Felicité spoke clearly. “With these poems—”
“What poems?” a boy called.
To Ross’s surprise, Henry half-rose from the mayor’s table, hissing, “Shut up, Basil.”
Felicité lifted her chin. Her voice wobbled slightly as she began again. “We salute the grace of the past with the promise of the present, by presenting these bouquets to our esteemed and honored mayor, Valeria Wolfe.”
She curtseyed and handed her bouquet to the mayor. The other girls did the same.
The bandleader nodded, and the musicians began to play the opening waltz. The mayor and Mr. Preston walked into the square, followed by other town leaders.
Henry bowed smartly to Felicité. Ross waited for a frog to jump out of Henry’s pocket, but no such thing happened. He held out his hands to Felicité, and they began to dance.
“You know this one.” Jennie smiled at Ross.
Mia bounced up. “Hey, three can waltz as easily as two.”
Holding hands with them, Ross stepped and twirled, spinning inward until they were surrounded by couples and, here and there, larger circles of dancers. He felt self-conscious, but everyone was too busy having their own fun to pay any attention.
The second dance was easier. He didn’t even mind when somebody spun a girl so fast that she staggered, then collided with Ross, knocking them both down.
Jennie pulled him up. “Let’s show them how to do it!”
Ross and Jennie gripped hands. Instead of dancing, they began to spin like two children on a playground. Faster and faster they spun, falling into each other’s rhythm the way they did when they sparred, until all he could focus on were Jennie’s bright eyes and smile against a whirling background. Her braids stood straight out behind her.
Ross became aware of clapping and cheering, and they slowed to a stop.
“That was great,” Mia said. “Do it with me!”
Jennie laughed. “Ready?” Her strong fingers closed around Mia’s wrists, and the two girls began to spin, slowly at first, in time to the dance. Jennie sped up, and Mia struggled to match her, laughing.
Then Jennie shifted her weight and lifted Mia off the ground, whirling her through the air. Mia let out a shriek of delight, and the people around them clapped. Several other couples started spinning.
Soon Jennie slowed, letting Mia sink until her feet touched down.
She began to stumble, but Jennie held her up, spinning her into Ross’s arms. He twirled Mia, though he didn’t lift her off the ground; he didn’t trust his left hand. When they stopped, Ross was slightly dizzy.
“Let’s sit down,” Mia said.
“And then let’s eat,” he suggested.
“Pa’s back!” Jennie ran to the Riley table.
Mr. Riley was in clothes he had obviously borrowed from someone shorter.
“What’s the report on your house?” Sheriff Crow appeared out of the crowd. Ross was startled by how different she looked in a clinging black dress.
“We’ve checked the back half,” Mr. Riley said. “It looks fine, but the rest will have to wait for daylight. So . . . time to eat. Sheriff, I see your mothers brought their famous fry bread.”
Sheriff Crow offered the basket to Ross first. He took a piece of the hot flatbread drizzled in honey, and started to raise it to his lips. The smell of the bread and the oil it was fried in seemed strangely familiar. He’d had it sometime—many times—long ago, when he’d lived in a town.
“I think my father used to make this,” he said.
“Oh?” Sheriff Crow licked honey from her lips. “What’s his tribe?” Ross closed his eyes, trying to summon more of the memory. “Or did I jump to a conclusion? My mother Tatyana made half the fry bread, and she’s not Indian.”
“No . . . No, I think you’re right. But I don’t know how I know that. All I remember is this bread.”
“Maybe more will come back to you,” she said kindly. “But first, eat it before it gets cold.”
Ross took the hint, then sat sifting crumbs between his fingers. The bread brought a flood of memories he hadn’t known he had. Nothing terrible: Squirming away from his mom as she dried his hair with a towel. Watching dust motes dancing in a ray of sunlight. Petting a black dog with a graying muzzle. He hadn’t even remembered that they’d had a dog.
“Are you okay?” asked Jennie. He nodded. “Then come try Anna-Lucia’s peach pie.”
