by Pam Webber
Scottie’s mean-spirited baiting hurt, but Nettie refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing. “That’s too bad. He’s a much better coach than you are.”
Scottie smirked and turned to Ethan and Cal. “You two have decent throwing arms?”
Both nodded.
“Good. We’re short outfielders. Ethan, you take right field. Cal, you go to the center. The rest of you, take your positions.”
Nettie put on her glove and jogged to second base while Win positioned herself at shortstop.
The first batter had just stepped to the plate when Andy’s car pulled up. Grabbing his glove from the backseat, he trotted toward his customary right-field position but stopped short. Everyone froze as his gaze went back and forth between Ethan and Nettie.
Scottie lifted his catcher’s mask. “Hey, Andy, take the bench. We’ll rotate you in.”
After a long look at Nettie, Andy waved off Scottie and walked back to his car. Nettie took a step to go after him, but the memory of Anne snuggling his arm in the hardware store’s parking lot stopped her.
Scottie grinned and lowered his mask. “Play ball.”
By the fourth inning, Nettie had missed three pop-ups and let several grounders get by her, and now her team was down two runs. Scottie’s repeated calls for her to get her head in the game didn’t help. He finally benched her, despite not having a replacement. He waved in Win and the first baseman, but it didn’t help—they still lost. Scottie threw his mask in the dirt and stomped over to Nettie. “Next time, don’t come if you’re not going to play.”
Win started to back him up, but Nettie stopped her. “He has a right to be mad. I cost us the game. Let’s go.”
Ethan didn’t speak until they were almost downtown. “Thanks for inviting Cal and me to play.”
“You’re welcome. Come again next week. Maybe I’ll play better.”
“Andy’s a good-looking fellow.”
“Ethan, please.”
“But I bet my throwing arm is better than his.”
Nettie came to a halt. “Will you stop?”
Ethan grinned from ear to ear and raised his hands. “Easy. I’m just trying to get you to laugh.”
She gave him a weak smile as he grabbed her hand. “C’mon. I’ll race you to the traffic light.”
Nettie felt better by the time they reached the Courthouse Café. Selecting a shaded, outdoor table, they placed an order for Cokes, burgers, and fries. People were bustling around the square, doing last-minute shopping before the stores closed. Across the way, Pic hurried from the direction of the train station, a rectangular piece of paper in his hand. Nettie waved.
“Hey, girls.”
“Hey, Pic.” Nettie introduced Ethan and Cal.
“Nice to meet you boys.”
“Want to join us for a burger?” Nettie asked.
“Thanks, but I need to get to the bank before it closes.” He waved the piece of paper. “Today’s payday.” Pic scurried toward the bank with his bindle tight under his arm.
“He seems like a nice fellow,” Ethan said.
Nettie watched as Pic held the door of the bank open for other last-minute customers. “They don’t come any better.”
“How’d you all get to know him?”
“He’s just always been around. I think we met him at church.”
“Do you know how he lost his hand?”
“An accident of some kind when he was young.”
Nettie and Win took turns sharing some of Pic’s hobo stories.
“Why did he end up staying here?” Cal asked.
Nettie looked at Win with a blank expression. “I don’t remember him ever saying.”
“I can’t imagine he earns much,” Ethan said. “Where does he live?”
“He has a room at the train station,” Win said, “and he helps out at the church and other places around town when he’s not working.”
Nettie couldn’t think of any place where Pic wasn’t welcome. “The whole town is his home.” She’d seen Pic rummage through boxes of clothes and shoes in the church’s thrift room and knew he often bought two-day-old bread at the bakery for pennies. He had been on the periphery of Nettie’s life for as long as she could remember. She knew he’d grown up in South Carolina, but for the first time she realized how little else she knew about his past. More important, she didn’t remember ever having asked him about it.
Nettie rolled one of the buck’s tendons between her fingers, before handing it to Nibi. Separating the long, gray-white strings from the buck’s joints and leg muscles had been painstakingly tedious.
