Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(49)

Mr. Gideon gives me an appreciative smile. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me at all. But this is my vaccine, not his, and I happen to know for certain that this is the genuine article.”

“Oh. You test it out on Negroes as well?” I ask, the black feeling growing just a smidge. Despite his kindness, this man is just like the rest of his kind: polite until you tell them no.

“You’ll be the first. I tested it out on myself and a few unwilling cats. Now, please let me finish vaccinating you. I assure you that it’s perfectly safe. If you decide to put up any resistance, Bill back there would be happy to assist. I’m sure a lady of your bearing would much rather face adversity with her head held high than in physical restraint.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Please. I know what the sheriff has planned for you. It really is for your own good.”

I purse my lips to keep from telling him what I think of his assumption as to the nature of my character and inherent needs. I don’t like the idea of that needle punching holes in me. But I ain’t in any position to put up a real fight right now. I’m even more tired and hungry than when I got off the train, and I’ve no desire to get pummeled like poor Jackson. An uncertain future is still better than no future at all.

Besides, I have yet to find a jam I can’t get myself out of. One day this whole Summerland fiasco will just be an interesting footnote in the story of my life.

I step forward, pulling down my collar so Mr. Gideon can stick the needle in the hollow of my neck. He pulls up the leather string with my lucky penny on it, a single eyebrow raised. “Are you superstitious, Miss McKeene?”

“It’s only superstition if you don’t believe, Mr. Gideon.” This close his eyes are more green than brown, and they dance with humor as a smile quirks his lips.

“Quite so, Miss McKeene, quite so.” His hands are gentle, and the metal is cool as it pierces my skin. “Thank you,” he says, his voice low. It causes an odd shiver to go running down my spine, and I step backward a little too quickly, anxious to put some space between the two of us.

“Now, Miss Deveraux, it seems the sheriff believes you to be a white woman. Why is that?” Mr. Gideon takes off his spectacles and wipes them with his pocket square.

Katherine shoots me a glare. “Because someone told him I was.”

Mr. Gideon nods. “Well, phrenologists claim we can identify someone’s character and racial derivation by measuring the skull.” He goes to a drawer and pulls out a set of calipers.

I cough to cover my laughter. I’d been thinking Mr. Gideon was a fair sight smarter than the typical fellow in this place, but if he believes that he can tell anything by the size of someone’s head, he’s just as daft as the rest of them.

Katherine doesn’t say anything, but Mr. Gideon is gentle as he takes several measurements and jots them in a notebook.

“It looks like you’re telling the truth, according to my calculations,” Mr. Gideon says with a frown.

“Hooray for science,” I say.

He shakes his head. “I don’t believe in phrenology at all. It’s easily disproven, the pet hobby of bigots.”

I cross my arms. “Kate is white.”

Mr. Gideon gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I think. Pastor Snyder is the Sheriff’s father, and the real power in town. The preacher makes the final decision on all matters. These numbers are for him.”

“So this town is a family business, then? Good to know.” What a degenerate group of kinfolk. No wonder they found themselves exiled to the middle of the continent.

Katherine gives me another dirty look while Mr. Gideon packs away his implements and I shrug and give her an apologetic grin. I feel mighty bad about getting her shipped out west with me and Jackson. If I can make sure she can live here as a white lady, that should go a long way toward squaring us. I don’t much care about Katherine, but I hate owing anyone anything. Most especially someone as put together as her.

Mr. Gideon sighs, dragging my attention back to him. “I’m sorry you find yourselves here, ladies. Truly, I am. Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you some clothing better suited to frontier life and some food. I expect you’re both hungry and tired after your long trip.”

We both nod and follow Mr. Gideon up the stairs. Halfway out of his laboratory Katherine grabs my wrist and gives me a proper glare.

“I hope this thing about me being white is part of some grand scheme you have to get us out of this,” she whispers. Emotion is heavy in her voice, and I worry that she’s about to break on me.

I give her a saucy wink. No, I don’t have any idea how we’re going to get out of Summerland. But I’m a patient girl, and all I need is time.

Stepping back out into the sun after the cool shadows of Mr. Gideon’s lab is like a punishment all its own. Bill leans against the side of the small building that shelters the staircase, hat forward to keep the sun off of his face.

“Ladies,” Mr. Gideon, says, tilting his bowler as he shows us out. Bill startles awake, loosing a thick stream of tobacco juice in my direction. I manage to jump aside before it hits my fancy boots.

“I bet you’re a big hit with the ladies,” I say.

He says nothing but just glares in my direction before yanking his head to the side. “Come on so we can get you outfitted. The sooner we get your black ass out to the border, the sooner you’ll lose some of that sass.”