My breathing quickens. I want to return home. I need to return home. Em and Henry will be expecting me and I owe it to them to be there to help.
Ana catches the glassiness of my eyes and misreads it. “Do you not like it?”
“I love it,” I say, almost a whisper.
“Then?”
“I—” My first instinct was to say I didn’t deserve it, but don’t we all deserve to feel pretty? To be adorned in art? “I can’t,” I hear myself saying instead, and suck back the tears.
But the seamstress closest to me, the one wearing a charcoal blazer and bright emeralds in her ear, squeezes my hand. “Please, Dorothy, we insist.”
They all nod in unison. And it’s decided.
The gorgeous red ball gown that must cost more than our Kansas farm is mine.
TWENTY-FIVE
Scarecrow
I’m bored and Kansas has been gone for hours.
When we parted, I was taken to a gentleman’s shop on the north side of the city. I was fitted for a suit jacket, trousers, a button-up shirt. They liked me best all in black.
Who am I to disagree with perfection?
I stop them at the black tie.
“Perhaps we should try a bit of color?” I suggest.
I was taken to the gentleman’s shop by Fink, the council member with the thick mustache and round glasses. I was then fussed over by Brem and Urma, a sister-and-brother duo known for their men’s clothing. Brem smells like vodka and despair. Urma smells like Oil and regret.
But when they’re together, working on their craft, they smell like stars and enchantment.
Brem pulls down three patterned ties, all of them shades of eggplant.
“Not those. That one.” I point at a tie hanging on the end of the display.
They share a look. Urma is the one to retrieve it, draping it around my neck. She ties it with quick, precise movements. Her fingers are long and scarred. She could be the right age of someone who had fought during the Great and Terrible War. It would explain the Oil and regret.
We gather to admire my reflection.
Fink’s brows sink below the frame of his glasses. “It’s not Hollow colors.”
They are preoccupied with conformity in this place. Purple and green only. I don’t blame them. They are a fabulous color pairing.
“I like the red,” I say.
Fink nods. “Very well. Red it is.”
Once the outfit is formalized, Fink and I make our way back to the Red Wander. We wait by the fire for Kansas to return.
As I wait, I pick through a bowl of nuts. There are cashews and peanuts and walnuts and pistachios. I prefer pecans. Candied.
Fink’s knee is bouncing beneath the table. He’s currently nursing a glass tumbler of ozrum.
“Are you all right?” I ask him.
He pulls out a gold pocket watch from the interior pocket of his waistcoat. He checks the time. “The ball is still a few hours to start, but I have business I need to attend to beforehand and I promised Ana I would not leave you unattended.”
