true," Eudora said slowly, noting the change in Stephanie.

"I know some forgers have become quite audacious. For example, there was that ring of antique furniture forgers up in Vermont. Or was it New Hampshire? Anyway, they would take perfectly good furniture and beat it with chains and dent it with hammers, then pass it off as an antique."

"I don't know what this world is coming to," Blake said, patting Stephanie's hand.

"Nor do I," Eudora agreed feeling faint.

"Aunt Eudora, are you all right?" Stephanie asked, jumping up.

"I don't know," Eudora said, realizing her game was over and she would be cold again in a few days when she got out of jail.

"You need something to eat. Blake asked Cook to fix you something," Stephanie said as the cook walked in the room with a loaded platter.

"You ... you wish to feed me?" Eudora asked her eyes opening wide.

"Of course," Blake said. "You look just about all done in."

"But, but, the nod... The nod you gave Blake," Eudora sputtered.

"Oh, Lord -- you were listening at the door, weren't you? That's very naughty of you, Aunt Eudora," Stephanie said, handing Eudora a plate of delicate sandwiches. "Is that too heavy for you?"

"Steph and I have a signal," Blake said. "It is very useful at parties and other occasions. One nod means everything is fine; two nods means help -- of whatever type of help is appropriate at the moment."

"You know how tiresome some people can be at parties, for example, monopolizing you for hours if you let them. Blake and I came up with our little system. We even used it last year when a homeless person showed up pretending to be a long-lost relative. It was the most outrageous thing." Stephanie handed a plate to Blake. "I felt sorry for her, though. As the police were leading her away, she kept saying 'I just want to be warm, I just want to be warm." I can't imagine being that desperate for shelter. And the audacity of the woman. Claiming to be a relative and not knowing the first thing about the Egg. It's been written up in all the newspapers, you know."

"Yes, my dear, I do know," Eudora murmured as she bit into a sandwich and relaxed, for the first time in a very long time.

MARCIA KISER writes, works and lives in Lubbock, TX. She is a member of Sisters in Crime, the Palo Duro Chapter of NSDAR and was a contributing editor to Murderous Intent Mystery Magazine. Pubications include Without A Clue, Murderous Intent Mystery Magazine, Nefarious, Mysterical-E, FUTURES, Mystery & Suspense Zine and Over My Dead Body. She is currently hard at work on her various short stories and non -fiction articles. Marcia can be contacted at Mek357@aol.com.

Copyright (c) 2002 Marcia Kiser