Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  “Let me tell you about Sera Diaz.” As Mr. Preston continued, Jennie pressed her fingers over her eyelids. It was the little things that hurt the worst: Sera’s deadpan jokes; how she put so many chilies in her salsa that nobody else could eat it; how she’d raced Jennie down the main street, slipped in the mud, and squashed Dr. Lee’s tomatoes; the time they’d all played “Hijo de la Luna” on glasses.

  There would be no more of those moments. Jennie had spent years imagining the day she would finally become a Ranger under Sera’s command. Her dream had come true, but Sera wouldn’t give any more orders, or grin and ask for the last drop of lemon juice. Sera was gone, and all Jennie had left of her was a secret that she wished she’d never found out.

  53

  Mia

  MIA OPENED THE SURGERY DOOR, HOPING HER DAD had fixed something normal for lunch. She was hungry after a long session repairing the gate, and in no mood for turnip pudding.

  “That you, Mia? If you want to see Ross, he’s ready for visitors.”

  “Thanks, Dad!” Now she’d even forgive turnip pudding. She raced to her cottage, snatched up a diagram, then tore back to the surgery.

  Ross’s curtain was open for the first time. He sat up in bed, propped against a pillow. She had to stop herself from rushing up and touching him to reassure herself that he was all right. Instead, she spun around and yanked the curtain shut, then turned to meet his slightly puzzled smile.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “A lot better,” he said. “What’ve you got there?”

  He looked worn and thin, lost in an enormous nightshirt that was neither wet nor transparent, but Mia felt the way she had when he’d stood in her doorway, drenched with rain.

  She clutched the diagram to her chest. “I was so sure you’d love this, but maybe you won’t. I couldn’t ask because Dad said you needed to rest and he wouldn’t even let me come look at you. Not that I meant to spy!” She shut her mouth so fast her teeth clicked.

  His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Hand it over.”

  Mia sidled up to the head of the bed so she could see both his face and the diagram, then remembered that he didn’t like people lurking behind him and lurched back into his line of sight.

  She stabbed at the diagram with a finger. “It’s a gauntlet for your left hand. It’ll be steel, lined with leather.”

  He touched the paper. “What’s this sliding part do?”

  “Well, I saw you fight, and I remembered my own lessons and I realized that if you can’t make a tight fist, you can’t really do anything . . .” Ross’s jaw twitched. Mia hurried on, tapping the paper until it rustled. “The steel bars go over your wrist and forearm as a brace, which also functions as a shield. Once it’s on, you can move the slide with your right hand to lock your fingers in place, in a fist or holding a weapon or even straight out if you wanted to do any open-handed strikes.”

  She studied his face, but she couldn’t tell how he was taking it. “I wanted to make it so you could throw a knife, but I watched you do that with your right hand and it’s a pretty complicated sequence of movements and you have to let go of it at exactly the right time and I couldn’t figure out how to make it work. Sorry.”

  Ross was giving her a very strange look.

  “You hate it. That’s okay. I don’t mind.” She snatched the diagram and crumpled it behind her.

  He whispered, “It’s perfect.”

  “What?” Mia bent closer.

  Ross lifted his chin. His eyes were so dark they looked black, framed by thick, curling eyelashes. Mia’s bones caught on fire. She wasn’t sure she could stop herself from kissing him, or possibly from passing out. She crushed her diagram into a sweaty ball.

  Ross reached up with his good hand and touched the side of her face. The diagram fell to the floor. His hand was warm on her cheek, cupping it as gently as if she were some prospected treasure he had to be careful not to break.

  She gave into the impulse she’d been fighting for so long, and stroked his hair. He didn’t flinch.

  Ross lifted his other hand and reached behind her neck. He pulled her in, and Mia had only an instant to disbelieve that it was really happening.

  He kissed her.

