“Don’t tell her I’m here,” I said quickly.“It’s er...a surprise.Private family matters.”
I decided not to explain my assignment.Beatrice would probably be horrified.
“Of course,” Beatrice said.“But don’t keep her waiting for too long.You ought to go home and have a good meal!You look so thin.”
“Alexander’s meals are just fine,” I said, tossing back another handful of peanuts.“And I look normal.”
Beatrice raised her brows as she looked over the field.Alexander was helping an elderly witch lift a particularly large, warty gourd, his biceps straining against his linen shirt.
“Is he part of the reason you returned?Do I smell an engagement?”
I cursed myself for bringing up any possible bait for Beatrice to bite.Elderly witch women were just as bad as the matchmaking mamas of high society.
“You smell nothing of the sort,” I said shortly.“Thank you for the snack, Beatrice.Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some...crates to organize.”
13
As I rounded the cornerof the rest shelter, a loud slap sounded, sending a jolt of panic down my spine.My blood ran cold.I knew that slap.It was the sound of Ma’s palm meeting the ripe surface of whatever poor gourd she had fixated on—the sound that had been ingrained into my memory the moment I was conscious enough to be embarrassed by it.
Cringing, I whirled around, intending to run straight back to Alexander’s house, but someone slammed into my shoulder—a slight figure wearing a goldenrod yellow pinafore.A very familiar goldenrod yellow pinafore.
“Gigi!”Christabella squealed.
I barely took in my younger sister’s golden complexion, pretty face, and doe-brown eyes before I shushed her and grabbed her arm, pulling her behind a wheelbarrow piled high with burlap flour sacks.
“Is Ma here?”I whispered, hunched over with my hands on my knees.
“Not yet.She’s back home.Said she forgot something,” Christabella whispered back, matching my stance.Her eyes were wide and glimmering with excitement.
I breathed a sigh of relief.So that slap wasn’t from Ma.
“I can’t believe you’re here right now!And yourclothes.” Christabella spun me around.“You’re so fashionable, Gigi.”
“Thank you.”I smiled as Christabella straightened and bounced on the toes of her heeled boots.It had been over nine months since we’d seen each other, but it was like no time had passed at all.We had often hid from Ma like this many a Harvest.
“I’m so jealous you don’t have to wear this,” Christabella said, tugging at her offensively bright skirt.“Ma won’t even let me dye it a more tasteful orange.”
