Colonial Madness

by Jo Whittemore

  “What are you dying from?” I asked.

  “You don’t assume it’s because I’m old?” she asked with a wry smile.

  “From the stories we hear, you seem pretty indestructible,” said Angel.

  “The Unsinkable Muriel Archibald, eh?” She chuckled. “If you must know, I’m dying from a combination of old age, asbestos, and uranium.”

  “Uranium?” asked Uncle Deke. “When would you have come into contact with nuclear materials?”

  She pressed her lips together. “I have not been entirely forthright about my past. It is true I worked in the steel industry, but it wasn’t for a privately funded company.”

  “For who, then?” asked Mom.

  “The US government,” said Great-Aunt Muriel. “My white-collar job was a cover for my work in counterespionage.”

  “Espionage,” I repeated. “You were a spy?”

  “That’s so cool!” said Angel. “Did you have a grappling gun?”

  She and I were now both leaning forward, food forgotten.

  Great-Aunt Muriel’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Before you imagine me slinking about in a black jumpsuit, I can assure you my life was not so exciting. My duties were to gather overseas intelligence on those who were spying on us.”

  “That explains how you seem to know so much about our lives,” said Mom with a smirk.

  Great-Aunt Muriel tapped the side of her nose and pointed to Mom. “I’ve had decades of experience.”

  “And you couldn’t think of even one family member to give your estate to?” Mom asked.

  Great-Aunt Muriel took another sip of tea. “When I was a young girl, my family lived in abject poverty. My parents had five children, as you know, and I was the youngest. I was also the sickest and the weakest. There was never enough food to go around, and I got what little was left after my brothers and sisters had their fill.”

  I looked down at my sandwich, tempted to give it to Great-Aunt Muriel.

  “One winter,” she continued, “I caught a particularly bad case of pneumonia, but my parents couldn’t afford to feed the family and get me a doctor.”

  “Oh,” said Aunt Zoe, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “And so they hoped that I would recover but focused their attention on their children who were still thriving.”

  I hugged my knees to my chest. Mom sidled closer and put an arm around me.

  Great-Aunt Muriel watched us with a keen eye. “I’ve never quite understood the emphasis people place on family. Mine didn’t make me a priority.”

  Her voice sounded almost wistful, and she reached over to put her teacup on a side table. It rattled in its saucer as she struggled to hold it.

  “Let me get that,” said Uncle Deke, taking it from her. She studied him.

  “You’re one of my sister Susanna’s grandsons. Deke.”

  “That’s right,” he said with a smile.

  “A name whose origin means ‘servant,’ ” she continued. “How fitting that you offered to clear my dishware.”

  Uncle Deke dropped the smile.

  I cleared my throat. “Maybe it would be easier to connect with family if you didn’t give them reasons to disconnect?”

  Great-Aunt Muriel looked at me. “If the man can’t take a joke, it’s a problem with his upbringing, not mine.”

  “It’s fine,” Uncle Deke told me. He turned his attention back to her. “So, if you don’t feel close to any of your family, why bother offering an inheritance at all? Why not donate the estate to a historical society?”

  Great-Aunt Muriel leaned forward on her cane. “Because as little as I believe in family, a tiny piece of me still does. Plus, I enjoy being amused, and hosting a contest is far more fascinating than anything on television. Have you seen what is deemed entertainment these days? Who cares what housewives anywhere are doing?”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Just how many cameras have you had on us?” asked Aunt Zoe. “I haven’t noticed any other than the one Tori found.” She squirmed uncomfortably. “And have they been watching everything?”

  “I assure you, they were only placed in the common areas,” said Great-Aunt Muriel, “and competition locales.”

  I frowned. “If you could see all that, then you must’ve seen Angel sabotaging my mom and me.”

  She tilted her hand from side to side. “As I said, she was cleverly subtle in her actions, and though I had a hunch she was up to something, I couldn’t confirm it. I decided to leave it up to her competitors to spot.”

