“Know what?” Katherine asks. There’s something in her face, a kind of worry or sadness or something that I can’t rightly place, but I ignore it because I’m too busy wallowing in my own feelings.
“I wanted to know why he got married! I wanted to know why and what she was like.” I start to pace, but there’s only so much space in the cell, and sooner than I’d like I’m turning back toward Katherine and her unnamable expression. She doesn’t say anything for a while. And I wait for her exclamation of surprise, of something, but there’s none.
I stop my pacing and spin on my heel toward her. “Did you know that Jackson had an expecting wife?”
Katherine shakes her head. “No. But now that you mention it, it does not surprise me.”
“And why’s that?”
She laughs. “Jane, that is what most people want, is it not? To find love, settle down, share their life with someone. A family . . . I must admit, the whole idea has never appealed to me, but I do understand why Jackson would chase after such a dream. Regardless: Why would you begrudge Jackson the opportunity? Not everyone wants to spend their life killing the dead.”
“And you think I do?”
“I think that you have never once stopped to consider that a life beyond killing might be possible.”
“You think I like putting down shamblers, that I enjoy it?”
Katherine sighs. “I think you have accepted it as your path. But that is not the point. Jackson is dead, and still you let his choices in life upset you so?”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do? Jackson was all I had, I ain’t got anybody else!”
Hurt is writ large on Katherine’s fine features, but it ain’t a match for my incandescent anger. Anger at myself, for trusting in Jackson, and in Gideon Carr, and believing that I could one day find happiness despite the misery of this world. I ain’t got a single person I can rely on.
“Jane, you are far from alone. You have Sue, and all the other Miss Preston’s girls. Ida and the rest of the Summerland patrols are loyal to you to a fault. And, believe it or not, you have me.”
“Kate, you know we ain’t friends. We were at best uneasy allies, two people pushed together by fortune and necessity. But that time has passed. I don’t expect a lick from you, and you shouldn’t expect a damn thing from me.”
“Jane . . . ,” she begins, but she doesn’t go on, and I ain’t in the mood to wait around for whatever honeyed words she’s trying to manufacture.
“Say what you need to say and go. I’m sure you’ve got other places to be.” My gaze is direct, and she lifts her chin a little at the challenge, just like she would when I’d lay into her back at Miss Preston’s.
Maybe it’s just easier to tread familiar ground instead of forging new paths.
“I came here to tell you about the vaccine and the town meeting, but I can see that you are in one of your moods. So all I will say is this: if you want to feel sorry for yourself, that is fine, but do not sit there and pretend that you are the only one in danger. This entire town will be overrun by the dead inside of a week, and unless we figure a way out—together—we will all of us be dead.”
As if to punctuate her point the rail gun takes up its cadence, booming just outside the office. I want to come back at her with some kind of witty rejoinder, but the truth is I ain’t got a thing to say. She’s right.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell her so.
Without another word she sweeps out of the sheriff’s office, leaving me alone with nothing but the sound of the rail gun and the churning of my stomach.
Make no friendship with an angry man; and with a furious man thou shalt not go.
—Proverbs 22:24
—KATHERINE—
Chapter 16
Notes on a Friendship
I leave the sheriff’s office before I start crying. Damn that Jane McKeene. She is hurt and lashing out, just like she has been since Jackson died, but directing all that anger outward instead of reckoning with it is just going to get her deeper into trouble. Between the approaching horde, her murder accusation, and the plots afoot in Nicodemus, she is going to need to be at her sharpest, and this definitely is not it.
I restrain the urge to stomp my foot in frustration, and instead I adjust my hat with a bit more force than necessary, nearly jabbing my scalp with the hatpin. Once it is resettled I take a deep breath, enjoying the reassuring grip of the corset on my ribs before I set out to find Sue and plan our next steps.
I spot her on the boardwalk a little ways up from the sheriff’s office, and she turns toward me at my approach. She is fully armed, and her scythe swings as she walks. She looks like an omen, a dark personification of the grim reaper, beautiful and relentless.
“You should get your weapons,” she says, noting my lack of arms. “That gate could come down when we least expect it, and it would be a shame for you to have to run to find blades.”
She is right, of course. Things are rapidly spiraling out of control in Nicodemus and a good pair of swords is always the best accessory. “Excellent idea. I will head back to the house to get them now.”
“I’ll walk with you. I haven’t been able to find Lucas or Ida anywhere, so I guess we might as well let them find us.”
Lucas was supposed to tell us his plan for breaking Jane out, a plan that was supposed to go into action that very night. But I had the feeling that things had changed, especially in light of Ida working alongside Gideon Carr.
It was difficult to ascertain whose side anyone was on at the moment.
We stroll in silence for short while until Sue asks, “You talk to Jane?”
“Yes. We have to get her out of there. She is . . . unraveling. Emotionally. She is nearly hysterical.” I do not mention Jane’s claims of being visited by Jackson’s ghost. I believe Sue catches my drift without any elaboration.
“That ain’t surprising. Jane doesn’t do well on her own. Did you tell her about the vaccine? And the mayor’s plan to save the town?”
