CHAPTER 29
The children delighted in the July Fourth treasure hunt. Jean led the charge, and they made it around the colony, ending at Reverend Philips’s tin lizzie parked in front of Union Chapel in forty minutes flat. They dumped the box of treasure on the gravel drive. The marbles and ribbons and handcrafted toys Norma and Irene had rustled up tumbled out alongside Mirielle’s candy. The children cheered and divided up the spoils. No one, save Mirielle, seemed to notice the missing lollipops.
The frog race was less of a success. They staged it at the baseball diamond. Each child selected a frog and lined up behind third base. But instead of hopping orderly down the baseline to home plate, the frogs leapt this way and that. Two ended up on the pitcher’s mound. One in the dugout. One the outfield. One of the twins’ frogs wouldn’t hop at all. At last, a boy named Simon managed to chase his bullfrog to home plate, and Mirielle declared him the winner. Residents on the sideline who’d laid bets with one another grumbled, but the children laughed and scooped up their frogs for a rematch under the oaks where Chef was barbecuing.
After supper, the Hot Rocks gathered with their instruments, and the music began. Mirielle sat at one of the picnic tables surrounding the newly mowed lawn, watching the dancers. It wasn’t Jelly Roll Morton at the Apex, but the band played far better than she’d expected. They started with a waltz, and several of the older residents whirled across the lawn. With far more men at the colony than women, those ladies keen to dance were never without a partner.
Frank came and sat beside her. Tonight, he’d applied pomade to his wavy hair in a not-so-successful attempt to slick it down. His neck was ruddy with razor burn. “What a fine, fine time the kids had today. So can I count on ya for the turkey race at Thanksgiving?”
“Not a chance.”
He laughed. “Truth be told, I didn’t think you’d come along to the swamp. Certainly not catch frogs.”
“You think just because I’m a woman, I’m scared of a little mud.”
“You ain’t any woman, Polly.”
“Right. I’m an uppity girl from the big city who couldn’t possibly know a thing about catching frogs.”
“As I recall, ya did mistake a possum for a panther.”
She batted his shoulder and faced the lawn. The band played the final notes of a one-step then started in on a jig. Jean and the twins scurried to the dance floor.
“Ya weren’t much of a boatman either,” Frank continued.
“That was your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You should have told me not to stand so quickly.”
“How could I know ya were gonna do something so stupid?”
“Because I’m an uppity city girl!”
Frank laughed, and Mirielle too.
Their laughter had just petered out to an awkward silence when Hector strode up to them.
“You going to dance with Señora Marvin or just talk her ear off?” he said to Frank.
Frank cleared his throat. His eyes were suddenly skittish of her. “I am a mighty good talker.”
Mirielle regretted that moment on the observation deck when she’d declined his offer to dance. She’d behaved worse than a debutante.
“Well then, señora,” Hector said. “May I have the honor?”
Mirielle took his hand and followed him to the lawn. They danced a foxtrot and then a Texas Tommy two-step. He hadn’t Charlie’s finesse but knew the basic footwork. It was enough to make her forget for the length of a few songs who and where they were.
“This is a nice party, no?” he said as a new song began. “I hadn’t expected to dance again. Especially not with a beautiful woman.”
Mirielle’s hand fluttered from his shoulder to the lesion on her neck. It had shrunk to the size of a dime again and was only slightly raised. But it was the first thing she saw whenever she looked in the mirror. “You’re a peach for saying so, Hector.”
He put her hand back on his shoulder and smiled in that kindly way that reminded her of her father. She had to admit, even if she didn’t say it aloud, it was a nice party.
By the end of the song, a grimace battled Hector’s smile.
“Are your legs hurting again?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing, señora. I am an old man and we tire easily.”
“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get you some lemonade.”
“Thank you, no. I think I’ll go back to my room and lie down.” He kissed her hand in a grand, old-fashioned gesture, and shuffled toward the houses, rubbing his lower back.
She watched him go, then turned back to the lawn full of dancers. The band struck up another fast-paced melody. Sister Verena stood at the periphery scowling. A few of the other sisters hovered wide-eyed beside her. Clearly, they hadn’t been taught to dance the collegiate shag at the nunnery.
Everyone else delighted in the song, though most of the older residents retreated to picnic tables where they tapped their feet and watched. Irene danced with a fellow from house thirty several years her junior. She winked at Mirielle as they kick-stepped past. Frank danced with a blond woman named Hattie, who worked in the lab. He was a better dancer than Mirielle had realized atop the tower.
Halfway through the song, Jean grabbed her hand and tugged her into the swarm of dancers. They hopped and kicked and lunged and turned through the basic steps Mirielle had taught her, laughing as they entangled themselves.
Mirielle’s dress clung to her skin by the time the song ended. Jean raced off to dance the next number with one of the twins. Mirielle crossed to the edge of the lawn and leaned against the broad trunk of one of the oaks to catch her breath. A twinge of guilt stirred beneath her breastbone. Not for dancing. Charlie wouldn’t mind. But for laughing. For enjoying herself at this humble affair without him or the girls.
A boom sounded, followed by a popping noise. Then a glimmer of light exploded above the small clearing between the oaks and the barbed wire fence. Jean and the other children squealed. Mr. Li squatted in the clearing beside a smoking cylinder. The flicker of a match and another boom. The night sky shone with flashes of light.
Would Charlie take the girls to the Ocean Park Pier to watch the fireworks tonight like they’d done in years past? He’d need to remember cotton for Helen’s ears, otherwise she’d cry at the noise. And not to let Evie go barefoot on the pier or she’d end up with splinters.
Mirielle’s heart ached in their absence. She sat on an exposed root, her knees drawn up against her chest, watching one last firework burst in the sky before the staff confiscated Mr. Li’s explosives.