“And Aunt Olivia’s fish dumplings.” Mia already had a pile of them.
There was more food than Ross had seen in his entire life. He filled his plate, then squeezed in between Mia and Jennie. Despite the noise and the movement, he felt safe and relaxed. Jennie and Mia chattered to each other, talking across him, as he ate slowly, enjoying the flavors and textures.
Jennie’s scent of herbs and flowers, and Mia’s of soap and olive oil, drifted pleasantly from either side of him. Mia’s ruffled skirt had fallen across his lap, and he could feel Jennie’s bodice rise and fall against his side as she breathed. For the first time in his life, he felt lucky.
33
Felicité
FELICITÉ TRIED TO ENJOY DANCING WITH HENRY, who was surprisingly graceful, but she couldn’t help reviewing and re-reviewing the humiliating failure of her presentation. What in the world had happened to Brisa?
Indra waltzed past her—with Nasreen again. This was their third dance! Nasreen was supposed to be her friend, but she hadn’t said a word about going with Indra. It was all part of the general disaster that her celebration had become: Nasreen keeping secrets from her; Brisa standing her up—
As if summoned, Brisa came dashing into the square in filthy, oil-spattered work clothes, and triumphantly presented an armload of dusty cloth to Jennie. “I brought you some doilies!”
Felicité forced a smile as Henry burst out laughing. She would be poised and gracious if it killed her. “I’m glad nothing happened to you.”
Brisa put both hands to her face. “Felicité! Oh, no! Did I miss the presentation?”
“Where have you been?” Brisa’s mother exclaimed, the sheriff right behind her. “I told Sheriff Crow you were missing!”
“Replacing the Rileys’ decorations,” said Brisa blithely. “From when we won the prize for the Year of the Dog festival. First I rummaged through the pantry closet, then I searched the garden shed, and then I remembered the boxes up in the attic. And there they were! But I tripped coming down the ladder, and some stuff in the attic fell on me. But I got the doilies!”
The sheriff laughed. She was wearing high-heeled shoes and an elegant black gown cut on the bias, which flattered her form. From one side. Did she actually think she was still beautiful?
“That is a lovely gown,” Felicité managed, too upset to hear the clink.
Sheriff Crow nodded her thanks, but did she say anything about the decorations or the music? No! Everyone was laughing about Brisa’s doily hunt, as if that was more important than the poems and the presentation.
Brisa hurried toward Becky. “I’m so sorry, Becky. I lost track of time.”
They were so close that Felicité could hear Becky’s tiny voice saying, “These things happen. Don’t worry about it. Meredith and I escorted each other.”
“I know these things happen,” Brisa said unhappily. “I’ve watched them happen to you all the time. I wanted to be the person who didn’t do that to you.” Then she leaned in and kissed Becky softly, nothing touching but the two girls’ lips.
“Come closer,” said Becky, reaching out.
“I’m all moldy!”
“I don’t care.” Becky took her by her mold-covered shoulders and threw her arms around Brisa, hugging her tight. When they parted, Becky was the one to offer a kiss.
A romantic song began to play. Sheriff Crow held out her hand to the circle around her. “Who wants this dance?”
Five or six men pushed forward. Half of them weren’t even Changed. Felicité was appalled when Jack Lowell stepped up front. How could even Jack, who was known as the nicest man in town, want to slow-dance with his cheek pressed up to that . . . skull? The crowd looked on, some admiring, some clearly envious, as the two began to dance.
Felicité had begun the evening so happy, under a lovely starlit night, exquisitely attired from the crown of rosebuds on her hat to her new dancing shoes. She’d planned a treasure trove of graceful compliments with which to shower the townspeople when they praised and admired her for her hard work. And it had been hard work.
But nobody noticed. Henry was busy laughing with Tommy and Carlos. She walked past the table where Sera and Ms. Lowenstein were pulling apart a loaf of braided challah bread, and Yuki, Paco, and Meredith were demolishing a steamed fish. Everyone was having a great time—except for the person who made the whole thing happen.
