I PUSH OPEN THE SOLID WOODEN DOOR OF GENYA’S home and step outside. The sun has disappeared, but the last glow of its light remains, painting the air a dull violet. The village sounds are soft and muffled as people retire for the night. A chill descends on my skin. I wrap the shawl Dorotea gave me tighter around my shoulders and step to the side of the door, gazing about at the little houses. Their chimneys puff, and the small windows in their fronts glow with light.
The door creaks as it opens again.
Tom’s blond head appears. “You all right?” he asks.
“Just needed some air,” I say.
He steps out and closes the door, and I see he’s dressed in his cloak and carrying that strange rifle.
“You heading somewhere?” I ask.
“Just to look around,” he says.
“With your weapon?”
He looks down at it. Shrugs. “Better in my hand than in one of the little boys’. That Daniel’s a precocious sort. He’s just like Edith.”
I smile soft, thinking about Tom’s little sister, her mischievous little smile. Always chasing after cabbage moths and asking me about my day.
Tom scans the courtyard and houses. “Such a strange place,” he says. “These homes, built into the hill like this.”
“Nothing like our settlement,” I say. “But somehow . . .”
“Feels like our settlement?” he asks, finishing my sentence and turning to me.
I nod. The way he stands, with his head lifted like that. “You weren’t . . . scared to leave?” I ask. “Alone?”
“A mite.” Tom shrugs. His eyes get shy. “It was foolish, but I brought some of that tea you left for Pa. It helped heal him, so I brought it. Felt like you were nearby.”
I smile, thinking about Tom sitting round his own campfire with my tea.
He continues. “And then everything was so fresh, so new, I kind of . . . forgot to be afraid.”
I think back to our first night out in the woods. The wild song, the starlight. I was so content. “The stars out here,” I think aloud. “Never seen anything like it.”
Tom nods. “The river at night was real peaceful.” He smiles. “And in the morning, with the mist coming off the water before the sun burned through? Was like some fairytale land from those books of Soeur Manon’s.”
I swallow against a sudden lump in my throat. That beauty he’s speaking on—it’s all around us, still.
Isn’t it?
“This settlement’s a good place,” I say.
His prairie-sky eyes measure me.
“It’s safe here.” My voice catches.
Tom wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. Rests his chin atop my head.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and take a deep, shaky breath. “Nothing’s happened like it was supposed to.”
Tom answers by squeezing my shoulders.
“If I had known . . .” I trail off because what I was going to speak next isn’t the truth. The real truth in my secret heart is that even with the danger, even with these unknowns, I would be out here. I know I would.
Tom speaks, his voice ringing out clear in the cooling night. “Andre taught me to look far beyond the Watch flats. Taught me to look careful at what’s around us.” He draws back and looks down at me, holding my gaze meaningful. “But being able to see doesn’t change what’s coming.”
It is full dark, and the boys and I are all drowsing beside the fire in Genya’s kitchen when Matisa appears. I start, unable to remember when she left us. She touches Tom’s shoulder and looks at Kane and me.
“Come,” she says, her voice low and her eyes sparkling. “I want to show you something.” She speaks to Isi. “Kânîmihitocik.”
Kane looks to the little boys, tucked together in the trundle bed, and back at Matisa, unsure.
“I will stay with them,” Isi assures Kane. There’s a mysterious smile on his face. Tom and Kane and I look at each other, puzzled. But we wrap up against the cold night and follow Matisa from the warmth of the kitchen.
She leads us from the center of the village, away from the torches and fires. We head southwest, to the hills Genya brought us to earlier, near the spring. But instead of heading into the grove of trees, we climb until we are at the top of the hill. Matisa turns to the north and points to the sky.
Tom is the first to turn, and his eyes go wide.
Kane and I do the same, looking up into the black of night.
My heart stutters.
The sky to the north is exploding in all shades of color, like the brightest wildflowers in spring: purple, pink, blue, and green. The air shimmers and dances, bending to brush the tops of the hill, stretching to reach the farthest star. The light blends and glows and disappears, reappears. The entire starry sky is bathed in magic light.
“Kânîmihitocik.” Matisa’s voice comes from behind us. “The old people tell us they are ghosts, dancing in the sky.”
The sky shimmers. All shades of heartbreaking color burst and flow.
Ghosts. “Why would they say that?” I ask. I think about the dead—sent to the Cleansing Waters for peace. The Crossroads ensured the spirits of the Waywards never returned to get revenge. The notion that the dead would come back like this . . .
“I believe it is a way of reminding us that we are a part of the land, and air, and water,” Matisa says.
I think about my dreams. About the dead under the river, calling to me. They’re here, regardless. The things we bury—they have a way of resurfacing.
Tom frowns. “But the dead appearing in that sky . . . doesn’t seem right.”
“Because it’s so beautiful.”
“So are the people we have lost,” Matisa says.
Tom’s face fills with wonder. I look to Kane.
He’s standing, head tilted up to the stars, cloak drawn back, his shirt laces open careless-like, the moon glowing on his skin.
My chest hitches. I think about Sister Violet being one of those soft lights, reaching so tall into the starry night. Andre, too. And my pa.
I tilt my head skyward, and we watch for long moments, until the dancing lights dwindle to a soft yellow.
When I look back down, Matisa is giving me a knowing look. She touches Tom’s arm. “Let’s go,” she says. “We should sleep before our journey.”
Kane and I watch Matisa and Tom climb down the hill and disappear into the house.
And we are alone. A silence stretches between us.
