“You say ‘we’ like you’re involved in this, Janey-Jane. Like you get a vote.”
My temper flares at his dismissive tone. “Oh, so now you don’t need my help? After I snuck out and spent most of the night huddled in a shamblers’ hole, you can suddenly handle this all by yourself? You’re too good for my blade work?” I’d like to carve my initials into his fool face.
Jackson’s voice is even. “This is my problem, and I’ll handle it myself. I trust you ladies can find your way back to your school.”
And just like that, Jackson, the boy I once kissed in the moonlight, is gone, replaced by Red Jack the ruthless criminal. There ain’t no arguing with him once he’s got his mind set like this. “We’ll be fine,” I counter. “Don’t you worry none about us.”
He gives me a curt nod and bows fluidly to Katherine. “Thank you for accompanying us on our trek this evening. It’s nice to know that such a beautiful rose can use her thorns effectively.”
Katherine nods and gives a polite smile at the compliment. Without a backward glance in my direction, Jack sets off on his own course through the woods.
Katherine looks at me, and I point my sickle behind her. “Road.”
She nods, and we walk. Once our feet hit the hard-packed earth we set off in a run, settling into a pace just light enough for speech.
“These . . . sickles . . . are . . . great. Where did you get them?”
I scowl. Katherine would have to ask the one question I don’t feel like answering. “The set you have came from Jackson. Keep them. I like these better.”
Both sets came from Red Jack, of course. The set that Katherine holds were a birthday present. The set I hold? A parting gift. There is probably something to be said about the fact that the gift I got when he put me aside was nicer.
I pick up the pace so that there’s no more breath for Katherine’s asinine inquiries.
My social calendar is always full at Miss Preston’s, and the number of fine folks I meet really is a credit to the education I am receiving here. It’s true that being a Negro has its drawbacks, but I couldn’t tell you what they are—that’s how happy I am being taught my place here at Miss Preston’s. I may not ever get to be a debutante, but catering to the fine white women of Baltimore is a far more worthy endeavor.
Chapter 10In Which I Receive an Unwelcome Invitation and Am Forced to Accept It
Katherine and I manage to get back to school, wash up, and change without being discovered. We miss breakfast, and when Miss Duncan asks where we were, Katherine sheepishly says we both overslept and got to our chores late. The excuse works, mostly because everyone knows that Katherine and I don’t really get on well. No one would expect her to lie to protect me.
I sleepwalk through the day. I’m dog-tired, and my body feels twice as heavy as we do our scythe work. There are no fine ladies to watch us today, so the drills are tolerable. After the midday meal we practice shooting, and even though I’m hitting my target, my aim is off. Miss Folsom, the firearms teacher, scowls at my shot grouping.
“Jane, this is sloppy work. Watch your trigger squeeze, girl. An inch isn’t such a big deal at close range, but with a rifle that inch becomes several feet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, swallowing a yawn.
My only consolation is that Katherine is just as muttonheaded as I am. She drops her sickles during our close-combat class, and Miss Anderson raps her ruler on Katherine’s knuckles when she dozes off during our tea-serving lesson. It ain’t Christian to revel in the misery of others, but I like to make an exception for Katherine.
After our final class of the day I drop off my weapons at the armory and get ready to head to my bed, using my study time to doze before dinner. If I don’t get some sleep, I’m going to pass out in my soup.
I’ve just lain down and started to snooze when someone shakes me awake. “The building better be on fire,” I grumble.
“Miss Preston wants to see us.” Katherine sounds as tired as I feel, and I groan as I climb out of bed and follow her down the hall.
We drag ourselves into the headmistress’s office. All my exhaustion slips away when I see Miss Anderson and the big Indian man from the lecture standing there. Miss Preston is nowhere to be found. I straighten, and the man’s gaze slips over me. Even with the corners of his mouth pulled down in distaste he’s eye-catching. I try to imagine him with feathers in his dark hair and wearing beaded buckskin like in the newspaper serials. I just can’t do it. The clothes he wears, homespun shirt and trousers, suit him.
He doesn’t look much older than me and Katherine, his brown skin unlined. I wonder if he went to the Indian school up in Pennsylvania, and if he did, how it compares to Miss Preston’s. I don’t know much about how the Indian schools work, but I’ve heard they’re less focused on teaching folks how to kill the dead than they are civilizing them, whatever that means. It makes me curious about that impassive man’s life. Did he come here to Baltimore to seek his fortune? Or is he here against his will?
A wracking cough pulls my attention away from my perusal of the Indian man. Miss Anderson wheezes as she coughs, a handkerchief pressed to her lips.
“Miss Anderson, are you well? You don’t sound so good.”
She gives one last cough and shoots me an arsenic-laced glare. “My health is of no concern to you,