“They’re so small.”
“Don’t be fooled by their size,” Nibi said. “One is strong enough to lift you off the ground. They’re made of thin, tough fibers called sinew.” She took a flat rock and pounded the tendon until it separated into frayed-looking fibers that pulled apart like licorice. Peeling several, Nibi soaked them in a bucket of water, then twisted them together in a rhythmic, back-and-forth locking pattern to form a single, braid-like string. She handed it to Nettie. “Try to pull it apart.”
Nettie wrapped the string around her hands and pulled hard. It didn’t break. She handed one end to Win while she held on to the other. They pulled at the string until it hurt their hands.
“It didn’t even start to break.”
“That’s the strength you want. You can also make the string longer by weaving in more fibers as you twist.” Nibi’s expert fingers seamlessly wove a piece of sinew to twice its length. “Now you two try.”
It took the rest of the day for Nettie and Win to master the peel, soak, twist, and weave pattern and make enough string for their webs. When they finished, their fingers were red and full of tiny, bloodless cuts.
“We’re nowhere near done with the dreamcatchers, and our hands are already as rough as corncobs,” Nettie lamented.
Win handed her an almost empty jar of salve. “Split the last of it with me. It will keep the blisters away.”
Nibi came out the door with a pitcher of raspberry tea and a plate of molasses cookies.
Sitting on the top step, Nettie sipped her tea. “When do we start weaving the webs?”
“The sinew needs to cure first, which gives you and Win time to go get your amethysts.”
“Do we have to use amethysts?”
“Yes. It is believed to be a dream stone.”
“A what?”
Nibi turned to Win. “Would you like to explain?”
Win nodded. “Throughout history, purple has been considered the color of royalty, and amethyst the most noble of all stones. Together they symbolize the power to separate good thoughts from bad, good dreams from bad.”
“That’s correct. Amethysts have been used as spider mothers for centuries.”
“Spider what?”
“Spider mothers. According to legend, spider mothers protect and guide the young.”
The thought of a protector seemed comforting, even if it was nothing more than a stone. So far, she and Win had been able to do everything Nibi had asked of them, but Nettie couldn’t shake the feeling that the real tests were yet to come. “So, there’s an amethyst mine up here somewhere?”
“Yes. It’s hidden on Spy Rock.”
“How’d you find it?”
“I didn’t. Monacan elders have known about it for centuries.”
“Since I’m not Monacan, can I know where it is?”
“Yes. I trust you to protect what you know. Spy Rock is a full day’s hike from here, so you two will have to camp overnight.”
Nettie glanced at Win. They’d camped many times, but not in an unfamiliar area that far away.
Win nodded. “We can’t go this weekend because it’s May Day, but we can go next week.”
“I’ll start gathering the camping gear when I get home,” Nettie offered.
“No, don’t bring any gear. You’ll take food and what you need to mine the stones. Nature will provide the rest.”
Chapter 6
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Nettie and Win hurried across the lush campus of Sweet Briar College, passing oversize brick buildings, arched colonnades, sculpted lawns, and boxwood gardens. The grounds of the all-girls school teemed with hundreds of people setting up for Amherst County’s annual May Day celebration. The afternoon festivities would begin with the announcement of the May Day king and queen, selected from Amherst County High School’s upcoming senior class; the May Day planning committee kept the names secret until the coronation.
May Day also included a community-wide picnic, booths full of treats and games, a maypole, a medieval jousting tournament, and a concert in the dell. A dance in the pavilion followed at sunset.
For senior girls interested in attending Sweet Briar after graduation, May Day included a formal luncheon hosted by the college’s president. In addition to their academic abilities, attendees would be evaluated on appearance, social etiquette, and ability to converse.