I nod, and take a deep breath and let it out. “She agrees that there is something happening here, something of which we have only seen the beginning. But . . .” I trail off.
“She being tetchy?” Sue asks, her eyes taking in the whole of the street.
“Yes. She pinched a letter that was not meant for her and learned something she did not want to know. Jackson had secretly gotten married, and his wife was with child.”
Sue lets out a low whistle. “Now that is some piece of news to stumble upon. For what it’s worth, I told her that boy was never any good, but you know how stubborn she is. Like a mule, that one. Sets her mind about a bit of business, and even when it goes sour she’s still set on seeing it through.”
There is an opportunity to glean some information here, and I blink at Sue, making my face seem as guileless as possible. “Do you know what happened between the two of them? Jackson and Jane? How they met? I never really understood how Jane could take up with such a ne’er-do-well.”
That makes Sue laugh and stop walking. She rests the hilt of her scythe on the boardwalk and leans on it. “Don’t try to use that honey on me, Miss Priss. I know what you’re up to. But it’s no secret, that history between Jane and that boy of hers. Once Jane makes up her mind about someone that’s all she can see. Nothing short of the fires of Revelation raining down upon her head will change her course. She met him while out and about on one of her nightly adventures, saving people from shamblers. Angel of the Crossroads, they called her.”
I nod, because I had heard the stories back at Miss Preston’s. Reckless nonsense, I had thought back then, but I had jumped at the opportunity to tag along with her when Jackson asked her for help finding Lily. I understood then why she had done it, sneaking out all those nights. There was no freedom, no place to breathe at Miss Preston’s. Our movements were carefully coordinated and controlled, everything geared toward turning us into biddable handmaidens with killer instincts. But running along the dirt highways of Mary
land in the dark? There were no rules out there in the wild.
Sue continues her story, and I force my attention back to her tale. “Jane would sneak out and watch out for wayward travelers—rich or poor, Negro or white, it didn’t matter—for no other reason than because she could. She met that boy out and about one night, and I’m sure he was up to no good, but she saved his life. He was grateful, and she decided she was in love. Right up until she found him tumbling Mary Beth Jefferson.”
“Wait, she found Jackson with another girl and she still was preoccupied with him?”
Sue sighs and nods. “Like I said: muleheaded. I’m sorry about Jackson, may he rest in peace, but darned if he wouldn’t keep finding ways to break her heart for the rest of his days. It’s probably good for Jane that he’s gone, but she won’t see it that way. She’s so stubborn, she’ll keep carrying that flame for him even after he’s dead.”
I tap my finger against my lips as I think. “Whatever happened to Mary Beth Jefferson? I somewhat remember her from Miss Preston’s.”
“Oh, Mary Beth ran off. Left the school real quick after Jane caught her out. Our girl has a mean streak a mile wide once you cross her, and I reckon Mary Beth felt she was better off taking her chances out in the world than sticking around Miss Preston’s.”
I put my hand to my temple and massage the spot as a headache begins to bloom behind my eyes. “This is entirely too much. It is barely noon.”
Sue laughs and slings a heavy arm across my shoulders, pulling me into her side. “Welcome to being friends with Jane McKeene, the hardest job in the world.”
I bite my lip and blink back sudden tears. “I am not sure Jane and I are even friends, Sue.”
“Nonsense. Once Jane decides she’s attached to you, there’s no way you’re prying her off. And you, my dear, are most certainly attached. She might be contrary right now, but give her a few minutes to cool down and it’ll be fine. She’s quick to anger, but just as quick to regain her wits.” Sue releases me and jerks her head toward the far end of the boardwalk. “There’s Miss Duncan.”
We watch as our former instructor approaches, but she seems to be preoccupied with thoughts of her own. I start to wave at her, but Sue catches my hand and pulls me backward so that we rest fully in the shadows of the boardwalk.
“What?” I ask, voice low.
“Miss Duncan seems like she’s about some sort of dark business. Look, she’s got that furrow between her brows like she always used to get when Jane started back-talking.”
Sure enough, Sue is correct. Miss Duncan is vexed about something, and as she disappears toward the stables toward the rear of town I get an idea.
“We should follow her, see what is going on.”
Sue nods. “Good idea. Ruthie ran up to the wall just a short while ago, must be she was running to fetch Miss Duncan.”
“If there is mischief afoot then we should definitely see what it is.”
Sue pushes me playfully with a grin. “Jane’s rubbing off on you. See, it ain’t all bad.”
I roll my eyes at her, and then on quiet, catlike feet, Sue and I skulk after Miss Duncan to ascertain what she could be about.
For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
—Shakespeare, Hamlet
—JANE—
Chapter 17
In Which Things Begin to Unravel
After Katherine departs, I feel six kinds of awful. I took every last bit of anger and sadness and threw it right at her for no other reason than because I could. Even if we ain’t friends, if everything that we’ve been through up to now ends up being the only kind of kinship we share, there’s still no reason to go back to being how I was at Miss Preston’s.
It’s a revelation that causes me to lie down on the bunk and stretch out like a starfish. The Jane that I once was, that girl is gone. All the dreams and hopes I had back then are ashes, and that means I need to build something else in their place. I’m still aching to get out west and find my momma, but that ain’t happening if I don’t survive today.
