Grandma Jing’s severe expression eased into a slight smile. “I see.”
A tall man stepped up next to her. “I for one would like to see my old friend Sam Riley again.”
“That’s my Pa,” Jennie exclaimed, delighted. “I’m Jennie Riley.”
Grandma Jing’s smile softened, becoming real. “Welcome, Jennie. I must say, this is pleasant news. We shall have to arrange a special performance for our first visit in ten years. So, Mr. Preston no longer holds power in Las Anclas?”
“His wife is the mayor, and he heads the Rangers,” Jennie said, glad her voice stayed steady. “But he has no vote on the town council.”
“I remember Mayor Wolfe,” Grandma Jing said. “And their little children. A toddler boy, and a little girl who would be about your age. What are they like now?”
Jennie tried not to obviously look around, but she knew everyone was listening.
Be diplomatic, Jennie told herself, crushing the vision of Felicité tied up, gagged, and furious in the fruit shed.
“Will Preston is a good-natured, energetic boy. Felicité is as elegant as her mother. She’s the town scribe . . .” Jennie fished for something positive or at least not insulting to say. Nothing came to mind. Finally, she said, “She wears very stylish hats.”
“Huge hats. Like this,” Summer broke in, throwing her arms out to either side. “And she hates Changed people. She called my brother a mutant!”
Jennie suppressed a groan, wondering who had passed on that story. Probably Mia had told Kerry, and Kerry had told Summer.
Summer went on, “And her stupid grinning boyfriend Henry hates us all, too!”
Jennie longed to agree, but since she was the official representative of Las Anclas, she forced herself to say, “She hasn’t used that word in a long time. And she did apologize.”
Mia piped up, “I still don’t trust her. She claimed that word ‘just slipped out,’ but I think she meant it.”
Summer said fiercely, “Oh, I can believe that.”
Jennie was losing control of the conversation. Forcing her gaze from Summer, she addressed Grandma Jing. “As I said, Defense Chief Horst invites you all to Las Anclas. You don’t have to have anything to do with the Prestons and Wolfes if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll avoid them,” Grandma Jing replied. “They sound like a charming family. We accept your invitation. We’ll see you in Las Anclas in two weeks. That should give us plenty of time to rehearse.”
Chapter Twenty-Six: Becky
Becky lugged a sewing basket overflowing with her repaired dresses into her aunt’s workroom. With a gigantic sense of relief, she set it on the shelf. She’d see them again on some other girl, but at least Becky wouldn’t have to wear them.
“Done already?” Aunt Rosa asked from her seat at the quilting frame. “Good job. They’ll sell in no time—I already have some buyers. And then you can have Frank Kim make you some nice new dresses, exactly how you like them.”
Becky didn’t want to contradict her aunt, but the last thing she wanted was another dress. Every ruffle and flounce reminded her of her mother. Maybe Mr. Kim could make her a plain skirt and blouse. She could buy one now with scrip from her apprenticeship . . . which she no longer had.
That thought left Becky stuck in the doorway, uncertain what to do with herself. Brisa was on patrol. Aunt Rosa was working. Everyone in town had something to do, from the littlest kids to the oldest great-grandparents. Except Becky.
Aunt Rosa glanced up. “Would you mind running an errand for me?”
“Sure,” Becky said, grateful for the make-work.
“Take that quilt to Sheriff Crow, would you?”
The waiting quilt was one of Aunt Rosa’s best, her difficult winding paths pattern worked in shades of blue and green. Her aunt had devoted most of her time to it ever since Becky had come to stay with her, leaving other work undone. Aunt Rosa’s satisfied smile as she worked and her firm statement to the sheriff that there would be no charge made Becky certain that it was a “thank you for throwing my sister-in-law in jail” quilt.
Becky headed out with the quilt folded in a basket. Though she knew her nagging sense of a lack of purpose would return once she’d finished her delivery, it still felt good to know that at the end of the day, she wouldn’t have to go back to her house—her old house—and face her mother and grandmother.
