Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Grandma Thakrar passed by, tugging a cart full of hops. Becky watched her go, her entire head throbbing. She longed for Brisa’s comforting touch, but Brisa would insist that she stay . . .

  But whenever she and Brisa wanted private time, they used Aunt Rosa’s spare bedroom. In fact, her aunt had said Becky could spend the night any time, with or without Brisa. Becky ran for the tree-lined lane where Aunt Rosa lived. She found her aunt in the quilt room, stuffing down into squares of leaf-green cloth.

  “Becky!” Aunt Rosa exclaimed. “What happened to your face?”

  Becky’s hand flew up to her cheek. It hurt too much to touch. Her lips shaped the word Mom but no sound came out.

  “Let’s get a cold cloth on that.” Aunt Rosa’s expression was odd, unreadable. But her words made sense, and her voice was soothing.

  Becky soon found herself lying in the spare room, the window shade pulled down, and a cool cloth laid over the side of her face. Aunt Rosa said she would bring some willow bark tea. Becky was glad to just lie there, thinking of nothing. She felt so strange, as if she were floating in water . . .

  “Becky?”

  She woke from a doze, wincing against the hammer in her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep . . .” Her voice suspended when she saw that two people had joined Aunt Rosa in the shadowy room. A yellow snake eye gleamed in the darkness. “Sheriff Crow?” She sat up. “Dr. Lee!”

  Aunt Rosa pressed a cup into Becky’s gloved hands. “Here. It’s cooled off, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Becky obediently choked down the bitter liquid, her mind full of questions.

  Dr. Lee motioned toward the shades, which Aunt Rosa raised. He bent over Becky, examining her as if she were a patient rather than his apprentice.

  Then she remembered: she wasn’t his apprentice any more. She was nothing.

  “I’m all right,” Becky mumbled, but her face throbbed like the worst toothache she’d ever had.

  “What happened?” Dr. Lee asked.

  “It’s nothing.” Becky’s gaze slid to the sheriff. What was she doing there?

  “I hate to contradict you,” Dr. Lee said, “But someone struck you. There are fingerprint bruises on your cheek. Was it your mother?”

  Becky’s eyes filled with tears. “I shouldn’t have told her. About my Change.”

  “Change?” Aunt Rosa said, but she sounded surprised, not angry. “When did that happen?”

  “Last week. I didn’t tell anybody. Except Brisa. And Jennie,” Becky said quickly. “When I got home today, it just came out. I should have waited.”

  Sheriff Crow spoke for the first time. “Becky, it sounds like you’re blaming yourself. You didn’t choose to Change, and I’m guessing you didn’t hit anyone.” She smiled a little. “Did you?”

  The absurdity of that question almost made Becky smile, but somehow all that came out was a sob. “I’ve never hit anybody.”

  Sheriff Crow indicated her cheek. “Has this happened before?”

  “No.” Becky shook her head, and winced. “Yes. Not like this,” she said quickly, remembering her mother’s fingers digging into her arm. Mom had shaken her, and once pulled her hair when Becky had come home from a schoolyard game with her new dress covered in mud. Her mother had slapped her many times, but never that hard. “She never knocked me down.”

  “And Henry?” Sheriff Crow asked. “Does she ever hit him?”

  This time Becky managed to stop herself from shaking her head. “She never did.”

  Sheriff Crow and Dr. Lee exchanged glances, and Aunt Rosa said softly, “I was told never to interfere, or the children would be forbidden to visit me at all. And I haven’t, though I’ve often . . .” Aunt Rosa turned away, blinking hard.

  “It was only one time!” Becky spoke loudly enough to surprise herself. She quickly shut her mouth. Her jaw hurt. Everything hurt. Her ears were still ringing.

  The sheriff stood up. “Once is enough. Your mother is about to spend the night in jail.”

  “No! You can’t! I’m sorry I said anything—it’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have—”

  The sheriff turned at the door. “Becky, when Ed Willet knocked Jack down, I put him in jail for a night. A blow is a blow. Doesn’t matter who did it to who.” And she went out.

  Becky covered her face. “Mom will blame me.”

  Aunt Rosa said crisply, “Let her try it. I’ll knock her down myself. It would be worth a night in jail and a month feeding rotten meat to the eater roses.”

