Outrun the Moon(90)

I remember the young man Francesca mentioned, the one who called Headmistress Crouch “Annabel.”

“What happened to him?”

“I turned him away, and that is all you need to know.”

For a moment, she seems lost in a thought. Then she stretches her rounded shoulders to her ears and releases them again. “It would not have been a peaceable pairing, and anyway, a well-seasoned life includes a little bitter and a little sweet. Consider my offer, Miss Wong.”





41



WHEN WE RETURN, AH-SUK IS PULLING the leaves out of his teapot with one of the tools. Nearby, Elodie has emerged from her tent and is eating oatmeal with Harry and Katie.

Elodie glances up at me, and I mouth thank you, thinking of her journal. She nods.

Francesca hands me a tin of oatmeal. “A military truck was dispensing food on Stanyan. Nate, er, Mr. Fordham”—color rises to her cheeks, and her eyes dart to Headmistress Crouch—“and Mr. Chance were kind enough to bring us these crates before everything was gone.”

“And the peppernuts are from Mr. Chance,” Katie adds with a grin, holding up a pink packet tied with twine. “For you.”

The dining room set didn’t surprise Headmistress Crouch, but that tidbit does. Her eyebrows lift to heights on her face seldom visited.

Heat rings my collar, and I focus on stirring my oatmeal. Now would be a good time to ask about Kitchen of Mercy Part II. “Headmistress Crouch, given the success of last night’s dinner, we were hoping we might do it again. Tonight.”

“Tonight? But these girls must get home.”

Francesca moves the pot off the fire. “We could make a difference here. Folks are still hungry.”

“So we’ll share what’s in those crates.”

“It’s not the same as cooking for them,” Francesca pleads. “Cooking is caring. Headmistress Crouch, you must have felt it last night. The way everyone came together. It was almost like taking communion.”

Headmistress Crouch frowns, and her black pupils flicker about, as if to mirror some inner wrestling.

I set down my oatmeal. “People lost so much, but we helped them laugh, and dance—”

“And sing.” Katie looks at Harry.

“What about your parents, Miss Bellini?”

“My brother put Lieutenant McGovern in charge of my welfare, and he knows where to find me,” Francesca says with a whiff of sarcasm.

“Do not jeopardize your relationship with Marcus McGovern.” Headmistress Crouch’s voice becomes sharp, just like old times. “He may be hotheaded, but he was trying to look after you, however misguided were his attempts.”

Francesca lowers her gaze. “Yes, ma’am.”

Katie clasps her hands together as if in prayer. “I know Gran’s on her way, and I wager my socks she gets here faster than Harry and I can get to Texas.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Quinley, but I need you and Miss Wincher to accompany Miss Beauregard back home. The Boston girls will be taking a northeastbound connection, while the three of you are going south, and I do not want her traveling by herself, especially in her condition. I secured you tickets on the noon train.”

“Yes, Headmistress Crouch.” Katie and Harry exchange a mournful glance.

A quiet falls over our camp. Ah-Suk’s tea leaves sizzle when they hit the fire, then release a soft, smoky perfume.

Elodie scoops herself more oatmeal. “We can still do it. I have no family to receive me, only business colleagues of Papa’s who don’t even know I’m here. As far as I’m concerned, I can do what I want. That’s three of us.”

“Four of us,” says Georgina, who has emerged from her tent, her braid swinging thick as sailor rope.

“What do you say, Headmistress Crouch?” Francesca nudges gently.

The Headmistress looks at each of us in turn, and when she gets to Ah-Suk, she makes a hmph noise, and her posture slumps.

Ah-Suk arranges cups onto a tray made from the cover of the comportment book. “Suggest letting girls do what they want. Much has been lost. Give them this.”

Headmistress Crouch’s mouth loosens, and she sighs. “Well, I suppose . . . since we do have some food now.”

A rare grin fans across Elodie’s face. Francesca hands Georgina a plate of oatmeal, then begins picking through the crates. “I’ll start planning the menu.”

Katie sighs, and Harry scrapes at the bottom of her tin. I squat beside their crates. “We have a saying that good friends never say ‘good-bye,’ only ‘see you again.’”

“That’s nice. Gran always says, ‘Now shoo with you.’”

“There is still time for a last walk together. You can help me spread the word.” This time we’ll cast as wide a net as possible. Maybe Ba will hear about St. Clare’s Kitchen of Mercy. He’ll know just where to look for me.

Ah-Suk unbends himself from where he’s arranging the cups and rolls out his wrists. “Before you go, Mercy, will you do me the favor of fetching more water sprite tea leaves?”

His request both honors and puzzles me, but I don’t hesitate. “Of course, Ah-Suk.”

A sadness whispers around his dimpled temples, and a triangular puckering of the skin underneath his eyes almost looks like tears. He must be suffering more than he lets on. Chinese tend to hide their pain so that others will not be inconvenienced, and Ah-Suk has always been particularly stoic.