  She felt the contact all the way through her body, not just on her lips, hot and tingling like a mild electric shock. A good shock. Her fingers closed around a handful of his hair, then slid down the smooth skin of his back, bumping gently over his ribs. He stroked her neck lightly. Now she felt like she was on fire. But good fire. Then he clutched her shoulders, loosely with his left hand and almost bruisingly with his right, and kissed her harder. He didn’t even let go when he had to tip his head back to take a breath. She let him breathe, then caught him by the shoulders and kissed him back. And then Mia couldn’t analyze what she felt like, because she wasn’t thinking at all.

  Ross pulled her down beside him, and she lay with her head pillowed on his shoulder and his hair falling over her face. It smelled deliciously like the lemongrass soap she’d helped make for the infirmary. She wrapped her arms around him, half expecting him to freeze, but he drew her in even closer. He was so warm, and his skin was so soft, and he was holding her as if it would kill him to let her go. It made every awful, terrifying, miserable moment in the last month worthwhile.

  Ross said quietly, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

  Mia blinked. “Oh, really? You too?”

  He nodded. She leaned over and pressed her lips into the hollow of his throat.

  “I see you’ve recovered, Ross,” said Mr. Preston.

  Mia recoiled in surprise—and fell off the bed with a crash.

  When she scrambled up, Ross’s face was at least as red as hers had to be.

  “I could come back at a better time,” Mr. Preston offered, sounding amused.

  “No, no,” Ross managed.

  Mia nodded so quickly her glasses almost flew across the room. “It’s okay!” The only thing that was worse than Mr. Preston catching them kissing was the thought that if he left, he would know they were kissing right then.

  “Ross, I’m here on the mayor’s behalf as well as my own. We wanted to thank you for what you did for our town.”

  Mia put a protective hand on his shoulder. She could feel his muscles tensing.

  “You . . .” Mr. Preston hesitated, his mouth twisting. Then his face resumed its usual calm expression. “That’s quite an impressive Change power of yours. I’d like to know more about it.”

  Ross started trembling. Mia said, “It almost killed him. You can’t ask him to do it again.”

  Mr. Preston raised his heavy eyebrows. “I didn’t realize it took so much out of you. Anyway, there’ll be no problem with you becoming a citizen, if that’s what you want. Your probation’s over.”

  Ross stopped breathing, giving her a moment of pure terror. Then she felt him inhale. “Let me ask you something. Do you think Voske will try again?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  With an effort, Ross sat up straight, bracing his palms against the mattress. “I’ve decided—I want to sell you my book. I think the town needs it.”

  Mr. Preston actually smiled. “Thank you. We’ll give you good value for it. We can talk about the terms later. For now, I’ll leave you to your . . . recovery.” To Mia’s embarrassment, he winked at her as he left.

  When his footsteps had safely faded, Ross whispered, “I feel like I just escaped a collapsing mine.”

  “He’s even scarier when he’s trying to be nice,” Mia agreed.

  Ross nodded. “But his offer . . . Becoming a citizen . . .” He paused so long that she too forgot to breathe. “I’ll take it.”

  “You will?” Mia heard her own voice rise up in a squeak. She threw her arms around him, almost as thrilled as she’d been when he’d kissed her. “You
will! Great!”

  “Your father and I had a long talk about it. He thought Preston might make the offer,” he admitted. “So I had some time to think about it. I thought about it. I want to stay.” For the first time, he sounded certain.

  A thought came to Mia’s mind, making her giggle. “Mr. Preston doesn’t know he won’t be able to read the book, does he? When are you planning to spring that on him?”

  Ross laughed. “I thought I’d get Yuki to read it first. I’d like to know what it says.”

  “Shall I go ask him?”

  He tugged her back to the bed. “How about later?”

  54

  Ross

  ROSS LAY IN BED, STARING AT THE CURTAINS SO HE wouldn’t have to stare at the ceiling. Indra had barely been able to walk when Dr. Lee let him go, and Ross could walk perfectly well. So why, after all this time, was he still stuck in the infirmary? He kicked at the covers. At least he’d talked Dr. Lee into bringing down some real clothes so he could get out of that nightshirt.