  Dr. Lee looked more upset than Becky had ever seen him. “Rosa? Can Becky stay here?”

  “I was about to offer.” Aunt Rosa still sounded angry, making Becky flinch. But her tone softened as she said, “Becky, as far as I am concerned, this bedroom is yours. I’ll fetch my wheelbarrow and go get your things.” With satisfaction, she added, “Your mother won’t be there to stop me.”

  Dr. Lee gave her a spoonful of elixir. Becky flinched at the scent of poppy, but drank it down. She just wanted everything to go away. Then she lay back, sure that she was too upset to sleep. But the next thing she knew, she was opening her eyes to morning light streaming through an open window. She was still fully dressed, all the way down to Jennie’s Ranger gloves.

  Aunt Rosa came in with a tray. Delicious smells wafted from the steaming dishes. For what felt like the first time in months, Becky’s stomach tightened with hunger rather than tension or nausea.

  “Here you go, dear. Breakfast in bed. I always find that so relaxing. In fact, I sometimes make it for myself and climb right back into bed.” Aunt Rosa poured out the tea, and the scent of mint filled the room. “Peppermint, your favorite. And when you’re done, a hot bath will be waiting for you.”

  Aunt Rosa left, quietly closing the door behind her. Becky looked down at the tray on her knees. There were buckwheat pancakes drowned in mesquite syrup and butter, a dish of stewed apples, and eggs scrambled with bell peppers, cheese, and onions. Everything was her favorite.

  An unexpected happiness filled Becky as she ate. It wasn’t only that the food was good and warmed her inside. It was that Aunt Rosa had remembered what she liked. And more than remembered, she’d cared enough to cook it for her.

  Becky took a long bath afterward, sinking into the hot water. Aunt Rosa had left clean clothing for her, a simple dress of her own that she’d taken in to fit Becky, and a pair of cotton gloves. Becky nervously pulled on the gloves, bracing herself as they touched her palms. But all she saw was her aunt’s familiar hands measuring them.

  Just right for Becky, Aunt Rosa thought. She’s such a little thing. And, with a hot surge of anger, How dare Martha strike that child!

  The vision ended, leaving Becky unsettled. She felt as if she’d been spying, though she hadn’t done it deliberately. And it was strange to not just see someone’s anger on her behalf, but actually feel it.

  When she returned to her room, the closet door was open. Aunt Rosa had brought over her clothes, just as she’d promised. All those beautiful dresses her mother had made. All those ribbons and ruffles. A sudden rage flamed inside her, hot and bright. Ever since she was little, Mom had said, Don’t get dirty! Don’t get mussed! You’re my walking advertisement! Becky had never had play clothes. She’d never dared to play after she came home in a muddy dress, the first and last time Becky had tried to be like the other kids.

  With quick, furious jerks, Becky ripped every ribbon off every dress. It was only when the fragile lace ripped under her fingers that she stopped. The rich gleaming ribbons were spilled all over the floor in coils, like Mrs. Hattendorf’s intestines.

  A familiar mixture of nausea and guilt rose up in her. But rather than let it swallow her up, she fought it. The dresses were hers. It didn’t matter what she did with them. She could even trade them for practical clothes. Pants, for the first time in her life! Plain tops, like the single one she wore to the surgery. And if she wanted to stomp a mud puddle or climb a tree, who would stop her?

  B
ut first, she’d repair the dresses. Ruining them was stupid. They were only clothes. And lots of girls—like Brisa—would dearly love one of Mom’s fancy dresses, but could never afford them.

  Becky spooled the ribbons so they wouldn’t get crushed. But once she’d finished sewing them back on, what would she do next? She had no apprenticeship. She could never return home. It was as if her entire life had evaporated like a drop of water in a hot pan.

  She stood before the closet, her mind a blank. Finally, she shook herself and went to ask her aunt for sewing supplies. But once she left the guest room—no, her new room—she heard voices in the parlor.

  “Let’s ask Becky,” said Sheriff Crow.

  Becky made herself go in, her feet dragging like stones. She found the sheriff sitting with her aunt.

