Free Mina by Elaine Bergstrom Page A

the cart. He recalled only that he had killed.
    Try as he
might to rationalize that Dracula had died centuries before, he knew he had
killed.
    In spite of
the crimes of his victim and all Jonathan's certainty that there was no other
outcome possible, this did not set well with
    his conscience.
    And why were the vampire women still
on his mind? Why had he, only an hour before, looked down at his sleeping wife with
her slightly open lips, her tiny hands and delicate arms resting so
beautifully on the brown wool blanket, her tousled chestnut hair, and wished
that her brows were darker, her hair thicker, her lips more red.
    Mina. If these were his thoughts, what
must hers be? The final question numbed him. He ordered a second brandy then,
without any real plan in mind, purchased the rest of the bottle and carried it
back to the compartment he was now able to share with his wife. He found her
awake, sitting at her dressing table with her traveling cape covering her
nightdress.
    She had been
writing something in a thin journal. When she saw him, she closed the book
without letting the ink dry and placed it
    in her pocket. "You're
still taking notes, I see," he said uneasily.
    "Just a few thoughts. So much has happened." She
hesitated then added, "Poor Quincey." She faced the mirror and began
pinning up her hair. "Let it lie free," he said.
    She turned
from the little mirror on the door of their tiny closet. Her brow was furrowed,
her expression puzzled. "Jonathan?" she
    asked.
    He poured
her a drink and held it out to her. "I know it's early in the day,"
he said. "But we've been through so much, I thought

you might like to join me in
a toast."
    "A toast?"
    "To
Quincey, who was such a brave man and. . ." He had to say it, as close to
a confession of his thoughts as he dared go.” . . .
    to Dracula, who was once a
great general, a protector of his people. May his soul now rest in peace."
    Why did Mina
seem so suddenly remote?
    "Do you
think it's wrong to raise a glass to him?" he asked.
    "No. I
think it's admirable." She lifted the glass and touched it against his,
sipping her brandy then setting the rest on the bedstand.
    "Even
after what happened to Quincey?"
    "Forgiveness
is always . . ." She hesitated and looked at him. She had always been
perceptive, but now the talent seemed
    heightened, as if something of Dracula's mental power remained in
her. She seemed to forget what she was going to say and looked down at her
hands, clearly flustered.
    The silence
became long and awkward. "How do you feel?" he finally asked.
    "Like
myself. The sleep did me good. And I suspect dinner will taste marvelous."
    "Dinner is not for another hour
at least." He sat beside her, aware of the warmth of her body even through
his coat and shirt. He took her hands in one of his-so soft they were, so
warm!-and with the other turned her head toward him and lifted her chin for a kiss.
    What was intended to be a light kiss
between husband and wife became something more. He ground his lips against her,
forcing her mouth open. He felt her indrawn breath-surprise, then an even more
surprising response. Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him close.
    Yes, she was
perceptive. She knew what he wanted and was willing to give even that. Stunned
by what he demanded, humbled
    by his love for her, he drew
back and saw the tears in her eyes.
    "Mina,
I'm sorry," he whispered.
    "I love
you, Jonathan." She spoke as if he felt some doubt.
    He recalled
with sudden clarity a moment ten days before when he and Quincey were alone
together in a compartment such as
    this. The two of them had earlier come upon Van Helsing and Seward
whispering together in the smoking car. The subject apparently changed when he
and the American joined them; the conversation remained awkward until he and
Quincey left to return to the compartment they shared with Arthur. At the
door, Jonathan had turned back and seen the two speaking once more, their heads
close, the voices low,
    "How
can you