Felicité reached the Wolfe table, which was decorated with her stupid bouquets. She threw the nearest to the ground—it was that or cry. And she would not cry.
A waft of verbena, the rustle of silk, and there was her mother. “Are you all right, dear?”
Daddy was right behind her. “Great job, sweetie. You made us proud.”
“It was not,” Felicité said, trying to keep her voice low. “You heard. You saw. The presentation was horrible. And no one cares how much work I put into it—into everything.”
Her mother smiled. “Everyone is having such a good time, they won’t remember the awkward start. That is what I call a success.”
“But nobody appreciates what I did!”
“They might not say so, but look at how much fun everyone’s having. Here is something you must learn about political leadership: Most of the time no one notices a good job. They only comment on things they dislike, or when you’ve handled an emergency. But we noticed.”
She kissed Felicité’s hot forehead. “Will you excuse me? I promised to speak with Constanzia.”
Her mother walked up to the Changed woman, ignoring the haze of sparkling light that surrounded her.
Felicité’s father sat down beside her. “Your mother is the most perfect woman in the world, but sometimes she can be too kind.”
Of course he meant how her mother was kind to Changed people, but right now Felicité didn’t care. “I tried so hard.”
He patted her on the cheek. “Here’s something I learned back when I was bad and bold: no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.”
“Enemy?” she repeated, and gave an unsteady laugh.
“But we know who planned and executed the attack. Shall we pick up these fallen soldiers?” He began gathering up the flowers.
34
Ross
ROSS WAS ON HIS FOURTH DISH OF APPLE CRUMBLE and Mia on her third when Jennie and Brisa took the square for a dance battle.
Jennie did a different routine from the one he’d seen, powerful but less acrobatic. She finished with a single backflip, and landed balanced on one hand. Then she bounced to her feet. Everyone applauded.
“I’ve seen her do four of those in a row,” he said.
Mia chuckled. “Not in that dress, she can’t. She’s lucky she did one without it tearing at the seams.”
Ross couldn’t help wishing it would. Just a little bit.
Brisa strutted up. She’d changed into clean pants and a shirt, and had a rainbow of ribbons tied around her pigtails. With a mischievous look at Jennie, she launched into a series of spins on the ground, now on her back, now on her hands, and, briefly, on her head.
When she leaped up, one of her ribbons had come loose. Jennie tried to catch Brisa’s attention, but she had already launched into a series of backflips. On the third, her heel caught the trailing ribbon and jerked her head back. She fell with a yelp, her foot twisting beneath her. The drummer continued for another beat, then stopped.
“Ow,” Mia said, leaping up. “I felt that, just watching. Where’s—oh, here he comes.”
Dr. Lee hurried up, with Becky and Brisa’s parents close behind him. He said wryly, “You can see Becky outside of the infirmary, Brisa. You don’t need all these excuses to go there.”
Brisa gave a watery giggle. Her parents made a chair of their hands and carried her off, Becky trotting anxiously at their heels.
The musicians started up again. “Want to dance?” Jennie asked. “Can’t sprain your ankle in a circle dance.”
Mia was on her feet in an instant.
“After I finish.” Ross pointed to his plate.
He settled in to watch, letting the beat carry him away. Jennie looked as strong as she was, but Mia’s size and delicacy were deceptive; Ross knew that she could lift him. Jumping, laughing, pink ruffles fluttering, she clearly was dancing purely for her own fun. Jennie’s style was more polished; she had obviously practiced the steps, while Mia was simply following along. Catching Ross’s gaze, she put some extra swing into her hips, and made her entire body ripple like water. He had to gulp for air.
The circle dance ended, and a waltz started up. Sheriff Crow and Jack Lowell glided expertly past.
“It’s good—” Jack began.
“I think—” Sheriff Crow said.
He laughed. “You first.”
Ross had never before seen the sheriff get flustered. “Oh, it was nothing.”
“It matters to me,” Jack said in a low voice. It was clearly a private moment. Ross started to get up.
