Dread Nation (Dread Nation #1)(82)
Katherine gives him a small curtsy before setting off across the dusty road. I scurry along behind her, and once we’re clear of the preacher Katherine mutters, “What an odious man.”
“That was quite impressive,” I murmur.
Katherine snorts in a way that is not at all ladylike. “What did you expect, Jane? I grew up in a whorehouse. If there’s anyone who knows how to put on an act, it is a woman dependent upon the appetites of men for her living.” There’s a sharp tone to her voice, a reminder that she’s playing this role because I asked it of her, not because she wanted to.
I consider Katherine’s words the rest of the way to the better side of town.
Perhaps I don’t know her as well as I think I do.
Jane, I am glad to hear that you have ever so many companions with whom to while away the hours. There is no greater gift than the gift of friendship. Just make sure that those you give it to are deserving of such a fine thing.
Chapter 31
In Which I Have a Heartfelt Conversation
After a silent walk down the dirt road to the proper side of town, Katherine and I end up in front of the house where she’s been staying since she arrived in Summerland, right next door to Lily and the Spencers. Lily and a small boy play in their front yard, and even though our eyes meet neither of us acknowledges the other. Lily knows how to play the long con; her brother’s made sure of that.
Katherine’s house is downright luxurious, particularly when compared to the squalor I’ve gotten used to. The door opens onto a nicely appointed sitting room, the small windows opened to catch any bit of a breeze. Oriental rugs cover the wood plank floors. In the bedroom to the rear there is a sumptuous feather bed for Katherine and a relatively clean cot has been brought in for me. The bowl and pitcher on the dressing table are real china, nicer than most anything else in Summerland, and there are several lovely dresses hanging in a wardrobe for Katherine, as well as a lady’s dressing gown.
The kitchen has no stove but it does have a large sink with a pump, just like the tub and cistern the Duchess showed me back at the cathouse. The sitting room has a hearth and a modest stack of something that looks to be dried dung. I decide that I’m glad for the warm weather. On the end table is a jar of peaches and a simple note from Mr. Gideon: “Please enjoy this modest gift.”
The sight of those peaches causes a warm feeling to spread through my middle. I ain’t seen the tinkerer since the day of my whipping, and I owe him a hearty thanks. Without his salve my back would still be a ruined mess, and I don’t think it’s a great leap of reasoning to think that I owe him my life.
As soon as we close the door Katherine sighs and her shoulders slump. “Would you please help me get out of this thing?” she asks, all traces of haughtiness gone.
I walk over and begin to unfasten the row of tiny buttons along the back, slipping it over her head once it’s loose enough. I follow her into the back bedroom, hanging the dress up on one of the wooden hangers in the wardrobe as Katherine pulls the lacing to remove her corset, donning the dressing gown, a bright silk garment that features embroidered dragons along the front.
I bend down and pick up the corset, a smile finding its way to my lips. “Did you get that robe from one of the Duchess’s girls?”
Katherine gives me a glare that would stop my heart if looks could kill. “No. The sheriff gave it to me as a gift. Said he got this from a Chinese man that used to live here.”
My stomach drops as I remember the Duchess’s comment about the lack of Chinese in Summerland. What happened to the man who had originally owned that robe? Nothing good. I read an article entitled “The Great Yellow Menace” in which the author went to great lengths to malign the Chinese immigrants out west in California, who apparently charge very steep rates to protect folks from shamblers. I’d only read the article because I’d thought it was about shamblers, not immigration. It seems strange that in these very fraught times folks would be more concerned about hardworking people trying to find a better life than the monsters that actually want to eat them.
Katherine heaves a sigh and doesn’t speak again, and I perch next to her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head and looks down at her lap, not saying a word. I wait, and after a moment she begins crying—soft, ladylike tears that make her eyes pretty and bright. Somehow I envy her and pity her at the same time.
“Katherine—” I begin, but I don’t get much more than her name out before she cuts me off.
“Do you know what it’s like to have every man in this miserable town panting after you like a rabid dog? Do you know what it’s like to have to spend weeks pretending to be like the rest of them, to say such despicable things about yourself, to laugh at jokes that cut like rusty knives?” She keeps her voice low but the emotion is still clear.
I shake my head, as Katherine ain’t really looking for a conversation.
“I hate this. I hate pretending to be white, to be like most of the folks in this town. I hate the way they think. And I hate knowing that my face is worth more than all the rest of me.”
“Well, maybe not all of the rest of you,” I mutter, but Katherine doesn’t hear me.
“Do you know what Miss Anderson told me before we got in the train car to come here? ‘I wish you weren’t so pretty, Katherine. Maybe then someone would’ve taken you on and you would’ve had a chance at a future.’ I had a chance, Jane, but because of my damned face, no one would take me on as an Attendant. I was first in our class.”