CHAPTER 1
Victoria Hawthorne had never won anything in her life. Not a radio call-in, not a scratch card, not even a raffle. So when she entered a contest for a custom-made ballgown, she obviously didn't expect to win that either.
Especially because it was a country-wide competition. A formal gown, designed and delivered by one of Hollywood's hottest designers, Zane Bellamy. Even Vicki, who didn't follow fashion at all, knew his name. He'd done work for some of the biggest stars at the biggest shows the past few years. Her favorite was an utterly glorious gown inspired by theHunger Gamesnovels, a girl on fire kind of dress, for a dark-skinned African actress whose red-carpet walk had literally stopped the show. Vicki had replayed the video of the woman's joyful spin for the cameras dozens of times, watching in awe as soft fabric flared and changed with the light. Even when she stood still, the fabric glimmered like flame, its underlying tones and cut flattering the actress outrageously.
No ordinary person could look that amazing, but Vicki still coveted that gown in the depths of her soul.
Even so, she never would have entered the contest—or even known it was being held—if the designer wasn't a local boy made good. Except that made it sound like he’d worked his way up from nothing to become world-famous, when in fact the students at Virtue Elementary told Vicki that his family had been rich "for-EV-AR, Miss Hawthorne, for-EV-AR!"
If a bunch of first graders knew his family had been rich forever, Victoria figured it was probably true, although she hadn’t heard anything about the Bellamy family, and kind of thought she would have. She had come to Virtue as a long-term substitute teacher in September, and if she'd learned anything about the small, upstate New York town, it was that the locals knew—and shared—allthe gossip about one another. Even the kids were in on it all. Victoria had concluded that everybody born here got some kind of primer on How Things Work In Virtue at birth, or maybe just absorbed the knowledge in the womb.
For blow-ins like her, it was a friendly enough little town, but Victoria felt very definitely on the outside. That was all right: she had another contract for another long-term substitute job lined up for the next year, and eventually she would find a place to call home.
But the kids really wanted her to enter the ballgown contest, with one of them insisting, "You'd be so beautiful, Miss Hawthorne! Not that you aren't anyway," which made Vicki laugh. Noah Brannigan, blue-eyed and unruly of hair, was an exceptionally charming kid, with a long-time family attachment to Virtue, although he and his mother had apparently only moved to the town a couple of years earlier. He had also promised to design her a dress on his own, if she somehow didn't win the contest.
Victoria thought she'd better win for her own safety, in that case, but she'd thanked Noah, and gotten the whole class to sitdown and draw their own idea of a ballgown, or "ball suit," as one forward-thinking little girl put it. The kids had taken to the task with enthusiasm, and a little to her own surprise, Vicki had gotten out her phone, found the contest page, and submitted an entry. Just her name and contact information, not even a mailing list to sign up for, which practically made it worth the effort in the first place.
And then she forgot about it. There were other things to think about, more practical and more likely things: the school play, which this year wasThe Pied Piperand for which all the kindergarten through second graders were by default rats, so they didn’t have to learn lines or much choreography beyond “follow the pied piper.” Theydidneed costumes, which were provided in large part by Noah’s mother, Mabs Brannigan, who was a dab hand with a sewing machine, and by her friend and the town librarian, Sarah Ekstrom, who had the most fabulous retro wardrobe Vicki had ever seen, and could sew anything from rats to a giant Chinese dragon. Not that the play needed one, but the library had one on display, often with children in it.
There were also bake sales and fundraisers and birthday parties, and of course, in between all of that, some attempt at educating small people in the ways of the world, or at least the ways of addition and subtraction. Some days Vicki thought she’d lost all hope of doing even that, and others, the kids would happily yell out the numbers in the correct sequence when she asked them to count by twos, or fives, or even sevens. Within a few weeks, she felt as settled in Virtue as she was going to get, and that would do. It wasn’t a forever home, but she hadn’t found a place yet that really spoke to her heart.
“Coffee after school?” One of her coworkers, Carol, a Virtue native in her sixties, stuck her head into Vicki’s classroom during lunch with a hopeful look beneath her grey hair. “If we’re fast we’ll get to Kate’s before it closes.”
“You’re teaching sixth graders,” Vicki said with mock dismay. “You can get them out of the room a lot faster than first graders go. But yeah, if they’re out the door on time, that sounds great.”
“See you then!” Carol disappeared from the door, and Vicki vowed to give the kids a few extra minutes to get ready to go that afternoon, so she’d have enough time to get to coffee at the cafe around the block.
It worked, too. The kids poured out to catch their buses, climb into cars with guardians, or walk home, and Vicki tugged her big boxy wool coat and a hat on as she hurried down the hall to meet Carol at the school’s side gate. Carol gave a whoop of delight, and they skidded down the small road between the school and the back of a row of businesses, kicking snow and giggling at each other. It was cold but clear, with ice melting and freezing solid across the huge town square and on the sidewalks.
Carol asked, “So how’s your first month been?” as they went around the corner, more or less pretending to act like grownups.
“Not too bad, I think. The kids are great, and the town is a little…standoffish, but it’s okay.”
Her friend grimaced a little. “You’re not wrong. I grew up here and sometimes it still has its moments, like it’s hiding secrets or something. I guess most old towns might be like that.”
“Welcome…to Small Town, New York,” Vicki said in her best movie trailer announcer voice. “Watch the adventures of a stranger in town as?—”
An older man—heavy-set and handsome as well as jowly and white-haired—gave her a dirty look as she walked by spouting theatrical nonsense, and muttered something under his breath. Carol’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t say anything. A spark of anger flared in Vicki, though, and she slowed, then turned to say, “Excuse me?” to the man’s departing back.
He obviously hadn’t been expecting her to respond. Carol breathed, “Careful,” to Vicki, but her anger was building andshe said, “Excuse me?” again to the man. “Did you want to say something to me?”
“I said people like you don’t belong in Virtue, and you should get out,” he said with nasty clarity.
Vicki’s eyebrows rose. “People like me? First grade teachers? Who’s going to teach your…” She paused, and rather deliberately, said, “Grandchildren, then?” instead of ‘children,’ suspecting it would annoy him.
Color flared in his face and she figured she’d made a hit. “We’ve got plenty of teachers from around here to teach our kids!”
“You apparently don’t,” Vicki said, now in her kindest teacher tone. “Since I was hired as a year-long substitute for my particular role.”
“People like you,” he said again, “don’t belong here. You’re bringing all kinds of dangerous new ideas and people into Virtue, and we’re never going to keep it safe with strangers settling all over the place here. Go find yourself another job,” he snapped. “Virtue doesn’t want you.”
He spun on his heel and stalked away, leaving Vicki to blink after him, and then at Carol. “What wasthat?”
“That was Arthur Lowell,” Carol said in a low voice. “Oooooold Virtue family. Lots of opinions and the money to back them up with. He’s disliked outsiders coming into Virtue as long as I can remember, and the town’s been having a really positive upturn lately that he hates.”
“I thought rich people liked it when the economy did well and they made more money,” Vicki muttered. “How can anybody be mad about the town doingwell?”
“I don’t know. He’s got a real bee in his bonnet about—you probably don’t know there used to be a train line that ran through Virtue. It closed when I was a kid. They’re talking aboutreopening it, and Lowell’s furious about it. He doesn’t want anything ‘drawing attention’ to the town.”
