My words are too fast, nearly hysterical, and I want to call them back. How I wish sometimes I could be more like Katherine, sweet and disarming and always winding up with everything I need. But I ain’t like her, and it seems like my honesty will be my end.
But I still do not understand how this conversation came to be in the first place. How can Gideon peddle these lies to unsuspecting folks? How could a good man convince others to rely on unfounded truth? I cannot fathom why Gideon Carr is so adamant about using his vaccine on every person in the surrounding area, but it makes me question my earlier assessment of the man. How can one be an ally and ignore the good counsel of all those around him?
I look over at Cyrus, whose skeptical expression has transformed into one of keen interest. But his father does not appear so moved.
“The council has only demanded to have proof that the injection is safe, that our townsfolk would suffer no ill effects. You, and the rest of the colored folks from Summerland, meet that burden of proof,” the mayor says, heading for the door. His step is light and carefree. He’s gotten what he came for. “As for your legal troubles, I wouldn’t worry too much, Miss McKeene. We have almost concluded our interviews, and thus far have not found a single eyewitness who can confirm you murdered the sheriff. You should be free by supper.”
With that, he sweeps out of the office, and I bury my head in my hands, groaning. In the same way the pastor sold folks on religion saving them from the undead masses, Gideon has peddled rubbish science and sold people on a hope that doesn’t exist. And like the pastor, he’s built a town around it.
I have to save the people of Nicodemus from themselves. But I’m also thinking about my own miserable hide. I don’t want to die in this place, whether hanging from a noose or mauled by the dead. Even though the mayor seems to think I’ll be freed, I doubt the veracity of the man’s assertions. He obviously lives in a delusion of his own making, especially if he’s of a mind to go along with Gideon and his garbage vaccine.
The sound of a throat clearing echoes in the office, and I lift my head up. Cyrus remains rooted to his spot, his gangly stature perhaps a little less awkward without the imposing bulk of his father beside him.
“I told him the same things you did,” he says. “But he, and everyone else on the council, are simply too afraid to listen. I’ve spoken at length with Gideon. He’s revised the serum dozens of times, even since he administered it to you, and the reality is that he doesn’t have conclusive evidence that it works. And there is, as you say, abundant proof it doesn’t.”
“Your father is sentencing this whole town to death,” I mutter. “There ain’t any kind of inoculation against fear and false confidence.”
Cyrus nods. “I know. I’ve tried to convince the council that we must leave, to make our way out the back gate before we’re completely surrounded. But so far, no one wants to take the chance. And now Gideon’s serum will give them every reason to stay.” His eyes go distant, seeing some memory I ain’t party to. “I think they remember what it was like, walking out of Indian Territory with little more than the clothes on our backs. A lot of us didn’t make it, and some said we should’ve stayed, that we’d have had a better chance with the Five Tribes.” Cyrus shrugs. “All I know is that I would rather take my chances running than stay here and wait for death to find me.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
“Yes, most of the council thought so. Myself included. It’s only been Gideon Carr’s assertions of safety that have kept us here.”
“He saw Summerland fall, why would he think Nicodemus is any safer?”
“Better walls,” Cyrus says with a laugh. Any soft feelings I might be harboring toward Gideon these last few weeks have died on the vine, like young fruit in a late frost. I cannot believe that he would give this town such terrible counsel.
But then I think about the interactions I had with his daddy, and maybe I can believe it.
Cyrus gives me one last long, inscrutable look and says, “Good luck, Jane McKeene.”
“Good luck to you as well, Cyrus Washington. Let’s hope we both make it out of here alive.”
And then he’s gone and I’m left with nothing but my dark thoughts.
For wrath killeth the foolish man, and envy slayeth the silly one.
—Job 5:2
—KATHERINE—
Chapter 14
Notes on the Foolishness of Men
There is a knock at the door, and for a moment I consider not answering it. I have been avoiding Gideon and the soiled doves since yesterday, and Lily seems to have been avoiding me in turn. It has not been easy. Everyone’s emotions were high when we arrived after our headlong flight, especially after Jane was arrested, and the evening meal had not been much better. The soiled doves gave Gideon baleful glares when he casually brought up the matter of his vaccine at the supper table—their feelings on being on the wrong end of a medical procedure were clear—and Thomas had fussed through the entire meal, no doubt responding to the tense atmosphere. Lily was sullen, but at least she was alert, which is all the more anyone can ask of a girl mourning the death of her last remaining relative.
For my part, I had spent the entire meal struggling to breathe. It had been my hope that at some point the tight feeling in my chest would relax enough for me to do the things that need doing—to secure Jane’s freedom, to facilitate a quick exit from this doomed town. But I barely managed to hold myself together through the meal. And when I went to bed, heart pounding like a panicked rabbit over everything and nothing, I had prayed that the morning would offer me a bit of respite.
It has not.
I woke this morning paralyzed by an unnamed fear, and the day’s progression has done nothing to ease it. My corset, which I had been wearing looser in response to Jane’s incessant nagging, is now back to its usual rib-clenching tightness, in the hope that the physical discomfort can loosen the grip of the nameless terror that clenches my heart.
And yet, it is still not enough!
I close my eyes and take a deep breath as the knock comes yet again. I sit in the room off the kitchen, a pantry into which I threw a sleep pallet and renamed a guest room yestereve, and I slow my breathing. I want to scream and cry and rage, but none of that is going to be any kind of use.
At the fourth knock, it becomes clear that the person on the other side is not going away. So, finally, I open the door.
Callie and Sue stand in the kitchen, their expressions twisted with worry. “We let ourselves in,” Callie says with a wan smile.
I struggle to summon a polite smile. “Did you speak with Jane?” I ask.
They nod. “Yesterday, but that ain’t why we’re here,” Callie says.
“There’s a town meeting, and we think you should be there,” Sue says.
“What is it about?” I ask, smoothing a few wayward tendrils of hair so that I at least look presentable.
“I ain’t quite sure,” Callie says. “But my brother, Cyrus, he’s on the town council, he and my daddy went to see your friend Jane this morning. So I’m thinking it might have something to do with her.”
I take a deep breath and stand as straight as I can. I push aside all my anxiousness and give them a bright smile. “Well, then, we should make haste.”