THE REST OF THE WEEK I'M BUSY HELPING SOEUR Manon inside the Healing House and don't get back into the trees once. I dream about them every night, though: my perfect feet frozen in place, the woods silent and dark until the winds of La Prise sweep in and steal my breath.
The good thing about being so busy is that I don't do anything Wayward, and over the week my pa's spine straightens. That cloud of worry on his brow loses its thunderhead shape.
Friday is my sixteenth life day, and he trades some of our egg ration for a small life day cake from the Kitchens head, Sister Lucy. After early dinner, I sit at the table as Pa puts out the cake clumsy-like. His hands are trembling something fierce. Is he nervous?
I take a large bite. It's full of honey and saskatoon berries.
"You like it?" Pa asks from across the table.
"It's real good." I take another bite.
He smiles, and I feel a pang. Don't see that smile much.
"Thanks, Pa."
He smiles wider. Reminds me of when he used to smile at me when I was small and would tell him about something ordinary that I thought was special: the color of a caterpillar or some such.
"Finish up quick," he says. "Don't want to be late for the Harvest ceremony."
The memory dissolves. The Harvest ceremony marks the end of the growing-and-gathering season and is a break from our preparations for La Prise. There's music and dancing, and people mingle to jaw about nothing. It goes from early evening until dark falls. We're all meant to be inside by the time Watch takes their shift.
"You'll be dancing this year, I suppose?"
I don't answer, just chew more furious.
"Em?"
I swallow hard. Pa means I'll be dancing with menfolk. Harvest is a chance for eligible men and women to declare intentions. And then I understand why he's nervous.
Mind yourself. Sister Ann's words ring bright in my ears.
When I was a youngster, my ma and pa would dance me around our kitchen on their feet, humming songs I didn't know. I haven't danced at Harvest since my foot was crushed, but I can swallow the ache and dance. It's not my foot that'll stop me; I can dance well enough.
It's obvious Pa's worried about who I might be dancing with.
But I've got a plan for this, have for years. Tom and I talk about pretending to court one another-our families would think it natural and we wouldn't have to bind for another year, since Tom's fifteen. Living with Tom wouldn't be so bad. He'll never be allowed to love who he loves, and the chances of me being asked by someone I'd want …
I think of Kane; the look of shock on his face. And then I think of his perfect shaved head, his strong forearms.
My face flames. I put the last chunk of cake in my mouth. It feels dry as dust.
"Finish up"-Pa reaches over to pat my hand-"my girl."
When we enter the hall, the music is loud and lively, the dance floor awash with swirling skirts and twirling limbs. Groups of people laugh and talk, holding cups of saskatoon wine, a rare treat saved for Harvest. I count at least ten Councilmen. It skitters me, them mixing in and jawing on with the rest. Always feels they're waiting for us-for me-to slip up.
No one else seems to think on Council like I do, though-not even the sons of that Thibault couple. They were too young to understand what their parents had done wrong that winter, but they're Stained, everyone knows it. It's just … well, they're big, burly boys and in charge of the woodsheds. They're important.
And they don't seem prone to being Wayward like I am.
The air in the hall is plain summery next to the autumn evening outside. I'm wearing my ma's old dress-a real dress, not the leather leggings and long belted shirts everyone wears-with a tucked waist and puffy skirt. Not every woman has a dress, and I suppose I should be thankful I have my ma's old one. It's a dark river-stone color and near matches my hair, but the cloth is rougher than my bison-skin leggings and the waist makes my breath feel tight.
Macy Davies's copper hair is flashing on the dance floor. I look around the crowd for Tom.
I find Kane instead, standing in a group of age-mates. He's sideways to me and I can't help but study him a moment. I can see the First Peoples in his blood by the arch of his nose and curve of his brow. His shirt is a soft tan and fits him perfect. The twin boys beside him are from the south quarter; they haul water and feed to the sheep barns. The two girls in the group are unfamiliar, though their white skin tells me they work indoors. Must be from the west: the Shearing and Textiles quarter. They're all holding cups of wine and look easy with one another.
The blond girl standing beside Kane is talking to the group, but something about the way she holds herself tells me she's speaking mostly to Kane. His head tips forward like he's listening careful-like. I wonder what she could be telling him that would be interesting at all. That she carded a particular troublesome piece of wool today? But then she says something that makes him throw back his head and laugh and my stomach dives.