I’ve been living so long for the future that I haven’t been focusing on the now. And I ain’t sure I know how to change that.
The door to the sheriff’s office opens and Sheriff Redfern strides in, his expression grim. I climb up off the bunk and watch him warily as he unlocks the cell door and swings it wide.
“What’s this about, Redfern?” I ask before I take a step, because he seems to have his own agenda, and I don’t have time to puzzle out what it might be.
“You’re free to go. It seems that the good folks of Summerland have zero eye witnesses, and the council has decided to drop the charges.”
It’s good news, of course, having won my freedom without having to put a bullet in anyone, but a heavy disappointment fills my middle. I wish Katherine were here to celebrate my liberation with me, but I went and chased her off like a spoiled child screaming for a bigger piece of cake. I take a step out of the cell and stretch, working through myriad, conflicting emotions. “Well, then, Sheriff, looks like the system actually worked. Color me surprised.”
“I promised you that you wouldn’t hang,” he says, voice steady. His expression doesn’t change, not even an eyebrow twitch. Wordlessly, he goes to his desk and pulls out my weaponry, laying out an entire arsenal on the smooth wood. I strap it back on, piece by piece, watching Redfern the whole time. I feel a good deal better having all my edges back, and my relief at being on the right side of those jail bars makes me bold.
“You really don’t like me, do you?” I finally ask as I secure my sickles to my belt.
He sighs and props a hip on his desk. “Jane, it has nothing to do with not liking you. It’s knowing that somehow, someway, this is going to end badly for you. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “So we’re on a first-name basis, now?”
That raises a glimmer of a smile. “Our paths continue to cross in a way that feels like more than coincidence, and I’ve learned not to ignore patterns in my life. But I’m telling you this: you need to learn to watch your back.”
It ain’t the answer I’m expecting, and I rock back on my heels as I ponder his words. “How’s that?”
His lips thin. “I know your kind. I’ve seen what becomes of them.”
I cross my arms. “My kind?”
“The brave, the bold, those who would do the right thing rather than save their own skin.”
“How’re you going to make that sound like a bad thing?”
He shakes his head. “You aren’t listening. Like you, I went to a combat school, mostly Indian kids taken by a white family, the Redferns. They gathered us up from whatever place hadn’t been overrun by the dead. My first year there, most of my friends ran away, off into the nearby woods, anywhere to get away from that school.” He pauses to take a breath, as though the memory is too much to bear.
“You stayed, though?”
He shrugs. “I’ve always been practical. The school fed us and provided a measure of safety, and I had no idea where my people were or if they’d even survived the dead. This was during the Years of Discord. Whole towns disappeared overnight. I was scared, so I stayed.” He shakes his head. “I should have run like my friends, but I didn’t.”
I nod, because I understand that feeling. Sometimes it can feel like the unknown is worse than the hardships you’re enduring. Didn’t I stay at Miss Preston’s, thinking there was a pot of gold at the end of that rainbow? The beatings, the lies, I endured it all because I thought that my pain and suffering would be repaid. But now, knowing what I know, I should’ve run back to Rose Hill the first chance I got. If I had, maybe there’d still be a Rose Hill in Haller County, Kentucky.
Daniel Redfern scrubs his hand over his face and continues his tale. “The Redferns were the kind of people who thought they were making the world a better place. That they were doing the right thing. Nothing could stop them, not the kids who ran away or even the kids who
died of simple things, like fevers and lung infections. No matter what happened, they carried on, dogged in their faith and their beliefs.”
This is getting worse by the minute. “Are you comparing me to the people who took you from your home and tortured you?”
That gets a laugh out of him, the sound rich and deep. “No, Jane, listen. You’re so damn impatient you won’t even listen to the lesson long enough to properly ignore it.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, fine.”
He nods and continues. “The Redferns had a daughter, their own flesh and blood, and she insisted on coming to combat classes with the rest of us. Betsy always looked out of place—her pale skin unmistakable in the drill line, working just as hard as anyone. She didn’t even have to be there, but she was, because she thought everyone should do their part to fight the dead. Because it was the right thing to do.
“The first time the school sent my class out to clear a field, Betsy was with us. There were dozens of shamblers; it turns out, the farmer who’d engaged the Redferns to bring us out there and clear his field had lied about the size of the cadre. In the fight, Betsy got bit. She didn’t tell anyone at first, just kept putting down the dead. But soon it was clear that there were too few of us, that we would be overrun, and that’s when Betsy sent us all back to fortify the farm’s fences and rearm ourselves while she covered our escape. She knew she was done for, so she kept fighting until she turned.”
I stare at Redfern, waiting for more, but that appears to be the end of the story. “I don’t get it. She saved your lives.”
“But she shouldn’t have been there in the first place. She died because, rather than stay in her place, she decided it was up to her to try to make things right, to make them fair. Betsy was convinced that she could fix the world, show by example that it shouldn’t just be the Indian and the Negro out killing the dead, that it was a job for everyone.”
Deathless Divide Page 15