It was bad enough seeing Mom delivering clothes, which she had to do herself now that she couldn’t make Becky do it. Becky always ducked and hid until her mother was out of sight. Las Anclas was so small that you were always running into the people you least wanted to encounter.
She glanced around quickly. A few people worked in their vegetable gardens. A patrol rode down Main Street toward the gates. She was safe.
Becky wondered how Henry was doing, alone with Mom and Grandma Ida. Aunt Rosa had told her that Sheriff Crow had asked him if he’d like to move in with Aunt Rosa or some other family, but he’d refused. Becky hadn’t seen him since they’d faced each other in her bedroom, with her head pounding and that strange look in his eyes. Now that she’d Changed and been disowned, she supposed he was avoiding her.
Maybe that should make her angry, but it only brought on a dull, weary sadness. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, no matter what he thought about her. But nothing would. He’d always been stronger than her. Henry would do what he always did to cope, turn it into a joke and laugh at it.
At the jail, Becky found Sheriff Crow cleaning her rifles with the same practiced skill as Aunt Rosa plied her needle.
“I brought your quilt.” Becky hoped the sheriff wouldn’t say anything about why she got it.
“Thanks. Would you mind setting it on the table?” Sheriff Crow held up an oil-smeared hand.
Becky laid it down, then stood awkwardly by the table, waiting out of what she belatedly recognized as the hope that the sheriff would ask her to come along and help investigate something. Appalled at herself, she darted for the door. The sheriff didn’t need her any more. She’d never really needed Becky at all . . .
“Becky, wait.” Sheriff Crow set the last rifle in the rack and wiped her hands clean. “Is there something you’re supposed to be doing right now?”
“No.”
“Good. I was hoping you could come with me to—”
“Sheriff!” The door banged open, and in dashed stout Ms. Vasquez from the dairy. She leaned against the wall, panting, and spluttered out, “Someone—or some thing—has invaded my house!”
Becky’s heart sped up. Her lips moved soundlessly to shape, “Voske?”
“Oh?” Sheriff Crow inquired, not even bothering to get up.
Her complete lack of alarm made Becky relax, then hate her own stupidity. Of course Voske wouldn’t invade one house in the middle of the day, then sit there waiting for its owner to return.
“I’ve been . . . out. For a few days. And nights. Completely out.” Ms. Vasquez shot an embarrassed glance at Becky.
Becky dropped her gaze. She knew exactly where Ms. Vasquez had been. Everyone knew that she and Miss Chen the butcher had fallen madly in love.
“Anyway, I came back just now, and my door was ajar,” Ms. Vasquez went on. “There were strange sounds coming from inside. I peeked in, and I saw movement. Stealthy movement! I thought to myself, this is a matter for the sheriff.”
“Let’s take a look.” Sheriff Crow turned to Becky, “Want to come along? We can go from there to the thing I want you to touch.”
“Sure.” Becky smiled to herself. So the sheriff had wanted her after all. Her self-loathing dissolved as she considered Ms. Vasquez’s description. It sounded like a stray cat. Maybe Becky could adopt it.
Ms. Vasquez talked all the way to her house, adding more and more details in a way that reminded Becky of Summer’s stories. By the time they arrived, she’d convinced herself that a posse of armed bandits had moved in and made themselves at home. She gestured dramatically to the fron
t door, which did indeed stand ajar. “There!”
Sheriff Crow flung the door wide open. Ms. Vasquez screamed.
Becky jumped, but in surprise, not fear. She was sure nothing dangerous could be inside. Sheriff Crow would have warned her. When the sheriff beckoned, Becky walked right up—and stifled a giggle.
In the middle of the main room, all of Ms. Vasquez’s furniture and bedding had been used to construct a tiny city. It looked as if a bunch of very strong five-year-olds were having a sleepover. Beady red eyes glowed from the depths of the furniture city.
“Well,” Sheriff Crow said. “Now we know where the Vardams’ raccoons went.”
Ms. Vasquez screamed again. “What am I going to dooooo?”