Ringing the doorbell of the president’s mansion, Nettie tugged at the stiff lace scratching her neck and wrists. For luck, her mother had insisted she wear the same dressy dress her sister, Sam, had worn to the luncheon last year, despite its being a size too small. Sam had been accepted at the prestigious college and would start classes in the fall. “Hell’s fire! Who’d wear this stuff on purpose? It itches worse than chiggers.”
Win tried to flatten the fabric ballooning from the empire waist of her dress. “At least you have curves. I look like Humpty Dumpty.”
“I know Amherst County girls can attend Sweet Briar for free, but if it means doing this more than once, I’m not sure I want to. I don’t even know if I want to go to college.”
“Which I’m sure is driving your parents nuts.”
“You better believe it. Momma threatened to ground me forever if I screw up this luncheon. I’m still on thin ice with her because of the Pastor Williams thing.”
An unsmiling, pasty woman in a black uniform with a starched white apron and cap ushered Nettie and Win across a two-story foyer and into a grand dining hall. A large crystal chandelier hung over the center of an elegant dining table that ran the length of the room. Long mirrors lining the walls traded miniature rainbows with hundreds of prisms on the chandelier.
Two dozen girls were already seated as Nettie and Win slid into the last two empty chairs near the head of the table. Each place setting included crystal goblets of different sizes and numerous pieces of shiny silverware surrounding a blue-trimmed, white china plate. Matching blue linen napkins, each folded in the shape of a peacock, rested in the middle. Dozens of Waterford rose bowls coursed down the middle of the table, each filled with miniature pink roses in full bloom. Underneath everything sat a brilliant white tablecloth with a long, silky fringe.
“Great,” Nettie mumbled. “We have to sit next to the president.”
“That’s what we get for being late.”
Nettie carefully rubbed the swirly curls her momma had bobby-pinned on top of her head; her scalp still smarted from the accidental jabs. “Momma made me read Emily Post last night. That lady tells you how to do everything: dress, walk, sit, eat, when to talk, when not to. She even tells you what to say.”
Anne Johnson sat across from Nettie. Her long fingernails were painted pink to match her tailored dress. A pink bow accented her elegant updo.
“Nice to see you dressed up, Nettie. Who did your hair? Your little brother?”
“Nice to see you polished your red horns and pointed tail for the occasion, Anne. It’s a shame you still smell like sulfur.”
Anne’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I really enjoy working with Andy. We’re together all the time now and have such interesting conversations. Just last week, he said he appreciates a girl who pays attention to her appearance.”
“Why, you hateful—”
Nettie cut short her retort as a dozen servers dressed in black and white entered the room, led by a tall man wearing a tuxedo and a white bow tie.
Nettie glared at Anne and whispered to Win, “As soon as this is over, I have to find Andy.”
“Did he call back last night?”
“No. I called twice. His dad said he wasn’t expected until late. I hope we can find him before the Wicked Witch of the West over there gets her claws into him any deeper. He usually helps with the jousting tournament. Let’s head over there as soon as we get out of here.”
The white-bow tie man clapped twice, sending most of the other black-and-whites snapping to attention along the back wall. Two servers at the far end of the room opened double doors and escorted the president in.
Nettie couldn’t help but stare.
Dressed from chin to shin in form-fitting, cream-colored lace dotted with hundreds of tiny pearls and matching high heels, the woman walked gracefully to the head of the table, not one blond hair out of place in her tight French twist. Waiting until the white-bow tie man adjusted her chair, she sat as straight as she walked.
Nettie leaned forward and pulled her shoulders back.
With two fingers, the president raised a glass bell the size of an egg and tinkled it twice to garner the attention of those at the table. She needn’t have bothered. No one had spoken or taken their eyes off her since she had entered the room.
“Good morning, ladies. I am Dr. Mariah Woods, president of Sweet Briar College. On behalf of the board of trustees and the faculty, I’d like to welcome you to our annual luncheon. As you may know, the founders of Sweet Briar were committed to educating the young women of Amherst County. To that end, our charter states that any young woman from here who meets the admission criteria may attend this college for free. Today’s luncheon is the first step in the admission process and provides us with an opportunity to get to know one another. After lunch, faculty members will be available to tell you more about what it means to be part of the Sweet Briar community.”
