Winterkill (10 page)

And then, Edith begins to whimper. Soft at first, but I know her all-out-hissy oncoming when I hear it.

“Shh,” I whisper, wracking my brains for something to calm her. “You want a song?”

She nods and whimpers again.

I put my mouth close to her ear and sing my mother's song:

Sleep, little one, with your secret heart,

Take to the night like the swallow.

When morning time brings what your secret heart sings,

Set your feet to the same path and follow.

She stops whimpering, one finger in the corner of her mouth. I keep whisper-singing, fearful her sudden quiet is the calm before the storm and unwilling to take the chance.

Edith's breathing slows. She's been so worked up she's fallen asleep. I draw my head back and look at Kane but can't make out his face clear and realize he can't see mine, neither.

Part of me is relieved. I don't want him to see the desperate gratitude in my eyes. I don't know how to repay him.

I press close again, rest my forehead on the rung of the ladder and let him tighten his grip.

It's quiet above and I fight the urge to doze. Almighty knows I need all of my wits about me to stay on this ladder. It's clear Kane is strong, but keeping hold of both Edith and me would be too much for anyone.

It's impossible to know how long we've been hiding here. I feel I'm about to lose my senses and fall backward into the water or scream the place down from plain aggravation when a slight scraping sound echoes.

And then the trap is ripped aside and light from a torch streams in from above.

A face looms down at us. “Almighty's grace!” It's Macy's
pa—Brother Davies. “We thought you were lost to us! What are you—How did you . . . ?”

Kane shifts a groggy Edith to his back and begins to climb. I follow, my legs shaking. We clamber out, squinting against the torch Brother Davies waves before him, checking us over.

Kane places Edith on the ground beside me and steps a respectable distance away.

Brother Davies flaps about. “Almighty's grace!” he says again.

I stare at Kane in the torchlight. His eyes are unreadable. He has his arms crossed over his chest like he's challenging me. I stand crooked, favoring my bad foot. We measure one another.

And then Brother Stockham arrives, striding over to us in a wash of black cloak.

Brother Davies shakes his head in disbelief. “By His grace alone.”

“What happened here?” Brother Stockham demands.

It snaps Brother Davies to. “When we did the head count, these three were missing. We feared them Taken.”

“Thank you, Brother Davies, you may go.” Brother Stockham doesn't glance at the Councilman, who bows his head and disappears.

Brother Stockham turns to me. “What happened, Emmeline?”

My tongue works in my dry mouth. This is a Wayward act, clear and simple. And worse for Kane if he came after me; he's more valuable than a crippled girl.

Did Kane come after me?

My mind clicks over the last moments before the doors
shut. Who saw me leave the hall? Jameson's followers were creating that ruckus. Could it be everyone was distracted, too panicked, to notice me leave? They had to do the head count before they knew we were missing . . .

“We didn't make it before the hall was fortified.” The lie comes natural-like. I avoid Kane's eyes.

Brother Stockham looks me over a long time, then turns to Kane. “Why not?”

Kane doesn't blink. “Didn't hear the bell until it was too late.”

“And the child?”

“She was headed home with me,” I offer quick. I have no idea where Edith was or why she was alone when the alarm sounded, but I hope he won't care enough to ask Tom's ma.

Brother Stockham looks between us, his jaw working. “You both need to get to your quarters.”

He's right. Our families will be frantic. I search for Edith's hand and grasp it firm, trying to figure if Kane just lied to Brother Stockham too. I risk a look at his beautiful face, but Brother Stockham steps forward, blocking him from sight. He takes my arm and leans toward me.

“Emmeline, I'm so grateful you're safe.” His shiny hair falls round his face, where there is relief, plain. “I thank the Almighty for this.”

My heart stutters.

“I will escort you.” He sweeps an arm around me. I hardly have time to glance back as I'm spun about, but I see Kane for a heartbeat, standing alone in the glow of the torches, arms hanging at his sides. I'm forced to turn my head and walk away.

NEXT MORNING, PA TELLS ME THE ATTACK WAS A
false alarm. There was no breach of the fortification, no sighting of the
malmaci
—by anyone who'll admit it, anyhow.

Everyone has different ideas about what might have happened, but Pa says the most likely culprit is some foolish reveler who had too much saskatoon wine at Harvest.

Nobody knows for certain, though, and no one comes forward to admit their wrongdoing. Course, indulging in too much wine and then starting a false alarm? That would mean the Crossroads for certain.

Tom's ma was beside herself when she saw me with Edith. Edith had scampered away through the crowd heading out from the dance, and Sister Ann got caught at the back of the throng when the alarm rang. She believed my story, and I didn't need to repeat it to Council since they're far more interested in finding the offender who rang the alarm.

Thanks be, they'd never think to question the senior Watcher. Andre's the only one who knows what I did, and I
don't need him giving me up in a bid to cover his own guilt.

Pa takes forever to leave in the morning, lingering over his porridge ration, looking on me far longer than I want. The false attack must have distracted him from my dancing with Brother Stockham—he doesn't speak on it. Eventually he goes and I finish my morning chores. Just as I'm about to head out, Edith pops into our kitchen through the common room that adjoins our quarters.

“You'd best get back to your ma,” I warn.

She slips her hand in mine in answer.

Almighty! She's like a duckling following its ma now. I look into her round blue eyes, gazing at me like I'm something special.

Mayhap there are worse things.

I make a game of swinging her around me and hurry her back through the common room to her family's kitchen, where Sister Ann is making tallow. Sister Ann gives me a smile that's more friendly than usual. I return her smile, then duck out and head quick for the weapons shack.