  Angel perked up. “Then since you don’t really care, does that mean I’m not in trouble?”

  Great-Aunt Muriel barked a laugh. “I never said I didn’t care. You wouldn’t be in this room if that were the case. No, you will be punished, as will Miss Porter.”

  “Really?” My shoulders slumped.

  She regarded me with disbelief. “Well intended or not, deceit is deceit.”

  “So what is their punishment?” asked Mom, gripping my shoulder tighter.

  “You needn’t act as if I’m going to grind her up for chicken feed,” said Great-Aunt Muriel. “I will simply disqualify both of them.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly that for a moment we all just continued to stare at her.

  “Sorry,” said Uncle Deke. “Disqualified?”

  “Yes,” said Great-Aunt Muriel. “Your children have been disqualified from the competition.” She raised her voice over the sound of Angel and me protesting. “Since the adults are still eligible, the children may remain on the property in separate bedrooms. I feel that’s a generous allowance.”

  “Or you could not disqualify me!” I said. “Seriously? Just because I talked to a guy?”

  “Victoria,” Mom said in a warning tone. “Don’t press your luck.”

  Great-Aunt Muriel held up a hand. “It’s all right. The fact of the matter is that she broke one of the main rules of this competition. No fraternizing with employees in case of unfair advantage.”

  “But I didn’t have an unfair advantage!” I said. “Haven’t you been watching me and my mom? We suck!”

  “Hey,” said Mom with a frown.

  “I swear I didn’t get any help,” I continued. “You said so yourself; I had plenty of chances to cheat, and I didn’t.”

  “Victoria,” said Great-Aunt Muriel in a much calmer voice than mine, “this decision is not up for debate.”

  “But my mom can’t make it on her own!” I protested.

  “Enough!” shouted Mom.

  Everyone jumped, including Great-Aunt Muriel.

  “I’ve taken as much of this as I can stand,” said Mom, slamming her saucer and teacup on a table.

  “Careful!” said Great-Aunt Muriel. “That’s . . .”

  Mom glared at her. “You can’t take it with you, Muriel!” Then she pointed at me. “Ever since you found out we’re in debt, you’ve seen nothing but the bad in all I do. You doubt me at every step. If there’s one person in the world I hoped would trust me, it would be you.”

  I got to my feet. “Mom, I do trust—”

  “You just said I can’t make it on my own!” she bellowed.

  “I meant . . .” I wrung my hands together.

  She was right. Even after our conversation at the edge of the woods, I still didn’t trust her to win for us. So many little things had gone wrong.

  “Well?” She held her arms open while everyone else looked on. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I . . . well . . .” I turned to Great-Aunt Muriel. “Is the final challenge something related to shopping or celebrities?”

  There was a bump to my shoulder as Mom pushed past me to leave the room. “Good night, Tori. I’ll leave your belongings in the hallway.”

  “Night,” I said with a sigh.

  Mom was furious and I was disqualified. But at least I wasn’t sleeping in the barn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After the talk with Great-Aunt Muriel, I went upstairs
and changed back into my street clothes. Now that I was no longer in the contest, it didn’t really matter what I wore. And even though they weren’t completely clean, these clothes smelled way better than my colonial ones.

  Caleb was waiting right where he said he’d be, holding a bouquet of flowers and wearing a guilty expression. When he saw me, he jogged to close the distance between us.

  “How epically did I screw up?” he asked. Then he did a double take at my outfit. “You’re not in costume anymore!”

  I took a deep breath and said, “I’ve been disqualified.”

  Caleb’s eyes widened, then took on the same sternness as his father’s. “I have to talk to Muriel and set things right,” he said, marching past me.

  “Caleb.” I grabbed the crook of his elbow and stopped him. “Things are right.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me.

  “I deserve to be disqualified,” I said. “Even if I didn’t use my time with you to cheat in the contest, I still broke the rules.”

  Now that I was saying the facts out loud, I realized how true they were. I decided to try something.