He takes a sip from his cup and turns, dark eyes searching the crowd. Before he can see me watching, I duck my head and hurry after my pa into a far corner of the hall.
"Wait here, Em." My pa disappears, leaving me with a group of east-quarter women who nod at me, their lips pressed tight.
I turn and stare at the dance floor, making sure I don't look for Kane again. The dancers twirl past in a flurry of quick steps. Everyone looks happy, like they've forgotten La Prise is only a month away. Does dancing do that to a person?
"Thought you'd want your first cup of saskatoon wine." Pa appears at my side, presenting the cup, shy and pleased. As I take it in my hand, all it reminds me of is my eligibility, how I'm supposed to be dancing.
I dip my nose toward the wine and breathe in. It smells so strange; berries and smoke and spice. When I take a large drink, it fills my lungs with a sweetness that burns. I cough and cough again, trying to clear my throat. Thanks be, the music is loud, and Pa is distracted by a group of trappers gathering in the corner.
My chest relaxes and the burning subsides. The taste lingering on my tongue is … actually, it's real nice. I try it again, just a little this time, and manage to keep from coughing. An unfamiliar warmth spreads in my chest where the tightness used to be.
"Good Harvest, Pa." I raise my glass.
"Good Harvest, Em," he says and heads off to the corner. I don't know if the men there are his friends. I don't want to know, and I turn away before I see what happens-whether they look at him with disdain or welcome him in.
I come face-to-face with Macy.
"Good Harvest, Em," she says. "Excited?" Macy is fifteen, but I know she's counting the days until her sixteenth life day. She wouldn't speak on it to me, but something in my gut tells me Macy is aching for a life mate … mayhap aching for children. She won't have to wait long. Macy looks like an angel from Soeur Manon's books: she has a dainty bow mouth and her hair always shines. As a daughter of a Councilman, she also manages to keep weight on her, which gives her a nice curvy look.
When I don't reply, she looks at me doe-eyed. "About your eligibility, I mean."
"I knew what you meant," I say. I take another drink.
"Oh." She looks at my foot. "I suppose you won't be dancing."
I bristle. A moment before I was loath to dance, but suddenly I want to. I want to show Macy I'm not going to be the one eligible girl here who has to stand in the crowd and watch.
And then, Almighty answering my silent prayer, a voice says in my ear, "Good Harvest, Em. Care to dance?"
I turn. Tom's straw-blond hair falls over one eye and he's wearing a shirt that is a mite too big-one of his father's good shirts, likely. My rescuer. He knows I'm meant to be dancing; I wonder if he overheard Macy and is giving me an opportunity to set her straight.
"Sure," I say.
His little sister, Edith, peers at me from behind him. She's got that look on her face: childish admiration.
Tom looks down. "Just have to keep an eye on her; found her 'making soup.'"
Edith's face falls. I raise my eyebrows.
"She was trying to put an acorn in someone's wine," Tom explains.
Edith's round eyes weigh my reaction to this. I can't help but smile.
She grins back in relief. "Pretty dress, Emmy."
I reach for her with my free hand. "Little mouse." I pull her toward me, lifting her arm and circling it so she spins in a clumsy circle and collapses into my legs. She giggles. I feel Macy's eyes branding my skin through the back of my dress.
I down the rest of my wine, turn, and hand Macy my cup. She takes it, wide-eyed. I spin back to Tom. "Can you manage two girls?" I nod at Edith. Her eyes widen in delight.
"I'll do my best," he says, and whisks us onto the dance floor.
By the time we're finished, my cheeks hurt from laughing. I don't know what's wrong with me; I don't often laugh. But my head feels light and everything seems brighter, happier. I spin off the floor and Tom follows, carrying Edith on his hip.
Macy is waiting. "Good Harvest, Tom."
"Good Harvest, Macy," Tom returns her greeting. "Emmeline, save me another dance? I need to go find Ma." He tilts his head toward Edith.
I nod, my cheeks flushed. "Good dancing, mouse," I say to Edith.
They leave and Macy leans close to me. "I'm sorry. About what I said, I mean. You looked real good out there."