  He wished Mia or Jennie would show up. It had been great to see Jennie the other night, but they’d barely started talking before she’d remembered that she’d forgotten some job and had to rush out. He picked up the newspaper she’d left on the bedside table and once again sounded out the headline: “Las Anclas Repels King Voske’s Attack!” in huge letters, and below, in smaller type, “Town Celebrates, Mourns.”

  Then came the welcome sound of rustling curtains. “Come in!” Ross called.

  Dr. Lee gave Ross a mock frown. “Next time you turn up here, I’m carving your name over the bed. See that I don’t have to.”

  Ross grinned. “I’ll try to stay out.”

  “You’ve got visitors. When they leave, you can too.” When Ross started to leap up, Dr. Lee held out a warning hand. “Be sensible, and take it slow.”

  Ross nodded. “Thanks, Dr. Lee.”

  As Dr. Lee went out, Mia, Yuki, and Jennie came in. Jennie held a familiar shape wrapped in oilcloth.

  Ross swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He’d had it with people standing over him. “You guys can sit down if you want.”

  Mia dropped down in an instant, rocking the bed, then scooted closer. Ross slid a half inch over, until their shoulders touched. He felt her let out a long sigh at the same moment that he did.

  Jennie sat on his other side, a little farther away, and handed Ross the package.

  He hefted it in his hands, then unwrapped it.

  There it was, the book that had started everything. Ross touched the worn leather cover. He’d known how valuable it was when he’d first opened it, and had imagined what he might get in trade for it: a rifle and ammunition, new clothes, old maps . . . Things he could load onto Rusty’s back and carry with him. Probably he could get all that from Mr. Preston. But it felt as if what he’d really gotten, before he even began negotiations, was a whole new life.

  It was hard to let go, but he couldn’t hold on to it forever. Ross handed the book to Yuki, who took it with the same reverence Ross felt. “Can you read it?”

  Yuki sat down, took a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket, and put them on. He opened the book to the last page, read silently, and then looked at Ross. “Mia said this was a manual.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “It’s a diary. The page I just read was about how the writer had an argument with someone she worked with, and then she went home and found that her daughter had tried to cook something and spilled milk all over the floor.”

  “You need to start at the beginning,” Mia said. “That’s where the diagrams are.”

  “I am at the beginning,” Yuki said. “Japanese reads from right to left—our books open the other way around. Let me see how it ends.”

  He leafed through the pages until he came to the diagrams, then kept going until he reached what Ross had thought was the first page. His expression didn’t change, but he got up, turned away from them, and stood still for a while.

  The others sat in silence. Ross took hold of Mia’s hand.

  Eventually, Yuki faced them again. When he spoke, his voice was husky. “I’d better read this to you.”

  Ross tried not to stare at him. Had he been holding back tears? Why?

  Yuki began to slowly translate. “‘My name is Yamaguchi Hina. I’m a professor of medieval Japanese history at the University of Tokyo. I came—’”

  “What’s the University of Tokyo?” Ross interrupted. “And what’s ‘medieval’?”

  “She taught ancient history at a big school . . .” Jennie shrugged. “Somewhere in Japan, I guess.”

  “Its ancient capital,” said Yuki, then went on. “‘I came to America for a conference on medieval East Asian warfare. There was some kind of catastrophe—war or natural disaster—we don’t know. Nothing electronic works anymore, and nearly everything mechanical has some electronic components.

  “‘I have only a few blank pages left in my diary, and even in a gathering of historians, I’m the only one who still uses paper and pen. I thought about recording what’s happening now, but I’m sure others are doing that, so I decided not to waste this paper duplicating their work. Instead, I drew up the material from my presentation, from memory. It seems trivial, compared to everything else, but I hate to think of it being lost forever. Perhaps it will be useful or informative for someone someday.