“Lay a trail of tempting food from the front door to well outside of your garden,” the sheriff said. “Wait for nightfall. The raccoons will follow it. When the last one’s out, shut the door and clean up.”
Ms. Vasquez snorted. “Or maybe I’ll just move in with Amy.” She stamped off in the direction of the butcher shop.
Once she was safely out of earshot, Becky couldn’t help laughing. “I had no idea sheriffs had to deal with raccoons.”
“Oh, we do all sorts of things,” Sheriff Crow replied. “It’s not like a lot of jobs, where one day is pretty much like the next. I don’t think I’ve ever done exactly the same thing two days running.”
“I’ve done the same thing two years running.”
“Not with me, you won’t.” The sheriff smiled at her. “Come on. I’ve got more work for those fingers of yours.”
Before they’d passed two gardens, the sheriff peered up at the town hall roof. “Wait a minute. That’s Ed Willet. Isn’t he supposed to be on the walls?” She cupped her hand around her mouth. “Hey! Ed! What are you doing up there?”
Becky caught the glint of glass before a head popped up.
“Oh, um . . . I was checking the floodlights.”
“With a beer jug?”
“I just happened to have it with me,” Ed Willet said. “The floodlights are fine. I think I’m late to the wall. Don’t want to keep Julio waiting.”
As Ed Willet scrambled down the ladder, Becky asked, “Do you have the roster for the entire town memorized?”
“It’s not hard,” Sheriff Crow said.
Becky realized that she too always remembered the sentry and patrol schedules for the teenagers. The difficult part would be daring to call up and confront people, knowing that they could yell. Or lie. Or get angry. What if Ed Willet had thrown that beer jug? Her stomach tensed at the thought.
But Sheriff Crow didn’t have to worry about that sort of thing. She was the strongest and fastest person in Las Anclas. If Ed Willet had tried to fight her, she could have picked him up in one hand and thrown him into the jail from right where she was.
“Something bothering you?” Sheriff Crow asked.
Becky was going to shake her head and apologize, but she stopped herself. She’d lived her whole life telling people she was sorry. She didn’t have to apologize when she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“I forgot how strong you are. Nobody bothers you. They all know you could beat them.”
“Now they know,” Sheriff Crow replied. “But I haven’t always been this strong. And none of my deputies are. Oh, sure, strength is useful. But it’s not here.” She touched her strong right arm. “It’s here.” She ran her fingers from her temple to her eyes to her mouth.
“I wish I was strong anywhere,” Becky said miserably.
Sheriff Crow stopped walking and studied Becky with her mismatched eyes. Her two black braids fell on either side of her face, hiding nothing. “You could be.”
“But . . .” Becky broke off. She couldn’t stand saying one more word to the sheriff in her weak little voice.
“Let’s try something. I’m going to walk across the square. You stay where you are, and you get my attention.” She winked at Becky with her yellow snake eye. “Pretend you’re Ms. Vasquez and you’ve just discovered a raccoon city in your bedroom.”
Before Becky could protest, she walked away, her shiny braids swinging.
Becky gulped in air. “Sheriff Crow.”
The sheriff’s step didn’t falter.
Becky clenched her hands into fists. She glanced around, afraid that someone would hear—that someone would stare—just afraid.
But the patrol was long gone, their dust slowly settling. The gardeners weren’t watching her. They were working.
“Sheriff Crow?”
No one reacted. Sheriff Crow stood with her back turned, pretending to look at the carpenters’ shop.
Becky tried to imitate Ms. Vasquez. “Sheriff Crow!”
The closest gardener glanced up, then went back to weeding. Becky wondered if Sheriff Crow had even heard her.
Why is she doing this to me? Becky thought miserably. It’s humiliating.
Her mother’s voice spoke in her head. “What are you whining about?”
Mom was right about her. The sheriff of Las Anclas was taking the time away from her busy day to be kind to Becky, and Becky couldn’t even do one little thing for her. Sheriff Crow would be disgusted, and rightly so. She’d despise Becky for the weakling and coward that she was, and she’d never ask Becky to do anything for her again.