The white-bow tie man scanned the room to see if the servers were ready, then nodded to the president.
“Ladies, please bow your heads.”
As soon as President Woods uttered, “Amen,” the white-bow tie man unfolded her napkin and placed it on her lap, signaling a wave of black-and-whites to do the same for the rest of the table. A second wave swooped in to deliver small plates containing a few pieces of lettuce and a paper-thin slice of tomato.
That’s it? Nettie placed a hand on her growling stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything since the night before.
Win fingered the multiple forks next to her plate and whispered. “Which one do I use?”
“Emily Post said to start at the outside and work your way in. And don’t start eating until the host does.”
President Woods slipped a small fork under a piece of lettuce the size of a quarter. Placing the hint of green between barely opened lips, she set the fork on the edge of her plate and placed both hands in her lap while she chewed.
Nettie took a bite, laid down her fork, and tried to chew as daintily as the president. She had just enough time for two more tiny bites before a gloved hand whisked away her plate and replaced it with a small bowl of lemon-colored ice.
The president addressed the quizzical looks around the table. “The sorbet is to freshen your palates before the next course.”
Wishing for a bowl of oatmeal, Nettie nibbled on a thin, rolled-up pancake the president referred to as a crêpe; a couple of warm, almost raw green beans that she described as al dente; a dab of sweet potatoes she didn’t have another name for; and a rainbow of unsatisfying ice.
Win leaned toward Nettie. “I’m eating but starving.”
Gloved hands set plates with ham and bite-size pieces of pineapple in front of them.
“Finally,” Win whispered.
When everyone had been served, Win speared a corner of the ham and started cutting. “This stuff is tough as leather,” she whispered. Struggling to get the knife through the meat, she gave it one last, big push. The knife’s blade hit the plate’s juicy surface, tilted, and slid, lifting the slice of ham into the air and spin
ning it toward President Woods. It landed with a splat in the middle of her plate, sending juice and bits of pineapple across the front of her elegant dress.
Win gasped and turned deadly white.
Eyes wide, Nettie silently screamed, Oh, sh—.
As if in slow motion, the stunned president dabbed pineapple juice from her face, looked down at her spotted dress, then laid her napkin on the table. “Would you ladies excuse me, please?”
Rising, President Woods walked toward the door, not realizing the fringe of the tablecloth had captured some of the pearls on her dress. The cloth, along with everything on it, slid with her. Vases tumbled, crystal crashed, china shattered, and silverware clanked as it hit shiny hardwood. Pulled off balance, the president slipped in her high heels and landed on the floor with an unceremonious plop. Girls scrambled to escape the chaotic table as some of the black-and-whites rushed to save plates and glasses while others scurried to assist the president.
Win and Nettie jumped up to help but were waved away.
Smirking, Anne Johnson stopped in front of Nettie as she and the other attendees were leaving the dining room. “Tweedledee and Tweedledum strike again.”
“Take a break, Beelzebub. Being so hateful must be exhausting.” Nettie ignored the middle finger pointed in her direction.
As the rest of the black-and-whites picked up remnants of the luncheon, the white-bow tie man escorted Win to President Woods’s office. Nettie followed, despite his insistence that she not. Sitting primly in the waiting area, she refused to meet his eyes. Summoned back to the noisy dining room by a timid underling, he instructed Nettie to stay put and left.
The sliding doors to the president’s office were ajar enough for Nettie to peek inside. President Woods sat ramrod straight at a long executive desk. Win stood in front of her, the hem of her balloon dress quivering.
“Young lady, not only did you disrupt a respected tradition, you also ruined hundreds of dollars’ worth of china, crystal, and linen, not to mention my dress. What do you have to say for yourself?”