  “‘Unless I can find a ship with sails, I don’t think I’ll ever get home. If anyone finds this and can take it back to Japan, please deliver it to my husband. His name is Yamaguchi Tatsuya, professor of modern Japanese literature at the University of Tokyo.’”

  Yuki ran his fingers lightly over the words, his head bent.

  “Thank you,” Ross said.

  “May I borrow it?”

  It had been hard for him to even let Yuki see it. But he remembered Yuki’s ship, and his lost expression when he’d told Ross his story. “Take it.”

  Yuki carefully rewrapped the book and started out. Then he turned back, one hand crushing the curtain. “I was wondering, Ross. Are you still going to prospect, now that you’re staying in town?”

  “Yeah. I figure I can go on trips, and come back.”

  “Would you consider teaching me how to prospect?”

  “You want to prospect?” Ross asked.

  Mia started laughing.

  Jennie shook her head in mock dismay. “Yuki, all this time and you never even told him?”

  Yuki gave them both an exasperated look. “I had to think about it.”

  “You mean, teach you in exchange for translating the rest of the book?” Ross asked.

  Yuki shook his head. “I’ll do that regardless. Just . . . would you teach me?”

  Ross had never taught anyone anything, and it was unnerving to imagine Yuki’s intense gaze while he tried to do so. But Yuki also seemed to feel like a stranger in Las Anclas, and Ross couldn’t help sympathizing with that.

  “Prospectors have to know how to make deals,” Ross said. “Translate the book, and teach me to ride. Then I’ll teach you to prospect. Deal?”

  Ross held out his hand, and Yuki touched his palm with his own.

  “Deal. And thank you.” Yuki hurried out, clutching the book.

  Ross caught Jennie making a furtive gesture to Mia, who replied with a nod.

  “What’s wrong?” Ross asked, instantly suspicious.

  Mia patted his shoulder. “Nothing. Well, except that it’s not just Mr. Preston who knows that you’re the one who . . . did that thing. With the tree.”

  “Apparently Felicité overheard you talking to Mia about it and alerted everyone around,” Jennie added. “And then after the battle she and Henry told the entire town. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said glumly. “I figured it must have come out.”

  Though he hated the thought of everyone knowin
g, that was nothing compared to how he hated knowing it himself. His first few days in the infirmary had been one long nightmare, endlessly reliving the last moments of all the soldiers he’d killed. He could still hear their screams rising up above the song of the trees if he didn’t keep reinforcing the wall in his mind.

  He stood up. “Dr. Lee said I could go. I’d like to see the sky.”

  The girls fell in step on either side of him as he walked outside. He stood on the porch in his bare feet, looking across the dark square. People were gardening by the light of hanging lamps. Inside the infirmary, he’d lost all track of time. He hadn’t even known if it was night or day. Now he could look up and see the waning moon.

  “There’s something else,” Mia said.

  “Something bad?” he asked quickly.

  Jennie grinned. “No.”

  On his other side, Mia wore a matching grin. “Would you mind closing your eyes and letting us lead you?”

  When he’d first come to Las Anclas, he wouldn’t have been able to do that even if he’d wanted to. Now he took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and held out his hands.

  Mia’s small hand folded around his left, and Jennie’s larger one gripped his right. Both were warm and strong. The girls led him back into the surgery. He shuffled along, listening to their breathing. He could tell Mia was trying not to laugh.

  “Stairs,” warned Jennie.

  He stepped up carefully. The girls stayed at either side, steadying him.

  “Cat,” warned Mia.

  He gently pushed the furry creature out of his way with his foot. It meowed indignantly. “Sorry,” he told the cat.

  When they reached the top, he heard his bedroom door open.

  “We hope this was worth keeping you in the infirmary an extra day or so,” Jennie said.

  They led him to the bed and sat down on it with him, still holding his hands.

  “Open your eyes,” said Mia.