  “Hello, dear,” said Aunt Rosa, her lips compressed. “Dr. Lee told us that you have been reconsidering your apprenticeship. You certainly don’t have to make any decisions now. He said you need time to think it over. But for now, your afternoons are free, are they not?”

  And Sheriff Crow said, “Becky, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

  Becky couldn’t imagine what she could do for the strongest person in town. “Me?”

  “Dr. Lee also told us what your power is,” the sheriff said. “I’m still investigating the fire in the old barn. If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow you. Maybe you can see how it was set. Not until you’re ready, of course.”

  Becky looked doubtfully at the sheriff. “I can’t pick the memories. I might just see cows.”

  Sheriff Crow shrugged. “If you do, you do.”

  Becky didn’t mind helping the sheriff, but the chances of her being useful were slim to none. Probably they thought giving her make-work would help her feel better. “It’s very kind of you. But I don’t think I’d be very good at what you do.”

  Sheriff Crow smiled. “I’m not proposing to deputize you. This is just an experiment, to help me with my investigation of that fire. Think you can do it?”

  “Sure,” Becky said, relieved. That was small enough. “I’d be glad to try.”

  “And who knows? It might turn out to be interesting to see what a sheriff does,” Aunt Rosa said.

  Becky couldn’t help blurting out, “Arresting people?”

  Sheriff Crow’s beautiful brown eye and slitted snake eye studied Becky with equal thoughtfulness. “There’s much more to the job than that. You’ll see. In the old days, sheriffs used to be called peacekeepers.”

  Chapter Nineteen: Felicité

  Felicité hurried into the dining room, relieved to find it empty. She still had time to prevent a scene. Felicité took the taper and lit the candles. Now Grandmère would have no excuse to use her power, so Daddy would have no excuse to get angry. They’d all have a pleasant dinner, and afterward she’d invite Henry up to her room instead of dismissing him. She’d worn his favorite dress, the crimson linen. It had lots of buttons that he liked to undo.

  As she sat down to wait for him, she recalled yesterday’s delightful surprise: Sheriff Crow marching the insufferable Mrs. Callahan through the town square to the jail.

  But of course, it couldn’t have been delightful for Henry. All day, she’d waited in vain for him to seek her out for consolation. When Mother and Grandmère took her to dinner at Jack’s, on their way out they’d heard the tuneless yowling of “My Darling Clementine,” which Rick Willet always sang when he got drunk and disorderly.

  The racket had faded abruptly when Sheriff Crow had grabbed him and tossed him in jail. Felicité had hoped that Mrs. Callahan had been treated to all ten verses at least a dozen times, but had hidden her smile in case Henry came looking for her. But he hadn’t.

  She hadn’t seen Becky, either. Felicité could imagine what it must have been like for Becky to be publicly revealed as a mutant and have her own mother hit and disown her. She must feel so alone and ashamed. Maybe Felicité should visit her. But what comfort could Felicité give her when everyone knew how she felt about Changed people?

  She imagined herself saying, “You couldn’t help it,” or “I like you anyway.” And then she imagined hearing those words herself. Ugh! Anything she could say would only make Becky feel worse.

  She doesn’t need me, anyway. She has Brisa, Felicité thought, relieved. Another mutant. What could be more natural? Let them be together, on the other side of town.

  Daddy stepped onto the porch and took off his shoes. It was the first time she’d seen him that day. He’d already eaten breakfast and gone off to the Rangers before the rest of the family rose. Felicité frowned. That wasn’t like him. She’d looked forward to Grandmère coming back, but not if it meant Daddy had to avoid his own house.

  “Hello, darling.” He kissed Felicité on the cheek, then sat at the head of the table.

  “Hello, Daddy,” she said in her best social voice. Now if only Henry would show up, everyone could be together and have dinner like a proper family.

  Will appeared next, banging his cast on the banister as he jumped down the stairs.

  “William,” Mother said reprovingly, and Will slowed down.

  “Hi, Dad,” Will said. “Where did you go today?”

  “We rode out to Sepulveda Arroyo,” Daddy said.

  “When are you going to let me ride with the Rangers?” Will said. “Cousin Julio says that he rode with you when he was ten!”