Knowing she’d fail miserably, Becky made one last try. “Sheriff Crow!”
The sheriff glanced over her shoulder. To Becky’s surprise, she didn’t look horrified at Becky’s ugly screech. She actually looked proud.
“That’s it!” Sheriff Crow’s voice easily echoed across the square. “Now try it again. But louder!” She turned her back again.
Becky drew in a deep breath. “Sheriff Crow! Sheriff Crow! LOOK AT ME!”
All the gardeners raised their heads. Becky froze, her throat raw and her heart pounding. But once they’d looked, two went right back to weeding, and old Grandma Garcia smiled at her, then wheeled her barrow away.
Sheriff Crow strode back to rejoin Becky. Her half-smile was as wide as it could get, and the skin around her brown eye crinkled with approval. “Did you see what you did, Becky? You gave an order, and you got the entire town square to obey.”
Becky opened her mouth to deny it or say it was a fluke or that it didn’t matter. Then she fell in step with Sheriff Crow, hoping she’d get a chance to do it again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Ross
Ross had the first watch of the night. Leaving the fire burning down and everyone asleep, he went to check the horses and Rusty. The burro huffed with contentment as Ross scratched behind his rabbit-like ears.
He walked up the little hill above the campsite and sat down, tipping his head back to gaze at the blazing stars and full moon. At Gold Point, the electric lights had blotted out the stars. And in the play set in ancient times, they’d said it was like that everywhere. He’d hate to have lived back then.
Footsteps crunched up the hill. Mia started to settle down by him, but her cloud viper gun banged into his ribs.
“Oops.” She snatched it up and re-holstered it on her other side, but didn’t blush or apologize or flee.
He smiled and put his arm around her waist, pulling her in close. Her hand snaked around his shoulders. Neither Mia nor Jennie did anything more than exchange a quick kiss with him while they were on watch, but it was good to just sit companionably. It was especially good to sit with Mia without the jittery awkwardness that had ruined all their dates before the night the whales had sung. And he could feel in the soft lines of her body that she felt the same way.
“Look, Ross, it’s the Seven Puppies!” She pointed at the constellation, which, as winter moved toward spring, appeared a little earlier each night. “Tipping out of their basket.”
He laughed.
“How did you hear that story?” Mia asked. “They don’t tell it in Las Anclas.”
An unpleasantly familiar anxiety heated his face. “I don’t know. I don’t remember who told me.”
Mia
squeezed his hand. “Maybe your grandmother.”
“Maybe,” Ross said, though it was unlikely. Grandma had mostly talked about useful things and how the day had gone. Her few stories were about people who’d done stupid things she wanted to warn him about, or clever things she wanted to teach him. She hadn’t spun tales about dogs who changed into men or babies that became stars.
“You should get some sleep, since you have the dawn watch.” Ross added in a low voice, “We’ll have time together when we get back.”
“When we get home,” Mia said, looking earnestly into his eyes. The distant campfire reflected in her glasses.
“Home,” he repeated. That word hadn’t been in his vocabulary before this year. It still didn’t come without thought.
“Okay. I’ll go back to bed.”
Ross smiled, watching the moonlight shine on her hair and glint at her paralyzer gun as she picked her way down the hill.
“Mom told you.”
Ross leaped to his feet, snatching his knife from his belt and spinning around. Summer was perched on a boulder a few feet away.
Ross let out his breath in a whoosh. “Don’t. Do that.” Then he remembered her words. Cautiously, he said, “What was that about Mom?”
Summer leaped from the boulder, floated through the air, and landed beside him with a soft thud. No matter how many times he saw his sister do that, it always amazed him. “Mom told you about the Seven Puppies. She had stories about all the constellations.”
He wanted to ask about them, but kept silent. Asking her about his past, or hers, never went well.
“You really don’t remember?” She sounded accusing, but he caught a slight tremble beneath the anger.
Ross slid his knife back into its sheath. “No. I wish I did.”
She settled down beside him and hugged her knees tight. “It’s so weird that you don’t remember. Mom had so many stories about you.”
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