There's a group of boys playing hoopball near the shearing pens, crashing about on the hard-packed earth. South-quarter boys. Each of the eight boys has a shaved head and bare chest.

One of the boys is Kane.

My stomach flips over and my thoughts fly back to the well. I can feel his body pressed close, shielding Edith and me.

Foolish
.

I try to look anywhere but at his arms, the curve of his stomach above his leggings. Bare skin isn't new to me; I've
seen bodies—men working the gardens and women in the washhouses—part undressed. But his entire torso ripples like the river as he catches the ball and passes it on. I stare at the ground and concentrate on passing without limping. Except now that I'm thinking on it, my foot feels heavier than ever, like it's
trying
to drag behind and catch Kane's eyes.

I pray he doesn't notice me. Still can't figure what he did last night. Last night . . .

The memory shifts, becomes a daydream. We're back pressed together so tight I can hardly breathe. Then he gives me breath with his beautiful mouth—grace!

I duck my head and push hard for the weapons shack. There's a tall Watcher sitting outside in the sun, oiling some kind of gun leather. He's got a scar that runs from his ear to his mouth, pulling the corner of it up in a bit of a sneer. He nods at me but keeps on his task.

Frère Andre greets me at the door. “Soeur Emmeline,” he says, surprised.

I hesitate in the doorway.

“Entrez.”
He waves me in. He lumbers toward the hearth, setting aside an arrow and a sharpening stone.

I close the door behind me and turn. The sight of the weapons overwhelms me. There are racks of bows and arrows. One wall lined with rifles and old muskets. Shelves of knives and rope. All of the weapons from the generations before are consolidated and stored here. It's Andre's job to make sure they're all in good working condition, and it's clear he takes it serious; the steel gleams. The precious few kegs of gunpowder are housed in a stone keep, outside the shack.

I clasp my hands together as he settles himself in a chair.
He squints up at me. Waiting. He's not going to make small talk, not this time.

I hesitate. I was so sure I needed to come here, to let him know that
I
know what he did. Now I can't get the words out.

We look at one another.

His barrel chest heaves with a sigh. “I know you leave the hall,” he says.

I nod. “Yes.” Blood rushes in my ears; I cast my eyes to the floorboards. “I . . .” But I can't say I'm sorry, because I'm not. “I couldn't leave her.”

Silence. The air in the shack gets real warm.

“I don't tell,” he says. I glance up.

He's watching me with soft eyes.
“Elle est un enfant.”

I let out a breath. “Yes. Just a child.”

He cocks his head and scratches at his wiry beard. “You do wrong,
mais . . . c'etait Courage aussi
.”

He's saying I proved my Bravery virtue. My heart skips. “You mean that?”

“Oui,”
he says.
“C'etait Courage.”

I wrap my arms around myself, feeling pleased.

“Bien?”
he asks, looking at the door. He expects me to go. The good feeling disappears. He thinks I got what I came for. Except I came to make sure he'd keep my secret by threatening him with what I know. I don't want that anymore, but I do want to know what he thinks he saw.

“Was it a wolf again?” I ask.

“Qua?”

“The false alarm.
C'etait un loup encore?
”

He shrugs.
“Je ne sais pas.”

“Then why did you ring the alarm?”

He shakes his head.

I try again. “I won't tell Council. I just . . . want to know why you did it.”

“Ce n'etait pas moi,”
he says.

“Frère Andre,” I say, “I won't tell Council.”

“Because nothing to tell.” He frowns at me. “Who send you?”

“No one,” I stammer, thrown by the accusing look on his face. “I just”—I flounder for some explanation—“I thought I saw something strange in the trees. The other day.” It sounds suspicious, even to my ears. My cheeks are going pink.

“Fait attention.”
His face is grave. He's telling me to be careful.

My heart drops. I didn't say
I
was out in the woods. “It might have been nothing, I was at the river—”

“You go to the river?”

I nod. That's not Wayward.

He squints. “You go to the woods?”

“Just to gather.”
Forgive me.

He stands and crosses to the table, picks up the arrow and examines it. Then he turns to me. “Yesterday,” he says, “I shoot
cette fleche
.” He extends the arrow.
“J'ai vu un daim.”

Why does he look so skittered? He saw a deer and shot at it.

“Et
when I go to . . . take
la fleche”
—his voice drops to a whisper—
“je pense que j'ai vu un homme.”

A man. Brother Stockham out in the woods?

“Qui?”
I ask, but he waves me off.

“Ce n'etait pas un homme normal. Un . . .”
His brow creases
and his eyes get distant. He's trying to put a name to something that has none. “Do you know what is
l'elephant?
”

An elephant. Seen pictures of them in Soeur Manon's storybooks. They're the strangest animals—bigger than the bison even, but without hair. She says they're real, but they live in countries far away—further even than the Old Country.

I nod.

He looks at me meaningful.

“You think you saw an
elephant?
”

“Non. Un
homme
comme l'elephant.”

I draw back. A man like an elephant.

“Andre . . .”

“S'il vous plait, Emmeline
. His face—a long,
comment dit-on? Tronc
.” He gestures to his eyes with wide-spread hands.
“Les yeux enormes. Mais . . .,”
he whispers again,
“avec vetements, les vetements d'homme.”

A man in clothes with huge eyes and a trunk like an elephant. The skin on my neck crawls as I try to picture this thing.

“With . . .” I put my hands to the sides of my head, miming large ears.