Outrun the Moon(77)

But it is Francesca who puts the primary twitch in Mr. Fordham, judging by how his puppyish eyes keep sliding to her, how he keeps shifting his feet around, as if the grass is too hot to stand on. His kidney yeung must be flourishing, as Ma would say—spring fever has sprung.

“Would you mind fetching some water from the lake for us? There’s a washtub over there.” Francesca points her spoon again.

“Sure thing, Miss Bellini,” says Mr. Fordham. The boys hop to the task.

“And make sure there are no leeches!” Katie calls after them.





35



CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS according to Headmistress Crouch, but I would rather be clean than godly any day of the week. After our baths, Elodie and I shiver in my tent while rummaging through the pile of donated clothes.

Katie and Harry poke their heads in and hand us jars of milk. I slurp mine down greedily.

With a grin, Katie punches her fist in the air. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled clothes longing to be cleaned.” She eyes Elodie, who is measuring one of several blue army shirts against her front. “I guess I’ll clean yours, too.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell Katie. “We’ll wash them.”

Despite my protests, Katie snatches our soiled clothes and leaves with Harry, who carries away our empty milk jars.

While I might not have received a full St. Clare’s education, somehow I picked up something better. Friends who care enough to knock on your pumpkin and make sure you haven’t gone mushy inside. Maybe God realized how selfish it was to swipe Ma and Jack, and He’s trying to make amends. If that’s how things lie, maybe I will reconsider believing in Him. And if I find Ba, then He shall have my full attention again.

Elodie’s nose wrinkles at a stain on one of the shirts. “It’s like they thought only men and boys would need clothes . . . these look your size.” A shirt and trousers sail my direction. The shirt must be a boy’s size and fits just right, but the trousers hang loosely around my waist.

Elodie pulls on a twin outfit, then braids her hair, even pulls a daisy from a bouquet hanging outside and pokes it into the braid. I tuck my own blunt edges behind my ears, which is as fancy as it gets on my rooftop.

“If your father left on Friday, then he couldn’t have made it as far as New York before getting the news. If he took the first train back, he might be here soon.”

Her eyes shift. “I suppose.” With a sigh, she shakes her head, and the daisy falls from her braid. “He didn’t deserve her.”

“Maybe so. But he’ll still need you. You’re all he has left.”

“He’ll still have his business in New York.” She laughs bitterly, then plucks the petals off her daisy, one by one. “You remember I asked Papa to take Maman and I to see Carmen for my birthday?”

I nod.

“I was hoping if we spent more time as a family, he would forget about his mistress. As you can see, he had other plans.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I murmur. “Some parents bring their children up and, I suppose, others let them down. At least we can choose our friends.”

She nods. “Are you worried about your father?” Her words come out stiffly. She is not used to caring about me.

I fold each item of clothing into neat piles. “Yes.” I checked the Missing People Books while Elodie bathed, and the number of books had tripled. Several of my countrymen were included among the dead, but I didn’t see Ba’s name. “If he doesn’t come by tomorrow morning, I’m going to look for him myself.”

She pulls her knees into her chest. “You can’t do that. They say everything east of Van Ness is burning.”

“I have to do something.”

“What if he came here looking for you? You’d miss him.”

“Dr. Gunn will be here.” I align the sleeves of one shirt parallel to each other, like Ba taught me.

She grabs one of her boots and begins polishing it with an army shirt, obviously not caring that someone might need to wear it. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea. The streets are filled with criminals and riffraff.”

I scoff, remembering how her mother used that very word on me. “Some consider me the riffraff. And I doubt there are any more criminals than there were before the earthquake. There are probably less, owing to the casualties.”

She stops polishing and lifts her head. “Why did they name you Mercy?”

“It was the first word my father saw when he held me: Mercy General Hospital.” He fitted the Chinese words for “beautiful thought” around it, mei-si.

She smirks. “General would’ve fitted you just as well.”

“Hardee-har.”

In the muted light of the tent, her violet eyes look like the last bits of sky before the stars come out. In them, I find a strange comfort. It’s like wearing someone else’s shawl when you’re cold. I may never be best friends with Elodie Du Lac, but at least we are no longer enemies.

Outside, Francesca has expertly cut the meat, and the stewpot is giving off smells that make my mouth water. Katie and Harry thread cubes of meat onto wet sticks for grilling over the fire, something Francesca calls “kabobs.” Near their tent, the Bostons are sandwiching the cheese and salami between crackers and arranging them on a tray made from the seat of a porch swing.