  “But it’s okay,” I continued. “My mom is going to do great on her own.”

  Caleb’s eyebrows pushed together. “Why are you making a face like you drank bad milk?”

  “Am I?” I said. “That’s weird. I’m proud of my mom.”

  Caleb shook his head. “Now your face looks like you drank bad gasoline.”

  I smacked him with the flowers, and he eyed the petals falling to the ground.

  “I’m glad I didn’t give you a puppy. What’s going on?” He held up a finger. “And don’t say ‘nothing,’ because I’ll bet the face that goes with that lie is even scarier.”

  I glared at him, and he blocked his body with his arms to deflect more floral abuse.

  I lowered the bouquet to my side and stared past him. “I’m the worst daughter ever.”

  “Oh.” Caleb frowned. “You really believe that. Why?” We started to walk around the property, hand in hand.

  “I don’t think my mom can win this on her own.”

  “Hm,” he said. “I can see that. She is up against some pretty tough competitors, and they all have teams of at least two.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s not that. I don’t think she stands a chance because of who she is.”

  “Oh,” he said again, and it was his turn to make a face. “That’s kind of harsh.”

  “I know,” I lamented, tugging at his hand. “And I feel bad for thinking it, but I can’t make myself believe anything else.”

  He nodded. “Otherwise . . . Halloween face.”

  I gave a piteous nod.

  Caleb was quiet for a minute. “Why don’t you try thinking about all the times your mom did something right, instead of all the times she did something wrong?”

  “Because I can’t think of when she’s ever done something right,” I said flatly.

  “I can think of one huge example.” He stopped and faced me. “You.”

  I smiled back. “You realize you just called me huge.”

  “I was hoping you’d overlook that,” he said, pulling me forward. “What about her dress shop?”

  I sucked in a breath. “Considering that’s the reason we’re in this mess, I wouldn’t exactly call it a success.”

  “But she’s had it for a long time, right?”

  I nodded. “Since I was five.” Then I grinned. “When she got the loan to buy the shop space, I asked her if she could save some of the money to buy me a tiger.”

  “If this story doesn’t end with you getting a tiger, I’m going to be really disappointed,” said Caleb.

  I smiled. “I did get a tiger. A huge stuffed one that she bought after her first dress sale. I held my arms out wide. “Massive.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah, she said she was sorry for not getting it sooner but”—I paused thoughtfully—“she had to spend the loan money on bills.”

  “Sounds like she did the right thing,” he said. “A real tiger would’ve been expensive to feed.”

  I smirked. “Yeah, but having mine was expensive too. I may have accidentally tried to ride it down the stairs.”

  Caleb winced. “Why do I have a feeling that didn’t go well?”

  I patted my right arm. “Broken in three places. Mom didn’t want to wait for an ambulance, so she wrapped me up in a blanket and ran with me all the way to Aunt Zoe and Uncle Deke’s.”

  “Wow,” he said. “She must’ve been seriously freaked out.”

  “Not really,” I said. “That’s one of the things I love about her. She never panics under pressure. Just starts trying to solve the problem.” I chewed my lip. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe I haven’t been giving her enough credit,” I said. “Everything that ever goes wrong, she eventually fixes. Whether it’s her fault or mine.” I turned to Caleb. “And she’ll fix this, won’t she?”

  He smiled. “I think she’ll definitely try her hardest.”

  “I guess that’s all I can ask.”

  He squeezed my fingers. “Do you want to go back and talk to her?”

  “In a little bit,” I said. “This is the first time I’ve been able to hang out with you in public in normal clothes, and I kind of like it.”

  We continued to walk up the road in the moonlight, listening to the crickets chirp and the mockingbirds call to one another. Occasionally, a breeze would sweep past, bringing with it the scent of wildflowers . . . and Chinese food.

  I stopped. “Wait a sec.”

  “What’s wrong?” asked Caleb.