I risk a glance at him and see he’s no longer looking at the sky. His arms are crossed and his eyes are fixed on the soft glow of the village. My heart is so heavy I can barely speak. But I have to. We can’t part, having this between us.
“I—” I swallow. “I thought I was keeping you safe,” I say.
He looks over at me.
“I should’ve told you.” I choke on the words. “I’m so, so sorry.” Tears well in my eyes, but I brush them away and press on, determined not to cry.
He sighs deep and turns to me. Uncrosses his arms.
“And I understand if you want to stay here. I truly do. But I can’t bear leaving you, knowing you think I don’t trust you.” My voice is closing off with tears.
His eyes go soft. “Em—”
“Because I do.”
He reaches for me, takes my hand in his, and just his touch, his gentle touch, starts the tears anew.
“I know,” he says. “Hey—” He cups the side of my face in one hand and brushes at the tears with his thumb. “I’m not angry.”
I search his face.
“I was,” he admits. “But I’m not anymore.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” he says. “Thing is, I have no right to be.” He takes a deep breath. “I kept something from you, too.”
I draw back, my heart skipping a beat. What could he have kept from me?
“I knew my ma was angling for that crossing all along, even before we set out,” he says. “She knew we were headed west, but she truly wanted to head to the Dominion to look for kin.”
I stare at him, taking in his words.
“I think she was hoping to change my mind,” he says, “either before we reached Matisa’s people or after.”
I remember feeling surprised she was so agreeable about the Jamesons. But mayhap it was more about that crossing. I think aloud, “When Nishwa got hurt . . .”
“It was an excuse to head where she wanted all along,” he says. “And by then, there was no talking her out of it. But I should’ve told her no from the start. Should’ve told her if she wanted to come, it wasn’t possible. I didn’t.” He sighs. “I was hoping she’d give up on the idea.”
I stare at him, unsure if I’m hurt or relieved. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were so happy leaving the settlement. So sure of yourself, of helping Matisa. I . . .” He searches for the words. “I didn’t want to ruin it. Didn’t want you worrying about what my ma might decide.” He shakes his head. “But it wasn’t fair to either of you.”
“Do you think she would’ve still come if you’d told her to forget going east?”
Pain flashes in his eyes. I realize this is something Kane’s been battling with since the homestead. Wondering if telling her no would’ve dissuaded her from coming out here. Wondering if it would’ve saved her life.
I grab both his hands and hold tight. “It’s not your fault,” I say, fierce. “We all make our choices.”
His eyes search my face.
“And we have to make peace with what they mean.” I grip his hands. “But my idea of my life out here? It always included you, Kane. Always.”
“I know,” he says, and I can tell by the heat in his voice that he means it. “I should never have said it didn’t.” He takes one of my hands in both of his and pulls it to his chest. I can feel his heart beating beneath his shirt. “We belong together.”
I grasp his shirt with my fingers and pull him toward me, and he takes my face and pulls my chin to him. Presses his mouth to mine, soft. Careful. Searching, like he might find his way out of all of this in our kiss, but . . .
There is no way out.
He breaks away, and we stand, the dark air whispering velvet on our faces. The night sky is so vast above us it feels like it could swallow us whole. I tilt my face and let the starlight bathe it, take deep breaths, trying to drink this moment in. Trying to keep it in my heart forever.
Because tomorrow . . .
Tears well up in my vision, and I blink them aside as I turn to look at him. The stars shine bright on his dark head, his eyelashes. I hug my arms around myself, try to memorize his every feature. His large dark eyes, the new dark hair on his head. His shirt, open at the neck, showing collarbone and the curve of his chest. And those arms, the bare forearms I daydreamed on, hanging at his sides. Standing there so full of sadness but still so strong.
“I’ll come back for you,” I say. My voice breaks, and I look to the stars again, blinking tears away. There’s no sense in crying. No sense in doing anything but reassuring him it’s all right.
“Em—”
“Soon as I can,” I say, firm. But he reaches for me, and I pitch into his arms, wrapping them around me, burrowing into his shirt. Breathing in his scent. Drinking him all in, trying to keep him with me, the memory of him on my body forever. A peace settles over me.
He pulls back. His eyes are grave. “Don’t,” he says.
“Don’t what?”
“Come back for me.”
The peace shatters. “What do you mean?”
“Promise me. Promise me when you reach Matisa’s people, you will stay with them. Stay where you are safe.”
“I’m not promising that!” I cry.
“Please,” he says, his voice taking on a note of panic.
“But why?”
“Because I can’t bear the thought of you coming back through this mess for me.”
“You said we belong together!”
“We do,” he says. “But you risking your life so it can happen is foolish.”
“I need you.”
“Em,” he says, his voice soft and sad. “Needing and wanting are not the same thing.”
I stare into his dark eyes. My gaze shifts to the bullet scar on his temple, to the reminder of the first time I thought I lost him. Sorrow washes me—so deep it near stops my heart. That same sadness stares back at me, reaching right into my soul.
I stumble forward, reaching for him, reaching . . .
And his arms are around me, and his mouth is on mine, and my despair shatters as desire surges through me, so hot and sure I no longer have the strength to stand. He pulls me to him, down with him, down into the soft prairie grass. And his hands are everywhere, his mouth is on mine, and my fevered skin is bursting into flame. I clutch at him, pulling his body against mine, desperate for his breath, his scent, his warmth.
But a hollowness sweeps me. And something breaks inside.
I bury my head in his chest, and he holds me tight while I cry a river of tears.