"It's fine, Macy," I say. I don't want her to talk about my foot. I don't want her to talk at all. I want to dance again.
"Was that a special dance?" Macy's eyes are bright.
"With Tom? We're quarter-mates."
"Oh," she says, her face dropping. Her eyes get bright again. "I danced with someone special. Henri Chavel from the north quarter." She sighs. "He has the strongest arms."
I frown. I'm not in the habit of noticing boys' arms, or whether they're strong or not. Especially boys from other quarters.
Except Kane.
And like that, he's back in my thoughts. I silence the little voice in my head and try to focus on Macy's chattering. Now she's telling me something about wanting to walk the riverbank with Henri. I have a hard time following because I keep fighting the urge to turn around and look through the crowd. It's plain addled: why should I care where Kane is and who he's dancing with?
The frenzied music slows then, becoming a waltz, and Macy pauses midchatter, her eyes wide. "The Choosing Song," she says. "I need to make sure Henri asks me!" She disappears.
The Choosing Song. Eligible young men are meant to ask eligible women to dance, though lots of people join in-fathers and daughters, bound couples. The song is so nice, it's hard to resist. Macy's eyeing up her prospects for when she's eligible next year. Her family will have to agree to the binding, though, so I can't quite figure what she thinks she's doing. Besides, it's just a song.
That pestering little voice wonders if I'd think that if Kane asked me to dance. And then I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I turn, cheeks flushing with the thought of being close to him again, and draw up short. It's not Kane. Panic seizes me as I stare into his gray eyes; has he come to discuss my Waywardness with my pa?
Brother Stockham offers his hand. He's in his Harvest finery, a shock white shirt and dark vest.
The light feeling in my head disappears. I throw a quick look behind me to make sure I'm not mistaking his intent. There's no one there but a group of older women who are all bound. They sneak glances at me from low-cast eyes.
I swallow my confusion and turn back. "Good Harvest, Brother Stockham." I clear my throat. "I'm not much of a dancer."
"That's not true." His hand stays extended. "I saw you just moments ago."
Bleed it! Why did I have to dance with Tom? And why does he want to dance with me? The other day at the river flashes through my head.
He's waiting. I can't do much else but curtsy and let him lead me into the circle of dancers.
When we turn to face one another to begin the Choosing Dance steps, my stomach knots. I step hard on my foot, let the pain swamp my fear. We reach forward to clasp hands, and Brother Stockham holds my gaze and brings my hand to his lips. It's part of the dance, just one of the steps, but the way he is looking on me …
On the contrary, I find it … appealing.
His hair falls forward and brushes my knuckles. I scramble for a distraction. I pretend to catch someone's eye in the crowd and smile. Then I remember what Sister Ann said about my mouth and I drop the smile. My mind spins.
Brother Stockham pulls me toward him and we are whirling around the circle with the other couples. His left hand holds the small of my back tight and he guides me sure, unafraid of a misstep.
My heart is beating double time, all out of rhythm with the willow flutes and drum, but my steps follow along sure enough. My foot is hot, a pain that spreads up my leg and meets his fiery hand. He is dancing without pause, but he's not watching for other couples at all; I can feel his eyes on my face.
My room watching is getting impolite, has gone far beyond being modest. I glance up. "I didn't know you danced, Brother Stockham."
"On occasion."
"You dance real well."
The hand on my back tightens as he turns me around the outer edge of the circle. Halfway through the turn he presses me close and leans in, his mouth close to my jaw. "As do you." I expect us to break apart as the turn ends, but he keeps me close. "And now I suspect you do many things well."
I flush and miss a step, causing him to lose his grip. As I reclaim my distance, the corner of his full mouth pulls up.
"I enjoyed our talk the other day, Sister Emmeline," he says.
I swallow hard. "At the river?"
He nods. "It was refreshing. I … appreciated your point of view."
I don't remember having one. But the image of him out in the trees swims before my eyes. Our salvation lies in Discovery. Should I ask him? If I'm wrong …
"Brother Stockham, what you said that day … about Discovery."
His hand tightens on my back.
"What did you mean about it being our salvation?"
He takes a moment to answer. "Our virtues will always be the path to the settlement's prosperity."