  “Cousin Julio has a poor memory,” Daddy said, smiling. “When he was ten, he wasn’t riding anything but his pet burro.”

  Will laughed and kicked the table legs as Mother sat down opposite Daddy.

  It was a nice, normal conversation. Good. That made for a nice, normal dinner.

  Grandmère came downstairs, her steps noiseless, as Henry’s familiar knock sounded at the door. Felicité conducted him to his place. Here they were, all together, the candles safely lit, with Clara setting out the tray of covered dishes. She uncovered stir-fried green beans with garlic, a dish of assorted pickles, and a tangle of wheat noodles. Then Clara lifted the largest lid to reveal the main course: a huge, whole braised fish.

  “Yum!” Will said.

  “That looks wonderful,” Henry said.

  Felicité’s stomach tightened at the sight of the bulging eyes and open gills.

  Daddy picked up the big chopsticks and plucked out the cheeks. With a smile he deposited them on Felicité’s plate. “Your favorite, darling.”

  “Thank you, Daddy,” she managed. At her side, she felt Henry stirring.

  As Daddy served everyone else, Henry whispered, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she returned, and with concern, “How are you?”

  Henry’s smile didn’t change. “Now that I’m with you, I’m fine.”

  “I’m so sorry about Becky,” she whispered.

  “Hey, Henry,” Will said. “What power did Becky get?”

  The serving chopsticks clattered to the fish plate. “Will,” Daddy said. “Not at the dinner table.”

  Grandmère interlaced her long fingers. “There is nothing inappropriate about the topic of Changes, William. My understanding is that Becky gained the ability to see into the past of an object. Isn’t that fascinating? We could learn so much from that. I was thinking of suggesting that she accompany young Ross when he next visits the ruined city. Perhaps if she can touch an artifact that has not been handled since ancient times, she could catch a glimpse of our lost history.”

  “Oh, history,” Will said, sounding bored. Then, perking up, he said, “What if she touched a Ranger sword? She could see whoever they killed!”

  “William,” Mother murmured.

  “Killing isn’t for entertainment,” Daddy snapped. “And Will, I told you not to talk about this.”

  “You never said I couldn’t talk about killing,” Will protested.

  “Your father meant the Change,” Grandmère said. With delicate sarcasm, she added, “Talking about killing is perfectly acceptable.”

  “Please
, Mother.” Felicité winced as her own mother laid a hand on Grandmère’s wrist. “Let us eat in peace, shall we?”

  “There can be no peace without acceptance,” Grandmère said. “Becky Callahan gained a power that is useful and harmless. She did not deserve to be struck down and disowned.”

  Felicité looked at her hands, then saw Henry’s white-knuckled grip on his chopsticks.

  “I’m not saying it was justified to hit the girl,” Daddy said. “I will never approve of that. But Mrs. Callahan had the right to turn a mutant out of her own house!”

  Grandmère stood up. “And I have the right to turn a bigot out of my house.”

  Daddy also got up. Felicité half-rose, trying to think of some way of stopping them.

  Looking more flustered than Felicité had ever seen, Mother said, “Please sit down, both of you. Let us agree to disagree, and set an example by enjoying a civilized meal.”

  Grandmère retorted, “What is civilized about bigotry?”

  “It’s my house, too,” Daddy snapped.

  Grandmère seated herself like a queen. “This house has been owned by the Wolfes for generations. You used to work for the enemy. You came here with nothing. You don’t even know who your parents were. Valeria chose you, but I did not.”

  Daddy looked straight at Mother as he said, “You know where I’ll be.” He threw down his napkin. In two steps, he was outside and pulling on his boots.

  “Mother, stop him,” Felicité said desperately. And to Grandmère, “Daddy saved this town!”

  Grandmère turned to her. “One good deed does not excuse one bad one. Isn’t Becky a friend of yours? Felicité, imagine if it were you.”

  Felicité backed away from the table where that hideous fish lay gaping its gills at her. She was imagining if it were her. Daddy would never hit her, of course. But he’d turn the mutant out of his house.

  She shoved her feet into her shoes and dashed into the garden, stopping to look fearfully up at the sky. It was clear. Every star shone brilliant white. She stood breathing hard, then jumped as a warm hand slid into hers.