Outrun the Moon(75)

At last, the Sonoran woman nods, and her daughter takes a cracker.

Maybe some of the invisible walls are beginning to crack.

“I had nothing to do with that prank with your uniform, you know.” Elodie’s gaze is fixed straight ahead on a baby crawling in the dirt. “I think maybe Letty did it. But I don’t know for sure. She was never happy about moving rooms.”

To my surprise, I don’t feel angry at Wood Face. It doesn’t seem to matter anymore. “Why do you think Headmistress Crouch made us room together?”

“Papa requested it. He thought it would be easier for you to keep your secret that way. And he said I might learn something from you.”

“That was nice of him.” The baby waves her fist in the air.

“Self-serving, you mean. As I recall, he had a stake in your secrets.”

“Why did you hate our arrangement so much? You and your mother wouldn’t have to work if your father was making more money.” I take turns rubbing both arms, which feel like they’ve stretched a few inches longer since we picked up Brisky.

“Maman wasn’t working because she had to.” Elodie’s voice turns scornful, but for once, the scorn is not directed at me. “She wanted to keep her hand in the business. She was trying to protect herself.”

“From what?”

“From him.” She shakes her head. “When Maman came down with arthritis in her hip, Papa started traveling to New York, and sometimes when he came back, his clothes would smell of honeysuckle. Maman confronted him about having a mistress, and he said if she didn’t like it, she could leave.”

The baby has crawled closer and finally notices our dirty selves. He begins to cry. A woman rushes over to pick him up, giving us an apologetic and slightly confused smile.

“Of course, there’s no place in our circles for a divorced woman—a cripple, too. It was better for her to stay, and save for a rainy day.” Elodie’s eyes cut to me.

Her mother was probably finding ways to skim, something I might do, too, if I were in her situation. I wonder if Elodie would be horrified or relieved to find out she did find comfort of a sort in the church.

“I’m sorry.”

She plucks at the grass and tosses it away. “I hoped Papa would give me the business one day, so I could help her, but he never listens to anything I say.”

No wonder she despised me. Her father was taking a risk on me, a stranger, which means he had faith in my abilities. “So you weren’t really second-in-command.”

“In name only.”

Then all that work we did at the association meeting would not have mattered, anyway. I should be angry, but all I can manage is a disappointed sigh.

She levels her gaze at me. “I would have fought to hire those workers, though. It was a good plan.”

I nod. A corner of her journal peeks out from her beaded purse. “What have you been writing in there?”

She pushes it back into the bag. “I wrote Maman a letter, telling her how sorry I was that I wasn’t there when she died. I wish I knew how it happened.”

I will never tell, but I can’t help wanting to give her some resolution, the sort I would like to have.

“My ma was a fortune-teller, and she believed you could see someone’s character in their face. Your mother’s face was narrow, which means she was practical, and disciplined. I bet she wasn’t the type of person to sit and feel sorry for herself. When life dropped an eggshell in her omelet, I bet she just picked it out and moved on.”

Elodie nods, her chin resting in her palm, eyebrows tightly furrowed.

“Her eyes were clear and open, which means she was intelligent. And there were no hollow spots underneath, which means she had a loving relationship with her child. Her daughter probably meant the world to her.”

Elodie turns away for a moment, and I can hear snuffling.

My eyes grow moist again thinking about Ma, whose eyes also had no hollow spots underneath. What was her last thought as she died? Did she know how much she meant to me?

“Brisky stinks,” Elodie says after a moment. “We should get him to the pot.”

I take up my end again. “Chinese write messages on little slips of paper, then burn them so they reach the dead. You could burn the letter.”

She looks up at the sky, and I wonder if she’s trying to see her mother in the shifting clouds. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking for mine, too.

As we pass the Sonoran women, I invite them to our dinner. They nod politely, not making any promises. Maybe our bloody appearance worries them. But they do have many mouths to feed.

We pass the carousel and approach the field. At last, I can see our little encampment from here. The Pang family’s tent rises on our left, cheerfully adorned with drying laundry. I wonder if they will show up tonight. Maybe this whole dinner will be a bust.

My thoughts are cut short when I see Ah-Suk chatting over a pot of tea with Headmistress Crouch. I nearly drop my side of the beef. He lifts his teacup to me and nods. Headmistress Crouch, caught mid-sip, lowers her cup, and her face seems to curdle, the way cream does when you squeeze lemon onto it. Did she find out about the leeches, and if so, why would she be taking tea so civilly with Ah-Suk? And if she doesn’t know—again, why would she be taking tea so civilly with Ah-Suk?

Perhaps her love of tea outweighs her dislike of barbarians. As for Ah-Suk, maybe his loneliness outweighs his distrust of foreigners. Whatever the case, seeing them together reminds me of two chess pieces from opposite sides of the board meeting in the middle.