"But you said the most important of the virtues was Discovery. The other day, you said that."
He pulls me closer. "Might we discuss this later?"
But the words are coming and I can't stop them. "You always say our virtues ensure our survival. Council always says that. But how far should we go to prove our Discovery virtue? I mean, our borders, the woods"-I'm near babbling now-"you said the world around us is large. But how do we know just how large it is? And if our salvation lies in Discovery, shouldn't we want to find out?"
He looks at me sharp. "What are you asking?"
I picture him out in those woods. Take a breath. "Do you think exploring the woods could help prove your Discovery virtue?"
For the first time since we started the dance he breaks my gaze, casting a look about the room, smiling. Then he draws me close. "I don't go to the woods." His words are moth wings whispering in my ear.
I pull back and it's out of my mouth before I think: "Never said you did."
The smile vanishes.
Before I can think of anything to say, the song ends and couples break apart to clap and regroup. Brother Stockham takes me by the forearms and steps back but doesn't let go.
"Thank you." My voice is too high. Everyone watching the dance is looking at us, I can feel it.
He holds my gaze longer than he ought and I am frozen in his sharp eyes. Then he bows his head and the spell breaks. His hand brands my back once more as he takes me off the dance floor.
My pa is standing there looking pleased. The women beside him pretend to look on without interest, but their eyes are shiny.
Brother Stockham's gaze sweeps the group. "Good Harvest," he says. There is a murmur of polite response from the women, and a few raised cups.
"Brother Samuel." He offers my pa the Peace, and Pa does the same. "I hope it's all right to dance with your daughter? I should have asked beforehand, but you were nowhere to be found."
"Course, Brother Stockham," Pa says. His face is flushed.
No. I can't dance with him again. Can't have him looking at me that way-
"I thought you and I might dance, Pa," I say. "I would love a dance with you."
A shadow flicks across his eyes. "Em, you know I don't dance anymore."
"Well, then, Sister Emmeline"-Brother Stockham extends his hand once more-"it looks as though you are all mine."
The women titter again and I look at the outstretched fingers, my thoughts going every which way.
Brother Jameson appears from the crowd. He sweeps over to us in a large dark cloak and takes Brother Stockham's arm, pulling him out of earshot.
The music continues gaily, the dancers wash past, but it feels garish, all muddled. My ears ring with a silent bell as I watch the hazy scene.
Brother Jameson departs and Brother Stockham takes a step forward. "Apologies, Sisters"-he smiles-"there is a matter to which I must attend." He nods to me. "Emmeline."
It's all I can do to nod back. Emmeline. Not Sister Emmeline. Just Emmeline.
As soon as he is gone I want to disappear. I can't take everyone's eyes on me. I can take them for my Stain, but not for this. I pretend my foot hurts too much. "From the dancing," I explain to my pa. I ignore the disappointment in his eyes and scramble toward the doors, pushing through the crowd.
Kane stands near the dance floor with his arms folded across his chest. As I pass by I think, for one foolish heartbeat, that he's going to stop me, but then the blond girl appears at his elbow. I turn and brush through the bodies, clawing for the chill air outside.
It's dusk; the courtyard is washed with gray light. I think about the sunset the other night and I'm tempted to climb up and watch for it again, lose myself in its colors. I shouldn't do anything that could draw Brother Stockham's eyes, though, so I just head back to our quarters.
In my room I fumble under my bed for my favorite left-behind: a little clay four-legged animal that fits in my palm. I run my fingers over its surface, so perfect despite being buried in the shale for who knows how long. I try to lose myself in its mystery, but my thoughts won't stop going back to the hall.
Why was Brother Stockham lying about the woods? Why does he look at me like that-like he knows something about me I don't? Some secret part of me feels stripped bare, like a birch with the bark torn free.
I thought it was Kane's hand on my shoulder. I was hoping it was. Why would I want him to ask me to dance? I think about that smile he gave his brother as I passed by the other day. Think about him standing there, all easy with his age-mates.
I close my eyes and grip the figure tight. I stay like that a long while. I'm about to bank the fire and change into my nightdress when I hear a low pealing sound.
It's gaining in strength, ringing out across the courtyard, through the rawhide windows of our quarters.
It's the alarm bell.
We're under attack.