The Grace Year(20)

Catching up with her, I match my footsteps to her own. “You and Kiersten used to be best friends. I remember seeing you together all of the time.”

“Things change,” she says, staring straight ahead.

“After your…” I can’t help staring down at her knuckles.

“Yes,” she replies, tugging down on her sleeves.

“I’m sorry about that … about what happened to you.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” she says, fixing her gaze on the back of Kiersten’s skull. “If you’re smart, you’ll stand down. You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

“But you do,” I reply, fishing for answers.

“It wasn’t even my lithograph,” Gertrude says under her breath.

“It was a lithograph?” I ask. Everyone knows Kiersten’s father has a collection of lithographs from long ago.

Gertrude clenches her jaw before lowering the veil over her eyes, signaling the end of our conversation.

And all I can think about is that phrase my father used to say. Still waters run deep.

One thing is certain.

Gertrude Fenton has something to hide.

Maybe we’re not so different after all.



* * *



The guards march us east, well past sundown, to a sparse campsite. There’s a strip of dirty linen marked with fresh blood draped over a rotting log. This must be the same spot the returning girls camped last night.

“Two coins on the Spencer girl,” one of the guards says as he spits between the spokes of the wagon.

“You can kiss that money good-bye,” the one with the dark mustache says as he lays down his bedroll. “It’s the Dillon girl.” He glances back at the girls huddled around the campfire.

“The big one?”

“Bingo.” He gives a lopsided grin, but there’s a bittersweet quality to his voice. “Doubt she’ll last a fortnight.”

As they’re sizing us up, I’m sizing them up, too.

These guards are different from Hans. Escorting the girls is the lowest work available, so they’re either too old, too young, too dumb, or too lazy to do anything in the county. They act like they’re disinterested in their virgin cargo, but I can see that’s not entirely true. The way they look at the girls, such longing, such despair, but at the same time they despise us for taking away their manhood. I wonder if they still think it was worth the trade.

I’m leaning against a knotty pine, situated halfway between the guards and the girls. For me, it’s the best observation point. I can listen in on both sets of conversations and still have a good vantage point of the woods surround ing us, but I can see how this must look to the others. And maybe Gertrude’s right, maybe I did think I was better than them. I thought I had it all figured out, that I could slip beneath the surface, unnoticed, unscathed, but that’s certainly over now. Michael betrayed me by giving me a veil, the girl wasn’t in the outskirts, and now I have a target on my back. But all is not lost. There’s Gertrude Fenton—possibly a friend, one that I never thought I needed.

I watch her from the shadows, sitting with the other outcasts, fiddling with the end of her red ribbon. But even her fellow outcasts know to keep their distance. I wonder what really happened to her. If it was Kiersten’s lithograph, and she let Gertie take the blame, that would mean Kiersten is capable of absolutely anything.

As much as I feel the urge to protect her, I keep coming back to my mother’s words. Trust no one. Not even yourself.

A breeze rustles through the camp, and I pull my cloak tighter around me. I’m dying to warm my aching limbs by the fire, but I’m not ready to join the other girls.

Slipping off my boots, I try to rub some feeling back into my toes. I was smart enough to wear the boots around the house as soon as they arrived to try to break them in, but I can tell some of the others weren’t as fortunate.

Without our grandfather clock or the bells of the county, I have no idea what time it is. I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore. The only time that matters will happen thirteen moons from now. Thirteen long moons. But I can’t get ahead of myself. My father always told me that you only have to solve one problem at a time, and right now, my biggest problem is Kiersten. I need to stay out of her way until we reach the encampment. Maybe we’ll all have cozy little cabins to ourselves, and I’ll scarcely have to deal with her.

For now, I’ll do what I do best.

I’ll watch.

I’ll listen.

The wind forces its way through the forest, making the pines creak and yaw.

“Do you think the poachers are watching us right now?” Becca asks as she peers into the dense woods.

“I heard they follow us the entire way to the encampment,” Patrice whispers.

“Let’s find out.” Kiersten stands up. “Is this what you want?” she yells, raising her skirts, flashing her legs to the darkness surrounding us.

“Stop that.” They pull her back down, giggling, like this is some kind of game.

“My oldest sister said they wear shrouds over their whole bodies,” Jessica says.

“Like ghosts?” Helen asks.

“Ghosts don’t wear shrouds, stupid.” Jenna laughs. “That’s only in the Christmas pageant.”