Outrun the Moon(83)

“Let her go!” sputters Francesca. “Have you lost your mind? Marcus, get him off her this instant!”

Private Smalls pulls me off-balance again, and stars float before my eyes. Francesca tries to reach me, but Marcus pulls her away.

Suddenly, Private Smalls’s grip loosens. “Ohh! Ahh!” he cries in pain.

“For shame, Mr. Smalls. What are you doing? That is a St. Clare’s girl you are manhandling, you currish fool.”

Headmistress Crouch pokes Mr. Smalls with her cane again, and he screams once more before letting me go. I recall with satisfaction the business end of Headmistress Crouch’s walking stick and hope she makes a kabob of him.

“And you, Mr. McGovern. You are a disgrace to Wilkes College.”

The pair seem to shrink into their uniforms, now looking more like boys caught pinching cigarettes than soldiers. Francesca crosses to my side.

Headmistress Crouch stabs her cane into the ground and regally places both hands atop the brass knob. “Wouldn’t Headmaster Donahugh love to hear about how you were bullying Miss Bellini—your intended? The headmaster might be a bit of a soft shoe, but if there’s one thing he doesn’t abide, it is unchivalrous conduct. When I tell him how you were badgering my girls, I expect he will not only expel you, he will cause all other institutes of higher learning to shut their doors in your toad-spotted faces.”

That does it for Mr. Smalls, who cries out, “No, Miss! Please don’t tell him. We didn’t know she was from St. Clare’s!” He casts his suddenly terrified eyes at me. “I swear it.”

Lieutenant McGovern spits, eliciting a disgusted snort from Headmistress Crouch.

“Now, you will leave this campsite, and stop marauding defenseless women, and I might be inclined to look the other way. But if I see so much as a hint of your shadow, or smell so much as a whiff of the cologne in which you have gone swimming”—she casts a scathing eye in Marcus’s direction—“I will be visiting Headmaster Donahugh as soon as I am able.”

Mr. Smalls stumbles away, and after a last glance at us, the young lieutenant follows.

After the soldiers become toy-sized, Headmistress Crouch turns to Francesca. “Miss Bellini, stop kneading at your hands. You’re not making pizza.” She refocuses her ill humor on me. “Miss Wong, Miss Beauregard has returned from her . . . cow hunting, and is quite beside herself. She is in her tent asking for you.”





38



FRANCESCA AND I THREAD THROUGH THE crowd, which has grown to at least a hundred people. I hardly know what to make of Headmistress Crouch’s staunch defense of me. Maybe she does not despise me as much as I thought. Francesca’s words from the day I was whipped float through my mind. She is well-intentioned, even with all her prickles.

Harry sings “Give My Regards to Broadway,” and someone has added a saxophone to the medley. A man in suspenders shuffles about, offering crab apples from a crate, while another passes out peanuts from a sack. Somehow the bounty has multiplied.

Inside the tent, Katie is helping Minnie Mae into an army shirt. With her hair scattered like loose wheat about her shoulders, and smelling a little of sour milk, Minnie Mae looks nothing like the buttoned-up debutante I first met. Her eyes are wild, and there’s a breathlessness about her, as if she might fly away like a bird.

Katie tucks a blanket around the girl’s knobby shoulders. “She’s as cold as a witch’s nose.”

“What happened, Minnie Mae?”

The girl begins to rock. “I followed the droppings up to Stow Lake. Forgivus was standing on the bridge, and he was at the end of the bridge, on Strawberry Hill.”

Katie settles back onto her haunches. “Who?”

“The deaf man.” Minnie Mae stops rocking and fixes her watery eyes on me.

The tent flap opens, and Elodie peers in, chewing on a crab apple. “Being popular is exhausting.” She scoots in and lies down, propping herself up on one elbow, not minding that she’s taking up more than her share of real estate. “Minnie Mae, you don’t look too good.”

Minnie Mae ignores her. “I saw the deaf man standing at the end of the bridge, with his rope held out.” She demonstrates. “He was telling Forgivus to come. Forgivus crossed the bridge, going until . . .”—her eyes grow large and hold the firelight—“until they just disappeared.” She wipes her nose on the blanket.

“Disappeared, or it was too dark to see them anymore?” Francesca gently asks.

“It was still light out. It’s like they disappeared into thin air.”

“Did you follow them?” I ask.

“No! It’s haunted up there. I waited until the sun went down. They never came out.”

“Maybe they crossed the water on the other side,” Katie suggests.

Minnie Mae shakes her head slowly. She seems to have aged a year in the span of two days. “Why would they do that? Cows don’t like to swim.”

Elodie scrunches her nose. “Why would they go up Strawberry Hill? There’s nothing up there; not to mention it’s a steep climb for a cow.”

“I hear it’s got a good view,” I say. Of course, I don’t know that firsthand.

Minnie Mae rubs her eyes. “I think Forgivus had a little bit of Ruby inside her. I could feel her good spirit. The man was an angel who brought her to me. I think God told them to go up that mountain to make it easier for Him to take them home.”