Outrun the Moon(46)

After a count of sixty seconds—which feels more like sixty years—the trembling stops, at least from the earth. The shock rattles me deep in my bones. It feels as if my spleen is in my throat, and my teeth in my stomach.

Panting, I unfold myself, and pray to the Christian God that Jack, Ma, and Ba are okay. I never knew an earthquake to extend farther than a few blocks, and with Chinatown over three miles away, hopefully the dishes didn’t even rattle.

Through the broken windows, the excited, panicked chattering of girls punctuates the eerie silence that follows.

I struggle to get to my feet, but the earth lurches again, bringing with it the sound of splintering wood and more breaking glass. Moments later, Katie, Harry, and Francesca emerge from the courtyard door. They spot me, and run over.

“The front door collapsed!” yells Katie, helping me up.

Harry spots the dead fish lying around the fountain and goes as white as the pillow she’s carrying. Most of the water from the fountain has sloshed out or seeped through the cracked bricks. Only a few blackbirds twist around in the placid, impassive sky now. More bricks drop off the building, pushing us farther into the garden.

Francesca gasps. “Look!” The herb garden, with its meticulously weeded rows, looks like a massive rodent tunneled through it, turning everything under. The orange tree that protected the herbs with its canopy shudders as if uttering its last breath, and collapses.

“We need to get out of here. The hedge! There.” I point to where a tree has sliced the boxwood in two. I hold back a branch, and the others climb through the split, one by one. The boxwood grabs at my quilted jacket as I pass through to the sidewalk.

Before I have squeezed my body out completely, Francesca clutches at me. Her startled cry is a distant sound in my ear as I emerge onto the street.

Sweet Angels of Mercy, the world has broken apart.





21



THE FRONT DOORWAY OF ST. CLARE’S HAS buckled in on itself. There will be no returning through that portal. My nugget of gold has slipped away, and no amount of shaking will bring it back.

An ugly fissure begins from the stoop and jags into the street. Slash-like cracks rip the school’s facade, and all the windows have been punched through. I gape at the houses along the street, some sunk into the ground, some missing their chimneys.

The claws and barbed tails of the tiger and dragon have laid this street to waste.

Ma’s prediction about her own death winds through me, as slippery and venomous as a water eel. I shudder, pushing that thought away. I didn’t believe in Chinese superstitions before, and now would be a terrible time to start. I picture Ma in bed, slumbering with her toes stuck out of the quilt. Any minute now, she’ll wake and start heating the juk for Jack.

My fingers find the penny. Jack is as safe as the coin in my pocket, I tell myself.

Girls stand in the street in various states of undress—some still in their nightgowns; others wrapped in shawls or blankets. Neighbors mill around as well, clinging to others, chasing children. Some stare in shocked silence at the ruin of their houses, while others talk in agitated voices.

A keening rises higher than the chatter, loud and shrill enough to make my teeth ache. I look for the source and spot Minnie Mae, struggling toward the school while several hands restrain her.

“Ruby!” she screams.

I hurry toward them. “What happened? Where’s Ruby?”

“The wall collapsed on her bed,” gasps one girl, wringing her hands. She glances at Minnie Mae and whispers, “Neck snapped. I . . . I think it was quick.” Her blue eyes fill with tears.

My insides roil and cramp, as if I just drank a bucket of icy water. I cover my mouth, still scarcely believing Ruby’s gone. Only an hour ago, she was laughing alongside us. I remember her shortened jade column, her fate line. If I were an actual fortune-teller, perhaps I could have foreseen her untimely death. But not even Ma could’ve stopped the earth from shaking.

Poor Ruby, who will never travel now, husband or no husband. I wish I had spent more time getting to know her. People so often expressed that sentiment at the graves of deceased, but not until now do I understand how they felt.

Minnie Mae stops fighting, and the keening turns to sobs that shake her bony shoulders. The other girls whisper soothing words, while farther away, Elodie stands rigidly holding her pearly purse.

God help us all.

The dust particles sting my eyes as I thread through the people, searching for Headmistress Crouch. Regardless of my personal feelings for her, the girls need their guardian.

Francesca appears beside me.

“Have you seen the headmistress?” I ask. We survey the crowds, but there is no sign of the crusty administrator. She must still be on the premises.

The girls huddle together in shock, weeping. I groan, realizing no one else is going back for her. Why should I care? She was going to toss me out.

“I’ll look for her,” says Francesca.

I sigh. “No, I will. You should try to account for the others.” She knows all the girls, and they trust her, at least more than they do me. “Meet you back here.”

“Okay.” She hurries away.

I head toward the break in the hedge, but someone grabs my arm. “Why are you going back in?” Katie says breathlessly.

“To find Headmistress Crouch.”

“You think she’s in the house?”