“Hush, Pie,” I snapped. “Can’t you see I’m thinking—”
“Oh, what now?” she asked, her voice ghostly from coughing, and from the grief she was carrying upstairs and down.
It never occurred to me to ask for my sister’s help. The wonder had gone out of Pie, and I knew if I had any worry left in me, I should worry about her.
“Off to bed with you, Pie,” I said, dismissing her with a wave.
I was trying to think of how to punish Tan—if I had to punish him. I considered the welts on Tan’s back, and thought of my own from the dread boar-bristle brush, and I knew that would never be my way. But I didn’t know what was my way. I didn’t want to be Tan’s boss, and the world was burning and I was afraid.
I decided to count the money. Tan and I were alike in that we trusted money and believed in its power, believed it was something worth desiring, akin to love. Money, I thought I understood. As Tan understood it.
But that girl I’d been just a few days ago, with her childish wants and beliefs, had abandoned me. She was as scarce as what money used to buy: houses and hats and chickens and wine.
I trusted there were answers in those pennies and nickels, a world entire, if only I could find it. The take for one day in Tan’s kitchen amounted to six dollars—what would be some several hundred dollars today. If we made that every day, we’d be sitting high, but I already suspected that the outdoor kitchen was a temporary fix. Already folks were looking to rebuild their shacks and houses, and everyone was short on cash. The money Tan made might be enough to replenish our store of beans and flour and sugar, if we could get it, and to repair the holes in the house—the windows, the witch’s cap—but not enough to buy a horse or see us through the summer. It wouldn’t be enough should Rose turn up injured. Or, worse and unfathomable, if we never found her.
But how could I live with a thief I couldn’t trust? And what would I do if Tan were to go away?
I was only a girl, so tired. I undressed, hung my soot-filled clothes over the banister in the hall to air out, and put on my one nightgown. I curled in a ball on the cot and tried to quiet my mind. Rogue lay beside me, warming me. I stared into the dark room for hours. At last, the word I fixed on was fairness. I didn’t know exactly what it meant, having seen precious little of it in the world, but it came to me that maybe it was the opposite of Rose’s Show the devil the devil and he’ll say, How d’ do.
Just before dawn, I ran downstairs, rapped on the basement door, and waited till I heard Tan’s slow creep, the swish of his silk slippers as he climbed the raw wood stairs.
He opened the door tentatively, and, oh, what a sad sight he was. Hair hanging to his waist unbraided and stringy, his sleeping garb ripped. He looked as if he were about to face the executioner.
I didn’t give him a moment to think otherwise.
“Look,” I said, speaking quickly before I lost my nerve. “I’m not anyone’s police. That’s the first thing. Second, I’m bound to make the repairs, buy supplies, and there’s no telling for how many months we’ll have to feed ourselves, including you three, without running water or heat. There’s no telling if or when Rose will show up.” I gasped, having forgotten to breathe. Pulling the blanket I’d thrown over my shoulders tighter, I pushed on, “So, here’s the deal: for now, we run the kitchen, and anything else we can think of to make some cash, and off the top we need to set aside seventy-five cents for every dollar, for expenses and repairs. Anything left we split… fifty-fifty. I may choose to throw my share back into the kitty, but you do what you like with yours. No more thieving, Tan. Fifty-fifty, fair square.”
I paused so he’d feel it. I paused to catch up with the idea myself. The truth was, I didn’t know what I would propose till the words spilled from my mouth. I wasn’t sure if what I had said was right. But having offered the deal, I would stick to it. Watching Tan’s expression, his brows lifting skyward, I knew at least I’d hit the target: he was shocked.
Between us, we had a hundred reasons to distrust, even hate, each other. Yet with everything turned on its side, the hate between Tan and me made us more alike than not. The hate between us was a kind of respect too.
“Partners,” he declared, puffing his bony chest with pride. He jutted his chin and dared me to take it back.
I offered my hand. When I noticed it was clammy, I wiped it on my blanket and offered it again.
How was it possible that Tan’s hand was smaller than mine? The skin on his palm was as cracked and dry as the shell of a crab.
“Good,” he said.
“Good,” I echoed, then added, “A couple more things we need to get straight.” The ideas came quickly now, as if a part of me had been preparing for this day, my mind and heart fully awake. “Tan, you can’t call me gurrl. I won’t have it. And it doesn’t do you any good, not with these fancy neighbors. From now on, call me Vera. Let me hear you say it.”
“Vee.”
“No, damn you. Only Pie calls me V.”
“Missy V,” he offered.
I thought about it for a second and decided that was good enough. “All right, next—” I paused, expecting him to snarl, to say, What now, gurrl?
“We have to find her, Tan. We can’t wait for the fire to die out. Just think if she’s badly hurt. Tomorrow, you and I will
