The Mermaid's Sister(36)

“Good heavens!” I say. “Avert your eyes, O’Neill!”

I do not think he hears me, for he continues staring at her fluttering lashes, flashing scales, and unclothed torso.

Jasper clutches his belly and doubles over with laughter.

“This is not at all amusing,” I say, standing in an attempt to block the men’s view of my sister.

“You haven’t seen much of the world, have you, my dear?” Jasper says.

“What does that matter?” I scramble to throw the velvet cover over the jar. “Morals and manners are not things to be left at home!”

Jasper laughs again, howling like a mad dog. “The mermaid’s sister is a holy sister!” he blurts once he catches his breath. “And what are you, O’Neill? A priest perhaps?”

The velvet falls over the glass with a whisper.

O’Neill says, “I am sorry, Clara.” His face is cherry red.

Jasper smacks his thigh. “What fun we shall have! A straight-laced maiden, an innocent boy in love with a mermaid, and me—bawdy heir apparent to the kingdom of Phipps!”

“This is not amusing,” I say again. “Please excuse me. I must find something for my sister to wear.” I glare at Jasper until he takes a step back. When he motions for me to pass, I spy the scarlet tattoo on his wrist. The same charm against mermaid enchantment O’Neill wears.

Jasper’s mother’s words echo in my mind: “I have dealt with her kind before, and I know what they must have, what elements will keep them alive outside the sea.” Now I am certain that Maren is not the first mermaid to be part of Phipps’s vile show. A shiver runs up my spine.

O’Neill follows me outside, limping and grimacing. I turn to chide him as we walk back to the other wagon. “I cannot believe how you stared at her! Scarff would be ashamed of you.”

He keeps his eyes trained on the ground. “I am truly sorry,” he says. “I behaved like a scoundrel. Will you forgive me?”

“I will try,” I say. But he has not just treaded upon my morals; he has also bruised my heart. And bruises do not disappear instantly.

From the other wagon’s doorway, Soraya watches us approach, hands on hips. “Where have you naughty children been?” she demands.

Jasper puts an arm around my shoulders, startling me. I had not heard him approach. “They were with me, Mama. No need to worry.”

I disagree. We have many reasons to worry, and Jasper and his mother are just two of them.

If I could, I would wish O’Neill’s leg healed so that we could take Maren and flee this very hour.



Among the boxes and crates of medicines and soaps, I find a pile of cheaply made scarves. I choose one made of snow-white cambric and bordered with celery-colored lace. I detest stealing even such a little thing, but Maren must be clothed without delay.

The men are busy pitching the tents. Soraya has gone to buy thread. The door to the wagon where Maren is kept stands wide open.

I slip inside unnoticed. A single sunbeam touches the blue velvet covering the glass jar. Is she still alive, I wonder? What if she could wait no longer to go home? My blood runs cold. I force myself to pull the velvet away.

There she is, my sister. She faces away from me, combing her fingers through her bright locks, oblivious to my presence but alive.

I try to lift the ornate lid straight up, but it does not budge. I crack my fingernails and bruise my palms working to unscrew it. And as I am about to give up, the lid turns with a squeak. Three rotations later, I remove it and set it on the floor.

“Maren, come here,” I say, peering down into the oily-looking liquid. It smells of cloves and sulfur and honeysuckle, plus a few things I cannot name.

My sister ignores my request. She swims in lazy circles, her silvery green tail undulating and her glossy hair fluttering like a flag in a steady wind. Her bare torso reminds me of a painting of a Greek goddess from one of Auntie’s art books. The goddess had the same alabaster skin and round breasts—and seemed just as unbothered by her nakedness as Maren is. But although the goddess was beautiful, she could not compare to Maren. Somehow, despite the incongruity of her womanly mermaid shape and her child-sized body, she is beautiful beyond words.

“Please come here, sister,” I say, raising my voice. “Hurry.”

She swims to the top of the jar and pokes her head out of the water. When she sees the scarf, she must guess my intent. She pouts and shakes her head.

“Please do this for me,” I say. “Even though you are not embarrassed, I am embarrassed for you. Imagine what Auntie would say! After everything she taught us about modesty and virtue.”

Maren raises her arms in surrender. I wrap the scarf about her chest and tie it in a double knot at the center of her back. “There,” I say. “It is rather fetching, with the lace at the top like that.”

She sticks out her tongue like a spoiled child and dives to the bottom of the jar. Her crossed arms and turned back are familiar to me. I have seen both a hundred times during our lifetime of sibling squabbles.

Her sulkiness does not bother me. In fact, it makes me glad. My sister may have a fish’s tail, but her independent spirit is the same as it has always been.

“Good-bye, dearest,” I say. “I will be back as soon as I can. Osbert is nearby, and so is O’Neill, and we will find a way to take you home soon.”