  I sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”

  He flared his nostrils. “Smells like . . . something fried.”

  “Out here?” We both turned slow circles, and then I saw it.

  Headlights just around the curve of the road.

  “Are you expecting visitors on the property?” I whispered to Caleb, and pointed.

  He followed my finger and immediately broke into a crouching run. I chased him, kicking up clouds of dirt in an effort to muffle my footsteps. As we rounded the curve, Caleb held up a hand to halt me, then gestured to the trees on either side. We slipped from one to the next, sidling closer to the headlights.

  A car engine drowned out the words, but I could hear two people speaking, and soon I could see a lit car-top sign that read orient express.

  “Someone ordered takeout?” I whispered.

  Caleb shushed me and crept forward. I followed.

  “Did you remember the soy sauce this time?”

  I recognized the voice before the headlights even illuminated the figure.

  Dylan.

  My hands fumbled in my pockets until I found the game changer I was looking for. The second my conniving cousin reached for the takeout, I popped out from behind the tree and snapped his photo with my cell-phone camera. Great-Aunt Muriel would’ve been proud.

  At the flash of light, Dylan glanced over and growled.

  “Run!” I shouted to Caleb.

  I was never more grateful to be back in my jeans and sneakers. Without the dress to catch around my heels, I easily outran my cousin, and as soon as I reached the light from the manor, I started shouting.

  “Mom! MomMomMom! Anybody!”

  “I’ll get my dad,” said Caleb, dashing off to the servants’ quarters.

  After a moment, the back door of the manor opened, along with a few windows. People poked their heads out, including Mom.

  “Tori?” She looked panicked. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

  “Look!” I held my phone high in the air.

  Mom let her head drop. “Tori, if you woke me to complain about your cell-phone coverage—”

  “No! Dylan’s been cheating!” I shouted.

  “What? I’ll be right down!” she called.

  Then I realized Uncle Max was standing beside me.

  Oops.

  “Uh . . . I mean . . .”
r />   He held out his hand, palm up.

  “Let’s see the evidence.”

  Without a word, I handed him the phone.

  “Don’t!” wheezed Dylan, trotting over. “Don’t believe her, Dad.”

  “Son, it’s hard not to.” Uncle Max looked to him, eyes heavy with disappointment. “This picture is you, plain as day.”

  I cleared my throat. “Also, you have soy sauce on your shirt.”

  Dylan scowled and lunged at me just as Mom grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the way.

  “If you lay a finger on my daughter, it won’t be just your shoes that end up in a tree,” said Mom.

  “Yeah,” I added.

  Without taking her eyes off Dylan, Mom pushed me toward the manor. “Tori, go to your room.”

  “Huh? But Dylan—”

  “I will handle this,” she said. “Even though you think I can’t.”

  I tugged on her sleeve. “I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Tori.” Mom clenched her jaw. “Room.”

  I let go and took the tiniest step toward the back door.

  “One,” said Mom, counting as if I were five again.

  I sighed and hurried into the manor. Angel was coming down the stairs just as I was going up.

  “What’s with all the yelling?” she asked.

  “Dylan’s about to be disqualified,” I said, and kept going. I didn’t hate Angel, but I definitely didn’t feel as close to her as I used to.

  My new room didn’t have a view of the backyard, but when I sneaked into Mom’s room to look out the window, it didn’t matter anyway. Everyone was gone, no doubt to meet with Great-Aunt Muriel.

  “She probably should have given the manor to her horse,” I said to myself.

  I could hear voices coming from the first floor, so I sprinted across the hall to my room and dove onto the bed, sending up a cloud of dust. I was still coughing when someone knocked at the door. Mom opened it and fanned the air but didn’t crack one of her usual jokes.

  “It looks as if Dylan is going to be disqualified,” said Mom. “Apparently, tonight’s takeout wasn’t an isolated incident. The day we were at the airport, he called several places here and arranged for them to meet him at the property line so he could always have enough food to keep his energy up.”