Certainly Rosemarie and Lydia had made up their minds. Tears welled in her own eyes.
“You’re thinking I would say these exact things if I were the traitor.” Ella wiped her face and smiled a miserable, tight smile. “I can’t blame you. But oh, God, I thought you knew me better than that.”
Did she know her at all? That was the question. But she couldn’t ask it.
Ella turned away. “I’ll go sit in the bus. No harm I could do there.”
Beatrix stood where Ella left her, feeling ill and disconnected, as the last of the state chapter presidents and vice presidents finally cast their ballots. All looked grim. Only one of the stragglers would talk to Hickok, who wasworking the room for quotes as theNews-Register’s columnist stared with distaste at his punch.
Rosemarie cleared her throat. “Lydia, Mrs. Gossard—if you would both like to watch while we count ...”
Her sister had to be beside herself with the suspense. Beatrix tried to imagine four more years of helping Lydia angle for this job, four more years of meetings and organizing and politics. Dear God.
But what awaited them if Lydia won would surely make the tribulations with this conference seem like a stroll in the forest.
And either way, there would be no Ella to make it more bearable.
She worked her way to the front of the tent and listened as Rosemarie and Gossard’s right-hand woman, Eleanor Menendez, murmured over the ballots. “Gossard ... Harper ... Gossard ... Gossard ... Harper ...”
She quickly lost track. But it was obviously going to be close.
After the women finished counting, they did it over again, then a third time. She couldn’t see Lydia’s face—or Gossard’s, for that matter—but both were stiff-backed and white-knuckled.
So was she. She didn’t know if she wanted her sister to win.
“Attention, everyone.” Rosemarie, as unreadable as a poker player. “Mrs. Menendez, will you do the honors?”
Menendez turned, and Beatrix knew—knew by the expression on her face.
“Mrs. Gossard received forty-seven votes,” Menendez said, choking over the words. “Miss Harper, forty-nine. Congratulations, Miss Harper.”
The Hazelhurst women jumped to their feet, cheering, hugging, crying. Lydia shook hands with Gossard, both of them going through the motions, looking equally shocked. And then Beatrix had no time to think, because she had to hustle the out-of-town leaders onto the buses (none of which contained Ella, who must have slipped out when she saw the crowd coming) and oversee the workers sent to pick up the rented items.
When all that was done, she found a quiet spot to stand by herself in the almost-darkness as Rosemarie saw the caterers off and Meg carried a bag of odds and ends to their car, the lone one left in the lot.
She wished she could simply be happy for her sister.
She was soproudof her—fiercely—and so very tired of this, even before it had cost her Ella. It would never stop. And at every step, they would have to make out the invisible hand of meddling wizards before it was too late.
“Well done,” said the invisible wizard who had been meddling on their behalf.
“Thank you.” She rubbed her eyes. “Truly—thank you very much for everything.”
“You don’t sound happy,” Blackwell said.
“I am,” she protested, then decided to be honest with him. She owed him that, after all he’d done—and he couldn’t use anything she told him about Lydia against them, anyway. “No, you’re right. I’m not. I don’t think I’m up to the challenge she’s setting.”
His snort was soft but audible. “You found this site and got a tent, a bunch of tables, dozens of seats and two portable toilets here, all within—what, four hours?”
“Four-and-a-half.”
“Miss Harper—you can doanything.”
She smiled at the air where she knew he was standing. Then she sighed. “But perhaps I don’t want to do anything more.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well—I understand that feeling perfectly.”
“You’ve been in my situation?”
