She counted out a number for each man, leaving Luke for last. Her reasoning wouldn’t bear much scrutiny, but if she finished quickly, perhaps they could have a few minutes to talk before he headed into lunch to begin this disagreeable experiment.
The man she had dubbed Princeton was first. She asked him to stand against a portion of the wall devoid of any decoration so she could take the plainest of all possible pictures.
“No smiling,” she said. “Just look straight ahead with a blank stare.”
He did as she asked, and then the next man in line took his place. All the while she felt Luke quietly watching her as he lounged against the arched doorway that led into the foyer. Why on earth was he here?
The portraits were so routine that in less than ten minutes she had processed eleven men. Then it was Luke’s turn. Having watched all the men before him, he knew the procedure as he took his position against the blank wall and straightened his shoulders to face her.
“No smiling,” she said.
“I’m not smiling.”
And strangely, he wasn’t. It only seemed like he was smiling because the keen animation in his face conveyed energy and excitement. She took the picture.
“Thank you,” she said, replacing the cover over the lens.
She’d done everything on her assignment card, and there was still fifteen minutes before lunch would be served. When Luke would start eating poison. At least so he believed.
“Why are you here?” she asked. “This test is a pointless abomination. I’m sure you don’t need the free room and board.”
“Most of us don’t,” Luke said. “We’re here for the challenge.”
“The challenge of seeing how sick you can get?”
“The challenge of seeing if we can do something great.”
She turned away to avoid the accusatory look that suddenly appeared on Luke’s face. In fifteen minutes these men were going to sit down to a meal tainted with massive doses of preservatives. It was a meaningless endeavor. The food industry had been using preservatives for decades, and they had already been proven safe.
“Can I see the kitchen?” she impulsively asked.
“Youcan. None of the volunteers are allowed to see what’s going on in there.”
“But you’ll eat whatever they bring out?”
“Yes, but I’m not too worried. There won’t be any Magruder foods on the menu.”
The direct attack took her by surprise, but maybe it shouldn’t have. For years the Delacroix family had been accusing the Magruders of adulterating their food. Last year Gray Delacroix had launched an infamous campaign against her father over applesauce that almost cost him the election. It was a petty and spiteful act that still smarted.
“Chemical preservatives have saved countless lives over the years,” she said. “Just because your family is leery of science—”
“Anyone with a functioning brain ought to be leery of what your father dumps into his food. It’s science run amok.”
She wasn’t going to stand here and listen to her family be slandered like this. She set down her satchel, undid the buttons on her collar, then yanked her blouse down to expose a small round scar on her shoulder.
“That is a smallpox vaccination,” she snapped. “I’ll bet you have one exactly like it. People were once terrified of getting vaccinated, but they’ve been doing it for more than fifty years, and I thank God for it!” She jerked her blouse back into place and tried to calm her breathing, but he made her so angry. “It’s normal for people to be cautious of scientific progress, but the Delacroixs aren’t normal. You people are highbrow snobs who will do anything to ruin us.”
Her fingers shook as she rebuttoned her blouse, and she couldn’t even look at him because if she did, she might start crying, and that would be horrible.
She grabbed her satchel and stormed out the door.
“Wait!” Luke called, but she wasn’t interested in anything else he had to say.
Luke picked up the piece of paper that fluttered to the ground after Marianne stormed out the door. He already regretted shooting his mouth off. He glanced at the paper, which listed assignments throughout the city. It was her work schedule for the week.
He didn’t even bother to reach for a coat before following her outside. The winter chill cut straight through his thin cotton shirt, but he couldn’t let her leave without apologizing.
“Marianne, wait,” he called after her as she hustled down the sidewalk toward the streetcar stop. He had to sprint to draw up alongside her. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