“It reminded me—” the sheriff began.
Dr. Lee ran up, interrupting them. Ross had never before seen him so angry—or angry, period.
“What is it, Dante?” Sheriff Crow asked.
“My house has been searched!”
“Vandalized?”
“No. Searched by a professional. Nothing out of place.”
“How do you know?” Jack asked.
Dr. Lee addressed the sheriff. “If someone went through your weapons and ammunition stores, wouldn’t you know?”
“Yes. It has to be that bounty hunter.” She glanced around quickly, and beckoned. “Ross?”
He got off the bench, his heart pounding. Very quietly, she asked, “Where’s your book?”
“Hidden,” Ross said. “Not at the surgery.”
Mia and Jennie hurried up. “What’s going on?” Jennie asked.
Sheriff Crow tapped her foot. “Even with a skeleton crew on the walls, that man should not have been able to get inside. I need to know how and where he got in. Let’s go find him.”
“I’ll guard the book,” Ross started. “No, I can’t—”
The sheriff gave a short nod. “He’s probably waiting for you to lead him to it.”
Once Ross had been more afraid of that man and his rifle than of an entire grove of singing trees. If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have climbed out of that gully and faced the bounty hunter with nothing but his knives. He’d have faced him with his bare hands. “I’ll help you search.”
“I’ll deputize you,” the sheriff said. “Let’s go to my office, and I’ll return your weapons.”
“Can you deputize me, too?” asked Mia.
Sheriff Crow gave her a puzzled look, then nodded. “If you like.”
Dr. Lee pointed at Mr. Preston and Mayor Wolfe, who were waltzing across the square. “I’ll go report this to Tom and Valeria.”
Jennie tapped her foot thoughtfully. “The bounty hunter doesn’t know anything about me. I’ll guard the book.”
35
Felicité
THE REEL ENDED, AND TOMMY HORST ESCORTED Felicité back to her table.
“That was nice.” He sounded nervous. Was that because she’d finally danced with him?
She gave a smile calculated to be sweet but not encouraging. She’d promised herself to dance with anyone
who asked, but those clumsy feet would not mash her toes twice.
“Hey, Felicité, I’ve been to every table.” Henry’s cheerful voice came from behind. “And I can definitely say that you’ve got the best eats. The best flowers. The best everything.” He held out his hands. “Now that there’s a bit more room to move, let’s show them the best dancing.”
“Let’s.” Felicité wasn’t sure Henry was actually the best, but at least she was free of Tommy.
She was amazed—Henry turned out to be an excellent dancer, spinning her among the other couples. Felicité nearly lost her hat, and her hair streamed behind her. She laughed, exhilarated. For the first time that night, she was enjoying herself. She was glad she’d rearranged the bouquet. Her family did have the best table, and the best food. Her dress was the most beautiful in the entire square. And this dance was—
Splat.
A cold drop hit her cheek.
She jerked out of his grip. Henry laughed. “Tripped over a raindrop?”
“It can’t be raining. The stars are out. It never rains this time of year.”
“What do you call those?” He pointed at the thunderheads fast obscuring the full moon. “Flying cows?” He laughed.
Purple lightning flashed. Henry’s voice was drowned in a clap of thunder, and in an instant, Felicité was drenched in rain.
She yanked her hands free, and pulled her straw hat down over her ears. “My hair!”
Behind her, Meredith’s laughter rose above the pelting rain. “Run! Run! Don’t let your hair melt!”
“Come on, Felicité, let’s dance in the rain.” Henry splashed after her.
She picked up speed. Mud splattered her ankles and the hem of her dress. Henry’s footsteps died away. She ran on alone, faster than she ever did in training, and didn’t slow until she saw her house.
Felicité darted to the side door, raced up into her room, and locked the door behind her. Then she pulled the curtains. She unpinned her hat, tossed it aside, and turned up the lamps on her dressing table. Her mirror was at least six generations old. Family legend claimed it as a treasure from China, handed down from mother to daughter.
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